Chance tips his can, as if he's about to pour beer into my mouth, and for a brief, sharp moment I panic. Imagine myself choking on Riley's kitchen table, and then having to explain to the paramedics how I came to be the muscle-jock meat in the middle of a fuck sandwich.
He pulls the can away at the last moment, though. Grinning, like he could tell I was worried; just like he always claims, in fact, that he can see right through my expression and know what's going on in my head.
When I was a little kid, the idea of being so transparent was borderline-terrifying, even if it was just to my best friend. As I got older, it just served as more encouragement to blast right through his expectations, and do my level best to shock him.
I think, briefly, that I'm going to have to relent in my hold on Harper; liberate my hands, so as to reach out to Chance's jeans. Rethink that, when he sets his beer down on the counter behind him and tugs at the button fly. Shoving the fabric down, and his boxer-briefs too, his half-hard cock lolling thickly.
I ought to be embarrassed at how much my mouth is watering at the sight of it.
The table isn't quite narrow enough for me to stretch across it, though, not with Aidan still hammering my ass at the opposite side. Chance kicks his jeans off all the way, then clambers up so that he's practically straddling my face.
Harper's head is brushing Chance's abs, but it's the heft of his dick which has me mesmerized. Wide, and long, and already beginning to drool precum down onto me. I lick my lips, eager for the taste of him.
"Cocksucker," Chance says, affectionately, then levers his erection down to push the fat tip into my mouth before I can trash-talk him back.
He can get deeper, from this angle: his thighs sandwiching my head, cock sliding straight into my throat. Deep enough that there's a spasm of anxiety; a stab of fear, not so much that I don't want this, but that my gag-reflex will kick in regardless. Ambition overcoming capacity, my inexperience bringing all of this to a premature and even messier close.
Chance patting my cheek drags me from my spiraling paranoia.
"Swallow, dude. Let me in."
I gulp, obediently, and feel him ease further still. Until his balls are pressed against my nose, and the scent of him - musk and fresh sweat - is filling me fit to bursting. Driving out any other thought beyond the illicit pleasure of this specific moment.
Chance grunts, and starts to slowly fuck my throat.
The heat and the friction are beguiling, the tight press of the three of them wrapping around me. Edges blurring, wearing away the lines between my cock in Harper's clenching hole, and Aidan in mine, and Chance long-dicking my gullet like he's nailing pussy. A sense that my body's not my own, not any more: that I'm one component in a single, squirming machine designed with just one thing in mind.
Part of me wishes Riley would film it. Pull out his phone and capture what's happening in the middle of his kitchen. Even if the thought of someone inadvertently watching what I'm doing with my "straight" buddies sets my stomach churning with anxiety, the hunger to see it myself is greater, more intense.
He'd only laugh at me, if I asked, and it's not like I'm in a position to speak even if I wanted to risk that possibility. Not with Chance humping my face, his fingers gripping my throat like he wants to trace the motion of his cock through my skin. Harper's head bumping against Chance's stomach as I work him on me, his body as pliable and limp as a fuck sleeve.
It's all synchronized, up until the point it isn't. The four of us moving in and out of phase, each driven by the ticking of his own internal clock. Harper's weight, and the combined pressure of Aidan and Chance at each end of me, all conspiring to press me into the wooden table. Pinning me there, as the little kitchen gets steamier and the scent of sweat, and musk, and sweat fills it like a ripe fog.
Aidan's slamming into me, now. No mercy, no holding back: like he wants to force himself into me completely. The sound of it loud, even with the legs currently squeezing my ears.
"You gonna bust in him, dude?" There's a rasp to Chance's voice, in there with the amusement.
Aidan doesn't reply, but I don't think I'm imagining that his strokes are even more aggressive.
Chance chuckles. "Damn, Lincoln. Not sure your ass is ever gonna close up, at this rate." He tilts his hips back, until only the fat, swollen head of his cock is resting on the bridge of my nose. Ignoring the way I'm choking and spluttering, drool running down my face.
He winks, at my bleary-eyed expression, and then shifts forward again. His balls rubbing across my face, until his ass is pressed against my lips.
