Best Friend’s Secret - Part 2

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Brad stared at the ceiling, mind whirling over how to navigate this new scenario. Oliver fell quickly asleep, eased by the relief that his best friend now knew his secret…well…one of his secrets.

——————

The bed was just big enough for two people if neither of them moved much. Brad stretched out on his back, hands folded over his stomach, still staring at the ceiling. Beside him, Oliver stirred awake and rolled onto his side, pulling the blanket halfway up.

For a few minutes the only sound was their easing breath and light traffic outside. The room smelled faintly of fabric softener, stale beer from earlier, and the clean salt of the ocean still clinging to their skin.

“You awake?” Oliver asked quietly.

“Yeah.”

Oliver let out a small laugh. “This is weird, right?”

“Nah,” Brad said. “Guys crash together all the time. I’ve slept on worse with teammates who didn’t shower after games. It’s not that deep.”

Oliver hummed like he wanted to believe him, but Brad could tell he was still a little stiff, like he was trying to keep every inch of space possible between them.

“Relax, Ollie,” Brad said, turning his head toward him. “I’m not gonna bite.”

That finally earned a smile. Oliver exhaled and eased onto his back, shoulders brushing the edge of Brad’s arm. Not much, but just enough to notice. What Brad didn’t know is that this was Oliver’s dream come true. He had been crushing on him ever since that first meet in the gym. But he knew he couldn’t say anything.

They drifted into silence again. This time it was more comfortable.

At some point, Brad felt Oliver’s breathing steady into the rhythm of sleep. He thought about the fall earlier, about how fragile Oliver had looked on the bathroom floor, and about the way he freaked out when he discovered his secret.

Brad still didn’t fully understand it all. But the only thing that mattered was that Oliver was his friend, and nothing was going to change that.

With that thought, Brad finally closed his eyes and let himself drift off too.

Brad faded into sleep heavier than usual, body worn out from the day. His dreams came quick and vivid. He wasn’t just with Oliver, he was inside him, hips pressing down as their mouths locked together. Oliver’s skin was hot, his voice breaking into needy little gasps every time Brad pushed his cock in deeper. Brad’s hands dug into Oliver’s waist, his chest heaving with the kind of raw, hungry sex he hadn’t had in months.

The dream felt too real.

On the mattress, Brad shifted closer, half-asleep and lost in it. His hips pressed forward, grinding against the warmth at his side. He breathed Oliver’s name, a ragged sound in his throat. Oliver froze the instant he heard it, eyes snapping open.

In the dim light, Brad’s face was slack with sleep, but his body told the truth. His cock was hard, rubbing insistently through thin boxers, rutting against Oliver’s thigh in desperate rhythm. A soft, deep moan escaped him. Oliver stayed still, uncertain if he should move or wake him. His chest tightened when he realized Brad wasn’t stopping.

The bed rocked gently with Brad’s slow grind, his forehead damp with sweat. Oliver’s pulse hammered as he lay there, stiff and wide awake, waiting. He felt the all too familiar warmth and wetness of his own arousal from being ground on by his crush. Even though it felt wrong, Oliver slipped his hand into his boxers and began rubbing his engorged clit.

A few moments later Brad’s body tensed. His breath caught, and then he gasped Oliver’s name again as a wet heat spread across his boxers. He shuddered, hips jerking, before slumping into stillness. Sleep dragged him under completely.

Oliver let out the smallest breath, staring at the ceiling, withdrew his fingers from between his legs and then carefully shifted away to give Brad space. He lay awake until exhaustion finally pulled him down too.

Some hours later, morning sunlight cut through the blinds. Brad stirred first, groggy and sticky. The second he felt the crusted fabric clinging to his skin, his eyes flew open. Panic hit him like a slap. He slipped out of bed as quietly as he could and yanked his boxers down, fumbling for clean ones in his drawer.

Behind him, the sheets rustled.

“Brad?” Oliver’s voice was husky from sleep.

Brad froze, completely naked, boxers in his hand.

Oliver sat up, his gaze dropping before Brad could cover himself. He didn’t miss the telltale mess smeared across Brad’s lower stomach and thighs. His expression softened, like he’d already known. “You don’t have to freak out,” he said quietly. “I was awake when it happened.”

Brad’s mouth went dry. “Shit, Ollie…I didn’t mean…I wasn’t even aware. It just…I had this dream, and…” He scrubbed a hand down his face. “I haven’t been with anyone in a long time and I guess my brain just…I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

Oliver shook his head. “Don’t apologize. You were asleep. It’s fine.”

Brad swallowed hard, still clutching the clean boxers. His heart was racing, shame spreading through every inch of his body.

