I jerk off three times, when I get home.
First in the shower, a thousand pinpricks of heat washing Riley's sweat and cum from me. Almost needing to pluck up courage to dip my fingertips between my cheeks; to see how those strangers have changed my body with their toying and groping.
Only it's not some shocking, cavernous hole, even as I press my soaped forefinger inside - relief and disbelief sparring in my chest, as I contort to explore myself - and my cock is hard before I even realize it. My forehead against the cold tiles, stroking frantically to the water's white noise and the rasp of my own breathing.
Only a minute, barely more, before I'm spraying my feet. My ass fluttering and clenching around my finger, and no way not to wonder if that's what Colby and Theo felt as I dumped my load in Riley.
Still hard, then, as the shower head drips and I towel myself with desperate intensity. Wanting the friction to distract me, to score the memories from my brain, and yet only becoming more and more aware of my tingling muscles. Until I have to jerk off again, my body still damp, hair a mess; arm braced on the countertop as I work myself over the sink. Confused, and angry with myself for feeling that way, and the orgasm a tight and twisting thing, dragged from me as I remember the way Riley's skin stuck to mine. The kiss and release of it, as he arched his back while I worked his hardness with the callouses on my palm.
And then a final time, in bed, in the darkness, in the soft familiarity of sheets that should've been washed yesterday or the day before that. An instinctive, animal thing, trying to muster the mental images of Haley that I knew I should be picturing, and then - those fantasies denied me, loaded in ways I was too tired to process - of girls in general. Porn stars, and girlfriends-of-friends, and glimpses of cute asses and tits, and blowjob lips, and none of it sticking until Riley's smirk and the memory of Harper's coughing, choking, wide-eyed hunger to have his throat fucked harder and deeper. Tears soaking his cheeks as my fingers bunched tighter in his hair, and my best friend's brother's whispering permission at the curve of my ear.
Barely anything left in me, my body clenching, muscles protesting and my cock feeling raw.
It's too dangerous to go back, I know.
I can't trust myself there, I know that too.
The little green "I'm online" bubble is lit, next to Harper's name, as I thumb my way down the list of conversations.
"Did you really just hit on Riley?"
I hit send before I can stop and think about it; before I can give myself a chance to make excuses, list off all the reasons why bringing this up is a terrible idea. The sort of decision which only ends up in more questions, and answers you don't necessarily want to hear.
"Seemed like a good idea at the time," Harper sends back.
I can hear it, in his voice, his deadpan delivery. He's quiet, compared to me and Chance, but he's funny. Funniest of the four of us, most probably; a dry, sharp sort of humor, all the more pleasing for his shyness.
"You knew he'd be up for it?" It's not quite the question I want to ask, but a version that feels safer.
"It was a risk."
That's the problem, with not being brave enough to ask the things you actually want to know. You don't get the answers to those unspoken questions.
"I mean," Harper adds, "you're the one who started jerking off while we were all there in the room."
It's like being told about a different version of myself, a mirror universe Lincoln.
"Seemed like a good idea at the time," I say, stealing his words.
I can picture him rolling his eyes.
"Did you have sex with him?"
I stare at his message, until the screen goes dim.
"What did he tell you?"
"I was fishing," Harper admits. "So, who fucked who?"
I probably ought to bristle, at that. See it as a possible slight on my manliness, or some shit. Only it's not like I can forget being on my hands and knees on Riley's couch, ass hiked up, with him and Harper behind me taking eager turns to lick my hole. The memory is otherworldly, but I probably wouldn't have protested too strongly, too loudly, had one of them had tried to nail me.
"I fucked him." It's weird, seeing those words written out under my name. "He said you'd be pissed, that I didn't fuck you first."
"He's more competitive, I mostly just play along."
Maybe it's my ego talking, but I'm not quite ready to let that slide. Not after how Riley made it sound.
"So you're not sad, that you didn't take my dude-sex cherry?" I tease.
"Still time for that," he fires back.
I swallow, unnerved again. Trying to imagine what'd it'd be like to look down, and see Harper's narrow body sandwiched between my thighs. Or to feel his hands on my hips as I rock on all-fours, his cock sawing inside of me.
"You wish," I tell him, because treating this as anything other than a joke feels far too much for me right now.
