5
Remy
It’s been about an hour since the movie started, and I haven’t absorbed a single frame.
The screen flickers with explosions and dialogue I can’t focus on.
All I register is the weight of Hannah pressed against my side, her head on my shoulder, and her fingers tracing idle patterns over my chest. She’s commenting on the plot, laughing at the right parts, and gasping at the twists.
Every time she snuggles closer, tucking herself tighter under the blanket, this awful, suffocating feeling climbs up my throat.
I’d rather she wasn’t leaning into me like this. What the hell is wrong with me?
I don’t even regret what I did earlier, sliding my hand onto Cole’s thigh, squeezing, feeling the muscle tense under my palm.
Tugging his hair just hard enough to make his head tip back.
The way his eyes snapped to mine, wide and furious and something else I couldn’t name.
I should feel guilty, I don’t, I just feel… restless and empty.
Cole said he was going to the bathroom fifteen minutes ago. I heard his bedroom door close, not the bathroom door, his bedroom; he hasn’t come back. I keep sighing, heavy exhales I can’t stop, Hannah hasn’t noticed yet, or maybe she’s chalking it up to me being tired. I don’t know.
I know I’ve been needy today… clingy in a way I’ve never been with anyone, not even her.
It hit me in that lecture hall when Cole slung his arm around my shoulders like it was nothing, and instead of shrugging it off like usual, I just…
leaned in, melted into it. It felt right and safe.
And then I couldn’t stop… thumb in his belt loop, sliding closer on the couch, touching him while Hannah was right here.
I probably made him uncomfortable. Fuck, I hope I haven’t ruined us.
Fifteen years of friendship, and I’m acting like some desperate idiot who can’t keep his hands to himself.
But every time I try to picture having sex with Hannah…
her moans, her body under mine, and the way she always wraps around me…
it gets overwritten. Cole’s ass clenching around me.
Cole’s low groans muffled into the pillow.
Cole begging, “Fuck… yes… please, Remy… let me come.” The memory loops on repeat, hot and vivid, and my dick twitches traitorously under the blanket even as Hannah nuzzles closer.
I run a hand down my face, dragging it over my mouth. Get a grip, Remy, focus on your girlfriend. She’s been gone a month dealing with the worst thing imaginable, and she came back early because she missed me.
I force a smile and squeeze her side gently. “You good, babe?”
She hums happily against my neck.
My chest feels like lead and my eyes keep flicking to the hallway, dark and empty, Cole’s door still shut; he’s not coming back out.
Then Hannah reaches for the remote and flicks the movie off mid-scene. The room plunges into near-black, only the faint glow from the TV menu lighting her face as she turns to me. Her finger trails slowly up my chest, teasing the collar of my shirt.
“I think it’s time I show you exactly how much I’ve missed you,” she whispers, voice low and suggestive.
Oh god. Okay, be cool, Remy, act normal.
I grin, too forced, and say, “Oh yeah?”
She nods, eyes sparkling, and grabs both my hands. She pulls me up off the couch with surprising strength, dragging me toward my bedroom. All I can think, over and over, is I don’t want to have sex with her.
She pushes the door shut behind us, then wedges a chair under the handle like she’s barricading us in for the night.
Hannah’s hands are already under my shirt, tugging it up and over my head with excited little tugs.
She’s grinning, eyes bright in the dim light filtering through the blinds, whispering how much she missed touching me.
I force a smile, try to match her energy, and let her pull the shirt off.
My arms cooperate, but everything else feels heavy, mechanical.
She shimmies out of her own top next, bra following, pressing her bare skin to mine as she kisses me again.
I kiss her back, hands sliding up her back like muscle memory, but there’s no heat behind it, no spark.
Just… motions. She’s already working on my jeans, popping the button, dragging the zipper down.
I help her, awkwardly, stepping out of them when she pushes them past my hips.
Boxers next. She palms me through the fabric, expecting me to be hard already. I’m not, not even close.
She doesn’t seem to notice yet; she’s too busy kissing down my neck, murmuring how hot I look, how she’s been thinking about this.
I lay her back on the bed, trying to channel the guy she’s used to…
the one who used to pin her down and make her scream.
I trail kisses down her chest, fingers slipping between her thighs, finding her already wet.
