EIGHT
It wasn’t like he hadn’t known that jerking off was a terrible idea. He wouldn’t have even thought about it if Brett hadn’t taken so long getting his phone. The minutes had passed, and when John turned his head, he saw that it had been almost twenty of them, a third of an hour, since Brett had rushed from the room.
That was when the idea had first occurred to him. Whatever this phone call was, it was obviously taking Brett a good long while to get through it. And John was still throbbing against the bed, his cock not nearly as patient as he would like for it to be. No matter how much John tried to will his desire away, it wouldn’t go.
If anything, it was getting stronger every moment that he tried to ignore it. It was like the release of tension in John’s back had freed his body to feel other things, let the blood flow elsewhere. Like into his throbbing cock and balls.
Brett had been gone so long. What harm could there be? He would just release the tension a little, and when Brett came back, if he wanted to keep on rubbing John’s back, John could focus on it and not on how painful his cock was. And that back rub, it had felt incredible. He didn’t want to lose out on it, just because his body didn’t know that Brett was off limits, Brett was a man, but more than that, Brett was his best friend. Not someone just to use, which was the only way that John knew how to be with a man.
It was so easy to roll over. Already, Brett had worked miracles, the pain in his back had subsided to a dull, manageable glow, and that was so good, so very good, that John could have almost cried just from that.
In seconds, he had his pants open, his eyes closed as he thought about Brett. About that body, so small compared to John’s but deceptively strong, John had felt that strength in his fingers. What if Brett had straddled his body to rub him? What if he had pressed tight to John’s ass, and what if he had been hard against him, just as hard as John had been?
It came so easily to him, the mental images. Rocking together slowly, Brett grinding against John’s ass, then lowering his pants and for the first time, John allowed himself to think of another man going inside of him. Brett. Only Brett, always Brett, and why hadn’t he seen this before?
He had, though. He had pushed it away, refused to acknowledge it, but he had felt it. Now that he was allowing himself to see it, it was like a floodgate had been opened, and heat poured through him, a sense of rightness. Like something in his brain was screaming at him,yes, yes, finally, you got it. Finally, you noticed.
It would take him mere seconds to finish—he knew that. As much as his body had been neglected, as worked up as he had gotten, he would come so fast, yes, he had made the right choice. He just needed a few seconds before, and his hand flashed furiously over his own erection, rough with himself, almost hurting himself, but he just needed a second, a half a second, more …
The door opened.
The waves of pleasure which had seemed so inevitable just a second ago receded, just barely out of reach, but he still had his hand on his dick, and he was still obviously jerking himself off. He didn’t dare to open his eyes, because it had to be Brett.
Brett had noticed when John had gotten aroused in the first place. That story about the phone call, it had to be fake, he suddenly realized. The timing was too convenient.
When he peeked open his eyes, he saw Brett’s back. Brett faced away from him. Maybe that was a good thing because he would never have dared to invite Brett back to the bed if he’d had to look into those brilliant sapphire eyes to do it.
“I mean, sorry. I guess it’s just been a while,” John spoke as casually as he could, as though being discovered jerking off by his incredibly hot best friend was really no big deal. “I haven’t gotten laid in a bit, you know?”
It was better to make no big deal of this, though. To make it sound like it was lack of sex in general that was getting to him, not his attraction to his beautiful friend, not the way it had felt to have those hands on him, taking his pain away. Anything else would just be drama, but the way John was choosing, it was the only way that he thought he might just be able to save this friendship.
Or even, maybe, get Brett close to him.
There was a hesitation, and it was probably only a few seconds, but to John, it felt like it took forever. Then Brett moved, and he was turning back toward the room, away from the door that he had clearly been trying to flee out of.
“Really?” Brett asked, and as he turned, as John got a glimpse of his face, he found it hard to interpret. Bright eyes, flushed cheeks, lips slightly parted, was Brett embarrassed? Or was he aroused, aroused by what he had seen, by the sight of John stroking his own cock?
For the first time, it occurred to him to ask the question. How did Brett feel about him? Friendship, yes, and a deep, true one which had been built over the years. That, John knew, but was there more? Could there be? And, more importantly, should there be?
“Yeah. Come here.” John patted the bed beside him, feeling reckless, not entirely sure where he was going with this. He was out of his depth here. This was so much more intense than the experiences he’d had with other men—there had been little talking, sometimes none. Just slipping into another man’s bunk and being welcomed, or welcoming a man who came to him.
This was Brett, though. Someone he cared about. Even his experiences with women gave him nothing to go off of. He was flying blind and with no real idea about how this would go, how Brett, so fastidious and neat, would take this.
But Brett didn’t seem disgusted. When he turned back around, and John could see his face, his saw interest there. Conflict, too, as though Brett was just as unsure as John was about this being a good idea, but Brett, at least, was tempted.
John still hadn’t released his grip on his cock. He could say that it was because this had all happened so fast, but was that really true? Honestly, he thought that part of him had liked being watched, had liked that Brett, for whatever reason, hadn’t left yet and that Brett seemed interested.
He was certainly watching now, those intense eyes of his slipping down to the curve of John’s fingers around his own erection. An odd sort of feeling came over him, a smug confidence like he hadn’t felt in far too long. It took a while, but he realized what it was. A feeling of desire, of being desired, the heat and excitement of passion which part of him had thought would never be the same as it had been.
Those healing hands of his best friend, they had done more than just soothe the tortured muscles of his back. They had rekindled something that he had thought was lost, and maybe that was why he was so willing to let himself do this.
Brett came slowly, perching on the edge of the bed, careful wariness in every moment. John had seen, though, as Brett came closer, the bulge of a hard cock pushing out the front of Brett’s pants, and he knew suddenly, beyond any doubt, that it wasn’t just him feeling these things, that the sparks which still seemed to race through his blood were also in Brett’s veins.
He could see it in the light in those gorgeous eyes.
“C’mere,” John murmured, letting his voice drop down, become softer and intimate. He liked the look he got back, the increasing sensuality in Brett’s body, the way that Brett seemed to be almost inclining toward him. The way those beautiful eyes were raised now, fixed unerringly on John.
He was, for the first time, seeing Brett aroused. He hadn’t even really known that such a thing would be possible, or at least for him to see it, but there it was. Brett was hard, and his body was straining across the short distance between them.