It's easier leave his "Yeah, I do" reply unopened.
I want to talk to Chance, that's the problem. Not about the stuff that's been happening with his brother - honestly, I don't know if he'll ever be able to talk about that without blowing his top - but just generally. Shoot the shit, joke about dumb crap, and tease each other. The things that seemed so normal to do, before; the things that best buddies do. He'd laugh at me, call me a fucking wuss, if I told him I missed him. That doesn't mean he wouldn't feel the same way, or at least, that's what I really hope he's feeling.
I frown, as I stare at my phone and the last messages we sent each other. Something terse and inconsequential; the text bubbles only seem important now, a few days later, because of the silence in-between.
"I'm going for a run, you in?"
Like before, I press send before I can overthink it. Before my brain can rewrite it and then rewrite it again, as though there's a better way to extend an olive branch when you've just fucked your closest friend's older brother.
It's a weird sensation, relief and yet a sort of clenching in my stomach, when I see Chance's "OK" pop up on the screen.
And so I put my shorts on, and a ratty old t-shirt with the sleeves torn off, and a baseball cap, and pull on the battered old sneakers I run in, and I head out. Not fast, but not slow, either. The sort of lope that you can keep up for mile after mile.
He's waiting on the sidewalk, at the end of the driveway, when I turn the corner. Stretching his legs, those show-off neon yellow running shoes - the ones he insists are better for your form - practically glowing in the sun.
I don't slow, or even turn my head. Just hear him fall into step alongside me.
We used to race, back when we were kids. Couldn't help ourselves: rivalry, even if it was good-natured, a core component of our friendship. If Chance dunked the basketball five times, I had to do six. If Chance ate three hotdogs at dinner, I had to eat four. A run like this would automatically turn into a competition, and then into a sprint, until scant minutes later we were both sweaty and panting. Arguing over who, exactly, had passed whatever arbitrary finish line we'd decided on first.
It was good fun, but shitty cardio, that's what we eventually conceded. And so, maybe the one thing out of everything we did together, running was where rivalry was out of bounds.
Something reassuring, about the synchrony of our footsteps. Like a heartbeat: our friendship not quite dead yet, even after everything I'd done.
"How's Haley?"
Asked with blithe, bland indifference, and that's why I know the question is so loaded. Because usually, Chance wouldn't waste an opportunity to say something sly about my love-life.
I don't call him out on it, though.
"Good, I guess."
"You guess?"
I want to tell him the truth, which is that I'm scared to see her. Feeling guilty, too, about the reasons for that fear. I know I should feel bad, for having cheated on her with Riley, and I guess with Harper, too. A good boyfriend, a normal boyfriend, would be busy thinking of ways to make it up to her; ways to pacify the guilt, some, and redeem himself even if his girlfriend never discovered why he was suddenly being so much more thoughtful.
Maybe I'm fucked in the head, then, because I'm more worried that I'll see Haley and regret nothing.
"She's been busy," I say, flatly.
The sidewalk rolls out beneath us. At the end of the last block, by silent assent, we turn right. Crossing the road into the woods, the gravel path wide enough for us to still run abreast.
"Are you really gonna marry her?"
I blink, surprised at his question. And angry, somehow, too; as if we'd already agreed, in our respective quiet, that talking about my relationship was off-limits.
"How the fuck should I know," I snap.
Chance snorts. "So touchy."
"Well, how's your fucking love life, then?"
I can feel his eyes on me, the stare somehow hot against the side of my head.
"Same old, same old."
Chance gets bitches, that's what we say. He doesn't keep them, doesn't go much further than a date or three and screwing them, but he gets bitches.
"You're such a fuckboy," I tell him.
The insult won't sting, I know; he's heard it plenty of times before.
"Can't help it, if I'm popular."
"Sounds like something a fuckboy would say."
He grunts, and I'm not sure if it's in amusement or annoyance. "And what're you, then?"
I shrug. "Same as I've always been."
"Funny," Chance says, coolly, "I don't remember you getting your dick out randomly, any time before this week."
"Get over it, dude."
I'm a dozen or so steps down the path, when I realize the sound of footsteps on gravel has halved. Turn back, to see Chance is standing, watching me. An expression of something like frustrated disbelief on his face.
"Do you even feel bad about it?"
