It hit the rack with a loud-ass clang. The guy on the next bench stared, and I had to pretend I meant to dump the set. The rest of the workout was a wash because I got bricked up and had to leave.
And then there’s Chloe.
Chloe is great. She’s hot, she’s funny, and the sex has been top-tier for the eight months we’ve been together.
Saturday she went down on me, and it was good. I was completely there and present. Then she pulled back and just held my cockhead past her lips. Just that. Eyes up, mouth soft around my tip.
My brain switched channels so fast it would’ve been funny if it wasn’t sad. Suddenly, I was thinking about standing over Kit with his head yanked back, burying just the head of my dick in his mouth. I was thinking about the way his lips rested there, yielding and wet.
I only gave him the tip that night. I held back because I was playing it safe. I don’t regret being careful, but I can’t stop thinking about what it would’ve felt like to shove it deep like Grant did. To test his gag reflex. To see if he’d just take it while I pumped his throat full of my nut.
I think he would’ve.
Chloe finished, looked up and asked, “where’d you go?”I told her I was just in the zone, which was a total lie. She bought it, and we went to sleep.
I look at Kit again.
He’s on his side, and his boxers have slid up enough to show the bottom curve of his ass. He’s got a killer ass. I remember it with total clarity—a memory burned into my palms. Round and soft until you dig your fingers in and find the muscle underneath. The combination is lethal.
I look at the TV.
Respect the bro, I tell myself.That was one night. Weird circumstances. Don’t be that guy.
Two minutes go by, probably.
I look at his ass again.
My hand moves from my own leg to his calf.
I tell myself I’m just checking on him. Making sure he’s really just napping. That’s a reasonable thing to do—check on your bro, make sure he’s breathing.
I slide my hand up to the back of his knee. Then his thigh. He’s got thick muscle through the quads, and I know exactly what that feels like when it’s shaking from an orgasm.
My dick is waking up, pressing against the mesh of my shorts. I’m aware of it, and I’m choosing to lean into the friction. So I shift my hips a little, and let the fabric rub against the head. Hell yeah.
It hits me while my hand is resting on his thigh and the UFC guys are scrambling on screen: if Kit was actually out, he’d have flinched by now. Chloe wakes up if I breathe too loud. My roommate in freshman year used to wake up if someone coughed in the hallway.
People who are actually sleeping react to hands on their body.
Kit hasn’t reacted to anything I’ve done in the last five minutes. Not when my hand brushed his calf. Not when I slid up to his knee. Not when I palmed his thigh.
Which means Kit’s not sleeping.
Which means Kit is doingthe thing.
Which means Kit lay down on this couch, went still and waited for it.
I sit with that for a second.
I drink my beer, letting the realization settle: my roommate, the guy I’ve already been inside of, is voluntarily posing as a sex object for meagain.
“Fuck it,” I mutter to the empty room.
I reach over, and get my hand inside his boxers through the leg hole. My palm finds his ass and—fuck. Yeah. It’s exactly as good as I remember. Soft on the surface, but rock solid underneath, that perfect double-layered texture. I squeeze it the way I do with Chloe’s tits when we’re watching something—just because it’s there and it’s a good thing to have in your hand.
I watch the fight while I’ve got a beer in one hand and Kit’s meaty cheek in the other. I feel weirdly calm about it.
My dick is a rock. It’s concrete against my shorts, and Kit’s foot is right there on my lap.
