Page 15 of Crossed Lines

Is it always going to feel like this when we kiss? Like nothing else in the world matters except his soft lips and the way he eagerly digs into my mouth like an overexcited puppy.

I can’t get enough of him.

“You’re still hard,” Luke says against my mouth.

“A little bit.”

He tugs down my sweatpants, tentatively reaching for my straining cock. “Let me…” For a second, he seems lost, staring at the dick in his hand like it teleported there, before he tightens his grip and starts tugging.

“Fuck. Luke—”

He works his way over my cock with as much focus as he does everything, his brow furrowed and tongue poking out of hismouth like when he’s practicing a hard pass or baking something new. It’s endearing.

We’re standing half-naked in the team locker room; my heart shouldn’t be feeling so full it could burst. But it does.

I feel feverish with want, wrung out, and aching. For my best friend. Overcome with need, I push his hand aside and, bracing against his locker, crowd him against my body. Luke looks up at me with wide eyes, the pupils blown out so far, I can barely see the dark brown.

Pressing our cocks together, I wrap a hand around both of us. “This might hurt a little. Tell me if it gets too much.”

Then I roll my hips, pumping my hand in a punishing rhythm. It feels fucking amazing. I was already on edge from sucking him off, and my pleasure skyrockets, thrumming through my veins like the burr of an engine.

Luke wraps his arms around my neck and buries into my shoulder, whimpering a little at the overstimulation. But he takes it eagerly, bucking against me like he has more to give. Even though I know he’s still sensitive, and the sting must be getting to him, he doesn’t stop.

I was right, before. He will be the death of me because he’s fucking perfect. Everything about him is perfect, and I don’t know why we haven’t done this sooner.

My orgasm hits me like a freight train, and I sink my teeth into his neck, bruising it further. Hot ropes of come splash against Luke’s cock, marking him as mine. It’s a fucked-up thought but I can’t take it back.

Luke gasps and goes still, his cock twitching against my hip as a dry orgasm wracks through his body.

All I can think is how utterly fucked I am.

*

The next morning, I wake up feeling like shit.

I can tell it’s gonna be one of those days where I’m on edge, like I could punch anybody who looks at me the wrong way. Usually, I ignore it or go for a swim until it disappears, but this time it sticks to me like a bandage that won’t come off.

The first half of today is free—with the semi-final match in three days, we need to be careful not to pull any important muscles. Silence behind Luke’s door means he’s still asleep. I stumble through my morning routine like a zombie, careful not to wake him up. I don’t want to bother him when I’m like this.

Maybe a jog will clear my head. Grabbing my shit, I tug on an old Harper Harriers jersey, this one white with blue stripes instead of the blue with white lettering we’ve got this year. When I’m ready, I shut the front door behind me and head for the elevator, hoping to work out the strange tension in the pit of my stomach.

This part of Washington is gorgeous, even in the early morning darkness. It’s past dawn and the sky is a hazy blue mixed with the vibrant orange of undiluted squash. The roads are nearly empty, so I shove in my earphones and put on a playlist to drown out my thoughts.

It doesn’t work. Even past the heavy drums of indie rock, my mind races withLuke, Luke, Luke.I haven’t felt this way about him in years.

It’s like our messing around has given my brain permission to reroute him into the ‘single and available’ section. Except he’s straight, I’m the captain of his soccer team, and we’re best friends.

But none of that registers in my fucked-up head. I’ve tried to stop thinking about him, tried to focus on getting with the prettiest girls and the hottest guys. Problem is, the memory of neon-blue lights and large doe eyes widening at my cock hanging out of my trousers kept replaying.

Even when I’m with other people, Luke is a ghost that haunts me. And now that I know the sounds he makes when he’s spilling into my mouth, I don’t want to exorcise him.

My obsession is coming back in full force, and I couldn’t give a shit if I tried.

A car honks somewhere in the distance and I crash back into reality. My legs are aching. Panting, I check my watch and see it’s been almost half an hour of straight jogging. A convenience store glows in front of me like a shining beacon in the low light.

I’ll grab something for Luke, then head to the training center for some recovery stretches. Whatever I’d hoped to accomplish with this jog didn’t fucking work. At least the anger’s washed away, but in its place is a heavy confusion building in the pit of my gut.

The whole apartment smells like coffee and buttercream icing when I get back.

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