“Just admit it.” Chris grabbed Marc’s hips and pressed himself harder against his friend. “You love it when I’m inside of you.”
“Can’t deny that, but when is it going to be my turn to bury my cock in you?” the bassist asked before licking Chris’s mouth. “Because, honestly, I’m dying to ruin you for any other men out there.”
“Soon,” he replied, eyes dropping to his mouth. “But now”—he unbuckled Marc’s belt—“let me suck you.”
“What? No!” He grabbed his wrists to stop him. “Not unless you want to get caught.” He smirked. “Leah and Erik are gonna be here any minute.”
“I know, I just…” Chris grinded against him again, creating a delicious friction that almost forced Marc to abandon his composure and take both their dicks out.
Why did he always have to be the cautious adult when he didn’t even want to? This wasn’t fair game.
“What?” he asked instead, letting his palms wander over the guitarist’s chest. “You’ve missed me?” Slipping a hand between them, he cupped his crotch and gave it a gentle squeeze, making him stifle a moan. “Is that a yes?”
“I wouldn’t say I’ve missedyou. You’re a nuisance of a human being when you get so cocky, but I’ve missed your voice crying out my name.”
Marc tittered, allowing Chris to nibble the sensitive skin of his neck. “I think you’re more into men than you say.”
“Don’t know about that,” the guitarist husked against his jaw before biting him. “But I’m definitely into you.”
Those words set the bassist’s body on fire.
Even if their beginning had been a little bumpy and tense, Chris enjoyed the sex they’d been having. He was attracted to him. That much was clear. And while he’d been the one asking for a chance to explore this part of his sexuality together, Marc didn’t remember hearing anything about his friendlikinghim. Not with the connotation that his tone implied just now.
It was silly, but this hiccup in his brain had offered the bassist a possibility he hadn’t considered before. Or maybe he was daydreaming, like the fool in love that he was.
“You’re so fucking hot,” Chris praised, bold as ever.
“Are you drunk or what?”
“No, but this is what several days without proper sex does to me. Deal with it.”
“Am I your toy or something now?” Marc tried to dissolve the lust scorching his veins from the inside with some stupid humor, but nothing seemed to work on the guitarist at the moment.
“You can be whatever you want. But tell me I can come to your apartment tonight. You’ve been too busy this week, and I feel neglected.”
“Needy brat.”
“You have no fucking idea,” he said, not an ounce of shame in his tone. Then he unbuttoned Marc’s jeans, and before he could react, the guitarist’s hand was inside his boxers.
“Fuck!” Marc pressed his head back against the door and inhaled, sucking all the air from the room in an attempt to control his desires. But his cock disagreed, because he thrust forward, eager for the pleasure Chris always provided.
He was still hesitant about the friends-with-benefits thing they were doing, at least, in the logical part of his mind that was lost somewhere. The number of things that could go wrong was endless. They had gone from zero to one hundred in a little over two weeks. Chris had always been unhinged, but he was afraid that this borderline obsessive behavior with him was covering for something else.
The shit his ex, his father, and those who used to be his friends said in the past, during one of the most vulnerable moments in anyone’s life, had caused deep wounds. They weren’t physical. They didn’t bleed. Yet they had left him scarred, forcing him to hide his desires and identity, even from himself. And now, it was all in the open, pouring over all the preconceived ideas of who he was supposed to be.
He could pretend as much as he wanted, but they had known each other long enough for Marc to know when something was up. Maybe this was just his friend’s way of adapting to the rush his body and brain were going through from being allowed to explore his true self. It could also be the lack of sex and the fact that the bassist was more than willing to comply every time. Who knew? Yet he wished Chris talked more with him about what he was feeling. He didn’t mind being his sexual outlet, but hated the sensation of just being a temporary patch instead of a cure.
Moaning into his mouth as the guitarist’s skilled hand corkscrewed in his pants, Marc tried to gather all his willpower to stop him. The adrenaline that the idea of being watched while having sex gave him was unparalleled. But he didn’t want to go through the embarrassment of the last night they’d hung out together the previous Thursday and Leah had barged into Chris’s room without knocking.
They’d only been dry humping, but they had never pushed the other away and gotten half-dressed faster. Good thing it was dark and Leah was too drunk to even notice. But it’d been awkward as fuck. She’d ended up wrapped around Chris like a damn baby koala, mumbling incomprehensible shit about a nightmare she’d had about her ex finding her now that he was out of jail. Meanwhile, Marc had lain there with his dick trying to punch a hole through his damn jeans.
How long did the guitarist want to keep this a secret from their friends?
“What the fuck?” Leah grumbled from the other side of the door, turning the doorknob several times to try to open it.
The two men froze, staring at each other with their eyes wide open.
“Fuck,” Chris mouthed.
