So John narrowed it, pulled Brett close to himself, and the way his arm slid around Brett’s waist, it was like it belonged there. It felt perfect, and he tugged Brett’s unresisting body against his own.
“I’m not gonna bite,” John murmured. “Not unless you want me too. Just go with it, okay, Brett? I know it’s a little weird but …”
He let his voice trail off, hoping that Brett understood. John needed this. For the first time in way too long, he was tempted to be swept away by lust, and if Brett only came along with him for this incredible journey, he could really let himself go.
So, giving Brett every chance to move away, if he wanted to, John took the next step. One that he would never have imagined himself doing in the full light of day. He reached over and brushed just the very tips of his fingers over that intriguing bulge he saw in Brett’s pants.
“It doesn’t have to mean anything weird,” John tried to explain, more to himself than to Brett, who had jumped just a little when John touched him. But John couldn’t help but notice that John didn’t pull away. “Just touch me, if you want to. Please?”
He was probably making an idiot of himself, and any second, it was going to be the moment when Brett finally said something, probably something insulting, or something devastating, and left. But that wasn’t what happened at all.
“Okay,” Brett murmured instead, and reached over, just lightly brushing his fingers over the leaking, slick head of John’s cock. It was the first time that any hand other than his own had touched him in months, and he couldn’t help but give a soft cry as he arched up toward Brett’s fingers.
It was like that one movement that one little cry gave John the permission that he had been looking for to let go. To relax something that he hadn’t even noticed was tensed inside of him, to let himself have this thing that he had fought against so hard he had barely even allowed himself to know that the fight was even going on.
“Brett,” he whispered, and they shifted close together as John’s fingers drifted up to the waistband of Brett’s pants. He tugged the button free and pulled them down just enough to free Brett, swollen and just as pretty here as he was everywhere else, pink and glistening as John’s hand wrapped around him.
They were close enough to kiss, but they didn’t, and that was probably better. This wasn’t about intimacy, that wasn’t how John did sex with men. They were just helping each other out, and that thought gave him the permission that he needed to do what he wanted to do.
The contact of their eyes, though, despite his best efforts, was every bit as intimate as a kiss. He stared into them, letting himself get lost in the vibrancy, the glisten, and was gratified to note that Brett was looking at him just as much.
It wouldn’t take long for John. Not as close as he had already been when Brett had walked in again. He whimpered and breathed the same air that had just left Brett’s lungs and tried to tell himself that this wasn’t about anything but physical release, even though deep down he knew otherwise.
Their hands fell into a perfect rhythm, gripping, stroking, slippery skin rocking through tight fingers, the heads of their cocks brushing against each other’s palms.
It took hardly any time at all. Later, John would wonder if it had happened at all, or if Brett gripping him, Brett stroking him off, had just been a fantasy that he’d had while jerking himself. But the pleasure which built, molten hot, in the core of his body, which tightened his muscles and made him unable to focus on anything else, that was unlike something that he could get alone.
It was always better with another person. Twice as good, if not more. But with Brett, it was up a whole new level, better by far than it would have been with anyone else. Better than it ever had been, anyway, with men in the dark of the night.
Because it was Brett.
Luckily, Brett came first. John had been scared that he would humiliate himself by shooting off, and maybe Brett wouldn’t come at all. But he heard the hoarse cries, almost sounding like Brett was in pain, except for the pleasure which transfixed his face and made it radiant.
That gave John all the permission that he needed, and he groaned as his own release spurted out of him, hot and coating Brett’s strong, talented hand. When those hands had been on his back, he had wondered what it would be like—he could admit now in the aftermath of his pleasure—to have those hands elsewhere.
He knew now, and any thoughts that he’d had about how this could maybe be a one-time thing, something that didn’t mean anything beyond physical release, were starting to seem a little bit unlikely.