The frown is instinctive. "Bad about what?"
He practically gapes at me. "Dude, he's my fucking brother."
I force myself to hold his stare. "What about him?"
It's a self-serving question, really, because I need to know which aspect of the fucked-up shit I've been doing lately that I'm meant to be feeling guilty for.
"Are you gay, now?"
I can't help the laugh. "Bro, come on."
Chance's cheeks are flushed. "He was..."
If I keep watching him, keep holding his eye, he'll either have to finish that sentence of give up on it.
After a few, long seconds, Chance shakes his head. "Whatever," he says, sourly.
"Look, it's not a big deal."
"What isn't?" His reply comes fast, and sharp, like a lash. "It's not a big deal that you're fucking guys, now, or it's not a big deal that you're messing with my fucking brother?"
"Riley and I are just joking around." I shrug, like anything more complicated than that is a distraction.
"I know my brother, dude."
I frown at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Chance just makes a face, refusing to meet my eye.
"And are you giving Harper the third degree about this shit, too?" I'm not sure why it comes out so angrily, with such obvious frustration. Not like I don't know that's just bait, showing someone you're worked up, when you've been friends with them for so long that they know all your buttons to press.
"Harper's different."
I throw my arms up, exasperated by the double-standard. "And why's that, then? Why am I the one getting the inquisition treatment, and he fucking isn't?"
"Because I already knew he's into dudes!" It comes out close to a shout, Chance biting down a split-second later. As if he's hoping he can chew back the volume, even though the words have already escaped.
It probably looks ridiculous, the way I'm blinking at him, but I can't help it. "How?" I ask, eventually.
Chance makes a gesture, something close to indecipherable. "He didn't lock his phone."
There's not enough detail, there, but at the same time, more than enough. I mean, what could you figure out about my interests, the things I pictured when I was jerking off, if you looked at my browser history?
I want to ask him when, how long he's known for, but I can't. Because all those questions circle round to "Why didn't you tell me?" I can't complain about double-standards, can't give Chance shit for not spilling Harper's secrets, while expecting to keep tight hold of mine.
The muscles in my jaw feel tight, almost aching with the way I'm clenching them. Only the messages from my brain, telling them to ease up, aren't making it through.
"And are you okay with that?"
It's a fucking stupid question, or at least it should be. Not like Chance hasn't had long enough to get used to having a gay brother, after all. But there's a part of me that knows, despite how okay Chance might be with Riley's sexuality, there's still room for it to be different when it's a friend.
"I don't care."
It's delivered grumpily enough that I can't help but snort. "So why do you sound like you hate the idea?"
He makes a face. "Just... him and my brother. Fuck."
I don't know how much he knows, about the shit Riley and Harper have done together. I mean, I hardly know the details myself. So it doesn't feel too sneaky to simply play dumb.
"What about him and your brother?"
The expression Chance flashes me leaves little question that my acting skills aren't gonna make me a movie star.
"It's just... weird. The thought of them hooking up."
"So don't think about it?" I shrug.
Chance hisses, in frustration. "You know they've been fucking. Is that meant to be okay?"
'Okay' is about the blandest word you could use, to describe how it feels to nail another guy, I'm tempted to tell him. Only considering I'd be using the example of his older brother, it doesn't seem the right time.
"Are you pissed off because it's Harper, because it's Riley, or what?"
Chance and his brother get on, even with all the sniping and the sarcasm, and Riley reminding him that we always crash at his place, and drink his beer, and his younger brother can be an ungrateful brat about it. It's what makes the weird, competitive edge that Chance brings to the relationship seem so much more strange. Like he can't quite help but see Riley as a benchmark for what's possible, ignoring the age gap and getting frustrated at everyone - himself most of all - that he hasn't achieved the same things, at the same time.
"Would you want your friend and your brother hooking up?"
"I don't have a brother," I remind him.
He rolls his eyes. "You know what I mean."
"It's Harper." I shrug, as if that explains, justifies, it all. "Can you really be pissed at Harper?"
Chance's lips tighten. "So, I should be pissed at Riley, then?"
That wasn't what I meant, but I should probably have guessed that it'd be how my friend heard it.
"You just have to let people do their own shit," I say, instead of letting myself get dragged into a "who's worse" argument.
