It should've been awkward, after that.
Like, "you just hooked up with your closest buds" kind of awkward. "You just gulped down your best friend's cum, and then his older brother filled your ass with his load," levels of it, in fact, topped off with "and then another friend licked it out of your hole."
And then, just to cap things, the last person in the room sprayed cum all over you - and the person with his face eagerly pressed between your cheeks - having just had what you have to figure was his first dude-on-dude makeout session.
Well, probably Aidan's first, anyway. Making assumptions like that had backfired on me a few times already.
So yeah, prime conditions for us all to feel like we'd screwed up massively. Honestly, I expected Chance to be the first to crack, and then the other guys to topple like dominos afterwards. Red faced, tipping over into anger, and me at the sticky center trying to explain why no, this was fine, it wasn't worth a group of people - who'd known each other almost as many years as they'd been alive - to never make eye-contact ever again.
The fact that we were all instead slumped around Riley's basement, drinking beer and bitching about shitty plays in whatever dumb game was on his big TV, was starting to feel like the ominous bit in horror movies. When the music is getting spookier, and you just fucking know that some asshole with a knife or a chainsaw is about to burst through the wall and start chopping people apart.
Maybe it was Riley handing out beer, or maybe it was his apathy about what shit was undoubtedly soaking into his cheap old sectional, but the reckoning part didn't come. If I was uncomfortable, then that was down to the way various fluids I didn't really want to dwell upon were drying on me. My skin felt crunchy, as I dragged on my t-shirt, but my conscience was surprisingly clear.
Right up until the next morning, anyway, and the knock on the front door. Chance's expression difficult to read, beyond the usual disdain as he takes in my bedhead hair and ratty boxer shorts.
"You're so fuckin' lazy, bro."
I flip him off, knuckling my eyes with the other hand. Knowing - and proved correct, as he pushes past me and kicks off his sneakers - that he won't take the gesture personally.
In my tiny kitchen, he starts shoveling coffee grounds into the machine. Ignoring me, as I lean against the wheezing refrigerator and watch him.
The pot's a quarter full before either of us says anything.
"You know my brother's not in love with you, right?"
I snort, surprised. Not that I ever thought Riley would be - honestly, the possibility of him having feelings for me beyond "I wanna fuck that" hadn't even entered my mind - but just that Chance would opt to lead with it.
"Did you think I was pining for him, hoping he'd ask me to go steady?"
He flashes me an unimpressed look, probably because of the clear sarcasm in my grin. "You had no problem spreading your legs for him."
"For someone who has so many one-night stands," I remind him, "you're being weirdly old-fashioned about this shit."
Chance shrugs. "Those girls know what they're getting."
"So do I."
He nods, slowly. "So you're what, fuck buddies?"
It probably should feel strange, that what I'm not so sure about is the "buddies" part. Like I'm not quite qualified to call Riley a friend: his status as Chance's older brother will always take precedence.
"We haven't really talked about it," I settle on.
Chance raises an eyebrow, looking amused. "Yeah, I didn't get the impression that conversation was what he wanted from you."
"Guess that runs in the family," I say, coolly, "what with you having your dick in my mouth last night, too."
I'm working on the principle that there's a fifty-fifty chance he'll either get all outraged and indignant, or furious at me. So it's a surprise, when Chance just shrugs again.
"Is it a compliment, to tell you that you suck cock pretty well?"
Having felt that shiver of delight, when Riley told me much the same thing, I can't exactly accuse his brother of insulting me now.
"Enough to inspire you," I say, instead.
Chance grimaces. "Seemed fair."
I laugh. "A blowjob for a blowjob?"
"Something like that."
I'm not sure if he turns to reach for a clean mug because the coffee pot is finally full, or because he doesn't want me to see his face. Challenging him on it would only turn this all into an argument, so I just wait for him to hand me a second cup.
"I notice you didn't tell me I was good, too."
I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. It's fucking typical, for Chance to be so damn competitive in life that even his talents as a cocksucker are a matter of intense personal pride.
"I got off, didn't I?" I tell him. If he wants more feedback, he's gonna have to man up and ask for it properly.
His expression suggests he hasn't decided whether "I successfully made a dude spew in my mouth" is a good thing or not.
"It doesn't make you gay," I point out, because honestly I'm still tired, the caffeine hasn't had a chance to kick in, and I don't really feel up to some huge defending-my-sexuality argument with him.
He makes a dismissive noise. "I know."
"Because I just thought..."
"Are you trying to convince me," Chance interrupts, "or yourself?"
"Hadn't really thought about it," I lie.
He nods, slowly. "And what about your girlfriend?"
I hide the twist of my mouth behind the mug. Gulp down a mouthful of coffee, even though it's still a little too hot for comfort. "I dunno, I don't think she's gay either."
It'd be easiest if he ran with the joke, played along, but I guess that's too much to hope for.
"You gonna tell her?"
No way not to imagine the awkwardness, the godawfulness, of sitting Haley down and trying to explain that not only had I fucked around, cheated on her, but that it was with a dude. Well, several dudes. I can't hold back the wince.
