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He was the most humble rich guy I knew.
The only reason I pieced it together was from just normal, everyday conversation. In fact, I actually had to cajole him into showing me the picture of his house and his parents.
Tate was the spitting image of his father. His sister took after their mother. But the framed family portrait he showed me hammered home the realization that Tate and I were from two separate worlds. Him, upper crust. Me, a simple plebeian.
Well, maybe not so simple. But I wasn’t one of those “sparkly” gays who had flair. I was pretty basic.
“No, not ready to go yet. Need more beer.”
Oh, that’s right, I was trying to convince him to leave.
When he turned toward me, he tripped over his own feet and began to fall backwards, his arms windmilling wildly as he scrambled to stay upright.
Instinctively, my hand shot out and I snagged his shirt in time to keep him from going down. He ended up overcompensating and fell forward instead, causing our bodies to slam together.
I didn’t release him but tightened my grip on his shirt and held him in place while we both gathered our wits and panted from the sudden adrenaline rush.
His from losing his balance and almost falling.
Mine from being pressed against Tate.
We were now close enough for me to pick up the light scent of his soap or aftershave, or whatever he wore. Close enough to be seared by his heat. Close enough so parts of us touched.
Without thinking and while keeping a hold of his shirt with my right hand, I grabbed his face with my left and slammed my lips against his.
He didn’t push me away, he didn’t step back. He didn’t move.
He didn’t open his mouth and I kept mine closed, too.
We were sandwiched together from hip to chest and mouth to mouth.
I was as shocked as he was. Kissing him had been instinct for me and I’d wanted to do it for so long. But…
Both of us simply stood there. Connected, but also not.
Not moving. Not actually kissing. Not even breathing.
We were frozen.
For a moment it wasn’t a kiss.
It was only two pairs of lips touching.
It was nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Then with a flip of a switch, it became something.
Something I least expected.
The light turned on and became brighter as his lips began to move against mine.
Cautiously and awkwardly.
In truth, I expected that movement to be a demand for me to let him go.
Or a complaint.
Or a curse.
Because again, this couldn’t be a kiss.
Like what happened too often, I was wrong.
He was kissing me.
Tate was kissing me.
Out of instinct or out of want? I wasn’t sure.
Fuck, it could be he was drunker than I realized and he thought I was someone else, because…
He couldn’t want this.
It was a moment of weakness for me. A moment of confusion for him.
Even so, I knew who I was. I knew who he was. Only too well.
He’d regret this when he was sober. I just knew it.
Because of that, I should end this. That would be best. For him and for our friendship.
Due to my weakness, I let him continue. I let it happen anyway. No matter how wrong I knew it was, I wanted it.
I needed it.
As his lips moved tentatively against mine, the power switched.
I took it and his mouth, as well.
I owned it. It now belonged to me.
Our mouths opened and our tongues clashed.
I don’t know who groaned. It could’ve been me or him. Or even both of us as I deepened the kiss and our tongues continued to tangle, not to push me out, but to play.
I shoved his aside because I wanted to explore his mouth fully. To taste every corner and lock it away to memory, since I knew this would be the one and only time this would ever happen.
After this, it could be the last time we spent together as friends.
Fuck, I hoped not.
I so, so hoped not, even though I was wrong to kiss him. Not only because Tate was straight, but because he had a girlfriend.
It was all wrong, but I still couldn’t stop. He didn’t make me, either. Every noise coming from deep within his throat, every movement of his lips, encouraged me further.
His cock, hard and thick, being pressed against mine told me this didn’t disgust him. That he wasn’t turned off by our kiss. Or by our bodies touching as his hands gripped my hips, holding me there, even pulling me closer and not pushing me away.
If he started grinding his cock against mine, it would be game over for me. I’ve wanted Tate since the second I saw him coming in late to class. I’ve fantasized about him ever since, too.
And worse, my lust had turned to love along the way.
So, it would only take a few brushes of his erection against mine for me to lose my load in my briefs.
