Brett

by Daryl Banner

  “Mmm …” he groans in his sleep.

  Then his hand moves more purposely, giving my hard cock another firm stroke through my tight black boxer-briefs.

  My swollen cock can’t help but to flex again in response, desperate for more stimulation.

  I’ve never been more turned on and equally as confused about what to do in a bed before.

  Then he strokes my dick again. I squirm.

  Wait. Is he dreaming? Is he dream-stroking me?

  “Mmm …” he moans again, then starts to jerk my cock through my underwear with deeper and more hungry intention.

  I roll my eyes back as he picks up pace. Every cell in my body is crackling and popping. I’ve been built up all night being around Skylar. And that’s not to mention the incidental rubbing up against him on the dance floor at Dames & Dudes, which wasn’t exactly sexual at the time, but certainly got my mind on a certain track.

  A track that has led to this … moment.

  Whatever this is.

  “Mmm … Br … Bread … mmm …”

  I frown and look at him.

  Was that my name he just moaned? Or did he moan the word ‘bread’ at me? Is he hungry? Does he want me to make him a sandwich?

  He licks his lips, grunts, and then squeezes my dick. I stare at his face and his parted lips, my heart racing its way up my throat.

  Or maybe he wants me to kiss him?

  I can’t keep this going much longer. “Sky …?”

  “Mmm …”

  “Skylar.” I free my arm from between our bodies where it’s trapped and put it around the back of his head, half-scooping him into my arms. With surprising ease, he nuzzles up against me, like I just became his body pillow. “Skylar? Bro …?”

  He squeezes my dick again, harder.

  I squirm underneath him.

  Then he lifts his head suddenly and pops open his eyes, as if an imaginary alarm clock just rang.

  He looks at me in surprise.

  I stare back at him, wide-eyed.

  Then his eyes drag down to his hand. It takes a full three and a half seconds for it to register.

  He lets go at once. “Oh, fuck! Sorry!”

  I take hold of his hand and put it right the fuck back where it was. “I’m not.”

  10

  Skylar parts his lips and holds his breath.

  He clearly doesn’t know what to think.

  I’m still holding his hand—which is now back to (almost) gripping my dick. “It’s alright, Sky.”

  “How … How did my hand …?”

  “You went to sleep. And you obviously started dreaming about stroking my big, juicy dick …”

  He narrows his eyes. “That’s not what happened.”

  “And if I’m being honest here, I was enjoying it a little bit. I almost didn’t wake you up.”

  He stares at me.

  Now he isn’t sure how to react at all.

  Here it goes. “Skylar, I read your … confession in the book. Just now. Minutes ago.”

  He averts his eyes at once. They settle on our still-joined hands, right on top of my still-hard dick.

  “I didn’t realize we … felt the same way about each other,” I tell him.

  I realize that’s an oddly hilarious thing to say with both our hands on my cock right now.

  But I steamroll on. “I feel so stupid now, like I should have known. Or I should have been more brave and … said something. I’m sorry I left.”

  “Me, too.” Skylar meets my gaze. “But I’m glad you’re here now. And … I’m glad you felt brave enough to come out to my sister like you did.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. And …” He tries on a smile. “And … to me. Finally.”

  My eyes drop to his lips.

  I don’t think as I lean forward and at long, long last put my lips on Skylar’s.

  He closes his eyes.

  Neither of us move as our lips connect. They feel exactly as I had always dreamed they would. Inviting. Firm. Supple.

  I taste a hint of tonight’s alcohol on them.

  I taste a lot of Skylar.

  I know without a doubt that no guy I’ve kissed since leaving that fraternity has measured up to this seemingly inconsequential meeting of lips.

  Chasing a very sudden impulse, I roll toward him and reach down to grip his waist, pulling his body against mine. Skylar gives in at once, kissing me even deeper as we embrace, our hips colliding.

  My hand slides over the smooth material of his boxer-briefs, cupping his plump ass, which I firmly squeeze and pull even tighter against me.

  Skylar moans against my face. Our kiss grows even more intense.