"Tell her what?"
The problem is, despite how complicated things really could be right now, at the end of the day Chance is my best friend. And that means he knows me, and sees through my bullshit attempts at evasion.
"Okay, so are you gonna stop doing it, then?"
I don't like that those are my options. Even if wanting more makes me a real asshole.
"I'm not gonna start hitting up the gay bars, if that's what you mean," I tell him.
Chance's stare is infuriatingly level. "Who said anything about a bar?"
"Look," I say, because I don't want this to be the conversation we're having and it's easier if it's him that hits the bug-out button on it, "I'm sorry it was your brother, okay?"
"The fact that it's Riley isn't the point."
I grit my teeth, relishing the ache in my jaw for a moment. I kinda needed him to be pissed that it was Riley.
Chance shakes his head again. "Is he really that great a lay?"
I open my mouth to reply.
"Actually," he adds, the words coming out fast, "I don't wanna know."
When I shrug, I feel the cool of the dented refrigerator door rub against my bare shoulders. "I dunno, dude. It just feels... good."
"Better than with a girl?"
He looks genuinely curious.
"Different," I say, and it's true. It's all sex, but it's different sex. "You never talked to your brother about this shit?"
Chance's glare is withering. "Oh, sure. 'Hey bro, what's it like to get butt-fucked?' is practically dinner table conversation when we're visiting our folks."
I mean, he has a point.
"Like, did you ever put a finger up your ass, when you jerked off?"
He pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. "You can't just ask shit like that, dude."
There's a double-standard here, and I'm tempted to point it out to him.
"Friction's friction," I say, instead.
"Yeah, but that doesn't mean I should know what your dick tastes like," Chance says, but he's kinda smiling as he says it. Like we're both in on the joke.
Honestly, I'll take that over him freaking out on me.
"We're best friends," I remind him, "we should know everything about each other."
The expression says he's not convinced.
"And despite that, you let my brother nail you first. Cold, Lincoln, very cold."
"Says the guy who bugged out when he got hard on our run."
Chance frowns. "That was different."
I nod, but it's a sarcastic kind of nod. The sort of thing I know drives him nuts.
"I get it, you didn't have your big brother around, to tell you what to do." I can just hear Riley instructing him to suck my dick, and I bet the memory is replaying in Chance's head right now, too.
"Fuck off."
I drain the last of my coffee, and set it down on the countertop. At some point I'm gonna have to wash some dishes; it was pretty surprising that Chance managed to find a pair of clean mugs.
"Say what you like about your brother, he isn't scared of asking for what he wants."
He snorts. "Sure, like we were just gonna start fucking, out in the woods."
I glance, pointedly, around the tiny kitchen. "We're not in the woods now."
Chance stares at me, the silence dragging out. Long enough that I have time to wonder what the hell I'm actually doing, here. Whether this is still just me teasing my buddy, and what I'll say if he calls my bluff.
He shakes his head. "You're fuckin' weird, dude."
I'm not entirely sure if I'm relieved, or disappointed, that I didn't have to make a decision.
"I need to take a shower," I tell him.
I leave the door open, and Chance leans against the frame, cradling his coffee mug in both hands. It's really not that strange, for us to see each other naked, so it's not like I pause as I drag my clothes off and twist the faucet in the shower.
I suppose there is part of me wondering if he's checking out my ass, as I step inside.
"I'm surprised at Aidan," he says, casually.
I glance past the edge of the curtain, my hands already full of shampoo suds. "Just going with the flow, I guess."
Chance makes a face. Not one of disgust, just confusion. "He kissed my brother, dude."
"And then blew his load all over Harper," I remind him, chuckling.
He laughs too. "Considering what Harper was doing at the time, I don't think he minded."
There's a shiver, somewhere in the vicinity of my midsection, at the memory of just what Harper was doing. Where his tongue was pushed, and how his fingers were pulling at me.
"Apparently Harper's been fantasizing about hooking up with me," I tell Chance.
I'm not sure how he manages to snort in a scathing way, but he manages it.
"Oh, and I bet your ego just hated that, didn't it."
I shake my head under the water, sending it splashing all over the tiles. "Says the guy who got grumpy because I didn't tell him he sucked dick well."
Chance looks down, pointedly. "Seems like someone's happy at the memory of it."
I'm not hard-hard - not fucking-Riley-in-the-ass hard - but I'm not soft, either. Cock dangling out from my crotch, water running off the swollen head. It only feels right to wag my hips from side to side, grinning at the wet smack as it slaps against my legs.
He rolls his eyes, but he's smirking, too.
"You want some more practice?" I tease.
"Fuck you."
He's still grinning, so I turn around and shake my ass at him.
"You think I want my brother's sloppy seconds?"
"Hey!" It sounds louder than I expect, when I smack my ass. Maybe because the skin is wet. "A virgin could take your pencil dick, and not even feel it touch the sides."
Chance hefts his crotch, squeezing through his sweatpants. "Choked you just fine, didn't it?"
