Chapter 8 #2
Part of me wants to face him and lose the boxers, force him to see my dick, like I was forced to see his.
But I don’t want to witness any potential look of disgust on his face. Although there wasn’t any when he watched another man sucking me off.
None at all.
Yeah, my decision is made for me, because now I’m getting hard. I feel like a stupid, horny teenager at this point.
It’s like I’m having the opposite of erectile dysfunction. I can’t seem to keep the damn thing down these days.
Turning around, I drop my boxers and bend down to slip my feet into the holes of the pants. Maybe my ears are playing tricks on me, but I swear I hear the smallest sound come from the other side of the room. A grunt, maybe a groan?
Pulling my pants up, I don’t look his way as I slide under my blanket. Flicking on my bedside lamp, I grab my reading glasses and the book I’m reading.
A small snort has me looking up. “You got an issue?” I ask. Easton is lounging on his bed, dressed similarly to me, only he’s in just his boxers. When the hell did he lose his clothes?
You know what, it doesn't matter.
The head of my bed is against the wall, with the rest of it extending out into the room. Easton’s lays against the wall. So I’m able to see his whole body.
He has a knee propped up, one arm behind his head, the other holding his phone. “You look like an old man.”
“I’m sorry, what?” I ask.
“The glasses.” He nods towards me. “And the book,” he chuckles.
“And how the hell does that make me look like an old man?” I raise a brow.
“They’re reading glasses, right?”
“So?”
“Only old people need reading glasses.”
“Ah, no.” I purse my lips. “Lots of people use reading glasses. I have a small prescription. Not enough to get full-time glasses. I only need them when I’m reading small text.
Like in a book.” I hold it up. Rolling my eyes, I open the book to the page I last read.
“If anything, I thought you’d make a comment about me looking like a nerd or something,” I mutter.
“Depends. What are you reading? Some book about art history, or boring factual bullshit?”
“First of all, there’s nothing wrong with reading non-fiction. Learning about new things can be fun. But no, it’s nothing like that.” I use my finger to push my glasses up as I flick the page over.
“Then what is it?”
“Why do you care?” I ask, not taking my eyes off the page. Not that I’m actually processing any of the words.
“Just asking, god,” he huffs. “Sorry.”
Rolling my eyes, I answer. “It’s a romance book.”
“Are you for real?” he asks, sounding surprised.
“So what?” This time, I look at him. “Nothing wrong with reading romance.”
“I just didn’t think you'd be the guy to read it.”
“Why? Because I'm a jock? People who play sports read romance, you know. It’s not meant to be for specific people.”
“I know,” he mutters. “Whatever.” He goes back to looking at his phone.
“My mom and sister own a bookstore. Reading is part of who I am. I’d spend hours there reading and learning. It’s fun.” My eyes find my book again.
“I know,” he whispers. “I remember.”
I pause as a memory from years ago flashes through my mind. Easton and I would come home from school and stop by the bookstore whenever Mom would get new shipments of books in. We would spend hours looking at the comics. The best part was that we didn’t have to buy them.
Easton loved that part, because his parents wouldn’t ever give him money to get books for himself. So, he’d come to the store with me to read them.
That's when I started gifting him comics, the ones my mom didn’t sell at her store, for his birthday and Christmas.
“You used to read too, you know,” I point out.
“Yeah,” he murmurs, a moment of silence before he speaks again. “But that was a long time ago.”
“Yeah.” I sigh. “It was.”
That's where our little chat ends. Easton doesn’t say anything, leaving me to read as he scrolls on his phone.
I get lost in the story, and by the time my eyes grow hot and heavy, telling me it’s time to go to bed, I realize it’s midnight.
“Shit,” I sigh, closing the book.
“What?”
I’m surprised to find Easton still up.
“I didn’t realize how late it was.” I put the book on my bedside table and take my glasses off, placing them on top.
I get up and head to the half bath on our floor to brush my teeth and get ready for bed. It has a few sinks, three stalls, and two urinals.
“Seriously, you're stalking me at this point.” I shoot Easton a glare as he steps up next to me, taking the other sink.
“I’m just brushing my teeth, god, don’t think too much into it.” He scoffs, taking the tube of toothpaste and putting some on his brush.
“You had plenty of time to brush your teeth, but you chose now to do it?” I shake my head. “It’s like you’re doing this just to piss me off,” I mutter, grabbing my own toothbrush.
