I’d seen him naked a hundred times growing up. Locker rooms. Sleepovers. Random late-night peeing contests behind trees. But this was... different. This wasn’t some harmless towel slip or a skinny-dip dare. This was deliberate. Slow. He was putting on a goddamn show—and I was front row.
He sighed, head back against the pillow, hand stroking leisurely. His abs flexed with every movement. The overhead light caught the sweat on his skin, made every curve stand out like he was carved from golden marble and dipped in sex.
And me? I was under my blanket like a coward, trying to jerk off to two bored-looking blondes on a fake beach while my brain screamed at me to stop staring at my best friend’s cock.
Which was... impossible.
David wasn’t even glancing at the TV. He was just lying there, exposed, his breath getting heavier, his muscles tight. And his cock—long, thick, veiny—was standing tall in his grip like it had its own heartbeat.
I licked my lips without realizing it.
Shit. Shit.
What the hell was wrong with me?
This was David. My dude. My brother from another mother. The guy who once dared me to fart into a walkie-talkie during a sleepover.
And now... I wanted him?
No.
No, I didn’t. I was just drunk. High. Full of whatever weird-ass pill those girls slipped us.
Except...
That didn’t explain why I couldn’t stop looking.
It didn’t explain why my hand sped up under the sheets, matching his rhythm like we were synced up somehow.
It didn’t explain why my stomach tightened every time he let out one of those breathy groans that made the room feel ten degrees hotter.
And then he moaned—low, throaty, deep in his chest—and my whole body clenched like I’d been electrocuted.
I gasped.
He looked over.
Eyes locked.
He didn’t stop stroking.
I couldn’t move.
“Dude,” he said softly, like he’d just noticed something in my face.
I swallowed hard.
“What?”
“You’re watching me.”
I froze.
He grinned. “Not complaining. Just... didn’t expect it.”
I looked away. “Shut up.”
He chuckled, still lazily pumping himself. “It’s cool. I’m a good watch.”
I stared at the ceiling, my heart pounding in my ears. My blanket suddenly felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. I was burning up under it.
For a second, we just stared at each other.
I was frozen in place, fist around my dick under the blanket. He was laid out, hand still stroking, like I’d interrupted a fantasy and he didn’t mind one bit.
The tension in the room was thick. The air, hot. That soft moan still echoed in my ears.
Then—slowly, like he had all the time in the world—David sat up.
He let go of himself, standing up from the bed.
Naked. Erect. Confident.
And he started walking toward me.
Not a word. Not a smirk.
Just steps.
Measured. Purposeful.
My breath caught.
My hand stilled.
The air shifted.
And in that moment — with his body lit by hotel lamp haze, cock swinging slightly with each step, face unreadable — every part of me was screaming.
And none of it made sense.
David stopped at the edge of my bed.
He didn’t say anything. Didn’t grin. Just looked at me with this unreadable intensity, like he was searching for something on my face he hadn’t dared to look for before.
My mouth went dry.
My heart? Slamming against my ribs like it wanted out.
We were best friends. Had been since we were kids. We’d done every dumb thing together—snuck beers in 8th grade, crashed prom after-parties, shared shitty high school hookups.
But this?
This was something else.
I was still under the blanket, but it didn’t matter. My erection had a mind of its own, and my skin felt electric, like it could catch fire just from the heat in his stare.
And then... he moved.
Not fast. Not aggressive. Just one knee sinking onto the mattress beside me, then the other, his weight dipping the bed, his body warm and close and there.
David was on top of me.
Literally.
Like, knee-on-the-bed, cock-in-my-face, sweaty-naked-best-friend kind of on top.
I should’ve been panicking. Screaming. Making some dumb “no homo” joke and throwing a blanket over my boner like we weren’t two college bros seconds away from doing something that could nuke our entire friendship.
But I wasn’t doing any of that.
I was just... staring.
Because David wasn’t looking at me like a bro.
He was looking at me like he wanted me.
And god help me — something deep, primal, and very confused in me wanted him right back.
The room was spinning, but all I could focus on was his body — tan, lean, glistening in that shitty yellow hotel light like a goddamn statue of Adonis that just rolled out of a frat party. His abs flexed as he leaned down, one hand braced on the mattress, the other pressing into my chest like he was pinning me to the moment.
His cock? Hard. Slapping lightly against my stomach.
Mine? Also hard. Possibly about to break through the ceiling.
I could smell him — sweat, cologne, a hint of club beer, and that warm, dude smell I weirdly recognized from a thousand locker rooms and shared dorm beds.
He didn’t ask again.
He just kissed me.
And holy mother of spring break, it hit.
Not like a kiss. Like a collision.