  I’ve wanted him so long that already my cock is aching and desperate for release. It’s like a five-year-long orgasm I’ve never let myself experience. The longest cock-tease known to humankind.

  Before I know it, I’m on top of him, and my lips have left the home base of his. He breathes in jagged, desperate puffs as I explore his neck with my lips, then yank up his shirt in an instant to kiss a path down his chest. My mouth finds a nipple, and with my tongue, I tease it until it pebbles. He sighs with pleasure as my hands drag down his body, cling to the waistband of his boxer-briefs, then tug downward, letting out his cock.

  I make the pleasant discovery that my buddy Skylar is as hard as I am.

  I peer up at his face and catch him staring back down at me, as if curious what I think about how throbbing and hard he is.

  I give him one curly-lipped, mischievous smirk of approval, then wrap my lips around his cock and slowly swallow it all down.

  Skylar sucks in air and instinctively grabs my head, as if to stop me. But as my warm tongue slides down his dick to the base, and my mouth swallows him whole, there is no protest that exists in him at all. He moans with unintelligible pleasure, and the fingers now caught in my hair seem to be coaxing me to keep doing what I’m doing.

  And I do. I work his cock for as long as he lets me, tirelessly stroking him with my lips and tongue until I feel him tensing with an impending release.

  “Brett, I’m so fucking close …”

  I come off his dick and let my hands graze its slippery length. “Not yet, buddy.”

  He groans and lifts his head up to look at me. I see the horny desperation in his eyes.

  I’ve had many men on their backs on my bed, just like Skylar is right now. I’ve had my mouth on a lot of cocks of all shapes and sizes—and I know that makes me sound a certain way. I’ve had my fun over the years, some satisfying, some empty.

  But in this moment with Skylar, I feel unlike any of those other times. My heart is ignited. My fingertips on his skin feel electric. My very soul feels connected to every little movement of our bodies as we enjoy each other.

  I find myself climbing right back up his body, putting my face in front of his. When our eyes are connected, I feel like nothing can pull us apart.

  “You’re so cute when you’re horny,” I tell him suddenly.

  Skylar cracks a smile, pulled out of his daze. “That is a very unexpected thing for you to say.”

  “Are you a top or a bottom?”

  “I …” He squirms before answering, perhaps a bit nervous of my answer. “I’ve only ever topped.”

  “Me, too,” I admit. “But I’ve tried a toy or two.”

  He quirks an eyebrow. “A toy or two …?”

  “But I want the real thing. I want to feel you inside me, Skylar.”

  “You saying I’d be popping your gay cherry?”

  I firmly kiss away his question, then touch our foreheads, stare into his eyes, and reply: “You are the only person on Earth who can say that and make it sound cute—and the only one with whom I’d happily allow to pop my big gay cherry.”

  I can’t wait another second.

  My boxer-briefs are torn off and flung aside. A drawer flies open. Lube and condom. He is quickly sheathed with a squirt of lube, and it’s on the tip of his steel-hard dick that I start tea
sing my hole.

  I rock my eyes back and gasp.

  “Brett …?” mutters Skylar, concerned.

  “It feels … fucking incredible.”

  “I’m not even in you yet.”

  “I know.” I look down at him, coming to. “Has my asshole always been this sensitive? What the hell have I been missing out on?”

  That cocky smirk of Skylar’s comes back with a vengeance. Suddenly, he’s the peacock I used to know, and he’s ready to take charge. “Let me guide you, Brett. I’m gonna make you feel really good.”

  His hands take hold of my hips. I’m straddling him with my hands pressed into the mattress on either side of his head, our faces close. Slowly and gently, I feel his cock pushing me open down there.

  Whatever Skylar lacks in length, he more than makes up for in girth.

  “You’re holding your breath,” he tells me.

  “I am?” I ask, my mouth hanging open. Chills of excitement run through me as I feel his tip work my hole. “This feels so fucking good.”

  “I’m just getting started,” he tells me.

  That’s the understatement of the year. It is an agonizing eternity that I stay straddling him with his cock teasing and playing at my hole, barely having slid inside yet. I doubt even the head is in as he keeps driving me crazy, activating every tiny nerve ending that exists down there. I literally feel muscles in my legs, inner thighs, and stomach as they come alive, squirming and opening and flexing from all the sensations he’s inspiring in me.

