Whoops We Did It Again #2
I do. God help me, I do. I have to stop, pause to look at him.
Pale skin and sharp collarbones and that trail of hair leading down.
Flushed and hard, and He wants me. The ache in my chest threatens to crack me open.
I want to memorize every inch of him. Want to burn this image into my brain, so I have it forever, even if this is the last time.
"Leo?" He sounds uncertain now. "You okay up there?"
"Yeah." My voice comes out hoarse. "Just... appreciating the view."
His face goes red. "That's… you can't just say things like that!"
But then his chin lifts. That challenge-accepted look. Before I can react, his hands are on my chest, pushing, and I let him roll me onto my back because apparently my body does whatever Max wants now.
He crawls over me slowly, watching my face. His eyes drop to my cock, and his pupils blow wide.
"Oh," he breathes. Just that. Just, oh, like he's seeing something fascinating. Then he leans down and licks up the length of me before I can prepare myself.
"FUCK!" My hips buck off the bed. His hand wraps around the base to steady me, and he licks again, around the head this time, exploratory and curious, and my brain shorts out completely. He sucks me into his mouth, and I make a sound like I'm dying. Because I am. I'm definitely dying.
He doesn't know what he's doing, some distant part of my brain notes.
He's figuring it out. But it doesn't matter because he's hollowing his cheeks and using his tongue and tracing the veins like he's cataloging every reaction, and the fact that it's Max, curious, eager, determined Max, makes it better than any experienced mouth ever could. It's so fucking good I can't breathe.
"Max… Max, I can't…" My hands fly to his head, not pushing, just holding on like I need an anchor.
My jaw is working, teeth digging into my lower lip, trying to bite back the sounds threatening to spill out.
He takes me deeper, as deep as he can manage, and the sound that escapes me is obscene. Embarrassing maybe, but I don't care.
He pulls off and grins up at me. "You okay up there?"
"You're asking me if I'm okay. Right now." I know I look wrecked. I can feel the flush on my cheeks, my hair a mess from my own hands. "I'm… you're… how are you so good at that?"
"Beginner's luck."
"That's not—" He licks me again, and I groan. "—that's not how that works."
He kisses the head of my cock once, twice, then crawls up my body.
I pull him into a kiss immediately, deep and filthy, tasting myself on his tongue and not caring at all.
He's straddling me, grinding down against my abs, his cock dragging against my stomach and leaving wet streaks, and I feel…
I feel like I might actually die if we don't…
"What do you want?" I ask.
"You." He has no hesitation. "Want you inside me."
Fuck. "Are you sure? We don't have to—"
"I'm sure." He's already reaching for my nightstand. "Condom. Lube. Come on." I grab them before he can knock over my lamp. He's watching me with those wide eyes, nervous and eager and trusting, and something in my chest cracks.
He trusts me. He's trusting me with this, and I'm going to ruin everything, and I can't make myself stop.
"Lie back," I tell him. He does. I coat my fingers in lube, warming it between my hands, generous, more than enough, and then I'm pressing one finger against him, slow and careful.
"Okay?"
"Yeah." His voice is breathy. "Yeah, keep going."
I work him open slowly. One finger, then two, watching his face for any sign of discomfort.
He's tight, so tight, and my cock throbs, impatient, wanting.
Every instinct is screaming at me to just take, but I clamp down on it hard.
This isn't about me. There's a reason I'm being careful. Several inches of reason.
He's relaxing into it now, pushing back against my hand, making those little sounds that drive me crazy. "More," he gasps. "I can take more."
Three fingers. Stretching. Scissoring. He's writhing now, fucking himself on my hand, and I have to press my other hand against the base of my cock to keep from losing it.
"Leo—" His voice breaks. "Please. I'm ready. Please—"
"A little more,” I add lube. Keep stretching him.
"I'm going to combust."
"You're going to thank me in about five minutes."
"I'm going to murder you in about five seconds if you don't—"
I pull my fingers out. Roll on the condom with shaking hands. Line myself up. "Look at me," I say. He does. Blue eyes meeting mine, wide and trusting and wanting.
