Brett didn’t stop, one finger was joined by another, and soon even those weren’t feeling like enough to John, who had never been so aware of how acutely empty a person could feel. Fingers wouldn’t be enough to fill him. Only Brett’s dick could do that. He was more sure of it all the time.
But Brett seemed nervous, like he might just do this forever, and John shuddered as he felt the kiss of fingertips on his prostate. Once Brett had found that magic spot, he stayed there, and John knew that he could come, just from being fingered.
“Now. Brett, babe,now,” John demanded, his hands clenching into Brett’s sheets, his cock leaking copious amounts of precum all over them. He was in a little puddle of his own fluids, which only made things worse as the sensitive underside of his dick rubbed over the smooth cotton.
“I like it when you call me that,” Brett told him artlessly, and then those fingers withdrew, and maybe they hadn’t been enough, but now there was nothing, and that was worse. With severely strained patience, John waited, trembling but not with nerves, not like he would have thought. There were no seconds thoughts, just a burning hot desire to be filled, to be taken, to know what it was like to be fucked by someone that he …
Damn it. There was that word again, that sneaky, insidious word. John groaned and buried his face in the pillow, feeling the sweet thickness of Brett’s gorgeous cockhead as it pressed against the previously untouched entrance to his body.
His first time. And Brett’s. And God, what sort of mistake were they making here?
“Now,” he groaned, his words muffled by the pillow, but Brett seemed to hear him. Either that or Brett was every bit as desperate as John was, needed this as much as he did. He could hope, right?
Brett pushed, and the head of his dick pushed inside, but he stopped there. Probably trying to let John adjust to the sensation of being filled, which was intense, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t what he was worked up to take, and so he took matters into his own hands.
One quick thrust of his hips upward was all it took. John cried out, not caring, for once, who heard him, and shoved himself toward the other man, arching his hips up off of the bed to take him all the way, all at once.
“Oh God, John,” Brett cried, and then, finally, they were linked. They had been friends for so long, and Brett was, John would readily admit, the most important person in the world to him, but in this one moment they transcended all boundaries between them and were fully linked.
That cock forged deep, pressing John open, and if there was pain, he didn’t feel it. Brett had prepared him well, had made him too desperate and needy so that whatever pain there was just added to the experience, made it that much better.
Pressed into the bed, pinned firmly there, John’s cock oozed out more and more precum as his prostate was assaulted in the best way. He felt the clasp of Brett’s hands on him, clutching at his shoulders, no more restraint in him now that they had crossed this line.
Which was pretty much perfect, as far as John was concerned.
“More. Harder. Brett, I’m so fucking close,” John admitted, and where was the shame that he would have normally felt to even think about this sort of thing? It had receded into a haze of pure lust, need, and desire.
Love.
“I’m too close. I can’t …” Brett admitted, but that was okay because just as Brett’s dick was twitching, lodged deep in John’s body, just as he was pumping his condom full of his release, John was screaming in his own pleasure and soaking Brett’s sheets.
It had been, by far, the best, most intense, sexual experience of John’s life, and there was no denying that it had been with a man. With his best friend.
God, he was so screwed, wasn’t he?