We both know he's got a pretty big cock.
That's my first thought, anyway. The second is that I shouldn't be getting boned up at the idea of my best friend choking me on his dick.
"And how many times have you jerked off since, thinking about that?" I'm not gonna give him the satisfaction of turning away, facing the wall, while I say it. Just reach for the soap and start scrubbing under my arms.
Chance ignores the taunt. "Guess I wouldn't have to worry about getting you pregnant."
I flick him a look. "If you wrapped your dick up once in a while, you wouldn't have to worry about getting anyone pregnant."
It's a familiar expression, but then again we've had this discussion many times before. "Ain't nothing like when it goes in raw, bro." His gaze dips, and I know with a crisp certainty that he's picturing my ass. "But I don't need to tell you that, do I."
My stare is hopefully withering, but that doesn't mean I'm not imagining his brother's fat cock spreading me open, or the way it felt to have Riley's load drooling out of my well-stretched hole. Guess the big dick gene runs in the family.
"Don't picture it too much, dude," I warn him, twisting off the faucet. "Wouldn't want you freaking out and running off on me again."
"Whatever."
"Not sure you'd know what to do, without big brother giving you orders," I add.
Chance's eyes narrow, and I chew back my grin of triumph. He really shouldn't make the whole sibling-rivalry thing so obvious, it's far too easy a target.
"Pass me the towel."
He grabs it off the rail, but barely holds it out at arm's length. Watching me, as I drip.
"Seriously?" Shaking my head, I step out and across the room. Careful with it, not wanting to slip on the cheap linoleum.
When I go to take the towel, Chance doesn't let go. Still gripping it one hand, while with the other he reaches down and flicks the head of my cock, setting my erection bobbing.
"Fuck!" The flinch away is instinctual. "What the hell, bro?"
"Does it ever go down?"
He's not looking at me, as he says it, and there's part of me that wants to click my fingers under his nose and remind him that my face is up here. I don't, though, just like I don't try to yank the towel out of his hand, and just like I don't make any attempt to cover myself up.
Partly that's because I'm too busy looking at the clear ridge of Chance's erection, outlined through his sweats.
I don't jerk my hips back, the next time he taps my dick, and Chance doesn't pull his hand away either, and so it means my cock sort of just grazes against his fingers as it bobs and twitches.
I'm holding my breath, I realize. Like if I exhale, or really make any sound at all, this whole moment is going to shatter.
He brushes it with his knuckles. As if he's testing just how stiff I actually am; how much my shaft will strain against his loosely clenched fist.
"It's weird, that this was inside my brother."
It's a kinda fucked up thing to say, but the mental picture it summons is hot. When I push my hips forward, so that the head of my dick brushes across Chance's sweats, it leaves a long streak of precum soaked into the clinging fabric. Dark against the light gray.
"Dude," Chance's scold comes out at little more than a murmur.
He can't look at me, I realize, not at my face anyway. His stare flitting up and then almost immediately back down again, to where my swollen cockhead is practically grinding into the thick heft of his prick as it strains in his pants.
"What do you think he'd say?"
I frown. "Riley?"
Chance nods.
"He'd tell you to stop being a pussy, and jerk your best friend off already."
I think, for a minute, that I've gone too far. Misread the signs, misunderstood the whole situation. Projected my own horniness, and my confusing, shifting boundaries, onto the people around me. I even open my mouth, to make a joke of it.
The half-formed words freeze, as Chance's fingers wrap around my dick.
There's a tentativeness there, even as he squeezes me. The first stroke slow, like he's confused by everything being the reverse of how he jacks himself. The rough heel of his palm rasping across my tip, and making me hiss through clenched teeth.
"Sorry," Chance mutters, though I'm not sure I believe him.
"Jeez, dude. Anyone would think you'd never jerked a guy off before."
He looks up, fixing me with a grin. "You wanna do it all yourself, hotshot?"
I push my hips forward, thrusting myself through his fist. "Fuck, no."
A slow nod. "Then quit whining, bitch."
I quit whining, and let my best friend stroke me.
I'd thought he was hard before, and maybe he was, but his cock is even more obvious now. Clear enough - outlined in practically vein-sculpted detail - through the taut gray fabric, enough to leave me in little doubt that he's going commando under there.
Something about the idea of Chance turning up on my doorstep, simultaneously pissed at me and yet fascinated by what I'd done, his dick swinging around in his sweatpants, makes me feel light-headed.
"You just twitched, I felt it."
His observation cracks through my spiraling thoughts. I flex my erection again, enjoying the way his hand tightens around me a little more. Liking how it makes him chuckle; it's the same pleasure, I realize, from when I tell some stupid joke, and Chance cracks up at it. A reminder of just how close we are, on each other's wavelengths.
It doesn't feel so strange, then, to reach for the waistband of his sweats.
He doesn't stop me, either. Doesn't say anything, just keeps on staring at where his hand is slowly rubbing me, as I fumble his pants down. Or try to, at least; about to curse him out, for his cock being so damn inconvenient, before he pretty much springs free. Fat and long.