I circle her clit the way I know she likes, slow at first, then firmer. She moans softly, arching up.
Nothing… my dick doesn’t twitch or thicken.
I keep going, focusing on her, on the way her breath hitches, the little gasps she makes, hoping if I just concentrate hard enough, my body will catch up. I feel like I’m performing a routine I’ve forgotten the steps to.
After a minute or two of her quiet moans filling the room, I shift, lying on my back beside her. “Come here,” I murmur, guiding her hand to my chest while I keep working her with my fingers.
She rolls toward me, straddling my thigh, grinding down as I stroke her. Her moans get louder, higher, and every time she hits that scratchy, needy pitch, my eye twitches. I hope to God Cole can’t hear this through the walls.
It’s not working… I’m still soft and limp.
Desperate, I let my mind drift, just for a second.
Cole’s ass clenching around me that first time.
The way he groaned into the pillow. The broken “please, Remy” when I finally let him come.
The memory slams into me, hot, vivid, and filthy, and blood rushes south so fast it hurts.
I’m painfully hard in seconds, cock throbbing against my stomach.
Hannah notices immediately. “There you are,” she breathes, grinning as she climbs over me. “Missed that.”
I force a laugh. “Yeah… missed you too.”
She sinks down slowly, wet and ready, and…
it’s too wet, too loose; I can barely feel the friction.
She’s warm, but it’s like sliding into nothing…
no grip, no resistance. The squelching sound on every bounce makes my stomach turn, loud, wet, obscene in a way that never bothered me before but now feels…
wrong. I used to love this, crave it… used to beg her for it every day.
Now every roll of her hips just makes me want to wince.
I need this over. I grip her hips, thrusting up harder, faster, talking filthy the way she likes. “Fuck, babe, you feel so good… ride me just like that… gonna make you come so hard…”
The words taste like ash, fake and forced. They don’t feel like mine anymore. But she doesn’t notice, she’s moaning louder, head thrown back, chasing it.
I’m already going soft again. The edge is slipping away, my dick deflating inside her even as I keep moving. Panic spikes… I can’t finish… so I fake it.
I groan and bury myself deep, hips jerking unevenly like I’m coming apart. “Fuck… Hannah… shit, I’m coming…”
My voice cracks on purpose, body shuddering in a performance I hate myself for. The fact that I’m already half-soft helps sell it; she thinks I’m oversensitive, spent too fast because I “missed her so much.”
She comes a second later, clenching around me, crying out my name. When she collapses on my chest, panting and happy, she kisses my jaw. “That was… wow. You really missed me, huh?”
I force another smile and wrap my arms around her. “Yeah. A lot.”
She sighs contentedly, nuzzling closer. I stare at the ceiling, chest hollow. She seems happy and satisfied. I feel empty, sad in a bone-deep way that makes my throat tight.
This is Hannah… the girl I’ve loved for a year. Pretty, kind, funny, and patient. The girl who’s held me, who laughed at my dumb jokes, who made me feel wanted. How has one time… one fucking time… with my best friend done this to me?
Was it just how good Cole felt? The tightness, the heat, the way he begged?
Or is it more? That’s the question that’s been clawing at me since Saturday.
Do I have feelings for him? Real ones? The clinginess today, the need to touch him, the way my body lit up just from his arm around me in lecture…
it wasn’t just horniness. It felt like coming home.
And Hannah… she’s lovely, she should be enough. But if she were, I would’ve waited. I would’ve never begged Cole in the first place. I would’ve jerked off every night like a normal guy instead of crossing a line I couldn’t uncross.
Maybe this has been coming for a while. Maybe I’ve been drifting away from her longer than I realised, and Cole was just… the thing that made it impossible to ignore anymore.
I close my eyes, listening to her breathing even out against my chest.
I don’t know what I feel for him, but I know I’m losing what I felt for her. And that breaks my heart in the worst, backwards way.
---
It’s only eight, but Hannah’s already out cold.
She’s snoring, not the cute, soft kind you can tease her about later, but full-on, rattling exhales that fill the room like a chainsaw on low.
I used to rib her mercilessly about it, “Babe, you snore worse than me after a game,” and she’d laugh and shove me.
