Chapter 5
The second the door clicks shut behind us, I start shedding my sweaty, dirt-streaked gear, leaving a trail from the door to my bed. Cleats, shoulder pads, jersey, football pants.
“Alright, let’s just get this over with,” I say, standing there in just my compression shorts. My cock is still semi-hard, so I angle my body away from Stone.
“Someone’s eager,” he says, kicking off his own cleats. “Was it everything you hoped for?”
It was so much more. That’s the problem. But that’s one secret I’m taking to the grave.
“Just check so we can wrap this up. That pile on the floor is your first load of laundry, by the way.”
“Eager and demanding. Damn.” He grins. “Alright, bend over, big boy.”
The command lands differently this time.
I don’t know why. The authority in his voice, being alone now, the memory of him on top of me on the field.
.. Something about it makes my skin prickle.
This is our room. We’ve lived here for three years.
We’ve seen each other at our worst—hungover, sick, heartbroken, stressed out.
This should be nothing. Just another ridiculous moment in a long line of them.
But I’ve never felt this naked in front of him before. Not even when we were actually naked.
I take a deep breath and bend over the side of my bed, pulling my compression shorts down just enough to expose the purple base. The movement makes it shift inside me, and I have to bite my lip to stop a gasp. My hands brace against the mattress, clenched into fists.
I hear him approach. The soft thud of his bare feet on the floor. Then silence. He’s standing behind me, just looking. The back of my neck burns. My heart pounds so hard I can feel it in my throat.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” he says. “You actually made it through a whole practice with that thing buried in your ass.”
“That was the bet.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t think you’d actually do it. Honestly thought you’d bail halfway through. Ditch it in the locker room or something.”
“I don’t back down from shit. You know that.”
He’s still standing there. Close enough that I can feel the heat coming off him.
“Looks like it’s still in there good and tight,” he says. “Bet that feels fucking weird, doesn’t it?”
“Are we done?” I start to straighten up. “You checked. I won. Now you do my laundry, and I get the chair.”
“Hold on.” His hand lands on my lower back, keeping me bent over. “Let me take it out for you.”
“What? No. I can do that myself.”
“You can, but why would you? Winner gets the spoils, right? Consider this part of your prize. A complimentary de-plugging service.”
“A what?”
“It’s the least I can do. You’ve earned it. Don’t want you pulling a muscle trying to fish it out yourself. You’re all tense.”
“You weren’t worried about that on the field,” I mutter, but I don’t move. Don’t pull away from his hand. It’s a warm, heavy weight on my skin, and it’s making it hard to think.
“Well, on the field, I was trying to win a bet. Here, I’m just trying to be a good friend. You’re stiff as a board, Jay.”
Stiff. Fortunately, he doesn’t see I’m stiff somewhere else, too. My compression shorts are still pulled up in front, barely keeping my hard-on contained.
I should tell him to get lost. That I’m perfectly capable of taking a sex toy out of my own ass, thank you very much. But I don’t. I just stay there, bent over my own bed, waiting. My whole body is trembling, and I tell myself it’s from the workout, from exhaustion.
“Fine,” I hear myself say, the word small and tight in my throat. “Whatever. Just be quick about it.”
“Quick? This is a delicate operation.”
He doesn’t touch the plug right away. Instead, I feel his fingers trace the line of my compression shorts, then hook under the waistband and pull them down further, exposing the globes of my ass completely.
“Jesus, Stone,” I breathe, my head hanging down. “Is that needed?”
“Just trying to get a better angle.” His fingers ghost over my ass cheeks. “Man, you’re really tense. All clenched up. That’s not gonna make this easy.”
His thumb is so close to my hole. This is so far beyond anything we’ve ever done. So far beyond the boundaries of our stupid dare.
“This might feel a little weird,” he says. “Try to relax.”
Easy for him to say. He’s not the one about to be de-plugged by his best friend. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to will my muscles to unclench.
I feel a tug on the base of the plug. He’s not yanking it out.
He’s being gentle, which is somehow more unnerving.
It rocks side to side, easing out bit by bit.
I feel the widest part sliding through, my body clenching and then giving way.
It’s the reverse of this morning in the shower.
A slow withdrawal that leaves this weird aching emptiness behind.
And then it’s out.
Stone places the plug on my nightstand with a thud.
“Jesus,” he breathes.
“What?”
“Nothing. You’re just... really stretched out.”
“No shit. You just pulled a buttplug out of it. Can I get up now?”
“Jay, I’m serious.” One of his hands is still on my ass. “You’re... gaping. I can see right inside you.”
“Stone, what the fuck?”