  I feel sick with anticipation.

  Then after what might literally be ten minutes of teasing and torture, I feel him slide in an inch.

  “Fuck me, Skylar …”

  “I am.”

  “I meant it as an expletive or whatever. Jesus. Okay, or maybe it is a command. Mmph.” I can feel myself stretching open and inviting him in.

  “Look into my eyes.”

  I had drifted away into some land of ecstasy in my brain. I snap out of it and focus my sex-drunk eyes on Skylar’s.

  He’s so fucking beautiful.

  Then he slides in even deeper.

  “FUCK,” I cry out.

  “Did I hurt you?”

  “Fuck no! Deeper! Deeper! Fuck me deeper!”

  I think now I can officially say I have proudly recited every line from every gay porn ever written in the innocent confines of my bedroom.

  A smile of delight spills over Skylar’s face as he obliges, guiding my hips down on top of his cock.

  He slides so deep in, our bodies become one, a connected unit of muscle, flesh, and electric desire.

  It isn’t much longer before I press my hands to his chest and start to rock my body over him. I’m so hard right now, I see my own cock dripping pre-cum all over his stomach.

  Unexpectedly, he lets go one of his hands from my hip and takes hold of my cock, stroking it.

  It is inexplicable that we keep this going for as long as we do. From the way I feel him holding off to the ample times I squirm and ease the rocking pace of my hips, it’s clear that both of us are trying to prolong the explosive ecstasy between us.

  I could make him fuck me for hours.

  He could jerk me off and edge me all night like this, deep inside me, our eyes locked, our bodies united, and our breaths shared in this small room in the middle of a crowded city of horny people.

  There’s no telling how much time passes before I can’t hold back any longer. “I’m gonna—”

  Before the words come out, my dick throbs, Skylar picks up pace without warning, and I empty myself all over his stomach and chest. Shot after shot erupts from me, flying so far, ropes and drops of my juice land on his face, making him smile and gasp with excitement.

  “Brett …” is all he groans as I feel his dick tense up inside me, and then I’m riding him through his own glorious orgasm, squeezing and rocking my body to milk him for all he’s worth.

  When I collapse on the bed next to him, we’re both out of breath with a sheen of glistening sweat all down our bodies.

  Skylar turns his head. Our faces are in front of each other. He puts a kiss on my lips, then lets out half a sigh and half a laugh.

  “I can’t believe we just did that,” he murmurs.

  “Me neither.” I kiss him again, overcome. My heart still races. I’m lighter than air, and the smile on my lips won’t go away. “Skylar, that was the best fucking sex I’ve ever had in my whole life.”

  “I guess it was a long time coming, huh?”

  “You can say that a few times. Shit.” I laugh suddenly, then roll onto my back. The all-familiar ceiling meets my eyes again. “If I had a confession to put in that book—you know, if I ever actually lost a game or bet—I think it’d be the same as yours.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” I turn my face to his. “I’ve always had a thing for you, Skylar. I’m so glad we … have this now. Whatever ‘this’ is …”

  “Me, too.”

  Our lips connect again, tenderly and sweet. I’m convinced no one I ever kiss again will compare to the way Skylar Haas makes me feel.

  “There’s cum on your face,” I whisper to him after we kiss.

  “Be my plus-one,” he whispers back.

  I blink. “Your what?”

  “To my sister’s wedding. Be my date.”

  I lift my eyebrows in surprise. “Really? You’d have me—?”

  “Are you kidding? Of course! Hell, I bet that was my sister’s plan all along, the second she found out about you. You have to be there. You have to be there with me at the wedding.”

  I grin, staring into his eyes. “I guess it’s a date, then.”

  “It’s a date.” He kisses me again.

  And after a quick clean-up of our sticky bodies, in a small bedroom in the middle of the very noisy and crowded gayborhood, two old college buddies and former frat bros caress and embrace each other for hours, completely and embarrassingly incapable of separating from one another’s lips. We’ve got many years of kissing and affection to make up for, and it shows.

