Page 8 of Once Upon An Ever After
His mind was spinning off into a million fractured thoughts as he nodded and saw Dawson’s answering smile in return. He thought about how long it had taken them to get here. He wondered what had finally made Dawson act on his feelings. He didn’t even know why Dawson had come here when Beau had canceled their plans for the night. He figured they should probably talk about what was happening between them but before he could he mentally smacked himself for even considering putting a stop to this. He worried he would come the moment Dawson touched him, really touched him for the first time and then… nothing.
Every single thought in his head just disappeared, evaporated into the ether, because when Dawson’s big hand settled around his cock his mind went blissfully empty of everything except the need to feel this moment in all of its incredibly unexpected pleasure.
He closed his eyes and moaned when Dawson’s hand stroked him softly. It was too soft, too hesitant, and he knew he should say something, do something to help Dawson find his way with this, but he couldn’t bring himself to do more than stand there and let Dawson have anything he wanted from him, to take whatever Dawson would give him.
Dawson’s hands were bigger than his own but also softer. They were the hands of a man who had never been forced to labor a day in his life. Beau had obsessed over those hands, over what they might feel like on his body, but the sensations that came with the touch overpowered him to the point that he barely recognized that Dawson had used his other hand on Beau’s chest to guide him backwards until he was colliding with the wall.
God, how many times had he imagined Dawson shoving him against a wall and having his wicked way with him? Too many. Far too many considering that until just a few minutes ago his best friend had maintained that he was one hundred percent straight.
Dawson’s voice was husky and low when he spoke, “You like that?”
Beau forced his heavy lids open enough to look at the beautiful man in front of him. Dawson’s intense steel gray eyes were focused on him as if his face held the secrets to the universe. He would have smiled or cracked a joke about it in another situation but not this one. Leave it to Dawson Frost to be serious and intense about even this, so concerned with getting it right that he wasn’t nearly as lost in the moment as Beau was.
“It’s perfect.” He managed, his own voice pure gravel and desire, “You’re perfect. Whatever you do, however you touch me, it’ll be perfect because it’s you.”
Dawson’s eyes darted over his face again, searching, but whether he found whatever it was he was looking for or not, Beau didn’t know. Dawson leaned forward and pressed their lips together again and he found himself spiraling into the realm where thoughts no longer mattered, only pleasure. He opened his mouth and Dawson stroked their tongues together, the delicious, velvety pull making his cock swell with the need for more.
He heard a small moan, was barely coherent enough to recognize that this time it wasn’t his own and he grunted in response as his hips bucked forward into Dawson’s hand. He’d gotten a handle on what he wanted now, literally. His grip had tightened and he was pumping Beau towards the edge of release with a strong, steady rhythm that only faltered when he stroked his thumb over the throbbing, leaking head and spread Beau’s precoma around, teasing his slit.
“Ah, fuck.” Beau broke the kiss with a whine, his head banging off the wall as he threw it back and his entire body arched. “I’m going to come.”
“Do it.” Dawson’s voice felt far away but his warmth still seeped into every inch of Beau’s skin and his hand kept up its rhythm.
If it had been anyone else, maybe Beau would have tried harder to hold off the orgasm, to draw the pleasure out longer, but it wasn’t anyone else. It was Dawson. Dawson was touching him. Dawson was kissing him. Dawson, the man of his dreams, was working his cock and telling him to come so of course, Beau did.
With a shiver of anticipation he reached between them and covered Dawson’s hand with his own. He used Dawson’s hand to jerk himself off. He showed his best friend, his lover, exactly what he needed to be pushed over the edge. He tightened their grip until it was almost painful and pulled in short, staccato strokes until his balls drew up and his entire body strung tight with tension.
“Do it.” Dawson whispered the word this time, against Beau’s lips, and he moaned as all the pent-up attraction, of emotions left unspoken for nearly a year, exploded out of him.
He slid his hand to the head of his cock as he began to come, catching his semen in his tight fist. Somewhere in the back of his mind he was aware enough to realize that Dawson was still dressed and he didn’t want to ruin his nice clothes. It wasn’t a conscious decision so much as a reaction of a split second before all thought fled his brain and his body all but collapsed in sated, happy, exhausted, bliss.
Beau slumped against the wall as his climax ebbed. The back of his head against the hard surface, his head tipped up and his eyes closed, he tried to catch his breath and regain his bearings. The world had shifted under his feet in the last twenty minutes and he felt wobbly and suddenly self-conscious as reality began to set back in.
He had his own come coating his fist. He was completely stark ass naked. He’d just gotten a hand job from his best friend which was a big deal, a huge deal, but the thing his brain got stuck on when it tried to restart was that he hadn’t even attempted to return the pleasure Dawson was giving him in the heat of the moment.
He’d simply let Dawson pull an orgasm from him and made no move to really even touch him, certainly not to strip him as naked as Beau was and give him his own orgasm.
As his eyes fluttered open he was keenly aware that Dawson was watching him and that his friend was still fully dressed. He knew Dawson and he knew that he would want to talk about this, about everything. That was how Dawson processed things. He talked about them until he could wrap his head around things. But Beau wasn’t ready to talk just yet so he let the easy smile that wanted to come rise up his face and used his clean hand to reach for Dawson and pull him closer again.
“Mmm, your turn.”
Dawson’s eyes went wide in the second before Beau flipped them around. He’d caught Dawson off guard and the surprise on his too handsome face made Beau’s grin widen. He liked surprising this man more than he liked nearly anything else in the world. He pressed his smiling lips against Dawson’s in a sweet kiss as he slid his hand between them again, only this time with every intention of ignoring his own cock in favor of the one he’d only dreamed of having access to until now.
His hand found the button on Dawson’s jeans and he felt him stiffen beneath his kiss. His hand slipped down another inch, two, and then, he froze. Dawson went as rigid as a statue. And the world shifted beneath Beau’s feet all over again, spinning so wildly that he felt instantly sick.
Dawson wasn’t hard. He was the complete and total opposite of hard. He wasn’t turned on. Not by what they’d just done. Not by Beau. He wasn’t hard and suddenly, Beau’s own quickly recovering cock wasn’t either.
He jerked his hand away and stumbled back a step. His eyes found Dawson’s steely gray ones and he saw the regret lurking there before his friend could look away. Beau’s stomach turned and he shook his head, trying to shake off this nightmare that his fantasy had suddenly turned into.
“You’re not… You don’t…” He heard the whine in his own voice and tried to swallow past the lump in his throat. “You don’t want me.”
Dawson winced at the accusation, “Of course I do.”
“Don’t lie. Not when it’s so obvious. God, why would you…” Beau’s bottom lip trembled, “Why would you do that if you don’t want me?”
“I do.” Dawson’s cheeks were flushing red and Beau felt his own skin heat with anger and humiliation when his best friend spoke again. “I… I just want to make you happy.”
Beau had to cover his mouth to keep from retching right there on the floor. He was going to be sick. He was going to lose it. Whatever he had thought Dawson might say, whatever reasoning he might have hoped his best friend would come up with, that was the absolute worst thing he could have said in that moment.