It doesn't feel so strange, really, to start licking my best friend's hole. Not given everything that's already happened; not now that I know myself just how incredible it can feel. Deciding to withhold that pleasure from Chance just seems unfair.
Anyway, there's something fucking epic about feeling him writhe atop me, as his cock smears precum across my skin and these silly little gasps keep escaping from him. It's the sort of shit he'll be mortified about, when I remind him later that he whimpered like some chick getting her pussy eaten, and there's no way I'll miss an opportunity like that.
He's holding onto Harper, maybe just for better leverage as he grinds himself across my eager tongue, and that makes it easier for me to fuck Harper's ass harder. Slamming my hips up against him, pounding him in the way that - if Riley's to be believed - my friend will never say no to. Each stab sending me back onto Aidan's dick, as he rabbit-fucks my cummy hole. I can imagine how it must be foaming and frothing around his shaft, a slick of it between my splayed cheeks. Each stroke bringing him one step closer to adding his own load to the messy blend.
I'm so focused on Aidan's excitement, it takes a minute to realize quite how much Chance's ass is pulsing and twitching against my lips. How his insides are practically trying to tear off my tongue, as I dig inside him.
It's borderline uncomfortable, when he reaches down between his thighs and grabs under my neck. Yanks my head up, pulling me even closer to his body; mashing my face to his skin, like he's certain that with just a little more effort, I could reach newfound depths and unlock fresh pleasures inside him.
Chance's whole body vibrates, shudders in long, thrilling ripples, when he cums on top of me.
Hole fluttering, his fingers digging into my throat. The splash of his load against my skin, as he gasps and shakes. As if he can't decide if he wants more of this incredible torment, or if he needs to pull away and save whatever last vestiges of his sanity might remain.
Maybe it's watching that play out in Chance's expression - a vision I have to imagine, his ass still on top of my face - but Aidan topples next. Deep, desperate stabs into me, as my well-pounded ass gets another buddy-breeding.
My body feels untethered when they both fall away from me. The light in Riley's kitchen suddenly glaring bright, leaving my eyes watering to match the drooling mess of my lips, cheeks, and chin. My fingers knotted in his hair, I pull Harper's face against my chest; feel, a moment later, his tongue against my collar-bone. Licking through the cream Chance sprayed me with.
When Harper kisses me, my lips still tingling, it's the mindless hunger in his eyes and the taste of my friend which drags the orgasm out of me. Pounding urgently, knowing the other guys are watching me as I lose control, only I can't bring myself to care about that. Not as my cramping thighs howl, or my abs clench painfully, or my back protests about the hard wooden table beneath me.
And suddenly it's like each and every muscle gives up, relaxes at the same time. Leaving me flopping, boneless and panting, with Harper draped across me. There's something reassuring about his weight, now, like it's the only thing holding me in place.
Riley leans down, and tweaks the tip of my nose affectionately. "Game's starting soon, fuckboy."
I nod, though I'm not sure the gesture actually looks anything like what I intended it to be. It's enough, anyway, to prompt his wink in return.
The three of them are already laughing about the other team's chances as they troop down to the basement. Back to normal so quickly, I'm practically feeling whiplash.
I jostle Harper, who's still pancaked across my chest.
"Just another minute," he grumbles. Like I'm his mom, telling him he needs to get out of bed and ready for school.
The thought of it makes me chuckle, even though we just got done flip-fucking each other, and my cock's only just now starting to soften in his ass. Sure, things might've changed plenty over the past week or so, but there's years of history, here. Just because Harper's eaten my ass a few times, doesn't undo all that.
"Are you bi, then?"
It doesn't feel all that long since I asked him that question once before. At the time, Harper had turned it right back around on me. Now, he just lifts his head off my shoulder, and gives me a blurry-eyed look.
"Are you gonna have a meltdown, if I say yes?"
I flash him a look that says "we just hooked up, idiot," and flex my dick in him. Just, y'know, for punctuation.
He's got a cute grin. Maybe I always knew that; maybe I just never saw it this close before. Or this sweaty.
"Probably, yeah," Harper says. I can tell from his tone - all forced indifference - that he's still expecting me to go off at the deep end.
"When did you know?"
I figure his grimace is because of the math, not my question.
"Sixteen, maybe?"
