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“Take your pants off. I’ll help you.”
Liam fumbles awkwardly with the button on his jeans, and watching him try to struggle free of the denim one-handed while lying on his back is so painful, I end up doing it myself. After dropping his pants on the floor, I sit on the edge of the bed and take him in my hand, allowing myself to really feel it instead of just working it for his pleasure.
“What?” Liam asks when I don’t move.
“I was just thinking, I’ve never seen another guy’s cock before. Not like this. And even though I held yours, I didn’t look at it.”
He sucks in a breath, blinking rapidly. “And?”
My shoulders lift slightly as I study the rigid length in my hand. It’s somewhat lighter than the skin on his arms, though the tip has a faint pinkish tone where it pokes out of my fist. And since I’m holding him near the base, and I’ve got big hands, I’m assuming it’s roughly as long as mine. A little thinner, but so is the rest of him compared to me.
“It’s kind of pretty, I guess, as far as cocks go.”
A funny little crease mars his forehead, like that surprises him. “Um, thanks? Could you, uh.” He rocks his hips back and forth. “Gimme a little help?”
“I am.” I flex my hand around his length, which makes him bite back a groan.
“A little more then? Move your hand.”
“Move your dick,” I retort without thinking, for no other reason than I’m too busy studying the way it fits in my fist to think about what I should be doing with it.
Liam huffs out a frustrated breath but doesn’t protest, and starts rolling his hips in little circles while I hold tight, effectively pushing and pulling the skin of his shaft over the rigid muscle underneath as he slowly writhes against the mattress. I actually feel him sliding inside my fist despite the fact my hand is utterly still, which I obviously know can happen, but never really gave much thought to until now.
Gripping him tighter, I watch his thrusts speed up, the pressure seeming to spur him to move faster, pant harder. Relaxing my fingers has the opposite effect, though he punctuates the slower movement with a strained moan, the fingers of his cast-free right hand gripping the comforter tightly.
When the tip of his cock starts to glisten, I swipe my thumb over it, spreading the silky liquid all over his crown. Then I play with my grip some more, observing how the subtle changes alter his breathing, his rhythm, even how tightly he locks his jaw when I deny him the relief he wants.
I’m not sure how long I toy with him, which was never really my intent, but it ends up being pretty fascinating. Then, I realize he’s not the only one who’s inhaling erratically. While my breaths aren’t as ragged and needy as his, they’re by no means steady.
At first, I think I’m just mirroring his breathing, but then I realize there’s a somewhat familiar energy inside me. The kind I get before I take the field for a game, a mix of adrenaline and excitement, only more subtle. Understated. Persistent and elusive at the same time. Yet rather than pulsing throughout my limbs, its’ concentrated deep inside the base of my cock.
It’s…intriguing.
I’m not sure whether to just enjoy it or try to chase it to see where it leads. One thing I do know, it’s the second time I’ve had this sensation while holding Liam’s cock in my hand, and I’m not sure what to make of that, other than maybe I am attracted to him. I mean, what else could it be?
We’re in our dorm room, alone, with no game or match or competition in sight, and I feel somewhat riled up but only in the part of my body that doesn’t tend to wake up on command. That’s attraction, right?
Huh. I didn’t see that coming.
Given that our first meeting didn’t go well, for weeks afterward I considered myself lucky that we seemed to get along and had a shot at becoming friends. Anything beyond that was not on my radar—mostly because I suspected I was ACE—but also because I didn’t expect to be into guys.
It never occurred to me to try looking at Liam as anything other than my roommate, odds were that’s the only way I’d see him. Plus, his grumpy side was pretty close to the surface in the beginning, and that’s one trait I’ve never found appealing. But as time went on and he started to loosen up—or at least relax—his ever-present scowl melted away. I’ll admit, he’s a good-looking guy.
Blond hair, just long enough to have some style to it, but not so long as to be shaggy. Hazel eyes with tiny little flecks of brown and gold if you look close enough. Lean, muscular build. It’s fair to say most people would consider him hot, and I’d have to agree.
That in and of itself isn’t a big deal since I’ve always been able to recognize when people are attractive. It’s just noticing that and responding to it are two different things, and I rarely have a response. Yet, twice now, I’ve felt this little twinge around him.
I should probably keep that to myself.
Liam may like me well enough as a friend and roommate, but there are plenty of times I think he’s just tolerating me, like when I try too hard to look out for him. I’m not sure he’d appreciate knowing my body seems to like it when I touch his. Not full-blown erection type of like, but more than I’ve ever felt with anyone else, which is a burden he might not want.
He’s only looking to relieve some tension, something he apparently needs regularly, and he’d do it himself if he didn’t have a broken arm. Once his cast is off, he won’t need me to do this for him, so it’s best if I don’t let on how little I mind when he wants my help.
“Close. Need more.” Liam’s head thrashes from side to side, drawing my attention back to his half-naked form, and the way the muscles in his abs coil and release as he thrusts into my fist.
Oh, wow.
As an athlete I appreciate the work that goes into sculpting your body, but up until this point that appreciation was for the discipline. Right now, it’s something more. Something visceral. And I respond by taking over, using my hand to bring Liam the release he needs. And when it happens…