Oliver gave a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Really. It’s fine.”

Brad wasn’t sure he believed him, but the conversation stopped there.

Later in the day, Brad still couldn’t shake the morning from his head. The dream, the mess, Oliver saying he was awake the whole time. It haunted him through every class. He tried focusing on notes and lectures, but his brain kept circling back. He wasn’t gay, he knew that. But Oliver wasn’t exactly a guy like the others in his dorm. I mean he’s a guy, sure. But Oliver had a pussy. Dreaming about fucking him…did that even count as gay? Or was it just his body needing release after too long without sex?

By the time night rolled around, Brad was ready to drown the thoughts with beer. A party off-campus gave him the excuse. Loud music, crowded rooms, cheap drinks…it was easy to slide into conversation with a girl he vaguely knew from psych. She was cute, laughed at his jokes, leaned into him like she wanted him. Before long they slipped into a bedroom, mouths hungry on each other.

Brad dropped to his knees between her thighs, eager, determined to shake off whatever had been building inside him the last two days. He worked his tongue the way he remembered always working: slow at first, then faster, flicking and pressing. She made the noises, but something in her tone felt off. Rehearsed. When she finally gasped out that she’d cum, Brad pulled back, chest heaving, and caught the look in her eyes. It wasn’t satisfaction. It was politeness.

Defeated, he left not long after.

On his way back to his dorm, he nearly bumped straight into Oliver in the hallway. Oliver didn’t live in the same building as him, so he was confused why he was there.

“I left my phone charger here when I left this morning”

“Oh okay, we can grab that” Brad replied as he unlocked his door.

“Late one?” Oliver asked, raising a brow.

“Something like that,” Brad muttered. “You wanna grab a drink?”

They ended up in Brad’s room, sipping cheap whiskey from solo cups. The buzz loosened Brad’s tongue. “I was with this girl tonight,” he admitted, “went down on her. Thought I was doing good, but…yeah, pretty sure she faked it.”

Oliver chuckled softly. “Yeah, if you don’t know how to lick a pussy, it’s kinda over for you.”

Brad frowned. “I’ve done it plenty of times. They always seemed satisfied.”

Oliver tilted his head. “Or they didn’t want to hurt your ego. Did you ever think about that?”

Brad’s stomach sank. He stared into his cup. “…I guess I’m not sure.” He let out a half-laugh, half-groan. “I just wish a girl would be honest, you know? Like…guide me through it. Tell me what I’m doing wrong, so I’d know if I was actually good at it.”

Oliver shifted uncomfortably, his thumb rubbing the rim of his cup. “That’s a dangerous wish. Most girls aren’t gonna spell it out for you.”

Brad looked up at him. He started to speak but paused. Another sip of the alcohol finally gave him the courage to say what was on his mind though, “Yeah, but you would, right? You’d actually tell me.”

Oliver hesitated, caught between instinct and curiosity. His throat worked as he swallowed. “…I could. If you really wanted me to.”

Brad’s heart gave a strange thud, one he couldn’t explain. “Maybe I do.”

Oliver stared at him, measuring, the air between them felt heavier now. The whiskey doing its job, though Brad couldn’t tell if the warmth in his chest was from the alcohol or from Oliver’s words hanging between them.

Oliver shifted on the edge of the bed, looking down at his hands. “Brad, you know if I…if we did that, it could change things. Between us.”

Brad shook his head quickly. “Nah. It wouldn’t. I’m not asking for anything like that. I just…I don’t want to keep getting lied to, you know? I don’t want another girl faking it.”

Oliver’s jaw tightened. His eyes flicked up, studying Brad for any crack in his seriousness. “You’re really saying you’d want me to let you…go down on me? Just so you can figure out how to be better with women?”

Brad gave a small, almost sheepish laugh. “Yeah. You’d actually be honest with me. I trust you to. No games, no bullshit. Just tell me if I’m doing it right. Worst case scenario, you have an orgasm and we never talk about it again.”

Silence stretched for a whole minute. Oliver exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. “Brad, this isn’t nothing. You can’t pretend it is.”

Brad leaned forward, earnest. “Look, man, I’m straight. You know that. This isn’t about us. I just…need someone who’ll be real with me. And you’re the only one I’d trust with that.”

Oliver searched his face, conflicted, like he was waiting for a crack or a joke. When none came, he finally nodded, though his voice was quiet. “…Alright. But if we do this, you better actually listen.”

Brad grinned despite the nerves thrumming through him. “Deal.”

Oliver set his cup aside and leaned back against the pillows, tugging his shirt over his head. His hands hesitated at the waistband of his sweats before he looked at Brad again, a final check. “Last chance to back out.”