"You licked your lips. You're such a cocksucker."
He says it with amusement, which is why I only wink at him, not cuss him out. "Takes one to know one."
Tilting his hips, he brushes the head of his dick against mine. The barest of grazes, but it's enough to make me shiver. Maybe even pull away, in something close to surprise, if his grip on me wasn't so controlling.
He feels heavy in my hand, thick and urgent. A sort of desperate hardness: not just aroused, but needy with it. I don't know if he even realizes he's pushing forward, trying to chase the pleasure his body subconsciously knows I can deliver.
I can't look too closely at the fact that it feels so fucking right to be doing this. That's too much, too loaded. Enough, maybe, to just accept that it feels good, and go from there.
A half-step is all it takes, to bring our shafts together. Squeezed side-by-side, Chance's hand competing with mine for how much of these twinned dicks we can grip, and stroke, and generally toy with. The heat from him almost overwhelming.
I snake my arm around his shoulders, pulling him in further. His muscles firm through the thin cotton of his t-shirt.
"Dude, you're getting me wet."
I snort. "Aww, poor baby."
"Fuck you."
"Should've given me the towel when I asked for it," I remind him.
He laughs and I can't decide if it's the gap being so scant between us that makes it different to my ears. Or if it's something else that's making him sound strange, only just stopping my brain from careening down some twist of paranoia that Chance is about to freak out, or secretly doesn't want to be doing this. His head having second thoughts, even if his cock feels committed.
When I feel him pulling back, out of my grip, I know I should've listened to my doubts.
"Dude, what are you..."
"What the fuck does it look like," Chance interrupts, as he drops to his knees.
Any answer I might have, smart-ass or otherwise, gets lost somewhere in my throat as he leans forward and sucks the head of my dick between his lips.
It's not like Harper. When he sucks your dick, it's with a sense that he's been wanting to do it for years and suddenly the dam has broken. Not like Riley, either, with his measured, teasing strokes all carefully designed to overwhelm and leave you a shuddering mess.
Chance tackles a blowjob the same way he does a football game, or hockey, or any other sport: like there's a leaderboard somewhere, scoring you on focus, and proficiency, and dedication, and he's fucking determined that his own name will be at the very top of it.
That competitive, self-imposed perfection shit is annoying when you're just trying to play a friendly game of disc golf at the park. It's a little different when your best friend is gripping your hips with both hands, and apparently dead set on taking a further inch of your cock with each bob of his head.
It's fast, and relentless, and I have to grab the edge of the sink and hold on tight. Worried, suddenly, that my legs are gonna buckle underneath me. My body discover yet another new way by which it can be overwhelmed.
His grunt of triumph, when his lips brush my crotch, vibrates all the way up through my dick. It's like my whole torso resonates along with that gurgle of satisfaction.
"Oh fuck..."
I can't hold the curse in, can't hide the scale of my reaction, when he starts sucking me in earnest. Chance's mouth is like one of those motorized stroker toys: push your dick in, flip the switch, and let the batteries run their course. Only while it might be my cock that's getting sucked, there's no escaping the feeling that I'm not the guy in charge, here. Just the flesh that's along for the ride.
Light-headed, I shove him away from me. Totter back myself, too, my legs hitting the edge of the tub and folding so that I'm sat on the cold metal edge. Almost at eye-level with him, as he kneels on the floor and glares at me in a way that's positively grumpy.
"Slow down, dude," I gasp out. My cock is wagging between my spread thighs, glistening with the gooey syrup dragged from his unrelenting throat. I'm so hard, I'm twitching.
"It felt good, didn't it?" Not so much a question, as a demand. The exact same tone Chance would use with a referee who doubted the by-the-book perfection of his pass.
I chew back the urge to laugh, because I know he'll only take it as a personal affront to his technique.
"Too fucking good," I say, instead. "You need to be less... intense."
Chance frowns. "It's meant to get you off, isn't it?"
In arguably record time, I could tell him, but his ego doesn't need that.
"The journey is just as important as the destination."
He rolls his eyes, but he's grinning with it. "I didn't realize I was sucking an amateur philosopher."
I wink at him. "Let me teach you the ways of patience, then, my young student."
"I'm two months older than you, asshole," he reminds me, like he has done a million times over the years, but he's still moving over on his knees. Until he's within the gape of my thighs, a hand on each of my legs.
It really wouldn't take much, some treacherous voice at the back of my skull points out, to lean forward and kiss him.
I very nearly shake my head, to dislodge the idea. Grab Chance's shirt instead, yanking it over his head.
"Stop it from getting drool all down it," I explain.
His look is skeptical. "Sure it is. You just want to stare at my chest."
That his pecs are bigger, better than mine, is a fact. One he rarely misses an opportunity to remind me about. Only now I can't help but picture what they'd look like with my load dripping down them.
"Shut up and blow me, asshole."
Chance shuts up and blows me.
