I swear, I can feel Chance unload in me.
The throb of his cock, jerking as he buries himself deep. His hands gripping my waist in something close to desperation, pinning me in place despite my best efforts to keep up the tilting, rolling motion of my hips.
I'm about to start pounding him on the chest, demanding that he let me work the deliciously flared head of his dick against that spot in my ass which makes me see stars, when he relents. Shifting forward, his arms wrapping my chest as he hugs me. Our sweaty skin almost too hot, scalding, as if from the friction of our unexpected sex.
Chance chuckles, as I try to grind my erection against his abs.
"You'll get your turn."
I hiss - in frustration, in need - and pull at his arms, but his hands must be locked behind me. I'm no weakling, but it'd take more than my fuck-exhausted muscles to pry him loose.
"Dude come on!" Just one hand, that's all I want. One hand shoved between us, a few meager fingers working the head of my prick. I know it'll only take seconds before I'm spewing uncontrollably.
He lifts me, instead - standing as if my weight is nothing, a fraction of what he can bench - his flushed face inches from mine. Looking disheveled, but his smirk still glinting.
"What's the matter, bro?" All fake innocence, like he thinks I can't see through his bullshit.
I glare at him, squirming in the cage of his arms. "Just let me get off."
Chance makes a tutting noise, as if I'm being ridiculous. "You don't wanna savor the afterglow with me? You don't like having my dick in you, like this?"
It's a tough question to answer, frankly, because I do like it. Love it, even: the fullness of my best friend's still-hard cock stretching me. It should feel wrong, I know plenty of people would say that, but something in my brain has been irrevocably rewired.
"I just wanna cum," I tell him, making no effort to temper my whining tone.
He laughs again, and the movement of it rubs my dick some more, and I shudder at the frustrating, taunting buzz of not-quite-enough sensations.
I'm still trying to decide, if it's worth giving up that hole-gaping sensation of him buried in me, when Chance yanks me off his dick and unceremoniously dumps me on the kitchen floor.
Not quite dropping me, no, but hardly gentle, either. Surprise more than pain leaving me breathless on the cheap linoleum, stunned just long enough for him to drop to a crouch between my splayed thighs and then - still smirking - flip me over onto my belly.
"W-wait..."
He doesn't, though. Gives no sign of hearing me, in fact, or at least no indication that my words might make the slightest difference to what he now has in mind.
Strong hands on my hips again, and then a sharp tug. Enough to drag me across the floor, now slippery with sweat, as Chance pulls my hips up and my fingers scrabble for purchase.
"Dude, I'm starting to think you're never gonna tighten up again." Entertained, like this is all some fucking joke to him.
Outrage escapes me in a breathless squeak, but he's not paying attention.
And then, a split-second later - as Chance's tongue rasps across my wide-open hole - all thoughts of indignation left in my brain evaporate, too. Nothing there but the dizzying realization of what my best friend intends for me next.
He jerks my hips higher, my thighs spread across his. Practically straddling his lap, my face pressed into the floor as he hoists my backside up higher still.
"Can't believe the shit I do for you, bro," Chance mutters, sounding as much bemused as annoyed.
It's an honest-to-god squeal that erupts from me, when his mouth latches onto my hole. The sort of thing that my best friend would tease me mercilessly over, frankly, only he's kinda distracted right now.
He'll eat pussy, but not ass, that's what Chance has always insisted, only now I'm not so convinced. Figure he must've been holding out on me, hiding some seriously freaky tendencies from his closest buddy, because nothing about what's going on between my cheeks feels unwilling or even tentative.
Tongue jabbing deep, working its way past muscles fucked into exhausted compliance, as his thumbs gape me wider. Like he's intent on licking out every last drop of cum he just dumped in me. Strong fingers squeezing me tight, pinning me in place as I shudder and drool onto the floor.
