Straight Friend's Dry Spell 04

Everyone is 18.

Chapter 4: “Real”

The air between us had a new electricity after we stopped pretending. We still joked about cheesy pickup lines from campus bars, still elbowed each other during movie nights when someone on screen made a dumb decision. But every stolen glance at the gym—every accidental brush of his calloused fingers against my waist while passing the protein powder—carried the weight of everything we’d left unsaid beneath my sheets.

We started going to the campus gym together most mornings, a thin veneer of normalcy stretched over the tectonic shift in our orbit. His shoulders had broadened over the years since he started using me as a Freshman, and especially compared to the skinny boy I grew up with. He was a proper hunk now, the planes of his chest catching the fluorescent lights as he spotted me during bench presses. Sweat rolled down the deep groove of his spine while he deadlifted, the outline of his gym shorts doing absolutely nothing to hide the heavy swing of him between his thighs. I’d nearly dropped a weight plate on my foot the first time he crouched to adjust my grip, his breath warm on my neck as he muttered, “Wrists straight, dumbass.”

The showers were where our game began.

Open showers. Steam clinging to tile. The sharp slap of flip-flops echoing as other guys hurried through their routines. He’d emerge from the fog first, towel slung low on his hips, water dripping down the hard lines of his abdomen. Casual. Always casual. A smirk twitched at the corner of his mouth as he leaned against the wall opposite my shower head, biceps flexing while he ran fingers through his wet hair.

See how long you can last, his eyes dared me, glinting under the harsh lights.

I’d soap up slowly, deliberately, watching his gaze fix on the drag of my palms over my pecs. Let the suds slide lower. The corner of his towel tented first. A victory.

He retaliated the next day by turning just enough as he dried off—a flash of his thick, half-hard cock bouncing against his thigh. My strangled cough earned a raised eyebrow from a nearby freshman scrubbing shampoo out of his hair. I recognized him.

"Sup Jack?" I said casually, as if there was nothing out of the ordinary going on.

His face turned red when he glanced down to my hardening cock that I was pretending did not exist. He turned away quickly. Did he get hard too? I wondered. Either way, I had lost the competition that day. I thought that might've been too far already.

But it escalated.

A graze of his knuckles against my lower back while reaching for the shampoo. The low hum of approval when I lingered shaving my jawline, head tilted to expose my throat. My turn to press a foot against the wall near his shower head, calves flexing, watching his throat bob as he fumbled his razor.

He won, of course. Always did. The morning he stepped toward my shower head while I was sitting on the bench next to it, gathering the stuff out of my toiletry bag

“Forgot my fucking body wash,” he said, letting his towel slip, the full, flushed weight of him inches from my face, I hardened so fast my vision blurred. His laugh was a dark rumble as he retreated, leaving me achingly obvious beneath the spray.

——

We didn’t make it past the apartment doorway that afternoon.

Backpacks hit the floor. His hands were on my hips before the door clicked shut, shoving me face-first against the dining table. The edge bit into my palms as he yanked my shorts down. No lube. No warning. Just the slick spit he’d swiped over himself and the brutal push of his cock splitting me open.

“Missed this,” he growled, hips jackhammering, fingers bruising my skin. “Missed how you just—fuck—take it.”

I came untouched, clawing at the tablecloth, his rhythm never stuttering. He emptied himself inside me with a groan that shook my spine, then collapsed over my back, sweat-slick chest heaving against me.

Silence.

Then his startled chuckle as he noticed the textbooks still scattered beside my elbow. “Shit. Hope I didn’t ruin your notes.”

–[]–

But he still had his rough spots. His parents’ divorce finalized in November.

He didn’t mention it. Just stalked into the apartment after a weekend trip home, jaw clenched, and threw me onto the couch. No pretense. No games. He took me raw and fast, thumbs digging into the dimples above my ass as he fucked the tension out of himself. Came with a snarl muffled against my shoulder blade.

Afterward, he fell asleep with his face buried in my neck, one arm slung possessively across my chest. I traced the muscles on his shoulders with my finger—I didn’t even know some of these muscles existed.

The changes during this period came quietly.

A hand on my knee during study sessions. Letting me wear his hoodie when the AC rattled too hard. The way he’d pause video games to kiss me—slow, curious, like he was mapping the difference between this and every hurried fuck.

Although he had gotten comfortable fucking me back in Freshman year, I think it was during his parents' divorce that he recognized what a real partner I was, and how our intimacy filled a hole inside him. He was complete when he was with me, and it felt natural to me–he didn’t take energy away from me when he relied on me, rather the opposite. We made each other’s lives easier, and he had more emotional needs than the average guy. To my delight, the rough fucking became a routine. I think he stuffed me unexpectedly in every single corner of the house in the first month after his parents announced they were divorcing. The kitchen counter. The laundry room floor. Even the balcony once, his hand clamped over my mouth to muffle my cries as he pounded into me under the moonlight, not caring who might see.