For a moment I think it's going to be the same as before. My fingers are even clenching, preemptively, on the edge of the tub. Only instead of bobbing on me like a metronome, all urgency and determination, suddenly he slows down. Not slow, not measured like his brother, but definitely five notches back from that breakneck, gotta-win-this-race speed of before.
"Oh fuck, yes, like that." The words seep out of me, uncontrolled. More than just my grip on the bathtub's rim loosening, even if I know it's only giving my best friend more fuel for his swelling ego.
I can practically feel his grin, through my dick.
No way to begrudge him that, not when the sensations are so incredible and the urge to grab his head and pull it in close to me is near-uncontrollable. Marveling, too, that this is only Chance's second time; at least, that's what I have to assume is the case, and it's not a question I need to have answered if that involves him pulling off me.
I whimper, frustration and need bubbling over, when he sits back on his heels again. His lips red, fist crudely squelchy on my spit-slicked cock. Amused, judging by the expression on his face, at how I'm straining to recapture that licking, sucking, slurping wetness. My hips pushing up against his grip on me, hungry for his mouth.
"What're we doing here, bro?"
I frown at the question, brain suddenly spiraling. Hunting his expression for regret or shame; for the evidence I know must be there, if only I search his face the correct way. Scared, and frustrated, and just plain confused at what this might be doing to my oldest friendship.
"If... if you don't..." My voice sounds fractured, ripe with uncertainty.
Chance rolls his eyes. "Am I fucking you over your bathtub, dude, or are you takin' me to bed?"
No way not to blink at him, for a moment, as an alternative that doesn't feel entirely real crashes into my expectations of doom.
"Uh..."
He makes a face. "I mean, I just thought..."
His fingers loosen on my cock; I can just imagine how he'll release me, stand, back away to the bathroom doorway. How suddenly something I never imagined wanting might be yanked from me in a horrible instant.
"Bedroom!" It escapes me like a bursting bubble. "In... in the bedroom."
Chance grins. "Such a romantic."
"Fuck you." But I'm grinning too, now.
The twist of his palm around my swollen, leaky cockhead leaves me gurgling with over-stimulation. When he relents - pulling my dick down, one finger still hooked around the tip, to let it slap back against me - it leaves me panting.
His own erection's at my eye-level, when he stands. No way not to stare at it, lolling out over the dragged-down waistband of his sweatpants. No way to avoid imagining leaning forward: how it would feel, the noises Chance would make, if I did my inexperienced, sloppy best to fit as much of him into my throat as I possibly could.
Chance is always complaining that girls can't deep-throat his inches. Maybe I'd choke to death trying, but it'd be a pretty funny way to go.
Perhaps those thoughts are too clear on my face. Perhaps Chance just knows me too well, by now, and I'm beyond predictable. Either way, he pointedly pulls his sweats up; his cock presses, thick and clear, against the straining fabric.
"Bedroom," he reminds me.
I stand, on shaky legs, and lead him down the hallway.
If I stop, if I give myself a chance to think about it, I know I'll probably fuck things up. Not because I don't like the idea of having sex with my best friend - even if some chunk of my brain is still telling me that's a messed up thing to want - but because of what it might do to that friendship. How it could change it, above and beyond how what Chance and I have done together, what he's seen me do, must already have changed things.
I turn, the mattress against the back of my legs. Just in time to see him stand upright again, having shoved down his pants.
My buddy's a fucking stud, and I don't know whether to be envious or exasperated: not like he isn't aware of it, or cocky about it, after all.
Broad shoulders, narrow waist. More muscular than I am, though nothing ridiculous. I've teased him, before now, that he works out mainly to impress the other dudes at the gym. That it's some sort of circle jerk of bros pumping weights, narcissism that has nothing to do with what chicks actually look for in a guy.
That's all still true, but it doesn't mean he isn't looking fucking epic, standing there with his dick hard and a hungry expression on his face.
"Having second thoughts?" Chance watches my face intently.
I tap my dick with my finger, setting it wagging. "Does this look like I am?"
He looks down, at where his own erection is basically the mirror of mine. "Guess that's both of us, then."
I watch my hand, moving as if by its own accord, reach out and wrap around his prick. Not so much stroking as weighing it in my fist. Trying to understand the mechanics of this; preemptively figure out how what I'm holding could ever fit inside me.
"I... I don't think I can eat your ass, dude."
Chance's face - his look that manages to be both apologetic and a little bit grossed-out at the idea of it - almost makes me laugh.
"It's optional, dude."
"Harper seems to like it."
My cock throbs at the memory. How he buried his face between my cheeks, his tongue desperately digging for Riley's load inside me.
"Harper's a little freak," I remind him.
"Says you."
I squeeze his dick, reproachful, then release him so that I can drop down onto the bed. Back up, watching Chance watch me.
"You got lube, then?"
I roll my eyes, as I reach for the bottle on the nightstand. Go to toss it to him, but stop at the shake of his head.
"Open your ass up for me, then."
I swallow, momentarily daunted by the intensity of his stare.