I couldn't resist, even if I wanted to. Body limp, a puppet with its strings cut. I want to reach for my cock, stroke myself as these incredible, illicit sensations ripple through me, only that'd require limbs that could still move. Fingers good for anything beyond scraping, pointlessly and mindlessly, for traction that just won't come, as Chance floods my body with impossible pleasure.
"Fuck." The curse comes out as a gasp as he pulls back from me, panting. "I taste good in you."
My cock throbs; it's one of the nastiest, kinkiest things I've ever heard my best friend say.
I squirm, as his fingers push inside me. Twisting, and pumping, and digging: my muscles far beyond the point of any resistance, not that I want them to. Not when it feels so good, to be spread across Chance's strong thighs like this, my ass upturned, open to whatever he pleases to do to me.
"Four fingers in you, bro." It sounds like he's lost somewhere between pride and disbelief.
No way not to picture Chance's wide, long fingers. How they look in the gym, his grip tight on the bar as he lifts, and how they must look now, working my well-gaped hole.
"You think you could take two dicks at once?"
We've joked about it before: the two of us and one girl. Just straight guy bullshit, where you're mostly laughing but there's a flutter of excitement in your groin all the same.
I've pictured it while I've jerked off, too: Chance on his back on the bed, some girl astride him, and how I'd work my cock inside her alongside his thick shaft. Or the opposite, how it'd feel to look up - past whatever chick was sitting on my inches - and see my best buddy grinning down at me. The tightness around me, the heat, as his swollen dick helped me stretch her out.
I'd not imagined it how he's suggesting it now, though. Not with me as the pussy.
Even with four of his fingers in me, I can't fathom how it could ever work with two guys. Not with what's hanging between Chance's legs, anyway: on his own, it's enough to make me feel like he could split me in two.
But that doesn't mean the idea of it isn't hot. Isn't enough to have me groaning at the mental image, as I try to picture who'd be tagged in to help ruin me.
Jason, maybe, or Aidan. Perhaps the extra tightness would encourage them to slow down, ease up on the jackrabbit thrusts. Chance already got the thought of them spit-roasting me lodged in my brain, but there's nothing to say they couldn't share the same hole instead.
Or Harper, his body so different to how Chance looks. The contrast made even more stark, as they timed their thrusts to spread me extra-wide.
I whine, spit bubbling on my lips, as Chance splays his fingers in me. Almost like he read my mind just then, and wanted to give me a taste of what that could feel like.
"I think you wanna try," he teases, reaching underneath me to pull my dick back.
Hard somehow doesn't begin to describe it, not any more. Hard's what you get when you're horny, when you're turned on: not the borderline-painful rigidity when you've crashed through arousal and your brain is a dense fog of primitive, mindless hunger.
I have to tilt my hips, arch my back more, because otherwise it feels like my cock could snap off. Chance tugging it through the spread of my thighs, as I gibber with wordless desperation and try to hump myself against his fingers.
When he pinches my swollen tip between his fingertips, I swear I see fucking stars.
Vision tunneling, brain in utter meltdown. No way to describe the torrent of sensations boiling through me, as he nips and squeezes my hyper-sensitive flesh.
I find my voice as his nail rakes across the broad flare of my cockhead, practically wailing into the linoleum as I wriggle bonelessly in his lap.
"Your hole's going fuckin' wild, bro." Chance sounds delighted by his new discovery. "Fuck, we're doin' this next time I'm breedin' you."
The words are sinking into my brain as if through deep water. I know I should understand them, but what he's doing to my junk - part howling pleasure, part exquisite torture - leaves so little room for comprehension.
He spits, and I feel it hit my tingling, goose-pimpling skin. Trickle down to where his fingers are pumping into me, the sound of my body obscenely sloppy.
"You wanna cum, don't you, bro?"
In a better state of mind - fuck, with a mind at all, period - I'd call him out for his teasing tone. Shower him with curses, even. Right now, though, it's borderline whether I could even whimper intelligibly.