“Is it working?” He chuckles, mumbling around his toothbrush.
“No.” I glare at him as I shove mine in my mouth.
We both start to brush our teeth, spitting a few times before I feel his eyes on me. I look up.
We stare at one another for far too long, brushing our teeth in this weird game of chicken.
It’s not until I start to brush my tongue that he pauses. I shove it all the way to the back. Most people gag when they brush their tongue, not me.
And Easton seems to notice. Huh.
Either my eyes are playing tricks on me, or his pupils dilated. For someone who doesn’t like men, he sure as hell reacts to things like someone who does.
Spitting, I rinse my brush and put it away before looking up at him. “No gag reflex.” I grin. “Comes in handy sometimes.” I wink, chuckling at the stunned look on his face.
I walk back to the room feeling like I won that round of... whatever game we seem to be playing. I just know I’m not going to lose.
I’m back in the room, in bed with the lights off before Easton returns.
My eyes are closed as I settle into the mattress, trying to shut my mind off. Only, my feet are cold. Easton comes into the room just as I’m lifting a foot up to give it a rub to warm up.
“You better not be jerking off,” he mutters. “That's where I draw the line.”
He’s fucking with me, right? So he can fuck his girlfriend with me in the room, but I can’t jerk off?
Why the hell not? It’s my damn room. I’ve been jerking off in it for years, I’m not going to stop just because he’s here. I can be quiet... maybe.
Whatever, it doesn’t matter. If he just ignores my rule about not fucking his girlfriend, then I’m not sticking to his stupid demands.
“I wasn’t. But now that I think of it, I think a good release would be nice. Would definitely help with sleep. You know what, I think I will.”
He lets out a choked sound, pausing as he crawls into his bed. “You’re joking, right?”
“Nope,” I say, pulling the blanket back. I lean over and flick the bedside lamp back on and open my drawer, grabbing a bottle of lube.
“You are not about to take your dick out and get off,” he growls.
“Why not?” I ask, popping the cap. “You’re allowed to do it in the shower, in front of me,” I challenge him.
“I was showering. You’re the one who came in with me. Not my problem, you saw something you didn’t want to see. Or did you?”
“I didn’t want to hear you fucking your girlfriend, that’s for sure. But I had to endure that. So, I think it’s only fair that you have to listen to me jerk off. I mean, the door is right there, you can always leave.” I nod toward the door.
“This is my room too. I’m not leaving.” He glares at me.
“Suit yourself.” I shrug and shove my sleep pants down.
Yes, I’m hard already. No need to work up to it, because the idea of Easton watching me touch myself has me shamefully aroused.
This started off as me messing with him, but as I feel his heated gaze on me, as I squirt some lube on my hand and settle back against my pillows, I know I don't plan on stopping.
Not until my balls are drained of cum.
Something Easton doesn’t seem to understand with me is that I’m not a shy person, I don’t back down from a challenge, and I have no shame.
Well, a little shame. I feel slightly ashamed for all the dirty thoughts that were racing through my mind when another man was pleasuring me, and I was wishing it were Easton.
I’d like to blame it on the alcohol, but I’m very sober right now. So there’s no excuse for why I’m wrapping my hand around my shaft and giving it a tug.
I can’t help the moan of pleasure that slips free.
My breathing picks up as my eyes search for Easton. Once they land on him, they stay locked on his gaze.
He stares at me, nostrils flaring, jaw clenched.
I smirk, giving myself another stroke from root to tip, giving the head of my cock a squeeze as I widen my legs and reach down, cradling my balls in my other hand.
“You know what?” he growls, scooting until he’s lying back against his own pillow. “You wanna play this game? I can play, too.”
My lips part in shock as he shoves his boxers down. His thick cock springs free, slapping his stomach.
Holy fuck, he’s hard. Hell, I think he’s harder than me.
Does he like this? Is this turning him on?
For someone who isn’t into men, watching one jerk off seems to get him hard.
The sight has my cock twitching in my grasp, my balls throbbing.
This is a bad idea, a very, very bad idea. Yet, I don’t have it in me to give a shit, because it’s also one of the hottest things to happen to me.
This little fucked up game of gay chicken is going farther than I thought it would. He’s not backing down, and neither am I.
Eyes on mine, Easton spits on his hand and then wraps it around his shaft.
I can’t help the groan that slips free as I pick up my pace. His stubborn gaze is locked on mine as we both start to jerk off.
