Page 17 of Tough Guy and the Show Off

My cock twitches and hardens as I allow the memory to flow back fully, my foreskin pulling back, my tip drooling precum.

“Fuck,” I murmur as I let my hand travel down my body between my legs.

Within seconds, I’m stroking my length, my eyes closing as I recall how it felt to watch Trav get himself off. The weirdest part was how desperate I was to join him.

To touch him in some way.

Like, what the fuck is that about?

I grab the bodywash to slick my hand, then lean back against the tiles, lifting my leg to put my foot on the built-in bench. As I stroke myself, I remember how thick Trav’s cock looked in his hand, the way his face screwed up and his full lips parted as he panted and I tried and failed to resist jerking myself to the sight of him.

My balls tighten quickly and I shuttle my hand over my length, desperately chasing an orgasm. When it hits, I grunt, squeezing my eyes closed as visions of Trav when he came fill my mind.

“Fuck,” I moan, stroking myself through the intense release.

When it subsides, I’m left panting and confused as hot water pummels me. What the actual fuck?

I shake away the thoughts plaguing me. It’s just because I haven’t had sex with anyone in a long time, so I’m on a hair trigger. Anything can turn me on, even watching my best friend get off. It doesn’t mean anything.

I find myself chuckling to myself as I step out of the shower and grab a towel. Trav is right; it was bound to happen at some point. We spend all our time together and room together on the road. It was inevitable we’d catch each other.

But my reaction isn’t weird. Watching people have sex is exciting, that’s why porn exists. Just because Trav is a man doesn’t change who I am. It just shows that anything can be a turn-on. It’s not like I never notice the dude’s dick in porn while he’s pounding a beautiful woman.

I shuffle over to my bed and flop down, letting the air around me dry my skin. I’m feeling relaxed now, shutting out the roller coaster of a road trip from one of the worst games I’ve played to one of the best.

Some time later my phone buzzes on the nightstand and I roll over to grab it. It’s a text from Trav.

Trav: Dude. Get your ass over here.

That’s when I notice the time. It’s an hour later than it was when I got out of the shower. Oh shit. I must have fallen asleep.

Beau: Sorry man. Drifted off. I’ll be over in a few but I forgot to take the chicken out of the freezer.

Trav: I knew you would. I ordered salmon so we’re good, but I’m starving so get up.

Beau: On my way.

Hauling myself up, I shake off the sleep haze and grab a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. I don’t bother to brush my hair, letting it fall in waves just shy of my shoulders, still slightly damp.

In the kitchen, I open the fridge and grab the last couple of beers I have. We have practice tomorrow morning and a game tomorrow night, but one beer won’t kill us. We earned it.

Minutes later, I cross the hall and open Trav’s door, knowing he left it unlocked for me. The scent of his cologne and bodywash fills the space, tickling my nose and making me grin. This is what home smells like to me. Huh. When did Trav become synonymous with home?

He looks up from the island where he’s unpacking grocery bags and smiles. “Hey, sleepyhead.”

“Hey.” I set the beers down. “What can I help with?”

“Want to chop the garlic and shallots? I’ll start the salmon.”

“Sounds good.”

We fall into a well-practiced routine, moving around each other in his kitchen with ease. Sometimes we cook at my place, but I prefer being at his. It’s cozier.

“I was scrolling social media earlier,” Trav says. “There’s a bunch of pics from the Toronto game and those posters about us.”

I snort a laugh. “Wonder who came up with that term first.”

“Who even knows? It’s clever though.”