Tonight, the sound just grates. It means she’s deep in sleep, though, which is the only silver lining.
There’s no way I’m sleeping next to that, not now, not with my head this loud.
I slide out from under her carefully, her arm flopping off my chest like dead weight.
I pull my boxers back on, quiet, quick, and move the chair from under the door handle.
The scrape of wood on wood feels deafening in the silence, but she doesn’t stir.
I crack the door, step through, and ease it shut behind me.
The second it clicks closed, I exhale, like I’ve been holding my breath for hours. Relief hits so hard, just breathing space. Fuck.
I lean against the wall for a second, eyes closed.
This overwhelming pressure builds behind my sternum, not guilt, exactly; I don’t regret what happened with Cole.
That’s the worst part… I don’t regret begging him, don’t regret sliding into him, don’t regret the way he came apart under me.
If anything, I want it again, and that realisation sits like lead in my gut.
Hannah loves me, and I… I can’t confidently say I love her back anymore.
Not the way I used to, not the way she deserves.
It dawns on me, slow and brutal: I’m going to have to tell her.
I’m going to have to end this. And with her mom so sick, with everything she’s already carrying… fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
I push off the wall and pad to the kitchenette, fill a glass with water from the tap, and down it in three gulps. The cold shocks my throat, but it doesn’t touch the ache in my chest. I set the glass down too hard; it clinks against the counter.
My eyes drift to the bag of snacks still sitting there, the treats I bought for Cole.
Chocolate, gummies, those extra-cheesy chips we fight over.
A small, involuntary smile tugs at my mouth.
It would’ve been so nice, just us. Couch, dark room, stupid movie, him laughing at my dumb jokes, maybe leaning into each other until it turned into something more.
Cuddling. God, the thought of curling around him, his back to my chest, my arm over his waist, breathing him in, hits me like a punch. I swallow hard.
Then my gaze lands on the little tube of lube, half-hidden under a bag of chips. I pull it free, feeling the small, cool weight in my palm. I stare at it like it’s evidence of a crime I’m about to commit.
I debate with myself, a loud, vicious debate in my head.
This is insane… she’s asleep in the next room.
Cole’s probably pissed… this could ruin everything.
But the truth cuts through the noise like a blade: I want Cole’s dick; I want him inside me.
And right now, with Hannah asleep and the dorm quiet…
apparently that’s enough. Enough that my feet are already moving.
I creep down the hall, heart slamming against my ribs, and ease Cole’s door open just enough to peek inside.
He’s sprawled on his back like always, legs spread, one arm flung over his head, the other resting on his abs.
Nothing but boxers. The faint hallway light catches the ridges of his stomach, the cut of his hips, the bulge between his thighs. Perfect.
I step inside, close the door softly, and shove his desk chair under the handle, just in case Hannah wakes up looking for me. Then I lean back against the door, eyes locked on him, and let my hand drift down.
I palm myself through my boxers first slowly, testing.
I’m already half-hard just from looking at him.
The sight of his sleeping body, relaxed, powerful, mine to stare at, sends heat rushing straight to my groin.
I shove my boxers down enough to free my cock, wrapping my fingers around it, stroking, a low hiss escapes me.
I keep watching him. The slow rise and fall of his chest. The way his lips part slightly in sleep.
The faint trail of hair disappearing under the waistband.
My strokes pick up speed, firm, slick with precome now.
I pop the lube cap quietly, squeeze a generous amount onto my fingers, and reach back.
One finger circles my hole, then presses in.
The stretch is immediate; I bite my lip hard to keep quiet.
I add a second finger, scissoring gently, curling them until I brush that spot inside me.
My cock jerks in my grip; I stroke faster.
Cole doesn’t wake, doesn’t move. Just sleeps, oblivious and beautiful, and that only makes it hotter. Shameless and wrong, but perfect.
I fuck myself on my fingers, hips rocking into my fist, eyes never leaving him. The wet sounds are obscene in the quiet room, lube slicking my hole, precome slicking my palm, and I don’t care. I want him to wake up and see me like this. Want him to know how badly I need him.
I’m close already, too close, thighs trembling, breath ragged. I curl my fingers harder, stroke myself faster, and imagine it’s him. His thick cock splitting me open. His hands pinning my hips. His voice growling my name.