Chance crosses his arms. "Since you want it so bad, I mean."
It's funny, I'm still waiting to hear my argument - how imaginatively I might cuss him out - even as I'm uncapping the bottle and drizzling lube across my fingers. My stare locked on his, as I spread my legs and reach down between them. Fingertips brushing slickly across still-wet skin, my cock rigid against my forearm.
Maybe my body really is desperate for this. Maybe it's just the angle. Either way, it barely seems to take any effort to ease the first finger in. Digging deep, the muscles of my insides clenching hotly.
There's something overwhelming about doing this in front of him, of having Chance watch me while I work over my hole. His stare intent, challenging, as I press the second finger in alongside the first.
He can hear it, I'm sure he can. The wet, sawing sound of my two fingers stroking. Only I can feel how my body is softening, relaxing to it, but maybe he can see that on my face. Read my readiness from the way my jaw is hanging open.
"Go for a third, dude."
He sounds like his brother, when he gives me orders.
It's a thought I can't really handle, my brain ill-equipped to deal with something so complicated. Not when I'm naked, and hard, and fingering myself in preparation for what we both know comes next.
I jerk, as he climbs onto the bed. Shaken from my confused reverie. Only able to watch, as he grabs the lube bottle and upends it over his cock.
The noise of his stroking is strangely like the sound of me toying with my hole. Like the two things really were meant to be combined.
"Roll over and stick your ass up, dude."
I'm obedient, now. Sometimes it's just easier to take orders; to disconnect my brain and simply flip over on the cheap mattress. Tell myself that the heat I'm feeling is all in my imagination, not the intensity of Chance staring at me in a position where I'm so exposed.
Better, then, just to reach back and pull my cheeks apart. Let him decide when this next, weird phase of our friendship actually starts.
For long, terrifying seconds, there's nothing. And then suddenly I feel the bed shift, and a moment later the heat of him against my slick opening, and Chance's hands firm on my hips.
Just when I think I can't wait any longer, that the only thing possible is to shout at him to do something, anything, he pushes his hips forward.
Pressure, and heat, and it's not going to work, it can't fucking work, it's impossible, and then somehow he's inside me - thick, and hard, and making me dizzy from the stretching and from the realization alike - and I'm groaning into the sheets as I claw at them with lube-streaked fingers. Wanting him to slow down, and wait, and go faster, and none of those words escaping. Nothing to do, really, but to shudder as Chance steadily buries himself deep, until I can feel the brush of his skin against my cheeks and know his cock is inside me all the way.
"Holy fuck." Something very nearly reverent in his voice.
I gasp as he lays down on me. Body draped atop my own, sweat-soaked skin shifting from his shuddering breaths. Not moving beyond that, a saving grace my howling nerve-endings are grateful for.
"Dude, you're so..." There's no end to that sentence, the words dripped so close to my ear.
A shudder runs through me - involuntary, head to toe - when he eases his hips back. Dragging his dick through my squeezing, fluttering insides, only to shove in again a moment later. As if, for all he knows how he's meant to fuck, the sensations of our being tightly pressed together are too much to resist.
"S-slow," I pant out.
Chance's chuckle vibrates through my back. "Sorry bro, you ain't makin' the rules, now." He reaches down, to squeeze my arms. "I saw how you like it."
I could protest, I know I could, only he's got an unfair advantage in this argument, and it's the dizzying friction of his cock pulling out of me again. Nothing for me to do but gurgle.
Despite it all, his taunts, he's slow at first. Tentative, even, like he's still not sure what the hell we're doing here.
When his fingers dig into my biceps, the tightness of his grip on me intensifying, that's when I know I'm really gonna get it.
Louder, the sound of Chance's body slapping into mine, and his grunting with each thrust, and my own hiss of what I only have the words to call pleasure and shock at the way his fat dick gouges into my tender insides. Stretching me and pulling me in ways I'm still not equipped to process, at least not beyond some primeval realization that regardless of who I am, what I think my sexuality might be, there's something in this urgent, animal rutting that I desperately need.
He pushes me down, hands on my shoulders and his arms outstretched. Rearing up, pinning me to the bed as I drool into the sheets and revel at his weight on me. A heft that's emphasized with each slam against me, Chance's thighs spreading around my ass so that he can ride me more thoroughly.
I want to see it; want there to be a mirror, or a camera, or even just one of our friends watching. To understand - from the expression on their face, even if it's not a true reflection - what's really happening here. If it can truly be as intense, and intimate, and mesmerizing as it feels, trapped underneath my best friend as he reams me.
My dick is as hard as I can ever remember being. Wagging beneath me, already feeling so sensitive that I can only assume it'd take the barest of grazes to have me spraying the bed. And there's part of me that's desperate for that - that wants to reach down, wrap my fingers around my shaft and give myself those final few strokes - only that would feel like an ending, and I'm not sure I'm ready for all this to finish quite yet.