His lips crashed into mine, hungry, open-mouthed, full of tongue and heat. We were making out like two kids home alone for the first time, except we were both naked, rock-hard, and tangled up like animals in heat.
I kissed him back, moaning into it before my brain could catch up.
He tasted like mint gum and vodka. His tongue moved with this cocky rhythm, like he’d kissed dudes before — or at least fantasized about it more than he’d admitted during Call of Duty marathons.
His hips rolled down into me, grinding our dicks together.
I gasped. He groaned.
“Jesus, bro,” he muttered into my mouth. “You’re like… f*ckin’ hard.”
“No shit,” I panted. “So are you.”
We both cracked up. Because somehow it was still hilarious.
Two college horndogs, fully torqued, grinding against each other in a Dutch hotel room like some weird alternate ending to Superbad.
But under the laughter, there was this tension — deep and simmering. Like something inside me was unraveling with every kiss, every grope, every second I felt his skin on mine.
His hands were everywhere. On my chest, my neck, my arms. I couldn’t stop touching him either. His back was slick with sweat, his ass firm in my palms when I pulled him down harder, grinding like we were trying to fuse into one horny disaster.
He kissed down my jaw, over my throat, his stubble scraping like sandpaper in the best way.
“Your skin’s hot,” he murmured, dragging his mouth lower.
“So’s yours,” I said before I could stop myself.
He grinned against my chest. “You sound like a chick in a rom-com.”
“Shut up and keep kissing me, you tool.”
And he did.
He kissed his way down my chest, his tongue circling one of my nipples just to mess with me.
I flinched. “Dude!”
He looked up with a mischievous sparkle in his eye. “Sensitive nips, huh?”
“F*ck you.”
“Not yet.”
That earned him a pillow to the face, which he dodged like a champ, laughing as he slid even lower.
David’s mouth was on my stomach now.
And not in a “haha bro, lemme mess with you” kind of way. No. He was slow, deliberate. His lips brushed my skin like he was tasting it, like he was testing something in himself.
And in me?
I was short-circuiting.
I’d felt horniness before. I’d been turned on, desperate, aching. But this was different. This was hot and weird and way too good. Every nerve under my skin was dialed to eleven, and all I could do was lie there, panting, watching my best friend kiss down my body like he meant it.
He wasn’t drunk-sloppy either.
He was focused.
Like he knew what he was doing and was just waiting for me to stop him — but I didn’t. I couldn’t.
My fingers curled into the sheets. My thighs tensed as his breath tickled lower, and my brain started spiraling.
This is David.
My best friend.
I’ve seen him puke in a bucket while wearing a toga.
He knows my browser history.
Why is this so hot?
Why do I want this?
He looked up at me, his hair messy, lips parted. He didn’t say anything — just stared like he was searching my face for a reason to stop.
He didn’t find one.
Instead, he crawled back up over me, pressing our bodies together, chest to chest, hard to hard. I could feel every inch of him — sweat-slick skin, flexing muscles, the insane heat radiating off both of us.
David smiled — that cocky, half-drunk smirk he usually gave after winning beer pong. But now it meant something else.
Something way more dangerous.
And he kissed me again.
Harder this time. More desperate. Like he knew this was our point of no return and didn’t care. Our hips ground together, and I moaned into his mouth, needing the friction like I needed air.
My hands grabbed at his back, sliding down to his waist, fingers digging into his skin.
Everything about him was familiar — his laugh, his smell, the way his body moved — but now it was foreign, too. Like I was touching someone I knew too well and not at all at the same time.
He pulled back just enough to breathe, his forehead resting on mine.
“This is crazy,” he muttered.
I nodded. “Yeah.”
Then kissed me again, slower now — deeper, almost... tender. Like under all the horny chaos, there was something real he couldn’t joke about.
And I felt it, too.
The pull. The gravity. The us.
Whatever this was, it wasn’t just sex.
It was two dudes crossing a line they’d spent a lifetime pretending didn’t exist — and realizing it was never really a line to begin with.
David’s mouth was everywhere. My neck. My jaw. My chest. His stubble scratched and burned in the best way, and every kiss felt like a line we couldn’t uncross.
He was on top of me — heavy, hot, his muscles flexing with every shift. His body pressed mine into the mattress, and I didn’t want to move. I didn’t want to breathe too loud and break whatever spell had turned my best friend into this wild, hungry thing.
His lips moved lower, sloppy and urgent. His tongue dragged along my skin like he was tasting the sweat off my collarbone, my chest, my ribs. I gasped when his mouth found the dip between my abs — sensitive, electric — and I swear my whole body tensed beneath him.