Brad shook his head, throat dry but determined. “I’m not backing out.”

Oliver slid them down, leaving only his boxers. The outline beneath them made Brad swallow hard. He’s seen plenty of bulges from dudes in the locker room before. But this was different. It wasn’t a bulge, it was his best friend’s pussy sitting tight against the fabric, and now, the reality of what he’d asked for was hitting all at once.

“You really wanna learn?” Oliver said, voice low, uncertain but charged.

Brad moved closer, his pulse pounding in his ears. “Yeah. Show me what you like.”

Brad’s heart hammered as Oliver lay back, sliding his boxers down just enough to reveal himself. It wasn’t what Brad expected, though he wasn’t sure what he had expected. His throat tightened, but he forced his eyes to stay there, like this was part of the test.

Oliver cleared his throat, a little uneasy. “Alright…rule number one. Don’t just dive in like you’re starving. Start slow. Build it up.”

Brad nodded, shifting down the bed until he was between Oliver’s hairy thighs. He felt ridiculous, nervous, but the heat of Oliver’s body right there in front of him made his mouth dry.

“Use your hands first,” Oliver said softly, watching him. “Touch me. Get me ready. That’s half the battle. But don’t put them in yet. Just tease the outside. Teasing is a big thing, it sets the stage for the final act.”

Brad’s large, rough hands brushed Oliver’s thighs, sliding inward. He felt Oliver tense, then relax as Brad’s fingertips grazed his folds, careful, testing.

“Yeah,” Oliver murmured, a faint hitch in his breath. “Just like that. Gentle.”

Brad looked up briefly, almost like he was checking for a smile, then leaned down, his lips brushing softly against him. The warmth, the faint taste, made his stomach clench, but not in a bad way.

Oliver’s hand gripped the sheets. “Okay. Now, tongue. Slow, steady. But don’t just jab around…find a rhythm and stick to it.”

Brad licked cautiously up his slit at first, then firmer, flattening his tongue like Oliver said.

Oliver let out a low sound that shot straight through Brad. “That’s it…keep it like that. Consistency matters more than speed.”

Brad adjusted, finding a rhythm, and felt Oliver’s hips shift just slightly against him. He realized with a strange jolt that this was working.

“You’re better already,” Oliver said through a breath. “But don’t forget, the clit’s the center of it all. Focus there.”

Brad moved higher, circling with his tongue, then pressing. Oliver gasped, the first real sound that wasn’t instruction.

“Fuck…yeah. Just like that. But…lighter. Think teasing, not attacking.”

Brad eased up, tracing slow, delicate movements. He peeked up again, and Oliver’s head was tilted back, lips parted. No faking there.

Brad’s cock twitched in his jeans. He tried not to think about it, tried to keep focused, but every little sound Oliver made drove him crazy.

“Use your fingers too,” Oliver managed, breathless. “One inside, slow. Curl it…yeah…right there.”

Brad slid a finger in, stunned by the heat and how Oliver clenched around him. He curled just like he was told and was rewarded with a broken moan.

Oliver’s hand suddenly found Brad’s hair, not pushing, just holding, steadying himself. “Shit, Brad…that’s actually…really good.”

Brad couldn’t help the little spark of pride in his chest, the thrill that he was making this happen. He kept licking, finger curling in rhythm, letting Oliver’s body guide him.

Oliver’s breaths came quicker, less controlled. His thighs trembled against Brad’s shoulders. “Don’t stop…don’t you dare fucking stop.”

Brad didn’t. He stayed locked in, tongue and fingers working together until Oliver gasped, body tensing, hips jerking. His climax hit sharp and hard, pulling ragged sounds from his throat.

Brad kept going until Oliver pushed at his shoulder with a shaky laugh. “Fuck, okay, okay, that’s enough.”

Brad sat back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, chest heaving. He stared at Oliver, still catching his breath, skin flushed.

“Well?” Brad asked, voice rougher than he meant.

Oliver let out a half-laugh, half-groan. “Better than any head I’ve had in a while. You weren’t lying about wanting to learn.”

Brad grinned despite the ache in his jeans. “So I passed the test?”

Oliver smirked, eyes flicking down knowingly. “You more than passed. But, uh…looks like someone else might need relief now.”

Brad’s face went red. He quickly cupped both hands over the bulge in his jeans. “Shit, Ollie…sorry. I couldn’t help it.”

Oliver leaned back on his palms, watching him. “It’s natural,” he said calmly. Then, “If you want…I could help.”

Brad’s eyes snapped up, wide. “I don’t know about that. That might be taking it too far…from lessons into, like…actual gay territory.” He winced at how it came out, rubbing his neck. “Not that there’s anything wrong with being gay, I just…I’m not.”