I raise an eyebrow. "So you were checkin' me out, in the locker room?"
"Ego, much?"
Riley's words - that Harper has been talking about wanting to do shit with me for a while, now - come surging back into my head like floodwater.
His skin's super-soft, under my fingertips. Barely any friction, from his neck down to his ass. "So, I shouldn't take this personally?"
"Kiss me again," Harper suggests, "and I'll tell you the truth."
I'm still laughing as I bring our lips together.
It's not like kissing Chance, and kissing Chance isn't like kissing Haley, and it occurs to me - as Harper's tongue slips, deviously, into my mouth in a way that is not at all unpleasant - that I should be paying more attention to what kissing people is actually like. Rather than just seeing that as a prelude to fucking them.
Eventually, he pulls back. My lips are tingling.
"So?"
Harper sighs. "It's just a crush, okay?"
"Cute."
His glare is sharp. "Lincoln."
"Fine, fine." I stroke his hips, ease my grip around his waist. It's entirely possible, I decide, that Harper's skin is smoother than Haley's. Not that I've touched my girlfriend for a while. Or thought about her, really, for that matter. "Hot. I think it's hot. Better?"
He still looks grumpy, but I can tell there's a smile trying to break through.
"Sure, whatever."
His hair is wet with sweat, sodden in places. Cool as I twist my fingers through it, to pull his head back.
"And you told Riley about it?"
Harper's lip curls, but he doesn't try to break away. "Yeah. Just while we were..." His voice trails off.
"While you were hooking up?"
A nod. I feel it more than see it, the momentary strain against my hand.
"You talked about me, while he was inside you?"
Harper smirks. "Ego."
I laugh, though I can't help the hitch at the back of my throat. If Haley ever looked at me the way Harper does, maybe I actually would've got around to proposing to her.
Releasing him is easier than examining that thought too closely.
"So, you and Chance..."
My turn to hold back a smile. "Yeah?"
"Come on, dude." He sounds exasperated.
"You like the way he tastes?"
Harper pushes himself up, straddling my hips. There's something weirdly reassuring about my half-hard dick being inside him still, though I have to wonder if it's still as comfortable for him.
"You're the one who just ate his ass, you tell me."
It's easier, if I drape my arm across my eyes. Not that I feel like Harper's judging me - or, at least, not negatively anyway - but trying to process what I've just done in the middle of Riley's kitchen is ever so slightly easier if I don't have to stare back at one of my oldest friends while I attempt it.
"It's not gonna change anything," I say, hoping I sound more certain than I actually feel. "This is just... dude stuff."
"Dude stuff." The words are the same, but Harper's echo of them is laced with amusement. Or maybe disbelief.
I pull my arm away, so that I can fix him with a proper stare. "Just dude stuff," I repeat.
He winks, slapping me good-naturedly on the chest as he swings his leg over me. Ignores my hiss of surprise, as my cock finally tugs from his hole.
Harper drops down off the edge of the table, then half-turns. Watching me with a grin, over his shoulder, as he pulls his cheeks apart.
"You wanna eat me out, too? Or is that service just for your best friend?"
It's surprisingly easy, to grab him and - one arm around his neck - push three fingers into his gooey hole. Harper's yelp of surprise is unexpectedly gratifying.
"Be careful," I warn him, pumping my hand as he dances on his tiptoes, "what you wish for."
I let him squirm for a few seconds longer, my fingers flexing in the mess I've made of his ass, before I release him. Sending Harper tottering across the room, red faced and glaring furiously.
"Lincoln!"
I wipe my sticky fingers on my chest. Not that it does much good, frankly; there's still a fair amount of Chance's cum there, mixed in with the sweat and spit. "What, the crush doesn't get special privileges?"
He yanks up his underwear, radiating indignance. "The crush gets a punch in the balls, if he keeps this shit up."
I wink at him. "Just learning your limits, dude."
"Fucking straight boys," Harper mutters, under his breath, as he pulls his t-shirt into place and stomps down the stairs.
It's dumb, to be sitting there on the couch with them, watching the game or at least attempting to, but have those words circling endlessly in my brain. Not so much a distraction from what's on TV, as a complete roadblock to it. A thought I can't seem to dislodge, not after Harper's unwittingly planted it.