“Dude,” I croaked, not even knowing what I meant. Just something. Some noise to make sense of the fire under my skin.
But David didn’t stop. He was in his own zone — half-drunk, fully hard, and apparently not giving a damn about the rules we used to live by.
And me? I wasn’t stopping him.
Hell, I was arching into him.
Every time his hips shifted, I felt everything. His weight. His heat. His boner pressing into my thigh. And mine pressing right back. We were both still ridiculously hard — bodies so hyped up from the pill, the booze, the frustration of a night gone sideways.
And now… this.
“Jesus, you’re warm,” he muttered against my stomach, his voice low and hoarse. Like he was just now realizing he was touching a living, breathing man — his best friend — and he liked it.
His hands roamed up my sides, fingers digging into muscle like he was claiming territory. I sucked in a breath when he licked a slow, wet trail back up my torso and locked eyes with me from inches away.
His look said: I want this.
Mine probably said: I have no idea what the hell is happening, but don’t stop.
And then he kissed me again.
Not gentle. Not sweet. Messy. Lips and teeth. Tongues battling. The kind of kiss you feel all the way in your spine. He groaned into my mouth when I grabbed his back, fingers dragging down to his waist, then lower, over the curve of his ass, gripping him like I needed him closer.
Which I did.
I wasn’t thinking anymore.
I was starving.
The kiss broke, and our foreheads stayed glued together. Our breath mixed — fast, loud, humid.
“You still good?” he rasped.
I nodded, unable to form a real sentence.
His hand slid between us and brushed against me — just enough to send me jerking up into his body with a sharp, involuntary noise that didn’t sound like it came from me.
“You’re so damn hard,” he said with this rough, shocked laugh. “Shit, Anthony…”
I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t.
I just felt.
Every second, I was more turned on. More confused. More okay with being confused.
Because this wasn’t just about getting off. This wasn’t just scratching an itch.
This was David — wild, shirtless, grinding into me like he needed me.
He dropped lower again, dragging his lips across my hipbone
His hand wrapped around me, squeezing like he was trying to keep himself in check.
“F*ck, bro,” I moaned.
“You like that?” he murmured, voice thick with want.
I nodded.
And then he took me in his mouth.
Hot, wet, sudden. The shock was so intense, my whole body jolted.
“Oh, my God!” I yelled, hips bucking up off the bed.
David’s hand tightened around the base, keeping me steady. His mouth was... f*cking heaven. Warm, wet, moving up and down with the kind of desperation that made me feel like I’d just been handed the world’s most intense secret.
“Oh, shit,” I murmured, eyes squeezed shut, because if I watched him do this, I might actually combust. “Oh, f*ck, David...”
His name slipped out like a prayer. And maybe it was. Maybe I was praying he’d keep doing it. Maybe I was praying this was real.
My hand found his hair, gripping it like a lifeline. I didn’t know if I wanted to push him away or pull him closer — all I knew was that every suck, every slide of his tongue, every hot breath was lightning through me.
I’d had blowjobs before. But none of them had ever felt like this. Like I was being claimed. Like every part of me was being worshipped by someone who knew exactly where to touch, where to kiss, how to make me crazy.
My head thrashed back and forth on the pillow. The bed was a sea underneath me — waves of pleasure, of disbelief, of pure, unfiltered need.
“F*ck, yes,” I gasped, hips thrusting up to meet his mouth.
And he took it. Took it all. Like he’d been waiting for this, too. Like he knew exactly how to make me feel like a god.
I couldn’t stop watching him.
The way his eyes fluttered closed, his cheeks hollowed, his throat bobbed. The way he moaned around my cock like it was his favorite thing.
It was mesmerizing.
It was terrifying.
It was the hottest thing I’d ever seen.
He looked up, eyes dark with lust, and suddenly it was his turn to watch me fall apart.
I didn’t hold back. I couldn’t.
Everything was too much — too good, too intense, too everything.
“I’m gonna...” I warned, voice strained. “I’m gonna...”
But David didn’t stop. He just took me deeper, his hand stroking in time with his mouth, and my orgasm hit like a fucking meteor.
My hips bucked. My breath hitched. My thighs shook as I came hard, stomach tightening under David’s hands. The moan that ripped out of me was guttural — no shame, just release.
I came so hard, so fast, I didn’t even know it was happening until I was gripping his hair, my back arched off the bed, and I was shouting his name like it was the last thing I’d ever say.
It was a mess. A glorious, sticky mess. And he didn’t stop until I was shuddering, half-laughing, half-sobbing.
He didn’t move.
Just held me. Let me fall apart under him.
And I did.
Harder than I had in years.
(To be continued...)
