Page 11 of Christmas Miracle
“No. Don’t stop, Brett,” John’s voice came out almost with a tone of command to it, and Brett actually chuckled softly, one of the few times that he had heard his best friend laugh since the death of his parents. Brett was too serious, John mused to himself, and he had to think of a way to get through that, to help Brett, since Brett was helping him so much.
Those fingers dug deep again, into the sore, tender fibers of muscles knotted for so long that it had seemed pretty much the normal state of affairs for John. He gasped, and his cheeks flamed so that he had to turn his head into the bed, to stifle his noises and hide the fire in his cheeks.
Something was happening—something that, if Brett knew, he would never be able to forgive John for. This new awareness of his own body, the hands which touched him without fear or pity, it was having an effect on him that he wouldn’t have thought possible, and that it hadn’t even occurred to him to guard against.
It had been so long.
Not since the last time that he’d had an erection. He had those as normal. But this was more than just a casually interested sort of thing, more than the standard, which could be ignored, and then go away without him having to do much about it. He was aching, just like that, fully erect and pressing against the inside of his jeans enough that it actually hurt him.
In a second, John was ready. Brett could have done anything to him, and he would have begged for more. But he had to hide this because it would just make things awkward.
“Shhh, just relax. You’re tensing up again,” Brett soothed, and John struggled with himself as he tried to figure out a way to relax the muscles of his back, which was so skillfully being worked on, while at the same time keep his noises silent, keep his hips still, even though his body was screaming at him to move, to rock against the bed, to find any friction that he possibly could.
Better yet, he could roll over. His muscles were relaxed enough now that he thought that it probably wouldn’t even hurt to pull Brett’s small, beautiful little body down against him, to grip his ass, to rock against him and find release that way …
Even just the thought of it had him flushed, panting, and harder than ever. The inside of his jeans was covered in slick precum. He didn’t mean for it to happen, and he didn’t give himself permission to do it.
It was almost as much of a surprise to him as it must have been to Brett when a low, urgent, deeply erotic moan came from his mouth, when his hips tilted, just once, so that his cock rubbed slickly through his own precum against the bed.
God, he hoped that Brett hadn’t noticed that, because that one small noise and that movement hadn’t helped. If anything, it had just made it all much worse.
