Breathing slowly so I don’t make any noise and disturb Magnus, I rub my dick through my pants and then tease myself and the camera by slowly pushing my pants down. Achingly slow, I reveal my naked cock inch by inch until the crown catches on the elastic of my pants and pops free, slapping against my abs. I finish pushing my pants to my thighs, lick my hand, and grip my cock. I left my lube in my suitcase, so the friction’s going to be rougher this time.
Magnus shifts beside me, and awareness of his closeness causes a burst of arousal in me. Precum leaks from my slit and I add it to my spit slick shaft, working it slowly down from the crown. I blow out a breath to cool my arousal so I don’t shoot too soon, but Magnus shifts again, and my cock pulses with more precum.
Fuck.
I shouldn't be doing this, but he’d approve if he was awake. He’d encourage the tease. He’d want me to play it up for our fans.
That’s not why I’m doing it, though. They’re an excuse. A really fucking good cover story, but I’m doing this for me. Magnus turns me on. Sharing this bed with him is temptation, and I’m not strong enough to control my urges.
“Fuck!” I whisper-shout as my cock pulses, and I let it go before I really do lose it. I’m not ready to come yet.
It jerks and twitches, but the orgasm that nearly had me fades just enough for me to keep going. I grab the mushroom head and twist my hand around it, spreading the precum over it and pushing the limit of stimulation from pleasure to pain. A little pain to keep me from blowing too soon and too much pleasure to resist. It’s a beautiful dichotomy for my mind and dick.
I spit out another low “Fuck” as the motion becomes too much, and I release my cock again. It dances for the camera as I try to breathe through the moment of too-much. I fucking love watching the movement. It’s evidence of how close I am to coming. My balls are tight, and I reach low to pull them loose. It works for just a moment to ease me back from the edge, but as soon as I touch my cock again, they’re tightening up, ready to release the cum stored in them.
I lick my palm again, though I don’t need it. Copious amounts of precum trickle from my slit, and I add that to the spit lube. Magnus makes a noise beside me and shifts. Some part of him brushes my elbow despite this bed being big enough for four people, and that’s it for me. His proximity sets off my orgasm like I’ve never been touched in my life. I strangle my cock and point the jets of cum toward my chest, trying not to lose track of the camera as I shoot every drop of cum all over my chest.
Fuck.
I give myself two seconds to breathe after the last shot, turn off the video, and drop the phone, glancing over to Magnus.
His big blue eyes stare up at me from beneath those pretty curls. He’s still burritoed, but he’s not as asleep as I thought he was. Instead of embarrassment from getting caught, a wicked grin forms on my lips. He blinks a couple of times, and his own smile appears in his eyes, covered by the blanket.
It’s not like he wasn’t going to find out I filmed, but somehow knowing he’d been watching makes the afterglow of that intense orgasm sweeter. Without a word, I grab a tissue from the nightstand, clean up, post the video, and turn off the lamp.
When I roll onto my side, Magnus is right there, and he doesn’t scoot away when I wrap a hand around his waist and pull him in. I’ve never slept with anyone before, but it’s nothing to fall asleep with Magnus in my arms.
Chapter 26
Magnus
I’m goingto touch Trent’s dick today.
The crunchiness in my stomach and bouts of reflux paired with periods of hyperactivity in my nervous system suggest that I’m having performance anxiety. I’m not nervous because I’m going to touch a dick. I’ve already decided I’m at least bisexual, although I’m definitely sapiosexual and probably fall into the category of pansexual, since I think if a person was interesting enough I would be physically attracted to them, including trans and non-binary folk.
I think I’m nervous because it’s Trent, and even though I’m certain this isn’t going to negatively affect our friendship, I suppose a part of me that’s resistant to change is nervous that my certainty isn’t based on verifiable data. I’m not convinced that’s true, but it’s the only explanation I can think of when my stomach tightens and it feels like I might throw up when Trent finally wakes up.
He had been curled up behind me with one hand keeping me in place on my chest—I tried to roll away, but he tightened his grip on me like I’m his own personal teddy, and since I didn’t want to wake him up and didn’t actually need to move, I’ve just been quietly thinking while I wait for him to wake up.
He hasn’t moved, but I can tell he’s awake because his breathing changed and the tension in his body shifted. He’s probably worried about cuddling me now that he isn’t relaxing in a post-orgasmic hormone high. I don’t think he’s as heterosexual as he thought he was—much like me—but I wonder if he’s self-aware about it. He’ll probably enjoy our joint shower this morning?—
Huh. Maybe that’s the root of my worry. What if Trent realizes he isn’t heterosexual while he’s jerking me off, or worse, while I’m jerking him off? What if he panics and our spring break trip becomes uncomfortable because of it? Maybe we should put off doing anything sexual until the end of the week, that way we can enjoy the vacation aspect without the awkward sexual tension that might arise.
“You’re thinking loudly, Magnus.” His grumbly morning voice makes me squirm, which in turn makes me aware that Trent’s erection is in the cleft of my ass. My bare ass. Actually…
His hand is touching my bare chest. “I swear I wore a shirt to bed,” I croak, shifting enough to look down my body under the blanket.
I’m completely nude, and Trent is cuddling me.
“Don’t panic, but I seem to have taken off your shirt in the night.”
“I didn’t go to sleep with a shirt on,” Trent hums, rubbing my chest with his hand.
A soft laugh escapes me when he hits a ticklish spot on my ribs. “I meant the one I was wearing to bed.”
“Probably took it off in your sleep because you’re used to sleeping naked,” he reasons. After a short pause, during which his hand suddenly stops rubbing me, he asks, “You want me to let you go?”
“That’s—not a question I know how to answer,” I stumble, unsure what the right answer is.