Apparently my gurgling, squirming, shuddering response is sufficient. Enough, anyway, to make Chance laugh at me again.
"This is the real Lincoln, isn't it, dude. A fuckin' hole going crazy, and a dick fit to snap off it's so damn hard, and not a single thought left in that pretty head."
In simpler times, I'd probably give him shit for calling me pretty. These are not simpler times.
I whine, in desperation, instead. Even to my own ears, it sounds pitiful.
Chance snorts, and for a moment my hole is suddenly, shockingly empty. Just long enough for him to smack my ass cheek - the sound it makes loud in the little kitchen - and then snort again as I try not to wriggle too much. Even the smallest movement puts more strain on my raging erection in his fist.
"Weird thing is," he continues, as if we're having a conversation right now, "I like you like this, bro. Seems more honest, y'know? No fuckin' mixed-messages."
Considering the "mixed messages" my best friend usually complains about are girls daring to text him after a one-night stand, I'm not sure how much of a compliment that is.
"Anyway," Chance says, as his fingers casually gape me again, "I think Harper had the right idea, is all I'm saying."
It's about the only notice I get, the only warning - a distant memory of Harper's desperate hunger to slobber on my hole - before he's yanking my hips up further. Barely a moment to savor the relief of my cock being released, the sudden easing of tension on my groin, before I'm being upturned even more dramatically. Chance basically dragging my chest across the sweat slicked floor, his arms locked around my upper thighs, as he lifts my well-pounded ass to his mouth.
If it was a wrestling match, this would be it. My moment of defeat, even though it's my pecs not my shoulders pressed into the linoleum. Chance holding my hips immobile, both of his hands on my cock as he feasts on my ass.
It's pleasure, but an otherworldly, terrifying sort. The kind of sensation which leaves you wondering if you'll survive through it: whether you'll come out the other side an addict, forever hooked on your next fix, or simply broken. Each nerve ending cauterized by its own, individual orgasm.
He's not stroking me - his grip on my dick is so tight, I know he must be able to feel each throb as Chance drives his tongue deeper into my hole - but that doesn't matter. There's still a solid chance I'll just blow my load all over his legs anyway.
Even then, I'm not sure he'd stop. Like when he's spotting me at the gym, his demands forever escalating as he pushes my body. He's always expected more from me, my best friend has. Even when I think I've found my limits, Chance is never convinced I can't go further.
This time, though, he may have to concede defeat. The bigger question is how much of my brain will be left functional after that happens.
"Lincoln?!"
It's borderline painful, to drag my head up so that I can see the doorway rather than just Chance's muscular legs spread around me, but I do it anyway. Needing to see if the expression on Haley's face matches the shock and outrage in her voice just now. Part of my brain still insisting I misheard - that it was my conscience yelling, maybe, not my girlfriend having walked in on me and my best buddy hooking up - only I know that's only wishful thinking.
Haley's face is white, her eyes huge as she stares down at us. Like she can't quite believe what her senses are telling her, either.
I guess maybe we both have some wishful thinking going on right now.
Chance sits back, hands still gripping my hips. I can picture how he must look, his mouth and chin smeared with cum and spit. That wide-eyed expression I remember from when we were little kids, and got caught stealing oven-hot cookies or sneaking downstairs to watch TV past bedtime.
"Lincoln?"
It's a question, this time. My name again, only a demand for information: for reasoning, and excuses, and an explanation that isn't the obvious one. The painful one.
"Haley, it's not..."
I don't finish the sentence, because I can't. Telling her that it's not what it looks like, that her eyes are deceiving her - just two good buddies roughhousing on the kitchen floor, no big deal, baby - goes beyond the realm of gaslighting. And Haley isn't stupid, even if she's uptight.
"All the times I told my sister she was wrong, when she said you'd cheat on me."
There's disgust there, heavy in her voice, but sadness with it. A heady, heavy mixture that makes me want to grab her and hold her tight. A hug that might squeeze out the bad feelings I know I'm responsible for.