The only time we took a break was when my brother was visiting. I’d been nervous about telling my brother. Not that I thought he’d freak out or anything—he was always the chill, easygoing one in the family—but I wasn’t sure how he’d react to this, to Danny, to the way my life had shifted so completely. Everyone knew Danny and I were best friends since we were kids, but this was going to be different.

When I finally figured out how I wanted to tell him, we were sitting on the couch, a half-finished pizza between us and some shitty animated show playing in the background. I blurted it out mid-slice, cheese stretching awkwardly as I said, “So, uh, I’m dating someone. A guy. It’s Danny.”

My brother paused, pepperoni dangling from his fingers. “Danny? Like, Danny Danny?”

I nodded, my heart pounding. He stared at me for a second, then shrugged. “Cool. Does he fuck you?”

I choked on my soda. “Jesus, what the hell kind of question is that?”

He grinned, unapologetic. “I’m just curious, bro. You’re the one who brought it up.”

Once he got over his initial virgin nosiness, he was surprisingly chill about it. He started hanging out with us more, tagging along to the gym or crashing our movie nights. I could tell he liked Danny even more now. And it was kind of adorable watching them bond over stupid guy stuff, like arguing about sports or sharing dumb memes.

But the best part was how normal it felt. No awkwardness, no weirdness, just my brother being my brother. It was a relief, honestly. I hadn’t realized the weight I’d been carrying until it was gone.

Still, I made sure to keep that part of our relationship private. I didn’t need my brother walking in on one of our balcony sessions or hearing the unmistakable sound of me gagging on Danny's cock. Some things were better left unsaid.

When my brother finally left, though, we made up for lost time. And then some. I even passed out once from his using my throat too roughly, not giving me time to breathe. I woke up to a mouth full of cum, and I was scared, but full of a wild new thrill.

He apologized, of course, his voice uncharacteristically soft as he brushed my hair back from my face.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he murmured, his thumb tracing my swollen lips. But the way his cock twitched against my thigh told me he’d do it again if I let him. And I let him do it again, and more. But that's another story.

The roughness became his love language, and I learned to read it. His hands on my hips didn’t just mean he wanted to fuck; they meant he needed to feel grounded. The way he pinned me down and bit my shoulder wasn’t just about control; it was about trust. And when he came inside me, his breath shuddering against my skin, it wasn’t just release—it was his way of saying, “Stay with me.”

So I did. Always.

–[]–

The showers stayed our battleground. And I started to notice Jack, the Freshman, taking slightly longer showers than normal whenever we came around.

One day, he’s testing me. Standing under the spray with his back to me, water sluicing down the muscle lines of his shoulders as he pretends to stretch. Arms overhead. Slow roll of his hips. The globes of his ass flexing as he rises onto his toes.

My throat goes dry.

He glances over his shoulder, smirk razor-sharp. “Problem?”

I fist my cock under the pretext of soaping up, never breaking eye contact. His laugh is low, dangerous, as he turns fully.

His smirk widened as he stepped closer, the water cascading down his chest, his cock bobbing with each step. I couldn’t help but glance at Jack, who was frozen in place, his eyes darting between us like he couldn’t decide whether to stay or bolt. Danny’s hand wrapped around my wrist, pulling my attention back to him. “Let’s give him a show,” he murmured, his voice dripping with mischief.

Danny’s fingers trailed down my chest, his touch deliberate as he guided my hand to his cock. I wrapped my fingers around him, feeling the heat and weight of him, and began to stroke slowly. Jack’s breath hitched audibly, and I glanced over to see him gripping the edge of the wall handle between the shower heads, his own hardness pointing straight ahead of him and throbbing.

Danny’s free hand slid down my back, pulling me closer until our bodies pressed together under the spray. His lips brushed my ear as he whispered, “Let’s make him remember this.”

We moved in sync, our hands working each other with practiced ease, the steam swirling around us. Jack’s eyes were glued to us, his mouth slightly open as he watched, transfixed. Danny’s laugh was a deep rumble in his chest as he leaned in to kiss me, his tongue sliding against mine, our movements growing more urgent.

When we finally came, it was almost in unison, Danny’s release spilling over my fingers as I spilled over his. Jack let out a shaky breath, his face flushed, and squirted his own load onto the middle of the shower floor. Without a word, he turned and hurried out of the shower, his flip-flops slapping against the tile as he disappeared into the locker room, his cute little ass bouncing with him.

Danny chuckled, resting his forehead against mine. “Kid’s got some balls,” he said, his voice still rough.

I grinned, feeling a strange mix of satisfaction and amusement. “Guess we’ll see if he comes back for more.”

Danny’s smirk returned, and he kissed me again, slow and lingering. “Either way, he’s not forgetting this anytime soon.”