When does it stop being just dude stuff, and start being something more? Something which might warrant a different label, anyway.
I glance over at Chance, at the other end of the sectional, who sees me looking and flips me off with an accompanying grin. Entirely standard and to be expected from our friendship, as is my flipping him off in return, and him laughing as he turns back to the screen.
It's easy, that's what I like about it. None of the second-guessing like it feels like you're always doing with girls; not having to decode half of what Haley says to me, sifting through for secret meanings or hidden traps. It's not as if I don't like her, not as if I'm not attracted to her still. Just that all the other bullshit so often gets in the way of us simply being together.
Whereas if Chance is pissed at me, he'll call me a fucking asshole and make that undeniably clear. If Riley's horny, he'll tell me to get my dick out. And if I want to get plowed, hard enough to make my eyes roll back in my skull, it turns out all I need do is spread my legs. All four people in the room with me can apparently be counted on to step up and deliver.
I don't want a new label, I just want life to be easier, sometimes.
"We need more beer," Chance announces, nudging the empty cooler with his foot.
I automatically look at Riley, who would usually supply something caustic about his younger brother being the primary cause of shrinking beer supplies. Instead he just rolls his eyes when he sees my glance.
"You think you can handle the walk?" His expression makes it clear that he thinks he's funny.
"If you're paying, sure," I reply, matching his mocking tone.
Riley laughs. "Fine, whatever. My wallet's upstairs, on the counter."
I push myself up, off the couch. Trying my best to hide the slight wince, as certain parts of my body remind me how they've been stretched in unexpected ways. It's not like it hurts, but my buddies weren't exactly gentle with me.
"So, who's..." I start.
"I'll go," Aidan interrupts.
I nod at him, then glance around the others. "Later, assholes."
It feels good, to be outside. Even with the heat of the day leeching out of the sidewalk and drying the rain I didn't even realize had been falling. That's the thing about being down in Riley's basement: sometimes you just forget about the rest of the world. Not like it stops moving, like time stands still. Just that it's easier to believe that it has no real effect on you, or what you're choosing to do with your life.
"Does it feel good?"
Aidan's question breaks me from my reverie. I frown at him, as my brain replays the sentence.
"Yeah, it does." I shrug.
He nods, slowly. Staring ahead, down the sidewalk. It's only a handful of blocks to the nearest liquor store, but we're not walking fast. Ambling, really.
"Is it weird... y'know, that we... that I..."
Usually I'd be tempted to tease him, to ask if he ever intended to fill in the gaps, but I know how this particular confusion feels. Enough, anyway, to be sympathetic.
"It doesn't have to be. Weird, I mean. It's just sex."
"Gay sex," Aidan points out.
"Guy sex," I correct. I turn, flashing him a grin. "Did it not feel good?"
He gives me a "what the fuck do you think, idiot?" look.
"Exactly." I nudge him with my shoulder. "It doesn't make you gay, if that's what you're worried about."
I expect him to laugh, or protest, or say something defensive. Am practically rehearsing what I counter that with; piecing together the advice and platitudes that Riley and Harper have already used on me.
"Are you trying to reassure me, or yourself, by saying that?" Aidan asks, instead.
My chuckle is because I know I'm beyond the point of needing reassurance, now. For that, at least.
"You're allowed to regret it. It doesn't have to happen again."
He shakes his head. "Just trying to figure out the new rules, y'know."
I drape my arm around his shoulder, pull him in against my side as we walk. "If it feels good, do it," I suggest.
"How bacchanalian of you," Aidan says, dryly.
I mess up his hair, then release him. Amused at how he totters, slightly, on his feet. "You know it turns me on when you use big words."
He glares at me, but there's the ghost of a grin there, too.
"A stiff breeze turns you on," he says. "You're just perpetually horny."
I wink "Guess you guys are lucky, then, since you get to take advantage of that."
"Did it sound like I was disappointed?" Aidan asks, slyly.
No way not to read into that tone, to extrapolate from that look. To imagine what could happen, without those initial moments of shock and uncertainty. If everyone involved - all my closest friends, and Riley too - knew that my limits were more a work-in-progress, than something they needed to be cautious of.