"There's... there's never been another girl," I stutter out, instead.
From her instantly scornful expression, I know that was the wrong thing to say.
"Clearly," Haley agrees, her voice dripping ice.
Chance's hold on me eases. I wish I could say I drop down onto all fours with something close to grace, but that'd be a lie, too.
"So were you laughing at me, all this time?" She bites her lip, watching me as I stand on shaky legs. "The stupid girlfriend, who didn't have a clue her boyfriend was gay."
I frown, instinctively. "I'm not gay."
Her expression is withering.
"I'm not," I repeat, more sullenly.
The gesture is dismissive, like she can't believe we're getting hung up on words and labels. "And were you planning on keeping this going, after we were married?"
Chance's snort, from behind me, really doesn't help matters. It does get Haley's attention, though.
"I guess this explains why you could never keep a girlfriend," she sneers at him.
"Hey!" It comes out louder than I intend, angrier.
"Oh, what?" She rolls her eyes. "Is your mean girlfriend upsetting your boyfriend, now?"
"He's not my boyfriend."
Haley shakes her head, slowly. As if that's just another example of why I'm indescribably flaky. "What a coincidence, because I'm not your girlfriend any more, either."
"Some loss that is," Chance mutters.
"Talk to me when you don't have my ex's butt-sweat all over your face," Haley snaps.
I can hear the brittle edge in her voice, though. Dated her long enough to recognize what that means; just how close to tears she is. I might've been a shitty boyfriend in a lot of ways, but I wasn't completely blind.
"Look, I'm sorry," I try. Because I am, I really fucking am.
"Sorry you got caught."
I bite back the wince, since yeah, that's part of it. This isn't how I wanted things to end, of course it isn't.
"Sorry I hurt you," I insist. That part's true, too.
Trying to ignore the fact that I'm naked, and sweaty, and still shamefully hard, I take a step closer to her.
Haley matches it, with a step back. Like I'm something dangerous, now; something that can't be trusted.
Actually, maybe her instincts are right.
"You were never going to propose, were you."
I'm not sure if it's a statement or a question.
"It's... none of this is to do with... with that," I tell her. Willing certainty into my tone, desperate for her to believe.
She glances behind me, at where Chance is still sprawled on the floor. It makes me want to turn, to see - despite everything, despite what's happening right now, despite the guilt and shame I'm feeling - just how good my best friend looks, in his post-fuck glow. Interrupted, sure, but I'm pretty confident he's still hot.
I make myself face forward, my eyes on Haley's face. Our eye-contact instant, when she breaks her stare with Chance.
"Guess I had a narrow escape, then," she tells me, and there's something final in that. Not closure, and definitely not forgiveness, but an ending I'm not sure I would ever have dared bring about on my own.
My shrug feels helpless, even though everyone in the room knows just how much of this is my own damn fault.
"I suppose you want me to keep quiet. About... this." Haley makes a face.
I open my mouth, even though I'm not sure what I plan to say. Asking for her discretion sounds like more than I deserve.
"I don't care," Chance says, before I can fumble any words out. He sounds resigned; not so much like all of this is a non-issue, more that he's weighed the pros and cons of arguing the point and settled on it not really being worth the headache. "Whatever, Haley."
For a minute I think she's going to snap at him, say something caustic. Then she just shakes her head.
"You're welcome to him. Just don't expect much."
I watch her turn on her heel and leave.
For long, taut seconds, the kitchen is silent. Long enough, and quiet enough, that I find I'm holding my breath. As if simply the act of exhaling would be sufficient to crack the world through.
"You gave her a fucking key?"
Chance sounds weirdly normal.
I shrug, not ready to turn around yet. "She knew where I hid the spare."
He grunts in disgust. "So, you hid a key to your house where anyone could find it, and you also told your girlfriend where it was, while you were cheating on her." Chance sucks his teeth. "You really are a fuck-up, dude."