I push in slowly. Oh, holy fuck. He's so tight, so hot, and I have to stop halfway just to breathe. Max is gripping my shoulders hard enough to leave bruises, his jaw clenched, as he adjusts.
"Don't stop," he manages. "Just, slow. Go, slow."
I push the rest of the way in, one long careful slide, until I'm fully seated. We both groan. "Okay?" My arms are trembling where they're braced on either side of his head.
"Give me a second." He's panting. "Just… a second."
I don't move. Just hold myself there, watching his face, waiting. I love you, I think. I'm so in love with you, and you have no idea, and this is going to wreck me. The tension in his body slowly releases. He rocks his hips experimentally, and we both gasp.
"Move," he whispers. "Please move." I pull back slowly. Push in again. Max's mouth falls open. His hands slide down to grip my hips, pulling me closer, deeper. "Yes… like that!"
I set a rhythm, slow at first, learning what angle makes him gasp, what depth makes him moan. He's so responsive, every thrust pulling sounds I want to remember forever.
"Faster," he pants. "Leo, please—" I give him what he wants. Faster. Harder. The slap of skin on skin and his broken moans and my own ragged breathing. He wraps his legs around my waist, changing the angle, and when I thrust in again, he cries out.
"There! Right there!"
I aim for that spot, hitting it over and over, and he comes apart beneath me. Gasping my name. Fingernails raking down my back. Eyes squeezed shut. "Leo, I'm gonna, I need…"
I wrap my hand around him and stroke in time with my thrusts. He shouts, actually shouts, and then he's coming, pulsing over my hand, clenching around me so tight I see stars.
"Oh fuck—Max—" I bury myself deep and come so hard I forget my own name. Wave after wave, his name on my lips, his body tight around me, his hands gentle now on my back as I collapse forward onto his chest. Both of us are breathing hard. Both of us wrecked.
I love you, I think again, face pressed against his shoulder.
My god, I’m in love with you. We lay there for a while.
His hand traces patterns on my back. My heart slowly returns to normal.
The reality of what we just did starts to creep in around the edges.
We said we weren't going to do this again. We agreed. Friends. Just friends.
"We weren't going to do this again," Max whispers against my chest. Like he's reading my mind.
My hand strokes down his side. I don't know what to say. Don't know how to explain that I'd do this a thousand more times even knowing it's going to destroy me.
"It feels so good with you," he says. Quieter. Almost too quiet to hear. My hand stills. Just for a second. Then keeps moving.
For one heartbeat, I let myself wonder. What if he means it the way I want him to mean it? What if… I shut that door before I can walk through it. Don't say it. Don't tell him. He doesn't feel the same way. He's just confused, just touch-starved, just…
The silence stretches. Max's breathing evens out against my chest. He winces as I carefully pull out of him and clear my throat. I try for casual but miss by a mile. "Statistically, sexual compatibility correlates with emotional—"
STOP. STOP TALKING. I freeze. Max lifts his head.
"With emotional what?" Max sits up and stares me down.
My ears are on fire. Probably my whole face. "I'm going to shower."
"Leo. With emotional what?"
"Shower, Max."
"That sentence had a very important ending and you just—"
I'm already untangling myself from him, not meeting his eyes, face burning. Emotional connection. Emotional attachment. Emotionally, I'm in love with you, and you don't feel the same.
"You just cited a statistic," Max says accusingly.
"Good night, Max."
"It's two in the afternoon, Leo."
I grab my towel and escape to the bathroom before my mouth can betray me any further. The door clicks shut behind me, and I press my forehead against the cool wood.
You're in love with your best friend. You just slept with him again. And you almost told him.
I turn the water on too hot and step in without waiting for it to adjust. Muscle memory. Shampoo, soap, rinse. My hands press flat against the tile. The water pounds my shoulders, and I focus on that instead of the hollow feeling spreading through my chest.
Please let him be gone. The thought surfaces before I can stop it, ugly and desperate. Please let him go back to his room so I don't have to pretend I'm okay.