“Now?” A pause. I imagine him blinking. “I — I don’t know if we have enough time. I’m not sure how long until the bell rings.”
“I think we still have fifteen minutes, at least,” I say. “And, to be honest, I think you’d only have to touch me for three seconds before I, you know, finish.”
“So you’re a quick shot.”
“No! I’m just very on edge at the moment.”
He laughs, and his thumb brushes my jaw. “Relax. I was teasing.” His voice softens. “Okay. Let’s do it now.”
Hesitantly, I unzip the front of my pants. F does the same, raising himself onto his knees to tug his pants down.
Slowly, I take myself out of my jocks. I’ve never been naked in front of someone else like this, but he can’t even see me, so it’s not as scary as I would’ve thought.
“Are you ready?” I ask.
“Yeah. If you give me your hand…”
I hold it out, and F takes it. My fingertips touch something that’s much softer than the rest of him. Not that he’s soft — he’s hard as hell — but the skin is delicate to the touch. Warm too. I wrap a hand around his rigid length, and he sighs, his whole body caving in.
Trying to keep my breathing steady, I lead his hand to my cock. He grips it, not hard enough to hurt, but with enough pressure that I wonder whether I’m going to blow.
I can’t come immediately. Not when he’s just touched me. Fuck.
He starts stroking me, and I do the same to him, moving my hand at the rhythm I typically use on myself, but it’s a bit awkward on my wrist, doing it at a different angle than usual. But the weight of him, the undeniable stiffness of his erection…it’s fucking hot. This is the most erotic moment of my life, and I can’t even see anything.
“Is it good?” F breathes.
“Y-yeah,” I manage. “Is it for you?”
“Mm-hmm,” he replies. “Just I — I usually use lotion. At home. By myself.”
Right. The last thing I want is to give him friction burn. “I can use spit?”
“If you don’t mind.”
I let go of him and quickly spit on my palm. When I touch him again, he lets out a whimper that tips me awfully close to the edge.
“Yeah,” he says. “Th— that’s good. Oh, god.” His hand disappears from my cock, and I want to protest, but then I hear him spit, and a second later, his wet, slick hand is jerking me up and down, slowly at first, then faster and faster.
My free hand, the one holding me up, curls into the carpet. For a second, I wish I knew his name so I could use it. It’s not like I can moan the letter F.
I feel myself tightening up and know I’m leaking pre-cum. “Not — not so fast. I’m going to — fuck, I’m going to —”
My body jerks as I climax, hot pleasure shooting into F’s tight fist. I’m aware enough to keep my hand on his length, though, and when I feel it start to pulse differently, I speed up mystrokes, too, focusing on the tip. He comes with a muffled noise that suggests his jaw is clenched, and I feel a spurt of wetness hit my palm.
He remains sitting on my legs for a moment longer, catching his breath. I pull my hand off him. It’s sticky.
“We should get rid of the evidence,” I say.
“Right.” He sounds like he’s run a marathon. “Yes.”
“Should I…lick it up?” It’s the best idea I can think of.
He makes a strangled noise. “That won’t be necessary. I have tissues in my blazer.”
My cheeks burn as I nod, even though he can’t see me. He rifles through his blazer and passes me a handful of tissues. We clean each other’s cum off our hands and tuck ourselves back into our pants.
F delicately gets off my legs. “Well. We should get going.”