"Including you?" He stares at me, eyes narrowing. "You and my brother?"
The 'and' there is doing a lot of heavy lifting, I want to tell him, but I'm still kinda annoyed and picking apart the nuances of one syllable words feels like a waste of time. "Not good enough for him, am I?" I sneer.
He's angry, too, I realize. Angrier than I thought, anyway. In my face in a moment, the tip of his finger barely an inch from my nose.
"Can't you just be normal?" It comes out of him like a curse.
I slap his hand away. There's something oddly satisfying about letting the frustration bubble over; like drawing out a splinter that's been stuck inside your palm for days.
"Big words from someone who's so fucking neurotic," I spit back. "So I jacked off on your brother's couch, big fucking deal. If you ask me, you're the weird one, for getting so worked up about it."
It's strange, being this close to him. Near enough to see in perfect detail how Chance's nostrils flare, and his lips tighten.
"What's the matter, dude," I add. My voice quieter now, more goading. "Worried you'll see my dick and start drooling?"
"Fuck you, Lincoln."
I'd swear I could feel his breath on me.
"Maybe Riley's not the only cocksucker in the family, is that it?"
It's unfair, and wrong, and I know it's both those things as soon as the words leave my lips. Because it didn't feel like a slur, when Riley said it about Harper, more like a term of endearment or something. And hell, it wasn't like I hadn't worried that I wouldn't be so good at sucking dick when I had Chance's brother's inches pushing at my throat.
But I know how Chance will hear it now.
I see his eyes go wide a split second before he shoves me. My brain too slow to catch on, to prepare for it. Nothing for me to do, but pinwheel my arms as I topple back, and barely a moment to be grateful that I hit the greenery at the side of the path and not the gravel itself.
"Dude!"
The exclamation smothered before the word is barely out, as he lands on me. Fists bunched in my shirt, dragging my head up off the ground as he shakes me furiously.
I grab his wrists, and twist us with my legs.
Chance slams down on his back with a grunt. Fingers loosening their grip, only for a moment but it's enough for me to wrench his hands away. Pin them, almost above his head, and then lean my bodyweight into them as I pant and my heart hammers in my chest. Adrenaline and shock still spitting like hot fat.
"Calm the fuck down!"
It's a stupid request, I know, because when has telling an angry person to "calm down" ever achieved anything useful.
He's staring at me like he wants to kill me. Cheeks flushed, breath coming in sharp jags. His pupils vast, and the heat of him fierce underneath me, between my thighs where they're spread across his hips.
"Did you fuck him?"
Who do you owe the greater loyalty to? Your best friend, or the guy you screwed, who just so happens to be your best friend's brother?
Maybe I know the answer to that, deep down. My answer, anyway. Or maybe the 'cocksucker' thing still smarts.
"Yeah," I tell him.
Chance's glare is flaying. It's so close to how Riley has looked at me, I have to fight the urge to turn away.
"Did he fuck you?"
I shake my head. "No."
His jaw shifts, like he's chewing on too many questions and none of them are pleasant.
"Why not?"
I sit up, blinking at him in surprise. Half-expecting him to push me off him, to sit - maybe even to try to hit me again, or whatever it was he was intending to do before - only Chance just lays there. Arms still extended up, above his head, and his eyes searching my face.
"I... I don't know why not," I say, finally. It's the truth, or at least the best I can remember the truth to be.
I expect him to call me ridiculous, or a liar, or something worse, but he doesn't.
"Did you enjoy it?"
I grunt, feeling awkward. "Dude, come on..."
Chance's stare drops, conspicuously. "I think that says you did."
I'm not even sure when I got hard, what it was that left my dick straining so urgently, so obviously, in my shorts.
When I look at his face again, I expect to see disgust there, or amusement. Chance's expression is very nearly blank, though. Practically unreadable.
"Did you think of Haley, when you fucked my brother?"
I can answer him honestly, at least, even if I can't explain it.
"No."
"Are you thinking about her now?"
My throat feels tight, like I've forgotten how to swallow.
"No."
He's going to freak out, to get mad at me again, I know he is. Some blank-faced clock counting down to when things are gonna get ugly.
"Did you cum in him?"
"Dude!" It comes out as a hiss, shock stealing volume.
