Page 2 of Crybaby
Fuck.His life was a mess.
So Jason sat down on the couch and ate his drunken noodles and watched the film Sasha had chosen and mainly didn’t make fun of what was happening on screen but also didn’t pay much attention. One hour into the movie, he was full and tired and content, mostly listening to the sounds of Russian coming from the TV, which he’d come to love, and everything had been good and normal and not at all weird.
And then Sasha, the great, lumbering beast, had ruined it.
Jason wasn’t sure what had first drawn his attention. A sniffle, maybe, or a choked sound. It didn’t matter, really, because as soon as he looked over at Sasha, every single thought he’d ever had disappeared from his miserable little brain.
Sasha wascrying. He didn’t just have a few tears in his eyes that he was trying to hide. He was full-on crying. His handsome, broad face was wet and glowing with tears, brown eyes big and shiny and filled with sheer feeling. There were two spots of red high on his cheeks, which barely ever happened.
He looked, in a word, beautiful. Jason, who was used to longing for things he couldn’t have, had never wanted anybody more. He wanted to grip Sasha’s face and feel that wetness under his thumb, have those eyes look athimthat way. Wanted to kiss Sasha until those little, choked sounds he was letting out were for Jason and Jason only. Wanted to break Sasha apart and put him back together again.
The bolt of purewantthat went through Jason left him dizzy. He tore his eyes away and looked at the screen, heart pounding in his ears, fear a hand that was crushing his chest.
This couldnothappen. Not with Sasha, his best friend, the one person who genuinely seemed to like Jason for who he was. This was weird and wrong and it just—it couldn’t happen.
Jason had no idea how long the movie lasted. By the end, he’d managed to calm himself somewhat, at least enough not to let on that he’d just been turned-on by his best friend’s crying face.
“You like?” Sasha asked, turning towards Jason. He wasn’t crying anymore, but his eyes were a little puffy, his lips so red they were almost obscene on his pale face.
Jason looked away, collecting the takeaway cartons. “Uh, yeah. It was great.”
“Yes, Russian movies best.”
Jason snorted, relaxing a little at the familiar joke. “Yeah, the best at being long and boring. Congratulations.”
“You American, have no taste. All you want is burger movie.”
Jason, who had been friends with Sasha long enough—fuck, had it really been three years already?—to translate his weird phrases, rolled his eyes. “You were laughing your ass off atZombielandlike, yesterday.”
“That is not fast burger movie—”
“Fast food,” Jason corrected.
“That is good movie. No taste.”
“I’m not saying I didn’t like it, I’m just saying—”
“You always ‘just saying.’ I’m not listen to American anymore.”
“You’re insufferable,” Jason complained, trying not to laugh. They’d had this conversation—or ones like it—so often, it felt like putting a well-worn and well-loved shirt on.
It was only later that night, lying in bed and trying to stop his thoughts from creeping in and taking over, that Jason couldn’t contain the memory of Sasha’s teary face anymore. He tried—God knew he tried—but it appeared in the darkness like a phantom of the past, a spirit with unfinished business.
He rolled over, burying his face in his pillow. His cock, already hardening from the heated rush that was taking over him, pressed into the mattress, and he had to choke down a moan.
Fuck, he justwanted. And maybe it was okay to let himself want this one time if he knew he wouldn’t actually get tohaveanything. If he would never take that from Sasha—that it would never be offered.
Jason slid his hand into his boxers, the first grip and slide of his fingers making his thighs tremble.
The image came unbidden, of Sasha on his bed, naked and broken apart and sobbing, pleading. Not because he was hurt, but because he was overwhelmed, because he couldn’t stop himself. He imagined the blush of his cheeks, the stark colour of his lips, the vast and begging eyes. How Sasha would behis, safe to be vulnerable, to be cracked open but not destroyed.
God, how would Sasha taste? The salt of him, of his tears, the way his breath would stutter. Would he open his mouth sweetly for Jason’s cock? Would he moan for it, plead for it?
Jason imagined the slow slide of the head of his cock against Sasha’s wet cheeks, precome and tears collecting, and—
With a moan and a burning so thorough it almost hurt, Jason came. Alone on his bed, the image of his best friend haunting his head, he made a mess of his hand and boxers, trembling through the pleasure and the shame.
He panted into the darkness, spent in more ways than one.