My body is humming, like little bursts of electricity in my veins with every stroke.
My head becomes fuzzy, my balls throbbing, my cock so damn sensitive. I’m close already, but fuck, why do I not want this to end yet?
I can’t cum, not until he does. Whatever game we’re playing, I’m in it to win.
The sounds of Easton’s grunts, his breathy groans, are fuel to the fire. I haven’t been this turned on in a very long time.
It’s so damn hot, so fucked up. God, what the hell are we doing?
The sounds of our heavy breathing fill the room. My hand moves faster, and so does his. I tug at my balls, and then he’s reaching down and doing the same.
Holy fucking hell. This is pure porn. The best damn erotic thing to ever happen to me.
I’m having a fucking jerk off contest with my ex-best friend. How the hell did this become my life?
“For someone who doesn’t like guys, you sure seem to be enjoying yourself.” I groan, my orgasm rising with every stroke.
He likes this. He’s turned on by this. I’m not sure what's going on, what this means, but no straight man would enjoy this as much as he is.
“Fuck you,” he growls, sounding out of breath, a look of determination on his face.
We’re in this odd stare off, neither one of us wanting to look away.
I have no idea what the goal of this is. To cum first? To cum last? To out-jerk the other?
Nope. It’s two stubborn men who can’t help but try to piss off the other person.
Not sure about him, but I’m not pissed off that he’s playing into my game. Not at all.
This is single-handedly my wet dream come to life.
“Fuck,” I hear him curse, his eyes going glassy. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” he shouts, eyes squeezing shut.
I’m glad he looked away first, it gives me the chance to take in this whole moment, enjoy every second, and commit it to memory.
I watch his muscles flex in his arm as he works his hand over his shaft. My eyes drift lower. His feet are planted on the bed as he starts to thrust up into his hand.
Now all I can think about is it being my ass he’s fucking into. The way he would grab my hips with a deliciously painful grip, as he fucks into me like a wild animal.
His large body pressed over mine, his masculine grunts in my ear as he takes his pleasure, using my tight hole until he’s filling me with cum.
Oh god, I’m going to cum. I can’t hold back. There’s no fucking way.
And as if the gods are on my side, Easton is the first to fall over the edge.
I watch in fascination as he tosses his head back, lips parting in pleasure as his whole body tightens up.
And then he’s letting out this long, guttural groan that hits me right in the balls.
I watch as thick white ropes of cum shoot out and land on his chest. So powerful that some even hit his chin.
That's it. I can’t take it anymore.
My own orgasm barrels into me. My eyes roll back as I give in to the pleasure. My body tightens, my balls drawing up, and then I’m cumming too.
“Oh fuck.” I groan as my cock jerks in my fist, stream after stream of cum coating my chest.
When every last drop is drained, I slump back onto the bed, chest heaving, head fuzzy, body tingling. I feel like jelly.
I forget where I am and who's in the room with me, until I hear the bedroom door slam shut.
My eyes fly open, and I find myself alone in the room.
“Fuck.” I groan, running a hand through my sweaty hair.
What the hell was that?
Why did we do that? As if things weren't already tense between us.
How the hell do we keep finding ourselves in this situation? First the party, then the shower, now this?
He has a girlfriend. I don’t think she would be very happy to know her boyfriend is jerking off with his roommate.
A wave of shame slithers over me. What am I doing? I shouldn’t be acting like this. This isn’t me.
Yet, something about that asshole brings out sides of me I didn’t know I had.
With a heavy sigh, I grab the tissues from my bedside table and wipe myself clean, tossing the dirty tissues in the bin next to my bed.
Pulling my sleep pants back up, I turn my lamp off and roll over to face the window.
I watch the moon, trying to get myself to go to sleep, but I’m too wired. My mind drifts to Easton. Where did he go?
Did he realize what we did and it freaked him out? Did it disgust him?
Is he going to blame me for this?
I don’t think he’s homophobic, I’ve never gotten that vibe from him. He was always accepting when it came to my family.
Maybe this made him uncomfortable, put him in a situation he didn’t want to be in?
I didn’t ask him to pull his dick out and join me, but maybe I went too far by initiating it?
A little while later, I hear the door open and the sound of the bed creaking and blankets rustling.
Only then do I close my eyes and try to get some sleep.
Whatever happened tonight... will never happen again.