Chance snorts, softly. "You'll jerk off in front of me, you'll fuck my brother, but asking that's the step too far?"
"Why do you want to know?" I can hear the sullen edge in my voice, the whine from when we were kids.
"We're meant to be best friends, aren't we?"
We are. Not just some bullshit 'meant to be,' either: we totally are best friends. I'd fucking fight anyone who said otherwise, Chance included.
I can't escape the feeling that he knows that, can see that, in the way I'm looking down at him now.
"Did you raw dog my brother, dude?" Chance doesn't even sound angry, now, though I'm not sure that feels any better. "Did my best friend breed my fucking brother's ass?"
Maybe I'm a total monster, because my cock is absolutely throbbing at him saying those words.
"You're thinking about it now, aren't you. What it felt like to unload in him."
The nod I give him is jerky, my muscles all halfway to seized up.
Chance looks down again, then smirks at me. "You wanna jerk off, at the thought of it, don't you."
I can't bear to look at my crotch, at the way I know my shorts must be tented out. There's probably a big fucking wet patch, where I've drooled all the way through them.
"No." One syllable, and it comes out like nails on a chalkboard.
"Liar." Chance's reply coming rattlesnake fast. "You were so fucking cocky, on his couch. Couldn't wait to whip your dick out then, could you. What happened, Lincoln? When did you turn into such a little bitch?"
"Fuck you."
When I said that to his brother, Riley asked me if I wanted him on all-fours or on his back. I have different expectations for Chance.
"Pussy," he sneers.
My hand is on my junk before I even realize it, squeezing through the straining fabric. Even that, skin separated, feels amazing.
"That's right, asshole, play with that little thing."
It's the voice he knows I hate, the one Chance uses when he's beating me at some stupid video game. Goading me to overtake him, or get the right combo to knock his fighter out, and all it does is make me see red and overreact. Just, I'm sure, what he always wants me to do.
"It was big enough to make your brother moan," I spit back at him.
Chance rolls his eyes, like I'm so full of shit he can't believe he ever took me seriously.
A shove, and the waistband of my shorts is tight under my balls. My cock already in my hand, and it only takes one stroke before there's precum all down my shaft and I can hear the thick squelch of my fist.
"So fucking predictable," Chance says, like he had no doubt whatsoever that our run would end up with me sat on top of him, jacking off.
It's a different look, the one he's giving me, compared to how his brother watched me. Competitive, somehow: as though he's daring me to keep going, to keep rubbing my dick while I stare down at him.
"You fuck Harper yet, then?"
I push my hips forward, body working on instinct, fucking myself through my fist's tight grip. Know, a split-second later, that Chance will have felt that movement. Will know just how much that possibility turned me on.
"No," I manage to grate out, my jaw clenched.
"But you've thought about it." A statement, not a question, delivered with a wolf's grin.
"What's the matter," I snap back, "going through a dry spell?"
He makes that 'you're ridiculous' noise again. Somewhere between a snort and a grunt. "Why, you wanna picture it?"
I didn't, I never had before, but now suddenly it's all I can think about. The mental images crowding into my brain, muscling their way between the memory of Riley hissing as I sank balls-deep into him, and of Harper's wide-eyed, dreamy stare up my body as his lips stretched taut around my shaft. A third TV screen, this one showing my best friend pounding some faceless chick as he smirks at the imaginary camera. Looking straight through it, to me on the other side, as he raises an arm and clenches his bicep. Dares me to look away, as his sweat-slicked crotch slaps against bouncing cheeks.
My head jerks, as I feel the drool down my chin. Knowing it's too late, that there's no way Chance hasn't noticed it too.
He doesn't call me out on it, though. Just watches me, expression intense and unflinching, his arms still above his head.
"Was he tight? I always figured my brother was a slut."
It shouldn't be possible, for a few words to make your balls feel like they're gonna twist themselves inside out. I have to force myself to slow down my strokes; not to chase the orgasm that's suddenly perilously within reach.
"Yeah," I tell him, not sure whether I'm betraying Riley's confidence or defending his honor.
Chance makes a face. "Tighter than a girl?"
He's not done anal. Or at least, if he has, he's lied to me about never having tried it.
"Much tighter."