It feels like I'm standing at the edge of something very deep, and very uncertain, and very, very exciting. Enough that I realize I'm hard just teetering on that precipice.
When I look up, to see Aidan staring back at me from a pace ahead, it's clear he knows the impact those thoughts - this whole conversation - have had on me. Looking down at the ridge of my erection is just a formality.
"Which part did it?" he asks, watching me intently. "The thought of getting turned out, or the thought of everyone else watching you while it happens?"
I swallow, my throat feeling tight. I don't know why it feels so much easier to do stuff, versus talk about it out loud.
"Both," I concede.
Aidan nods, slowly. Glances up and down the street.
We're around the side of the liquor store, a nondescript gray-painted building. There's traffic on the main road, but nobody else is walking.
"Get it out."
I frown at him. "What?"
The look he gives me is withering. "You know what. Get it out."
I echo his glance, left and right, then left again. We're still alone in the side street, but it's hardly like that couldn't change in an instant.
"Dude."
Aidan shakes his head, like my excuses and protests have no value here. "Are you telling me you don't want to?"
I want to tell him exactly that, to be able to open my mouth and reasonably, believably argue that he's out of his fucking mind. Only we both know it'd be a total lie.
"Not here," I try, instead.
He snorts. "Like you care. Get your dick out."
My hands are moving, even as my brain is trying to think of more ways to protest. Pulling down the front of my shorts, until my balls are hanging over the waistband. Hard cock jutting up eagerly.
"Go on, then."
There's a voice in the back of my brain, telling me this is crazy. That, just because Aidan might give me permission - no, an order - it doesn't make this safe, or wise. Doesn't mean I'll have any excuse, or any way to transfer the guilt for that matter, should someone walk around the corner and find me jerking off on the sidewalk.
I can hear that voice, but the problem is I can also feel the heft of my erection in my fist. The way the skin slides so smoothly, already slicked with precum. A steady stream of it, dangling from my tip until it snaps free and lands on the hot concrete. My imagination has to fill in the hiss of that impact, the sizzle; I can't hear it, of course, not over the squishy, gooey sound of my hand on my dick.
"Have you always liked people watching you?"
His question yanks me back from my drifting thoughts, the reverie of flesh on flesh. Leaves me frowning, as I try to process what the truth might be.
"Not... not always like this," I hedge, finally.
Aidan nods, slowly. Like he has theories of his own, and my answer hasn't exactly disproven them.
It's the truth, though. Not like I've made a habit of randomly pulling my junk out in front of other people; not like I long harbored the urge to show my best buddies what it looks like when I'm stroking myself. Only the more I think about it, the more I dig back through the memories of growing up, the easier it becomes to see the threads that have interwoven.
Like the year I worked for my stepdad, at his landscaping business. Pushing a mower, or digging up flowerbeds, and hyper-aware of the twitching curtains and the sense of eyes on me, shirtless and sweating.
Or the summer I insisted on wearing a Speedo when we swam, some skintight thing left looking all the more brief compared to the baggy shorts the rest of the guys preferred. Relishing, somehow, the second-glances as we hung out at the public pool; the curiosity as I peacocked my way around the water's edge, proud of my burgeoning muscles. At the time, I told myself the stares were in appreciation of the hard work I'd put in, there; the weights I'd lifted, the ab crunches I'd gritted my teeth through. Admiration, then, rather than outright lust, and maybe that made it easier to dismiss the fact that it was far more men than girls who did that staring.
I'd had to stop that, switch to looser shorts, after the risk of boning up got too great, too frequent. Feeling a shiver of something, deep in my belly, even as I made that decision for self-preservation. A secret hunger to get caught: for someone to see the heft of my hard cock in the seconds before I plunged, desperate, into the chill water.
"Push your shorts down."
I do, obedient and still stroking, even though I know it's a terrible idea. Risk heaped upon risk; a quick cover-up even less possible, now, should someone stumble upon what we're doing out here in the street.
That danger teetering against the thrill of it all. Of Aidan's gaze, and how good it feels to stroke myself, and of the memory of being pinned down to Riley's kitchen table as my holes were filled.
"If Haley had put out, would any of this have happened?" Aidan sounds genuinely curious, not judgmental. Then again, he's hardly held back from telling me I should break up with her.
