Page 34 of Choke Up

Elliot disappears from the doorway, and I look down at Ellis, who's pulled himself back up to sitting, arms around his knees.

"You okay?" I ask, gaze darting over him.

"I didn't piss myself, if that's what you're asking," he snaps, but I can hear the humor in his tone.

My lips quirk. "I'm sorry."

"No, you're not," he says, his blue eyes locked on mine. Heat flushes over me, and the hairs on the back of my neck prickle.

It's not like I can tell him outright that I was trying to cover the way I was looking at his foot like something I want to lick, not to mention the huge boner I have right now. So I jut my hand out like I’m about to grab for his foot again. When he moves away, I can see the telltale bulge of his own boner. Averting my eyes, I cover my quick departure with a peel of maniacal laughter.

Before heading downstairs, I head into the bathroom to splash some cold water on my face. I need to calm down and do something about this hard-on before I'm never invited back. I feel awkward rubbing one out when Elliot almost just caught me in a compromising moment, but I might not have a choice. I'm harder than fucking steel, and each step I take is excruciating.

My phone pings, and I pull it from my pocket to find a message from Ellis. It's a picture of his hard cock, the red tip exposed and glossy. I let out a huff of frustration that I can't walk back across the hall and suck the cum out of him like a pre-dinner cocktail.

ELLISH: Help me.

ELLISH: I can’t go down to Thanksgiving dinner like this.

JOHNNY: Well, that is a problem.

JOHNNY: And now I have one, too.

Scrambling to think of an idea, I shut the lights off and use the flash, making sure there's nothing in the background to give my location away. I send a picture of my hand wrapped around my throbbing erection.

ELLISH: I wish I could feel you in the back of my throat again.

Fuck.

Another message comes through, a GIF of him stroking himself. I can see the blanket his grandma knitted him when he was a kid in the background, and for whatever reason, it turns me on more knowing he’s in his childhood bedroom thinking of me. I turn on my flashlight and set the camera against a box of tissues, carefully aiming the camera so I'm only visible mid-thigh to belly button. I drop my pants to my ankles and pull my shirt up under my chin, sending him a message before I push record.

JOHNNY: Show me that pretty pink asshole.

The picture he sends me comes through while I'm recording myself, with my balls in one hand, my other stroking my cock furiously. The moment the picture comes through, my orgasm pops off unexpectedly, and I shout, quickly cupping my palm over the head of my cock to stop the geyser of cum from painting their bathroom walls and getting all over me. Struggling to contain it all, I press stop on the camera and grab the closest towel, panting as I stroke out the rest of my orgasm into the fabric before turning the light back on.

"Are you okay in there?" Elliot says, knocking on the door.

"Yeah, man! I just, uh, stubbed my toe." I cringe as I look down at the decorative towel in my hands. The colorful handprint turkeys, which I'm pretty sure are copied from some art the boys did in first grade, are covered in gobs and streaks of my release. Whoops.

After cleaning the towel as well as I can with hand soap and water, and making sure I'm presentable, I send the video before I walk downstairs and try to pretend that didn't just happen. On my way past Ellis' door, I hear the recorded version of me shout, and then I really do stub my toe against the stair banister.

A few hours later, Ellis watches me from the porch as I gently set my mom in the passenger side of her car. She's not supposed to drink with her meds, so even two glasses of wine have done her in. He runs down the steps and across the driveway before I make it to the driver's side door.

"Hey, Gabe?"

When I turn to look at him, his eyes are solemn and thoughtful. I'm struck again with the thought that maybe he does know something, but his reasoning for running across the yard barefoot are different than what I brace myself for.

"We still have over a week to study for finals. Don't stress over it too much. We've got this."

We've got this. He said we.

Not trusting myself to speak, I nod and climb into the car to drive my mom home.

ELLISH: How did your finals go?

JOHNNY: Not terrible. Looks like I'll get to hang around here at least another semester.

ELLISH: We should celebrate.

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