Chapter 3 #5
The way he described Austin watching him like it was the most normal thing in the world; that’s what this feels like.
It’s taken me by surprise, but it doesn't feel off. Maybe I’ve seen him stroke himself enough times, it almost seems like second nature.
I know what’s coming next, and I don’t mind it.
He only does this with a select few, and having him on my lap, for once, almost feels like a privilege.
He's so fuckin’ soft.
“It was his way of proving it to me. Can I prove it to you now?”
“Ezra,” I whisper.
“Can I prove that I’m sorry?” he whispers, but even without the offer, I believe it. I believe he's sorry. I believe he wants to end all the hurt. “Please?”
“Yeah,” I quickly breathe out. “Yeah. Okay, Ez. You can. It’s okay.”
He pushes down his speedo, eyes aimed right at me, and then his cock is out, displayed proudly.
I may have seen it before, but it seems different when I know he’s doing this for me, and not for Austin.
Even when he does this around Bubba, they’re never alone.
One of us is always around. No one else is here right now, Just me, Ezra, and his half-hard cock.
Unlike me, his dick is almost hairless, his pubes trimmed low, leaving a small dusting of dark brown fur.
Ezra can claim his cock is five-and-a-half inches all he wants.
My job relies on eyeball measurements, and there ain’t a chance in hell Ezra’s over four or four-point-five.
He’s a little guy, but it works for him.
Dangling beneath his dick are two small pink balls that look like they belong in an Easter basket.
They get even smaller when he gets close, drawing up into his body like they almost don’t exist.
“I mean it, Johnny,” he says, curling his fingers around his cock.
The head barely peeks over the side of his hand, so he don’t have to pump his hand too much to stimulate it.
He might be small, but with the way he relaxes against my chest and fondles his pretty little cock, no shame to be found, he might as well be the giant from Jack and the Beanstalk.
I could never do what he’s doing right now.
I couldn’t put myself out there, opening myself up to ridicule by masturbating in the laps of friends as a bonding ritual.
He’s so fuckin’ brave, and there’s the smallest twinge of pride swelling in my chest, because he’s being brave for me.
“You’re doing great,” I whisper, unsure why my voice is cracking all over the place. He’s got his little hand on his little dick, stroking himself, using his thumb to collect a bead of pre-cum and eating it as he stares into my eyes.
Fuck.
“I’m sorry, Johnny. I’m so fucking sorry.”
“I know you are.” It’s the only thing I can think to say. He’s whining and whimpering as he writhes around in my lap, making all these sordid sounds, pumping himself furiously.
“I’ll never say it—oh, fuck, Johnny, I’m close—I’ll never fucking say it again. I swear. You’re not stupid. I’ll be nice. I’ll be so fucking nice, I promise. We’ll be friends.”
“Friends?” I whisper, the word sounding foreign directed at him. We ain’t friends. We were never supposed to be friends, and up until right this second, I didn’t think there was even a possibility. But God, he sounds like he means it. My hand rises slowly up his thigh.“Really?”
He nods with force, placing his hand on top of mine and squeezing.
He spreads his legs a little wider, and I can see the beginning of his crack.
Jesus fuckin’ Christ. I bet if he spread his legs a little more, I could probably see the hole.
“I promise. You don’t even know, Johnny.
You don’t even—Oh, God. Oh, Fuck.” He guides my hand even higher, and then between, stopping when I’m cupping his bare cheeks through his legs.
“Oh, fuck. That’s it, Ezra,” I find myself saying, unable to look away.
We’ve hated each other for so long, but now, something is shifting.
I feel it, and it’s so fuckin’ beautiful, it rips the air from my chest. When he comes, there’s a chance he’ll mean what he said.
There’s a chance we can be friends, and if we can become friends, maybe it won’t always hurt so much.
Maybe we won’t have to hurt each other ever again.
And don’t I want that? Don’t I need a new friend who loves Bubba just as much as I do, even if the kind of love we have for him isn’t the same?
Ezra is gay for him. I don’t know what the fuck I am, but here, with Ezra in my arms, I don’t think it matters anymore.
It’s not about labels, it’s about this big, beautiful triangle of love.
When he opens his eyes and smiles at me, it almost feels like the triangle is rounding out around the edges.
I tickle his ass cheek and smile down at him.
“Come on, Ez. It’s okay. You can come. I’m right here with you. I’m not leavin’. Let go, bro.”
