Page 5 of It's All You

We end up on the couch after dinner with the latest John Wick movie playing on the TV. I’m all for some blood and gore, especially to avenge a dead dog. Plus, Gavin’s had a crush on Keanu Reeves since high school.

He’s hogging the giant bowl of popcorn, cradling it in his arms so it’s positioned right under his chin. The only way I can get any of the buttery stuff is if I scooch in right next to him and carefully slide my hand into the bowl, hoping he doesn’t notice.

At some point, while Keanu is beating the shit out of the bad guys, Gavin settles deeper into the couch. His weight shifts and his arm presses up against mine. I can feel the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing getting slower and steadier until his head lands gently on my shoulder. I don’t need to glance at him to know he’s fast asleep.

Figures. The dude works way too many hours and doesn’t sleep enough.

I pry the bowl out of his loose grasp to set it aside and drape a blanket across his lap. He mumbles something incoherent, then sinks more heavily into me. I gently maneuver us so my arm is around his shoulders and his forehead rests against my neck. His stubble is prickly on my collarbone and his hair is impossibly soft against my cheek.

There’s something comforting and safe about sitting with Gavin like this. It’s a feeling I haven’t had in a long time and didn’t realize I was missing until now. I soak it up—the weight of another body against mine, the rise and fall of someone else’s breathing, their warmth seeping into me. The fact that it’s Gavin in my arms is, well…

There’s a part of my brain waving caution signs: Gavin and I have been best friends for a long time, but we’ve never hadthatkind of relationship. I’m into girls. He’s a guy. Hugs and stuff are fine, but when does a hug turn into cuddling?

I don’t know, and I’m not sure I want to examine it too closely. It feels good and that’s all that matters right now.

By the time the credits roll, my arm is numb, but I don’t want to get up. My eyes have drifted shut and even though I haven’t fallen asleep, I feel like I’m in some sort of trance where everything is perfect and nothing bad can happen. My nose is buried in Gavin’s curls. His arms have snaked around my waist.

I lean slightly to the right and we ease down onto the couch. I’m on my back. Gavin’s tucked in between my side and the couch cushions. He stirs a bit at the change in position, but he doesn’t wake.

That’s when I feel it—a bulge pressing against my thigh. It can only be one thing and my heart rate picks up at the realization. Gavin’s dreaming. Probably of Keanu. It has nothing to do with me or how our bodies are flush against each other. It’s nothing more than a natural bodily response. It doesn’t mean anything.

So then why the fuck is my dick getting hard too? My arm tightens involuntarily around Gavin’s back and he snuggles even closer to me. Heat pools in my joints, in my stomach, in my groin. My balls draw up, feeling heavy and tender. My cock is starting to tent the front of my sweatpants.

Jesus. What the fuck?

I should get up. I should slip away while Gavin’s still unconscious. He never needs to know about me perving out on him. Except I can’t. Or I won’t. I don’t know the difference at this point. I’m stuck underneath him like I’m paralyzed. All my limbs are languid and limp. I want to turn into him. I want to lift my hips and grind myself against him. I want to feel his bulge rub against mine.

Oh, Christ almighty. This isn’t right. This isn’t me. I must be more out of my mind than I thought if I’m getting turned on by being Gavin’s human pillow. Am I really that starved for touch? For attention? For intimacy?

Gavin’s breath skitters over the sensitive skin at the base of my throat. A shudder runs through me. I dig my fingers into the couch cushions. I don’t know how long I can stay like this. I don’t know how much longer I can resist.

CHAPTER SEVEN

GAVIN

I haven’t felt this warm and comfortable and cozy in freaking ages. A broad, solid chest under my cheek. That musky, spicy scent in my nose. A thick thigh between my own, perfectly angled for me to grind my erection against. It’s been too long since I’ve gotten laid.

I freeze. I haven’t gotten laid. The chest under my cheek and the scent in my nose and the thigh I’m humping don’t belong to some random stranger I picked up at a club. They belong to…

My eyes fly open as I fling myself away from Beau only to land partially on the coffee table, sending the bowl of popcorn spinning across the floor. I scramble to my feet, ignoring the bloom of pain in my ribs.

“Jesus. Gavin. Are you okay?” Beau’s propped himself up on one elbow, but otherwise, he’s still splayed out on the couch, all six foot two of delectable man that I’d been plastered against for god knows how long.

“Yeah, um, fine. Totally cool. Yep. I’m great.” I push my hair out of my eyes and back myself toward my room.

Beau sits up and—wait a minute. His hand goes to his crotch as he stands. He tries to hide it, but I know a hard cock under sweatpants when I see one. Is he—? Is that erection for me? No. It can’t be. He’s straight. He doesn’t like guys. And he certainly doesn’t like me.

“Um… sorry!” I spin around, race into my bedroom, and slump against the closed door. It must’ve been a trick of the light. Or a hallucination dreamed up by my exhausted brain. There’s no way Beau had a hard-on for me.

Behind me, the bathroom fan whirs to life, then the door closes, muting its sound. I squeeze my eyes shut as my imagination decides to take on a life of its own. It brings up an image of Beau, pushing his sweatpants down around his thighs. He’s not wearing underwear and his cock juts out from his body, long and thick. He takes himself in hand and a shiver runs up my spine at what it must feel like. The steely hardness encased in velvety soft skin.

I fumble with my own pants, frantically pushing them down so I can catch up with fantasy-Beau in my mind. He squeezes himself and the head of his cock is red and swollen. A bead of pre-cum gathers in his slit. He swipes it up with his thumb and rubs it into the smoothness of his glans.

I match his imaginary movements, circling around and around the glistening tip of my dick. My hips come off the door and I reach between my legs to palm my balls. I rub up and down the seam that runs across my taint.

“Beau.” His name escapes my lips and the sound of that single syllable, desperate and needy, makes me flinch while also making my cock jump.

I can’t be jerking off to thoughts of Beau, not to fantasies of him also jerking off in the bathroom across the hall. And yet my dick is harder than it’s ever been. I’m leaking pre-cum like I forgot to turn off a faucet somewhere. My groin tightens as my hand moves over my cock, twisting around the head.

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