Oliver nodded, giving him an easy smile. “That’s fine bro. I should probably go anyway.”

He stood, reaching for his clothes, but the whiskey hit him hard when he got upright. He stumbled into the dresser with a thud.

“Jesus,” Brad muttered, half rising. “Ollie, you drank half the bottle. You shouldn’t drive. You’ll end up in a ditch. Just crash here again.”

Oliver exhaled, conceding. “Yeah…you’re right.” He pulled on just his boxers and sank back onto the edge of the bed.

Brad hesitated, then peeled his jeans off. Now both of them sat there in just boxers, Brad’s tent still painfully obvious.

Oliver’s gaze flicked down before he could stop it. “Does that…hurt?”

Brad gave a little laugh. “Nah. It’ll go away soon. I’ll be fine.” He climbed into bed, tugging the sheet up. “Thanks Ollie…for the lesson.”

Oliver followed him under the covers. “No, thank you. It was really good. I think you won’t have any issue with the next girl.”

Brad grinned. “What did I do best?”

So they talked, Oliver pointing out the parts that had felt most natural, little tweaks Brad could work on. But Brad wasn’t fully listening. His cock was still stiff, pressing insistently at the thin cotton of his boxers. His hand drifted down, slipping beneath the waistband almost on its own.

Oliver caught the movement but kept talking, though his words slowed. His eyes betrayed him, dropping to where Brad’s hand moved.

Brad gave a slow, tentative stroke, pretending to be casual, but the sound of his breathing changed. “Fuck, Ollie…” he muttered, finally breaking. “I gotta jerk off. My dick’s going crazy.”

Oliver blinked. “Do you want me to, uh…wait in the bathroom while you do it?”

Brad thought about it, then shook his head. “You can stay…if you want.”

Oliver didn’t move.

So Brad pushed the sheet down, hooking his thumbs into his waistband. He shoved his boxers low, freeing himself completely. His cock sprang up, thick and flushed, the head already wet.

Oliver bit his lip. “Jesus, Brad…you’re…big.”

Brad smirked faintly, though his face was still pink. “Thanks.”

He wrapped his fist around the base and started stroking slowly, dragging his palm from the root to the head. His breath came heavier almost instantly. He twisted his wrist at the top, spreading his pre across the swollen tip, then pumped faster.

Oliver couldn’t look away. He sat frozen, biting his lip harder, eyes locked on the movement of Brad’s hand.

Brad shifted closer without thinking, his knee brushing Oliver’s. At some point his free hand reached out, fingers tightening onto Oliver’s thigh for balance. He didn’t let go.

“Fuck…” Brad groaned, pumping harder now. His hips gave little jerks upward into his grip. His abs flexed tight, jaw set. Oliver’s breath got quicker at the sight.

The room filled with the sound of skin on skin, wet from his own slick. Brad’s grip on Oliver’s thigh tightened as he got closer.

“Gonna…fuck…” Brad gasped, stroking fast, body tensing.

With a sharp groan, he came, thick ropes shooting up across his stomach and chest. His hand kept milking every spurt out, the muscles in his arm straining. He finally sagged back against the pillows, still panting, cum smeared across his skin and dripping down his abs.

His fingers were still digging into Oliver’s thigh when he let out a breathless laugh. “Guess that took care of it.”

Oliver pushed himself up from the mattress, the air cool against his skin as he padded toward the dresser for a towel. He grabbed one but paused when he noticed a streak of Brad’s cum across his stomach. With a little smirk, he wiped it away first, glancing at Brad as he did.

“Shit, sorry, man,” Brad muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Guess that’s what you call friendly fire.”

Oliver chuckled and tossed the towel at him. “Yeah, well, aim’s not bad for being drunk.”

Brad caught it, still grinning sheepishly, and wiped himself clean before tugging his boxers back into place. The room smelled faintly of whiskey, sweat, and semen.

Oliver leaned back against the headboard, watching him for a moment. “Don’t take this the wrong way,” he said carefully, “but that was…incredibly hot to watch.”

Brad laughed, nervous and a little flustered. He avoided Oliver’s eyes as he threw the towel aside. “Uh, thanks? I guess? Anyway…” he cleared his throat, eager to shift gears. “You wanna hit the gym with me in the morning before class?”

Oliver gave a small smile. “Sure.”

“Bet,” Brad said, finally stretching out under the sheets. “Goodnight, bro.”

“Night,” Oliver replied, rolling onto his side.

The room fell quiet, both of them staring into the dark, carrying the weight of what just happened into their sleep.