“It’s… kind of hot.”
“Hot? Dude, it’s my asshole.”
“Yeah, I know. But…”
I can feel the cool air inside me. I’m exposed in a way I’ve never been with anyone, let alone him. But for some reason, I’m not scrambling to cover myself. I’m not telling him to fuck off. I’m just… staying there. Bent over. Letting him look.
And look he does. His gaze is almost like a physical thing. A warmth that spreads across my skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. The way he’s just staring at me, like he’s genuinely fascinated by this part of me no one has ever seen... it makes my whole body feel strange. Tingly.
“So fucking open,” he mutters, more to himself than to me. “Doesn’t it feel… empty now?”
I swallow hard. I don’t want to admit it, but it does. A profound, hollow ache where the plug used to be. My body got used to the pressure. Now it’s gone, and my ass feels like it’s trying to pull in the air. To fill the void.
“Little bit, yeah.”
“Can I…?” he starts, then stops.
“Can you what?”
“No, that’s weird. Forget it.”
“Just say it, Stone.”
I hear a small hitch in his breathing. “Can I touch? Just to… I don’t know. See what it feels like.”
My brain is screaming at me. No. Absolutely not. This is your best bud. This has already gone way too far. We’re miles past the line. We’ve set up a tent and built a fire in Gay County, and we’re roasting marshmallows on it.
But then I think about the plug. The way I felt on the field, with him on top of me. And a different part of me takes over. The daredevil. The wildcard. The guy who always does the stupid, reckless thing.
“Yeah, whatever. Go ahead.” I try to sound casual, like he’s asking to borrow my car, not touch my gaping asshole. “Knock yourself out.”
“Damn, Jay.” A soft laugh. “Never thought I’d hear you say that.”
He walks over to the sink. Water runs for a few seconds, then the squeak of the faucet shutting off. He comes back behind me, and I catch the scent of the cheap hand soap we both use.
I hold my breath. Then I feel the tip of his finger, calloused from football and years of lifting, trace the rim of my hole. It’s a light touch. Exploratory. My hole flutters at the contact, a spasm of pure instinct.
“Sensitive?” he asks, his finger circling the puckered flesh.
“Mmm.”
He presses a little harder, and I feel my muscles give way. He slides the tip of one finger inside me with zero resistance. Just sinks right in.
“Fuck, you’re still so slick,” he breathes. His finger explores the stretched rim, sliding around the edges. It’s nothing like the plug. This is warm. Alive. Another person’s touch. It’s a hundred times more intense.
I can feel everything. The texture of his skin. The shape of his nail. The slight roughness of his knuckle as he pushes deeper.
“You’re so loose from the plug, man. Loose and wet.”
“I used a shitload of lube.”
“I can tell.” He’s all the way in now. His whole finger.
He curls it inside me, and I choke back a cry.
He’s found it. That button. The one the plug was pressing against. But this is different.
The plug was a blunt instrument. His finger is a precise tool, a guided missile aimed directly at that sensitive spot.
“It feels so soft inside,” he says. “So soft and… hungry. Your ass is pulling me in.” He sounds hypnotized.
I’m breathing hard now. Each exhale is a soft moan I can’t seem to stop. I’ve never felt anything like this. This strange, invasive pleasure that makes me want to push back against him, to take more.
“Does it feel good when I do this?” he asks, wiggling the tip of his finger against that spot.
“Ah—” I manage, my hips bucking on their own. “Kinda.”
“Yeah?” He slides his finger in and out, slow at first, then a little faster. The squelch is obscene in the quiet room. “You like that?”
“Dude…” I can’t form a full sentence. My brain is mush. My cock is so hard it feels like it’s about to tear through the fabric of my shorts. A wet spot is forming where the head is leaking.
He’s leaning over me now. I can feel his breath on my back.
“Damn, you’re shaking. Are you cold?” he asks, but he knows I’m not. I can hear the smug satisfaction in his voice.
“It’s just... a lot.” My hands are clenched so tight in the comforter my knuckles are white. I want to let go, to lean into the sensation, but I’m fighting it. Because if I let go, I’m not sure anything will ever be the same.
“It’s a lot, huh?” He slides a second finger in alongside the first. It’s a tight stretch, but I’m still so open from the plug that it slides in easily. The feeling of fullness is back. It’s better than the toy. So much better. “What about now?”
“Ah, fuck,” I groan. “That’s… two.”
“Sharp as ever, Jay.” He pushes them in and out like he’s testing the fit. “Look at that. Pushing back for more.”
