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“We shouldn’t do this,” he whispers.
I gulp and still my hand, trying to push past all the adrenaline surging through my system.
“I won’t force you. Fuck, I’m sorry if I’ve crossed a line. There’s just no one else I want. No one else I can think about. I’ve never felt like this. I’ve never wanted like this, and I don’t know—”
“I said we shouldn’t, not that I didn’t want to. I do, A. I want to hear you come. Hear you say my name while you do it.”
My strokes are slow at first, just taking the edge off, but then I see Blair in the darkness behind my closed eyes. I see his tattoos; I see the dimple that pops when he smiles; I see the way his eyes took me in like he felt a fraction of the pull to me that I feel to him.
I hardly notice that I’m working my cock with a punishing pace until B’s voice breaks through my thoughts.
“Slow down, big guy. Take it easy for me.”
My body obeys instantaneously.
“Touch your cock for me, baby,” he says, voice low and soft.
I circle the base of my cock with my forefinger and thumb, holding and waiting for instructions. It’s so much easier when I don’t have to think about it. When B tells me what’s happening and takes charge.
“So good. I want you to stroke up slowly. Can you do that?”
I nod even though I know he can’t see me and drag my fingers along my shaft. Precum drips down over my knuckles, and instead of pleasure all I can focus on is the sound of B’s breathing down the line.
“Fist yourself loosely and ride your hand. You can go slow or fast, but don’t increase the pressure, okay?”
I open my eyes just enough to look down at my hand, watching the way the head pops in and out between my fingers as I give experimental thrusts.
“Talk to me, A. I need to know you’re okay,” B says, his voice raising just slightly.
“I am. Just focusing.”
He hums, a faint rustling sound interrupted by a satisfied exhale.
“Good. Focus on how good your hand feels. How good your body feels.”
My body feels like it’s a live wire, like it’s a bomb waiting to detonate at any given touch. B’s breathing changes, turns shallow, and my hips start pumping faster as I imagine what he could be doing.
“Are you touching yourself?”
He huffs out a laugh, which falls into a groan. There’s a quiet thunk and squelching sound that has my dick throbbing.
“How can I not? Thinking about you—right this second, I want to push you against the wall and rub our cocks together. I want to hold us both in my hand and grind our heads into my palm. Press our slits together and make your dick leak into mine.”
Why is that so fucking hot? I’ve never thought about what two guys can do with their dicks, but I can almost imagine the pleasure as I press on my own slit and watch the precum drip down.
“B, I’m so fucking wet.”
He breathes in sharply and lets it out as a growled and garbled moan.
“From the shower or from—”
“My cock. What else would you do to me? Please, B, I need to picture you.”
A hesitant, humored laugh falls from his lips, and then his voice is even raspier in my ear.
“Want me to paint you a picture, big guy? About how I want to fuck my cock on yours until I coat it in cum, and then I want to drop to my knees and take you down my throat. I want to taste both of our arousals, both of our releases on my tongue.”
“Oh god.” I pump my cock in long, even strokes, shaft thickening in my grip until my entire body pulls taut. “B, I’m so close.”
