Chapter 4
Neither of us moves. The cabin is dead silent except for the sound of our breathing, which is suddenly very loud. I have no idea what to do, what to say. The one thing I know with absolute certainty is that I can feel Brody’s hard cock against my ass.
“Sorry,” he says, the word stripped of his usual bravado. “It’s… uh…”
“No need to apologize.” My voice is shaky. “Sorry for pushing back into you. I guess I got a little too into character.”
“Right. Into character.”
“Yeah.”
“It’s just... a reaction, you know? You were saying all that stuff. My body… it reacted.”
“I get it.”
“You were… uh… you were pretty convincing with that last bit.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. You found the animal, Tate.”
“Maybe we should, uh… You’re still…”
“Oh. Shit. Sorry.” But he doesn’t pull back. His boner is still lodged firmly between my cheeks, separated by two thin layers of cotton. “I mean, I can roll over on my other side.”
I don’t want him to roll over. I want to stay like this forever.
“Yeah,” I say, my throat tight. “Maybe you should.” But I don’t move an inch either. “Or…”
“Or?”
“Or we could just… stay. Like this.”
“Like this,” he repeats.
“I mean, it’s not… the position is comfortable.”
“Really? This is comfortable for you?”
“Well, no, it’s not comfortable, but it’s not uncomfortable either. It’s just… it’s better than your elbow in my ribs.” I’m rambling now. Totally losing it.
“But my dick is in your ass. And that’s… okay?”
“It’s not in my ass. It’s… nestled. Between. It’s a nestling situation.”
He laughs, a small, breathy puff of air against my ear. “A nestling situation. What are we doing, Tate?”
“Just go to sleep, Brody.”
“A little hard to sleep like this, don’t you think?”
“Turn around, then. I really don’t care.”
But he doesn’t. He stays where he is. And I stay where I am. For the next few minutes, we just lie there. Two bodies in a tiny bed, locked in this strange, loaded state. Two hard-ons. Two hearts thumping. Two best friends who suddenly don’t know what to say to each other.
I must have drifted off, because the next thing I know, I’m blinking my eyes open in the near-darkness.
The oil lantern has burned down to a sliver of light.
There’s a heavy weight on me, and it takes a second to realize it’s Brody’s arm, thrown over my waist, his palm resting flat on my stomach.
His fingers are splayed wide, spanning the space between my hips.
He’s still spooned behind me, his warm chest flush against my back, the steady rhythm of his breathing a soft puff on my neck.
And he’s still hard.
My own erection died in my sleep, but it springs back to life the second I become aware of him. The solid heat at my back, the possessive weight of his arm, the way his fingers twitch in his sleep, brushing the sensitive skin just above my waistband.
I should move. I should carefully lift his arm, slide out of bed, and take a walk in the woods until the blood leaves my dick. I should do anything but lie here, soaking in the warmth of him, cataloging every point of contact.
But I don’t. I stay perfectly still, afraid any move will end it, and let myself have this.
Just for a minute. Let myself pretend that this is normal.
That we wake up like this every morning.
That I belong here, tucked into the curve of his body, my ass cradling his dick.
This is the closest we’ve ever been. And my heart aches with how much I crave it.
Outside, something screams in the dark. Coyotes, maybe. Or bears. The woods at night are a different world, full of sounds that would have me on edge any other time. But with Brody’s arm locked around me and his solid weight at my back, I don’t really give a fuck what’s out there.
Brody stirs behind me, a sleepy groan rumbling in his chest. His arm tightens around my waist, pulling me back against him. His hips give a small, instinctive thrust, and his dick slides deeper into the groove of my ass. A soft moan escapes my lips before I can stop it.
Every muscle in my body locks up. Shit. Did he hear that?
He’s still for a moment. Then, a sleep-rough whisper right against my ear. “Tate?”
My throat closes up. “Yeah?”
“You awake?”
“Yeah.”
“Why does this feel so good?”
“Hmm?”
“This.” His hips rock again, dragging his hard length through my cheeks. “This feels… really fucking good.”
He sounds half-asleep, his voice thick and dreamy. Like he’s not talking to me, but to himself.
“I… don’t know,” I say.
“It shouldn’t.” Another thrust that has my toes curling. “We’re bros.” His hand slides up from my stomach, tracing a line up the center of my chest, fingertips grazing my collarbone. His thumb comes to rest on the hollow of my throat, right over my pulse. “But fuck, Tate. I’m so hard right now.”