  There’s no telling what hour of the night the pair of us finally give in to sleep. All I know is, my boy is cuddled into my arms, skin against skin, my nose nuzzled into his sweet neck, and I’ve never felt more complete than I do tonight.

  [ THE BIG DAY ]

  Before the wedding, Brett is busy making arrangements for the bachelorette party, which he was unofficially assigned to organize by Skylar’s ever-sweetly-demanding sister. Everything is going perfectly, Brett is hopping around town feeling useful and needed, and the sunlight is in his hair.

  11

  Every step I take is on a cloud today.

  Actually, it’s been a few days that my walking is practically bouncy. I could be convinced I’ve got tiny trampolines in my shoes.

  “You’re … in a suspiciously good mood,” notes my boss Bethany, eyeing me sleepily from a table where she’s drinking her afternoon coffee (which I brewed her). “You get laid or something?”

  “Sorry, Beth, but I don’t kiss and tell,” I mutter sassily, giving her a wink—to which she gags and continues tiredly stirring her cup.

  Even Dante notices when we work out the next morning, staring at me quizzically as I finish a third set of chest presses with the enthusiasm of a peppy cheerleader.

  “You’re on something,” he decides.

  I shrug as I stand up and stretch my arms. “I just feel more productive than usual lately.”

  “Yeah, I’ve seen you making a lot of calls,” he notes, smirking at me. “It better not be one of those call-the-cops parties of yours you’re planning.”

  “Oh, it just might be. But it won’t be at Piazza Place.” I start rubbing out a sore muscle.

  Dante chuckles, not buying it. “Yeah, yeah … sure it won’t be. Last time you sent out an invite, you included me in the group message, and you called the apartment complex the Pizza Place.” He frowns. “We don’t serve no damned pizza, Brett.”

  I
shrug. “Honest typo!”

  “Uh-huh.”

  We’re in the dim locker rooms changing after our showers when a very tall someone approaches Dante from behind. “You should know that I don’t appreciate your intrusion into my relationship very fucking much.”

  Dante turns and arches an eyebrow. “Huh?”

  The very tall someone—a forty-something man in a sweater vest, pin-stripe shirt, and bowtie who looks very far from the office (possibly lost) and with a tragically forgettable face—puffs up his chest (which does little to puff him up at all) and repeats himself. “I said you should know I don’t appreciate your intru—”

  “I heard you the first time,” Dante cuts him off. “And who the hell are you?”

  The man appears offended for half a second before at once stiffening up. “I’m Jared Appleby.”

  “Appleby?” Dante gives me a quick look, then squints back at the man. “Your last name is really Appleby? … Like the restaurant?”

  Jared doesn’t appear to appreciate that remark. “That’s Professor Appleby, PhD in Physics, at the Montrose Wills Academy of Science, Mr. Funny Guy.”

  I lean against a nearby locker and cross my arms, ready to enjoy the show. I’m only missing a bucket of popcorn and I’d be perfect.

  Dante smirks, swallowing a chuckle he almost let out. “Let me make an educated guess here.” He speaks in a faux scholarly tone of voice, quirking his eyebrows with mock haughtiness. “You must be the boyfriend of someone who visited me.”

  “Oh? ‘Visited’ you? Is that what we’re calling it now?” The man scoffs. “You have a lot of nerve.”

  “And patience,” Dante adds in a surprisingly calm tone of voice as he sits down on the bench in front of the man and, as casually as a Sunday afternoon spent in a hammock, proceeds to put his socks on one at a time.

  The man stands over Dante, scowling. “I have photos. I saw him meet you here. And I saw him meet you at your apartment complex in Mayville. I hired a private investigator.”

  “Oh? Did you? Fire him.”

  “And I—” The man blinks. “What?”

  Dante finishes with his socks and proceeds to unhurriedly slip on his shoes. “If he was any good, he would have also discovered I’m a photographer. See, I have photos as well.” Dante lifts his striking, brilliant eyes to meet the man’s. Even sitting down, Dante looks like the dominant one, completely and indisputably in control of the conversation. “Photos of your boyfriend … being a kinky little devil.”