Chance sits up, the pressure on my shoulders easing, and yet I can't move. Like my body's made of clay, molded now into this perfect position for him to slide as deeply as he possibly can. Riley's words echoing in my head, that there's little more to me than cock, and hole, and unexpected willingness, and it's hardly a description I could argue with. Not with my back arched and my ass raised high, fingers clawing at the bedding while the guy I know best in the whole world slaps my ass and long-dicks me.
I almost cry out when Chance yanks his cock free. Then do squeal, a yelp that'd be embarrassing had I the brain capacity to acknowledge that, when he digs his fingers into my loose, sloppy hole. Twisting and tugging on me, working my overwhelmed muscles as I squirm, and gasp, and then topple onto my side in an attempt to escape his relentless torture.
I'm panting as he grabs my leg, turns me further. Onto my back, my thighs spread wide with his grip behind each knee. Staring up at his frown of concentration, Chance's bottom lip caught between his teeth as he manhandles me like I'm a plaything, now.
He's talked about how he nails girls, about how they love it when he takes charge. And maybe I'm wrong, that they don't care about his muscles, or maybe it's just a certain type of chick who gets off on being tossed around, possessed by a stronger guy. Or, perhaps I'm just projecting my own sudden realization that it can feel so incredible.
His cock slides up the crease of my ass, as he tries to push back into me with no hands. Chance's frown deepening as our slick skin derails that goal, until I reach down and - both hands wrapped around his thick shaft - guide his cockhead to my hole.
He winks at me, grin suddenly smug, and I'm about to cuss him out when he slams into me.
I don't know if he goes deeper, in this position, or if it's just the change in angles. Maybe it's being able to see Chance's face as he plows me, and to feel his sweat dripping onto my chest. It doesn't feel so out of line to stroke up his clenching abs and to his pecs. To grope at them - like Harper and Riley pawed at mine - and feel the muscles there resist my digging fingertips. A worshipping, of sorts: recognition of the hard work my stud best friend has put in, chiseling this incredible body through day after day of gym sessions. And sure, I might tease him for being addicted to free weights and ab crunches, but I can't exactly claim I'm not getting off on the results.
I wrap my arms around his shoulders, as he drops down onto me. My cock trapped in the hot, sweaty crush of our bodies; rubbed, but never quite enough to get me off, even as Chance grinds on me. A rocking, churning motion that leaves me more breathless than his weight does.
His face is right there, barely inches away, and I don't really know why I'm doing it - why it doesn't feel like more risk than I dare take on - but suddenly I'm straining up to kiss him.
For a moment, Chance's eyes go wide. A look so comical, I could almost laugh into his lips, if I wasn't so turned on, and if the whole moment hadn't become so incredibly fraught. Because I can't exactly claim I hate the way it feels, this step-beyond-a-step that's somehow more intimate than having another dude's cock in my ass or my throat, but there's every possibility that Chance is going to absolutely freak out on me.
The way he's tensed up - his whole body stiff - makes it seem pretty fucking clear that that's the trajectory this is going, and I'm just about to fumble out an excuse, an apology even, when he forces his tongue between my lips.
It's a kiss, sure, but it's about as much a normal kiss as Harper licking cum out of my mouth was. Halfway to a battle, in fact, Chance taking full advantage of my momentary shock, until I blink rapid-fire and then fight back. Licking, and sucking, and biting; tugging on the meat of his bottom lip between my teeth until he's grunting with the sharp-sweet overload of sensations. Not pulling back, though, but pressing me further into the bed as the kiss intensifies and there's zero fucking way to deny it, even if either of us wanted to. I'm making out with my best friend, and judging from the way he's jackhammering my hole, he's as into it as I am right now.
He takes me with him as he rears up, arms cinched tight around my chest as if to crush me. Our mouths still clamped together, only now I can flex my thighs and bounce on his straining prick. Feel less like dumb meat, like a hole for my bros to plow; a sense of righteous satisfaction bubbling inside me, at the way he's practically whimpering into our kiss as I work myself on him.
I grab his head with both hands, drag him back. Just enough of a gap to see the score of red across his cheeks, the way his pupils have grown vast and inky.
"You gonna cum in me, bro?"
A question and a taunt, all in one, and delivered with the appropriate smirk. Pleased at how his jaw tightens, his nostrils flare; at the bruising way he tightens his hold around my ribs. Slamming me down onto him, now, just as much as I'm riding him furiously. Both of us chasing a conclusion for reasons I doubt we could put into words.
"You ready to get pregnant?" He demands it with a grin of his own.
"Give it your best shot, asshole," I fire back.
And then it's too much, I guess, a tipping point which Chance's cock swelling inside me would've made clear enough, even without the rumble of satisfaction that comes reverberating up through his chest. His bearhug pinning me in place despite my straining thighs, as he stabs up underneath me and I know - with a clarity that leaves me dizzy - that my best buddy is creaming my insides.
His arms loosen on me, like his whole body is unraveling. I hiss, as he topples back and that churns his cock in my gooey, well-bred hole.
There's dick-slime practically flooding out of me, I'm so fucking turned on. Great glistening smears of it across Chance's belly and my own; it's almost too much, to wrap my fist and stroke, even though the urge to cum is borderline-overwhelming.
