Chapter 6
Istare at Chase, trying to figure out if he’s fucking with me again. He’s got this deadpan expression, but there’s a flicker of amusement in his dark eyes.
“You’re joking,” I say.
“I’m not. We’re both sporting wood. Might as well let ’em breathe.”
He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and slides them down his thighs. Then he lifts each foot, pulls them off completely, and tosses them across the room.
And there it is. Out in the open. The cock I already felt through the fabric is now in full view, and it’s fucking spectacular.
Long, thick, and curved slightly to the left, with a pair of heavy balls nestled underneath.
A blue vein runs up the shaft, and a drop of clear precum is gathering at the tip.
Chase settles back beside me with his back against the headboard, his weight dipping the mattress, and lets his legs fall open. He grips himself and gives a slow, lazy pump. I watch the head of his cock disappear and reappear in his fist.
“So?” he asks, looking over at me. “Don’t leave me hanging, bro. Or should I say, don’t leave me standing.”
“Damn, that’s a terrible pun.” But I can’t help smiling.
He smiles back, and the way his face lights up when he does, the way his teeth flash and his dark eyes crinkle at the corners, is almost enough to make me forget the crazy situation we’re in.
Fuck it.
I lift my hips, slip off my reindeer boxers, and toss them to the side. My dick springs free, slapping against my stomach and leaving a wet trail of precum in its wake. The cool air washes over my hot, flushed skin.
“Not as impressive as yours, I know. But Brittany never had any complaints. Well, until today, of course.”
“Dude,” Chase says, giving my shoulder a shove. “First of all, you got a nice cock. Second, fuck her. She doesn’t deserve you, man. She doesn’t deserve either of us.”
His words are surprisingly comforting, and I feel a warmth spread through my chest that has nothing to do with the cheap beer. We’re in this together. Him and me.
“So,” he says, turning back to the laptop. “Let’s see what else is on here. You wanna watch straight stuff? Or do you wanna see what else these guys get up to?”
“We’re supposed to be researching for our role, right? Seems counterproductive to switch to straight porn.” I can’t believe I’m saying these words.
“Good call.”
Chase clicks on a new video. This one is shot in a sleek, modern kitchen, all chrome and white marble.
Two guys are fucking against the island counter.
The top has a beard and a chest full of tattoos; the bottom is a younger, clean-cut blond with a surprisingly round ass for such a lean guy.
There’s no dialogue, just the rhythmic slap of skin against skin and the breathy moans of the bottom.
Chase and I both grab our hard-ons and start stroking. My hand moves up and down my shaft, lubricated by the precum I smear over the head. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Chase doing the same. He leans back against the stack of pillows, legs spread, and lets out a low groan.
The sound does something to me. Goosebumps race up my spine, and my nipples harden. Is that normal? I don’t know. I don’t know what normal is anymore. All I know is that jerking off next to a hunky football player in his dorm room feels a lot more natural than I ever expected.
The bottom in the video starts to beg, “Fuck me, fuck me harder,” and the tattooed top picks up the pace, driving into him with a series of deep, powerful thrusts that push the blond onto his tiptoes.
“Yeah, that’s it,” Chase mutters, his hand working faster. “Give it to him. Fuck that ass.”
I figure I should be talking dirty too, since this is all for the sake of our gay charade. So I try. “Fuck yeah. Just like that. Deeper.” But the words feel strange and clunky coming out of my mouth, like I’m trying to speak a language I barely know.
Chase seems to appreciate the effort, though. “Getting the hang of it, Finn.”
He looks over at me. His eyes are heavy-lidded, pupils blown wide with lust. His chest rises and falls with each shallow breath, and a flush spreads across his cheekbones.
I can see why Brittany’s into him. Doesn’t make it right, but I get it.
The guy is attractive. Dangerously so. In this light, with that intense, focused expression on his face, it’s doing things to me. Things it shouldn’t.
“You know what,” he says. “This is better.”
“What is?”
“This. Us.” He glances down at my dick, then back up at my face. “We don’t need that lying bitch. We’ve got each other, man.”
I nod, my throat tight. “Y-yeah.”