There's part of me that wants to reach behind myself, to grope at Chance's crotch and see if he's boned up, too. Only that seems a step too far. Like taking advantage, despite the fact I'm already straddling him and jerking off while he watches me, and quizzes me on what it was like to nail his older brother.
"I thought he was gonna fuck you," Chance says, casually. Far more casually than a statement like that deserves.
My shrug is lopsided. I'm not going to tell him how my cock just throbbed - swelling noticeably in my fist - at the idea of it.
"Would you do it?" He's watching me intently, now. My face, though I know he'll be able to see my hand's movements in his peripheral vision.
In Riley's bedroom, or his basement, I knew I would've said yes. It's not even knowledge that causes some sort of mental anguish, or confusion: just this burning bright awareness that sure, if he'd suggested I'd graduated from fingers and tongues, to having cock pushed inside me, I'd have gone along with it. Maybe it's fucked up, that I'm not freaking out about that, but it's the truth.
It's only now, with my best friend waiting for an answer, that the truth feels genuinely dangerous.
"I don't know."
"Liar," Chance says, just as fast as the last time. "Don't worry, Lincoln: maybe you'll get lucky, and Haley will put on a strap-on and fuck you. After you put a ring on her finger, that is."
"Picturing it, are you?"
He curls his lip. "What, you squealing like a little girl as you get your love-nut pounded? Wishing it was a real cock instead?"
I should be angry, furious, but arousal has squeezed out every other feeling. One hand flailing on my dick, I grab at Chance's sweaty t-shirt and drag it up to his neck. Pin it there, my fingers bunched in the fabric, arm braced with my fist against his collarbone, as the pleasure surges through me.
I want to believe I can hear it, the wet slap of cum against his chest. The sound of it splattering across his skin, as the climax twists in me near-painfully. Tempted to close my eyes, to focus on nothing but the intensity of that pleasure and how it overwhelms me, only Riley's stare is inescapable. Holding my gaze, his face a mere foot and a half from mine, as I shudder and groan atop him.
Panting hard, I sit up again. Mortified, suddenly, by the long white streaks across my best friend's torso. Like I've branded him, somehow.
There's a scorch of red across each of his cheekbones. I'm not sure if it's from fury, or something else.
"You need to clean that shit up."
It's a demand, an order. Not barked out, though; delivered with the sharp certainty of someone who knows they'll be obeyed.
Blushing, I bend to run my tongue across the curve of his ribs.
It's thick, and sharp, and slimy in my mouth. Overloading my tastebuds in an instant, as I lap practically to Chance's nipple and then repeat the motion again, and again. Shifting, each time, and feeling his chest expand and fall with his breathing. His skin smooth as I lick across it, and the smell of us both filling my nostrils.
"Fuck, that tickles."
Chance shoves me back, squirming under me. Apparently more upset that I've discovered how ticklish he is, than he was at my blowing my load across him.
I sit back, with a jolt. Further down his body, this time, and his erection unmistakable beneath my cheeks.
For a moment he just stares at me. Shirt still shoved halfway up his chest, the trails of wet from my tongue still visible on his skin. His eyes wide, nostrils flared.
I let myself settle, just a little more, into his lap. Feel, in response, the way his cock flexes against my ass.
Another shove sends me sprawling. Harder, this time, with an anger that borders on desperation. Chance ignoring my hiss of pain, as the sharp gravel cuts into my palms as I try to catch myself. Scrabbling to stand, his frantic stare hardening into a glare as he yanks his t-shirt back down.
"What the fuck, dude?" It comes out of me as a yell, my hands already stinging.
His glance down, at where his shorts are tented out, says it's his cock not my bleeding skin that he's focused on now.
"Shut up!"
I've heard that tone before, that borderline-frantic edge to my friend's voice. When we were kids and he was biting back the tears, desperate I not see him crying. When he and his first girlfriend split up, Chance mulishly insisting that he didn't care, that he wasn't bothered.
"Dude," I say, again. Even though I know he's no longer really listening.
"Fuck you, Lincoln." My name sounds like a second curse on his tongue.
Chance turns, and runs down the path we just came up.
Thanks for reading, and for your comments and ratings! I have a mailing list - it's free to sign up, and you get a free short story in the process - if you want to get a very occasional email about my latest writing. If you're interested, you can sign up at my site, as well as find links to all my other stories...