He squeezes my thighs, his flushed, handsome face staring up at me.
"Come on, dude, lemme see it."
If I was in any state of mind to process it, the fact that it's my closest friend in the world saying he wants to see me blow my load which drags the orgasm from me seems like a pretty messed-up thing.
I don't watch the first spray of it, my head thrown back and vision tunneling. Only realize quite how well I've glazed him when the rictus of my neck muscles eases; look down, to see the thick sheen of cum criss-crossing Chance's muscles. So much like the last time, sat astride him in the forest, only now I have the heft of his still-rigid cock spiking through me.
It's an afterthought, to catch myself on one outstretched arm - my palm hot against Chance's skin - as I topple forward. Breathing heavy, the scent of cum, and sweat, and musk filling my head like a balloon.
"Your ass clenches when you blow," Chance observes, from underneath me.
It's such a fucking stupid thing to say, I can't help but crack up laughing.
"Sorry, did I pinch your dick off?" I ask him, between snorts.
He pulls a face. "Nearly. If you want a butt-plug, dude, go buy one."
"Don't say that shit around Riley," I say, "you'll only give him ideas."
Chance grimaces. "Can we not talk about my brother while I'm still inside you?"
I rock my hips, from side to side. Feeling the heft of him shift, stretching me in ways that very nearly feel normal, now. Judging by the way Chance's fingers are gripping me tighter, the sensations are equally intense for him.
"So, you're saying you don't want me to tell him that we kissed?"
The glare he gives me could kill a lesser man, I figure.
"Don't you fucking dare."
I'm not sure what it is, that makes me want to tell Riley about the shit I've just done with my best friend. Some need to impress him, maybe, or to demonstrate that - for all he seems to think I'm predictable - I still have the capacity to surprise him.
"You're the one who blurted out the whole 'I got hard in the woods' thing," I remind Chance.
His expression is half aggrieved I'd dare remind him of that, and half embarrassed at the memory.
"This is different," he says, bluntly.
I flash him a thoughtful look. "If I do get pregnant, I won't know which brother's it is."
Chance grunts, apparently done with my humor, and shoves me off him. Ignores the yelp as his cock tugs free from my hole.
"Fucker!" I protest, even as he's sitting up and grabbing at my ass. Rolling me over and spreading my cheeks, as I peer back at him over my shoulder.
"Fuckin' gaped," Chance says, approvingly.
I go to twist away, suddenly mortified both by how he's looking at me, and what he's apparently seeing. Like my body has betrayed me, somehow: revealed its physical memory of our sex, when that should've been something limited to my brain alone.
He holds me in place, though, my arm yanked up to the small of my back. I could fight him off, probably, maybe, if I really tried to - he's strong, sure, but I'm not weak - only that'd only show him I was taking all this seriously. Too serious for Chance to be able to resist needling me more.
"Either get your tongue in there, or get the hell off me," I say, trying to keep my tone casual. Then yelp again, as he slaps my ass. "Dude!"
He's laughing, even as he releases me. Watches me roll away, out of arm's reach across the mattress; seemingly unbothered by the glare I'm giving him.
"You're dripping on my bed," I say, coldly.
Chance looks down, at the glaze of cream that's already making headway down his torso. "That's your fault, bro."
"You're the one who said he wanted to see me cum," I remind him.
He winks at me. "You pull a goofy face when you blow."
"Idiot," I mutter. Feeling his eyes on me, as I get off the bed on still-shaky legs.
"Can I use the shower first?"
I give him a look that I hope manages to be scathing. This may not be the post-sex afterglow I'm used to, but that doesn't mean my body is entirely ready to cooperate yet.
"If this is how you treat women, it's no fuckin' wonder that you haven't got a girlfriend."
I'm not sure if the face he pulls is because of what I said, or because it reminded him that he's meant to be into women, not guys.
"This isn't gonna be weird, is it?" Chance grimaces. "Between us, I mean."
"I've got your cum dripping down my inside leg."
He snorts, amused despite everything. "Sorry. But I still ain't wearing a condom next time."
"Next time?"
He has the grace to at least look abashed at being called out.
"I mean... just a turn of phrase."
"Sure, bro." I lick my lips, pointedly. "Admit it, I'm the best lay you've ever had."
"Easiest lay, anyway."
It's tempting to keep sparring with him, to fall back into one of the playful arguments that have always punctuated our friendship. Only I wasn't kidding about his load leaking out of my well-pounded hole, and it's starting to tickle.
"Don't get cum on my bed," I repeat, pointing an accusatory finger at him. "And don't wipe yourself with my clothes," I add, seeing his sly glance at the pile of laundry in the corner of the room.
"For fuck's sakes," Chance mutters, under his breath.
I'm a nice friend, I figure, because I do at least take pity on him.
"Look under the bed," I suggest, "there's probably a cum-sock there that's not too crusty yet."
I can still hear him cursing me out, even through the bathroom door.
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