“Yeah, I… I can feel that.”
His thumb presses down, a gentle pressure. “Your heart is beating so fast.”
“Yeah, well…”
His other arm comes around, joining the first. He’s completely wrapped around me now, engulfing me. A full-body hold while he grinds his hard cock against my ass. I’m pinned between the wall and Brody, my own erection aching against my stomach.
“Tell me to stop, Tate,” he whispers.
“Why would I do that?”
“Because you should.”
“Are you awake, Brody? For real?”
“I don’t know,” he says. “Feels like a dream. A weird one.”
“It’s not a dream.”
His hands start to wander. One glides down my side, tracing my hipbone before slipping lower, cupping my ass through my boxers. His fingers dig in, kneading the flesh. The other trails back down my chest, past my navel, skirting the elastic of my waistband.
“Brody…”
“I just want to feel,” he murmurs. His fingers dip beneath the elastic, just an inch, tracing the crease where my thigh meets my torso. So close to my cock but not touching it. “You’re so warm here.”
Then his fingers curl around my shaft.
“Fuck,” he breathes. “You’re hard too.”
“Yeah,” I manage.
His hand wraps around me fully, and my whole body arches into it.
He strokes me slowly, root to tip, his thumb dragging over the wet head, spreading the precum down my shaft.
His other hand pulls my boxers down just enough to free my ass.
The hard ridge of his cock presses against my bare skin now, the fabric of his boxer briefs the only thing left between us.
There’s a wet spot where he’s leaking, and I rock back against it, grinding in slow circles.
“God, Tate. We can’t…”
“Shh,” I say. “Just… touch me.”
A rustle of fabric. Then I feel him. His bare cock against my bare ass. The head is sticky. He slides it between my cheeks, over my hole, and the skin-on-skin contact is like a bolt of lightning.
My hips move on their own, rocking forward into his fist, then back against his cock.
We sync up without speaking. Push, pull.
Push, pull. His breath goes ragged against my neck, lips brushing the skin there, not kissing, just grazing.
His hips drive harder. Friction against my hole from behind.
The tight grip of his fist in front. Pleasure hitting me from both sides.
I reach back and grab his thigh, digging my fingers into the hard muscle, pulling him tighter against me.
A groan rumbles through his chest, and he buries his face in my hair.
His hand speeds up on my cock, twisting at the top, squeezing at the base.
He knows exactly how to stroke a cock. He’s had plenty of practice on his own, of course.
And now he’s using that expertise on me.
Are we still half asleep? Is this a fever dream? I don’t care. All that matters is the heat building in my gut, the fire spreading through my limbs, the drag of Brody’s cock against my ass, the rough grunts he’s breathing into my ear.
We’re rocking harder now, the bed creaking in protest. His thrusts are more purposeful, less exploratory. The head of his cock keeps catching on my rim, threatening to push inside. And God help me, I want it. I want him to push inside.
“Brody,” I gasp. “I’m gonna…”
“Yeah,” he grunts. “Me too, Tate. Me too.”
I thrust into his grip one last time, and everything snaps. My back bows, a cry tearing from my throat as I spill over his knuckles, over the blanket, the mattress, against the wall. Thick, pulsing ropes of cum. My whole body is shaking, tingling, sparking with pleasure.
He strokes me through it, milking every last drop, and I feel him go rigid behind me.
A choked groan, his hips slamming forward, and then warm wetness floods against my ass, my lower back, dripping down my skin in hot streaks.
He keeps thrusting, short, jerky movements, riding it out, emptying himself all over me.
His arms are bands of steel around my chest, holding me tight as he shudders and pulses against me.
I’m covered in him. I can smell him, a clean, salty, musky scent that fills my lungs and makes my head spin.
We stay like that for a long time, our breathing slowly coming back to normal. His chest rises and falls against my back. His softening cock is still nestled against my ass. Mine is slick and limp against my thigh. Wet spots everywhere. The whole cabin smells like sex.
Then his arms loosen, and he rolls away.
The sudden absence of his body is a shock. Cold air rushes in, and I pull my sticky boxers up, wincing as they cling to the mess on my skin.
A sniff. The rustle of fabric as Brody pulls up his own underwear.
“Shit,” he says quietly. Nothing like the confident, booming voice I’m used to. “Shit, Tate. What did we just do?”