It’s quiet as he leans against the counter next to where I’m sitting on the barstool. In nothing but a pair of tight boxers, I struggle to keep my eyes forward and not let them cascade across the dark designs all over his abs to his chest.
He won’t break the silence, so I do it first.
“If I overstep, you’ll tell me, right?”
His head turns in my direction. “Of course.”
“I mean…” God, this is uncomfortable. “Between you and me.”
“Oh,” he replies, and I wait for him to finally express how tonight was probably too much for him and how I definitely shouldn’t get that close during sex ever again. “You won’t overstep, Drake. It’s fine.”
I force myself to swallow. Is this a joke to him? Because he can’t actually mean that. For once, I’d like him to just be honest and tackle the awkward conversations, so we don’t land in a place we can’t come back from. Instead, he’s forcing me to.
“No…I definitelycouldoverstep, Hunter. You’re a straight man, and I’m not. If we’re going to keep…doing whatever we’re doing, you have to be upfront with me.”
He turns toward me. “Are you referring to what happened tonight? Drake, it was fine. It didn’t bother me.”
“I don’t want it to justnot botheryou. From now on…I’ll just keep my hands to myself,” I reply, wishing this painful conversation could have just never happened at all.
Silence stretches between us before he finally replies, “But I didn’t keep my hands to myself either.”
And my mouth goes dry. He just admitted it. He literally owned up to touching my cock on purpose and I have no idea where to go from here.
To my surprise, Hunter fills the quiet first. “Yeah, I’m straight, but I’ve known you my whole life, Drake. Touching you doesn’t fucking bother me.”
I stand for some reason. I’m too unsettled by this conversation, and it feels wrong to be sitting. He’s being too nonchalant about this and I’m afraid now that he’s being too compensating. He’s giving me what I want because I’m the one fulfilling his fantasy. And the more I think about that, the more I can’t stand it.
“That’s the problem, Hunt. There’s a big difference between liking something and not being bothered by it. And I’ve known you my whole fucking life too, long enough to know when something is up—and something is definitely up with you. I think you’re more bothered by it than you’re going to tell me, and I’m telling you…you don’t have to do that for me.”
“Come on, Drake. All this for a little touching? What is wrong with you?”
“Right now, it’s touching, but what happens when it’s more? How am I supposed to know you’re cool with it if you won’t—"
“Jesus Christ. Here,” he mutters, and then I’m struck silent because his hands are on my face and he’s pressing his soft lips against mine.
Hunter is kissing me.
My hands are hanging down by my sides because I did not see this coming and I’m too stunned to move. Why is he kissing me?
At first, it’s just lips pressed against lips, meant to prove a point. He’s perfectly happy touching me—I get it. But the seconds tick by and his mouth is still lingering on mine.
Ever so slowly, he pulls back, putting enough space between our mouths so he can look me in the eye, but his lips linger an inch from mine.
“I just want to try something,” he whispers, his breath brushing against my face, and the weight of those words land like a tidal wave. Because I know what’s coming next.
He’s kissing me again. But instead of the awkward brief kiss before, his lips part, and I feel his tongue gliding against the seam of my mouth. I don’t hesitate to let him in. The moment our tongues collide, I swear the apartment trembles. Or maybe the earth quakes or the universe implodes. I don’t know, but something cosmic as fuck takes place because my best friend and I are now officially making out in the kitchen in the middle of the night.
His hand glides around to cup the back of my head, pulling me down a few inches, as he deepens our kiss. His tongue finds its way farther into my mouth, the sensation both rough and soft against my own tongue, and when he licks his way out, his teeth pinch my lower lip before diving in again.
Holy fuck. He wanted to try something all right.
My hands are still hanging useless by my sides because, suddenly, I don’t know what the fuck to do with them. Where do I normally put my hands when I’m kissing someone…or being mouth-fucked, which would apparently be the case now?
Finally deciding on what to do with them, I touch his sides, sliding my fingers up his bare rib cage and around to his back, hooking them around his body to pull him in closer.
I’m hard, because of course I’m fucking hard, but I’m more than a little curious to know if he is too.
When he finally shifts a little closer, I get my answer. There’s a certified chub against my hip, and it’s growing less chubby and more hard by the second.