I frown, considering the suggestion. Not like I'd have said no, had my girlfriend been amenable to hooking up. And I could blame, certainly, that six months or so of forced celibacy for lowering what reserve was there to begin with.
Only that can be true, but I also can't now ignore the fact that sex with Haley wouldn't have got my ass plowed, or my throat reamed out. That going to bed with her would've had to be a soft thing, a gentle one: lovemaking, not the rutting, grabbing, squeezing, bruising fuck that I now know my friends are capable of. That I now know I enjoy so much.
"It wouldn't be the same," I tell him, and watch Aidan nod.
I figure he understands what I'm struggling to put into words. He's watched me sweat, and gasp, and beg for more, after all. Has felt my heels at his hips, pulling him in closer as he nailed me.
"Did your ass close up yet?" He grins, as he asks it.
"You ain't that big," I tease back, casting a withering glance at his crotch.
Still, there's a shiver of apprehension when I reach back, push a finger between my cheeks. Not sure what I'll find, there; what Harper and Aidan might've done to my hole, and Riley and Chance before them.
Soft flesh, but not tender, not sore. My brain flashes back to one hot day in that summer spent poolside; some dad of a former classmate casting an appraising eye down my barely-clad form, and observing I "had the body for that suit."
Maybe now I have the body to get fucked.
Spit makes the first finger slide in easier, my ass squeezing as my cock swells a little in my fist. Barely any protest from my hole as I pump that digit, and a ripple through me of something close to disbelieving delight at how readily the second grinds in alongside it. My hips automatically bucking, pushing back against one hand and then driving my cock through the other.
"Fuck, look at you," Aidan says, and there's so much in those four words, in his tone, I don't have the mental capacity to unpack it. Can only grin back at him, a smile that's goofy and wide, as my ankles pull at the shorts stretched taut between them.
"Don't hold back, bro," I tell him.
Aidan smiles, shaking his head. "Not my scene, dude."
It's a little firecracker of curiosity; a sudden, burning-bright need to know what, exactly, Aidan's scene might be. I figured I knew my friends well, until now. Funny how having them screw you makes it clear that's not necessarily the case.
He checks his watch. "Come on, dude. Cream the sidewalk and let's get on with shit. I'm thirsty over here."
I laugh, but still stroke myself harder. Firmer, and more intentional, as the two fingers inside myself become three, and that warm, unbelievable sense of stretching and friction spreads through my crotch.
I'm only just in time, breaking my eye-contact with Aidan, to look down and see my dick belch out the first, heavy blast of cum. Splattering a good couple of feet ahead of me, streaks of white against the concrete, as my ass clamps down on my fingers while the second, third, fourth volleys haphazardly spray.
It's not so much regret I feel, as the staticky hiss of the orgasm fades and I reach down to awkwardly yank up my shorts. Something closer to astonishment; confusion, perhaps, that I can be so horny, doing something like this in a public place feels like a good idea.
Then again, we didn't get caught, so maybe it's not so bad.
It's like Aidan can read my mind, somehow. Smirking, as I look up at him.
"You know there's a camera, right?"
I follow the direction he's pointing, to the flat glass lens of the security camera mounted on the side of the liquor store. Its housing is battered and dirt-streaked, but it's too much to hope that means the hardware inside is similarly unreliable.
Aidan laughs, when I turn back to him.
"Your face, bro. You should see yourself right now."
It's not myself I'm worried about seeing, I want to remind him, it's whoever might be at the other end of that camera. Only I'm pretty sure that would only encourage him to tease me even more.
That is, after all, what I'd be doing, were the roles reversed.
I flick my hand, shaking off the last dregs of my load, then square my shoulders and wink at him.
"Maybe we'll get a discount, for the free show, then," I suggest.
Aidan laughs again. "Half-price beer, if we let the sales guy fuck you over the counter, maybe."
I flip him off, and try to ignore the fact that my brain didn't immediately rebel at the suggestion.
Thank you for reading, and for your comments and ratings! If, like me, you've been melting in the heat lately, you might feel some sympathy for Ezra in my story "A Neighborly Seduction" - though to be fair, he does have a bunch of horny, exhibitionist college guys to distract him!
