Marc chuckled, the rumbling sound going straight to Chris’s crotch and heart, spreading warmth through his entire being.
“What did you have in mind to make it up to me?” the bassist asked, tantalizingly grinding on his lap while caressing his abs and chest.
In all honesty, he was still trying to figure out this whole new dynamic between his friend and himself. They had known each other for a decade and Chris was aware of some things this man enjoyed while having sex. But knowing the theory didn’t turn you into a master of anything. He was lost, unsure what Marc would like more or what would be the best, considering he was a total newbie at this.
However, this gentle rocking, with their swollen dicks rubbing together, had him aching to grasp that fucking release that had been building inside of him for a while. So maybe…
“Go for it. Touch me.” Marc glided his palms over the guitarist’s chest, only to end up framing his head as he perched on his elbows.
Chris looked up and plunged into his eyes, dragging his hands down Marc’s sides. Who knew he would ever find himself in this position—not just with a man, but actually being bossed around and enjoying every bit.
Swamped in the electricity jolting between them and the lust reflected in those gorgeous dark irises filled with bravery, he continued touching. Minutes or hours went by, he didn’t even care. His fingers traced lazy lines on the bassist’s arms, rib cage, and thighs, slowly getting closer to his cock as the sensual hip rocking stimulated every fucking atom. He loved it; the way his breathing was turning shallower and faster with every second that ticked away.
As the bassist curved his back slightly, Chris slipped a hand between them and wrapped it around their dicks, moving up and down on them over and over and over again. He was still dumbfounded about this whole situation, but his body seemed to know what it wanted and how to get it.
“Fuck.” Marc let out an animalistic grunt, shivering when he propped on his palms and dropped his head, ponytail sliding down over his left shoulder, whipping Chris on the face. “Look at us, leaking on each other and so damn ready to explode,” he rasped while thrusting his hips into the guitarist’s fist. “You feel so fucking good, baby.”
While Chris had perfectly heard him, it was as if his brain hadn’t registered it. Or more like he didn’t care at the moment, no matter how much he hated pet names. The slick motions of their bodies, the sounds they were making, the sight of their engorged dicks squeezed against the other, and the fluids dripping from them had sent him to cloud nine.
Maybe he was just hypnotized by the goat’s head in the shape of an inverted star on Marc’s necklace dangling above the periphery of his vision, but Chris couldn’t speak. Could hardly hold himself together. Everything was so erotic, focusing on anything that wasn’t the sensation of this man relentlessly fucking his hand, rubbing vigorously against him, was impossible.
It was too much and not enough at the same time. He was wounded, intoxicated, suffocated by his presence. Soaked up in the anticipation of that orgasm pulsing in his core, it took several minutes for him to notice the thin lining of sweat covering their skin and the scorching temperature coiling around them.
Grabbing Marc by his nape, Chris smashed their lips together, allowing him to steal the little oxygen he had left. He shuddered, moaning into his mouth. Pulse convulsing. Lungs shrinking.
“I-I’m gonna come,” he strained as he kept jacking them off. “You close?”
“Just let go,” the bassist panted, voice cracking. “I’m right behind you.” His arms trembled when he pressed his forehead to Chris’s.
“Fuck, Marc…”
“Yes… Moan my name.” He bit his neck.
Bending his legs slightly, with his heels nailed to the mattress and his entire body shivering, Chris exploded. And like he’d promised, Marc rolled down the same cliff right after him.
The room spun, and for a moment Chris forgot who he was, even his fucking name as the daze engulfing them went up in flames. Warm and fucking thick, their cum spurted all over his stomach while they cursed and moaned, riding this wave of lust until the end.
As they slowed down, struggling to catch their breath, Marc brought their bodies flush together as he lowered onto his elbows and kissed him. It was soft at first, almost chaste. But it was as if neither of them had had enough. Their lips parted and their tongues invaded each other’s mouths, languidly twirling in sync. In this bubble of peace and torn pieces of his soul, Chris couldn’t hold himself back from hugging the man lying atop him, grabbing his own wrists as an anchor.
“That was,” Marc started, peppering his jaw with kisses and gentle bites, “insane.”
Chris crept his eyes open. “Yeah.”
“You good?” he asked while running his fingers through the guitarist’s hair, scrutinizing him.
“I think so. Yeah.” Nodding, his mind raked over every second of what they had just done.
“You sure?” Marc’s beautiful dark eyes filled with concern. “I know the first few times it can be a little… daunting. Don’t keep it to yourself if there’s anything bugging you, okay?”
A ball of confusing anguish was spiraling somewhere between Chris’s lungs and guts, yet he couldn’t help but smile at him. The way this man shifted from his usually tender-hearted energy to full-on dominant dirty-talking daddy, to tender-hearted again was one of the most reassuring things he’d witnessed. They could get as filthy as they wanted and go back to just being their old selves in the blink of an eye. Well, the bassist could.
“Yeah,” Chris said, offering only half of the truth.
“Okay. Good.” Marc grinned. “Gonna get something to clean the mess we’ve just made,” he said as he lifted off.
As Marc walked towards the bathroom with his disheveled ponytail swinging right above his ass, Chris was left alone with his thoughts.
He felt sated, but also extremely weird. It was like two different people were coexisting, competing for the air in the cramped space designed for one. He was trying to see it for what it was and not for what a part of his conscience wanted him to believe. Knew there was nothing wrong with liking the same gender. Yet this slight dissociation of his persona was excruciating. It was as if a migraine was having a rave with a brain tumor and a concussion.