My jaw's tight, when I rub it. "Think of the upside," I tell him. "You don't have to write a best man's speech."
His snort has that "I tried to hold it in" edge to it. A roughness that I can still see in his smirk, when I finally turn to face him.
I was right, of course. Chance looks fucking hot as all hell, leaning back on his elbows on the kitchen floor.
Probably not the right time to tell him that, I decide.
"So you don't care? If she spreads it around that we're..." I swallow. "That we've... done stuff, together?"
He makes a face. "My brother can handle it. You think I'm weaker than him?"
Despite everything, I can't help but laugh. "Don't involve me in your sibling rivalry."
No answer to that. Just his arm extended, so I can help pull him to his feet.
Chance doesn't let my hand go, even when he's standing.
"Why, you ashamed of me, or something?"
I frown, not expecting the question. Or, more accurately, not expecting him to be so easygoing at the prospect of my ex's spiteful gossip that the two of us have been hooking up.
"Desperate for compliments all of a sudden?" Teasing him seems easier than any of the alternatives, all of which stray far too close to discussing feelings.
"Well, you'd know all about being desperate, wouldn't you."
My unimpressed glare still isn't anywhere near as caustic as what him and his brother are capable of, but I try it anyway. Not that Chance's amusement seems dimmed by that.
"Maybe it'd provide valuable closure to all the girls you've ghosted lately," I suggest.
"There you go again, with the big words." Chance shakes his head, still grinning. "Maybe those girls were just missing something important."
I wasn't entirely hard, before his fingers wrap around my dick. The argument with Haley acting like a splash of ice water. Now, though, my body is quickly course-correcting.
The way his smirk spreads wider still suggests he's flattered by that.
"Shower time," he tells me.
It should feel ridiculous, being led by my cock like a leash. Down the hallway, and into the bathroom; his hand still gripping my swollen inches as Chance reaches in to twist on the faucet. Sexual - because I still want to cum, and both of us know that - and yet, at the same time, not entirely. Something playful about it, too.
Not long, before the little room is filling with billowing steam.
In one, smooth movement he releases me and then smacks me on the ass. Ignoring my grunt of surprise, as he propels me forward into the cubicle.
Chance is on my heels, the water briefly splashing across me before he's pressing me into the cold tiles on the opposite side. My chest squeezed against them, head turned to look as he sandwiches me in with his body against my back.
"I thought we were showering?"
He laughs, levering his crotch into my ass.
We could fuck again, here, standing up, and I'd be okay with that. More than okay, quite frankly. Or Chance could push me down, to my knees, and I could blow him while I jerk off. Spray my load across his feet, and know that he'd see that arousal, that urgent need, as a compliment rather than something to be ashamed about. Maybe he could finish eating my ass: his tongue squirming inside me, as my fist flails on my dick until I glaze the wall with cum.
So many options, but I can't ignore the little voice that says I want him to nail me again. To feel the pressure of him against my spine, one of his hands across my mouth as the other strokes me in time with his slamming hips. It's not what guys like me are meant to want in life, but then again, maybe all this time guys like me have misunderstood what's really best for them.
It's a strange realization but an oddly refreshing one: truthful, no matter which angle I examine it from. No more cheating on Haley; no more pretending it doesn't feel right, or good, or exactly what that apparently insatiable itch inside me demands.
Just me, and my best friend, and anybody who wants to watch, all ignoring labels for as long as we possibly can.
The End
First, an apology: This final chapter was finished later than I hoped it would be. Sorry for keeping you waiting! Real life got hectic, and sadly writing these stories isn't what pays my bills. I'm late replying to emails, too; I figured you'd all probably prefer me to prioritize a new chapter!
Thank you for coming along with me on Lincoln's journey. I didn't expect the reception to this story to be so positive, and I really appreciate every comment, rating, and message.
Until next time - happy reading!
-Alex
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