He reaches over with his free hand and places it on my leg, right above my knee. The touch is so sudden, so unexpected, I almost jump. My skin tingles where he touches me, the heat of his palm seeping into my flesh.
“Hey,” he says. “Crazy idea.”
“Everything tonight has been a crazy idea.”
“Right? So what’s one more? What if we… you know.”
I swallow, my hand going still on my dick. “What?”
“You could, like, touch mine. And I could touch yours. Help each other out.”
“You want to… trade?”
“Yeah. A trade. A helping hand between new friends. Co-conspirators.”
My heart pounds against my ribs, a wild, out-of-control rhythm that almost drowns out the porn still playing on the laptop.
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I should say no.
I should get up, pull on my clothes, and go back to my room.
This is crossing a line, a very big, very bright line, and I have no business being on the other side of it.
“We don’t have to,” he adds. “Just an idea. If you’re not comfortable with it, no big deal.”
The ball’s in my court now. He’s offering me an out.
All I have to do is take it. But a dark, reckless, curious part of me, a part that’s apparently been dormant for years, wants to see what happens.
Wants to know what it feels like to have someone else’s cock in my hand.
Specifically, Chase’s monster cock. I blame this crazy day.
I blame the adrenaline. I blame Brittany.
I let out a slow breath and move closer to him on the bed, the space between us shrinking until our thighs touch. Then I reach over and wrap my fingers around his dick.
“I’ll trade,” I say.
It feels alien and familiar at the same time.
Warm, hard, slick with precum. His skin is velvety soft, but underneath is a core of steel.
I can feel the throb of his pulse against my palm.
His cock is so fucking big I can barely get my hand around it.
I give it a tentative squeeze, and his hips twitch, a soft hiss escaping from between his teeth.
“Fuck, yeah,” he breathes, his head falling back against the headboard. “That’s good.”
He returns the favor, his large, calloused fingers circling my dick, his thumb smearing the fluid beaded at the tip.
His hands are big, bigger than I realized before.
His fingers are long and thick, with bitten-down nails, wrapping around me in a way my own never could.
He knows what he's doing, and within seconds, I'm arching my back, a choked gasp ripping out of me.
“Jesus,” I grit out. “Chase…”
“Just relax,” he murmurs, his thumb stroking the sensitive spot just under the head. “I got you.”
The guys in the video have moved on to the kitchen table, the bottom on his back with his legs over the top’s shoulders, getting absolutely railed.
But the sounds from the laptop fade into the background, overpowered by our ragged breathing and the wet, slick noises our hands make as we stroke each other’s cocks.
I try to match the rhythm he’s using on me, a slow, firm twist on the upstroke and a tight, smooth glide down. He reacts right away, his hips pushing up into my fist, his breaths coming faster and thinner.
“Harder,” he grunts.
I tighten my grip, picking up the pace. I want to make him feel good.
I want to make him lose control, the way he’s making me lose control.
This is gay, I think to myself, really fucking gay.
There’s no denying it. And yet it doesn’t feel wrong.
It feels right. Which is even more terrifying.
But the little bubble of panic that starts to form in my chest is immediately popped by a fresh wave of pleasure that crashes over me as Chase changes the angle of his wrist, rubbing his thumb over my slit. I moan. Loudly.
“Yeah, like that,” he says. “Let me hear you.”
And I do. I stop trying to hold back the sounds, the whimpers, the gasps, and the moans. I let them spill out as my hand works over his cock, my wrist starting to ache from the angle. He’s leaking steadily now, and the slickness makes it easy to move, to twist, to pump.
I look at him. His eyes are closed, his face a mask of intense concentration.
His brows are furrowed, his lips parted.
He looks… beautiful. And that’s not a word I’ve ever used to describe a guy before.
But it’s true. The line of his jaw, the dark sweep of his eyelashes against his cheekbones, the way the lamplight catches the sweat beading on his temple.
There’s a vulnerability in the way he’s lost to the sensation, in the way he’s letting me see him like this.
Then his eyes snap open, and they lock on mine. And in that moment, I know. This isn’t about research anymore. This isn’t about revenge. This isn’t even about Brittany. This is about us. Him and me. On this bed. In this room. Right now.
Then I lean forward and take his big cock into my mouth.