I’m so hard it hurts. I’ve never been this turned on in my life. Not with my ex, not with any girl I’ve hooked up with. Nothing has ever come close to this.
But it’s wrong. This is Stone. My buddy. The guy I eat pizza and play video games with. Who I bitch about Coach to. These same fingers were shoving Cheetos in my mouth just a few hours ago.
I have to stop this. Before it goes any further. Before I lose control completely.
“Stone,” I gasp out as he twists his fingers. “This—ah!—this is—you shouldn’t—fuck—we can’t… we can’t do this.”
His free hand squeezes the meat of my ass cheek. “You’re right. We shouldn’t.” He doesn’t stop. If anything, he goes deeper. “But that ass of yours is begging for it, man. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
He’s right. My body is begging for it. Every fiber of my being is screaming, “Yes, more, please.” But my brain… my brain is having a fucking meltdown. I’m not gay. I’m not. It’s always been girls. Cheerleaders, sorority chicks, the cute barista at the coffee shop.
But then… I’ve also never had anyone do this to me. No girl I’ve been with has ever shown any interest in my ass, other than the occasional appreciative squeeze. This is uncharted territory.
Before I can make a decision, before I can figure out what the hell I want, Stone pulls his fingers out.
The emptiness that follows is immediate. Devastating. A sudden, gaping void. I make a sound I’m not proud of.
“What—why’d you stop?”
“You literally just said we can’t do this.” He straightens up, backing away a step. “And I agree.”
I push myself up and turn around. I know my face is a mess. Sweaty, flushed, my pupils probably blown wide. I don’t even bother trying to hide my erection anymore. There’s no point. It’s right there, tenting my compression shorts, a traitor to its cause.
But I’m not the only one.
Stone’s shorts are in the same state. A massive bulge pressing against the fabric, a wet spot at the tip that looks even bigger than mine.
I stare, my mouth dry. I’ve seen him naked before, of course.
In the locker room. In the showers. I’ve seen him soft, half-hard.
But I’ve never seen him like this. Fully, achingly hard. Because of me.
“You’re…” I start, but I don’t know how to finish.
“Yeah, no shit.” He adjusts himself, wincing. “Don’t act so surprised.” He gestures at my own hard-on. “It’s not like you’re exactly unaffected.”
I open my mouth. Close it. I have no defense for that.
“And you wanna know the worst part?” he continues. “I had this urge to…” He cuts himself off, shaking his head. “It was bad. I wanted to—” He makes a gesture that’s somewhere between a fist pump and a pelvic thrust.
“To what?”
“To fuck you, Jay.” The words come out stripped of any of his usual cocky humor. He looks as shocked as I am that he actually said it out loud. “Right here. Over your bed. I wanted to put my dick inside you.”
My stomach clenches. A hot, panicked fear wars with a dark, thrilling curiosity. I should be disgusted. Repulsed. I should be punching him in the face right now.
But I’m not.
“I won’t, though,” he says, backing up another step. He drags a hand through his sweat-damp hair, leaving it standing in messy spikes. “Of course I won’t. That—fuck, that would be fucking weird. Right?”
“Right,” I manage, the word feeling like sandpaper in my throat. My eyes keep flicking down to his erection, then up to his face, then back down. There’s nothing I want more in this world than for him to take back everything he just said and do exactly what he described.
“But… damn. The way you were bent over… all open and wanting… I thought you were gonna ask for it.”
“Ask for it?”
“Yeah. You were making noises, man. And you were pushing back. For a second there, I thought… well, you know. I thought that you wanted to take it further.”
The emptiness is still there. A phantom ache where the plug used to be. Where his fingers used to be. My body is screaming for something to fill me up, for him specifically to fill me up.
“Would it… would it be that weird?” I hear myself ask. The daredevil is back, and he’s steering this car straight into a wall.
Stone’s nostrils flare. He takes a step forward, then stops. “You tell me, man. Would it?”
“I mean... it would be pretty gay, that’s for sure.”
“Yeah, pretty fuckin’ gay.” He takes another step. He’s right in front of me now, his dirty jersey inches from my face. He smells like sweat and dirt and him. That masculine smell that, until this moment, has never had this effect on me.
“Maybe just the tip.”
The corner of Stone’s mouth quirks up. “Did you really just say that?”
“I’m just spitballing here. Thinking out loud.”
His eyes drag over me. From my messy hair, down my bare chest, past the angry bulge in my shorts, to my bare feet on the floor, then back up to my face. He looks at me in a way he’s never looked at me before. “Where’s that bottle of lube that we bought?”
“In the shower,” I breathe. “Left it there from… you know.”
“Go get it.”