“Bro,” he moans, sounding downright obscene. “That’s so fucking hot.” I don’t know what’s hot about it, but whatever it is, it must be scorching, because the word is enough to send him spilling over, shooting jet after jet into the air, painting both our faces, leaving little space untouched.
“Holy fuck,” I say, and with my mouth hanging open, a shot of his cum flies in, landing on my tongue. I don’t even blink, just swallow it down, nodding encouragingly, because he’s still writhing around like he’s coming out of his skin. “Shit. You did so good, Little Dick. You came so hard, bro.”
He presses his face right against my chest and whines my name. “Jonathan.”
Fuck.
I tighten the grip I've got on Ezra’s hip, pulling him closer. He feels good here. He feels real good here. “Ez.”
His cheeks flush a little. “Friends?”
“Friends.”
“Johnny?”
“Yeah, bro?”
His cock twitches again, and another small bead of cum slips out of his tip. “Did you just call me Little Dick?”
I clear my throat and shake my head. “You were in the middle of shooting a really big load, little guy. You must be hearing things.”
He looks like he believes me, thank God. “Okay. Yeah. Good.” Stretching out his arms and legs, he yawns, almost falling off my lap, but I grip him harder, keeping him safe. Once he’s all stretched out, he slowly stands, and my lap feels a little lonelier than before. Weird.
He grabs his speedos and bends over to pull them on, and I nearly catch sight of his hole, but he must know it’s about to be on display, because he whirls his ass toward the lake, shielding it from me. I still remember how it felt against my finger. Warm and inviting.
Why is there a bitter ache in my chest?
When I look up, prying my eyes away from him, Bubba is walking down the dock, having just enjoyed the show from his truck, probably.
“That was beautiful. I’m so proud of you.
That’s my good boys,” he praises, and fuck if it doesn’t make my heart swell with pride.
Ezra, too, if his wobbling legs are any indication.
He blissfully waves at Bubba, almost stumbling and falling on his now-covered ass.
The speedo is basically nonexistent, but it still feels like too much fabric, because I really liked how close we felt with no barriers.
I get why Ezra likes it, and I think I understand why Austin allows it to happen.
There’s a certain level of connection forged when a grown twink shoots a load in your arms, claiming his undying platonic friendship to you.
The bond feels like it’d be hard to break, but as soon as Ezra grabs Bubba’s backpack off his shoulders and places it on the floor of the boat, he reaches in and pulls out his sunscreen. So much for that unbreakable bond.
Ah, fuck. “Ezra, wait,” I say, but it’s too late.
He’s already squeezed a huge glob on his palm, and now he’s working it all over his face, not paying a bit of attention to me.
Bubba is, though. He’s staring right at me, and I can tell he knows I did something bad. It has to be written all over my face.
I try to say the words. I try to tell Ezra about the stupid prank I decided to pull before we agreed to be friends, but then my eyes lock on his ass, because each time he rubs another glob in, it jiggles like sourdough rising in the fridge when you bump the bowl.
It’s like I’m locked in a haze, and as hard as I try, I can’t drag my eyes away from him.
“Johnny?”
I look up to find Ezra smiling down at me, holding the bottle of sunscreen I tampered with earlier.
Normally, I wouldn’t stoop to his level, but after the asshole inserted himself into our trip, then whined about being bored for most of the ride, I snapped.
Bubba made us stop at Walmart to grab sunscreen for Ezra, because he’s got skin whiter than cocaine, and he’d be as red as a lobster by the end of the day, otherwise, but Ezra refused to go in, claiming Walmart is where hillbillies and inbred folk shop, and he’s neither of those things.
That’s when I made my decision. If he wanted a war, I figured I'd give him one. I don’t want to fight it anymore, though, and he’s going to kick my ass when he realizes I swapped the sunblock with self tanner, but I used the cheap stuff, so maybe it won’t be too noticeable.
I check his chest, and sure enough, his skin is already turning a light shade of orange.
Fuck. “Yeah, Ez?”
He wiggles the bottle in front of me. “I can’t reach my back. I was going to ask Bubba, but would you mind doing it instead?”
I don’t know why they fuck my heart is fluttering, but it feels like it’s racing a mile a minute. He wants me to spread it all over him. To wipe my cream into his skin until he’s coated.
My dick chubs.