My Best Friend’s Brother Dylan | S2 E12: I Came From Dylan’s Apartment

All characters depicted in this story are fictional and 18 years of age or older. Everything portrayed is safe, sane, and consensual.

Dylan's fingers tightened around my jaw. “Keep looking at me,” he whispered. “I want you to see who’s fucking you.”

I did. I watched every second of it.

His thrusts grew rougher, deeper, perfectly angled to make my back arch and my toes curl. He gripped my thighs tighter, driving into me with full, unrelenting power like he was trying to fuck something out of me. Maybe my guilt. Maybe my memory of Elliot’s soft hands and gentler hips. Maybe the part of me that still didn’t know what I wanted.

“Fuck, Dylan...”

“Yeah,” he grunted, grinding deeper. “Say my name again.”

“Dylan...fuck...”

My voice cracked on the syllable. He kissed me hard, tongue forcing past my lips. I moaned into it. My legs were wrapped around his lips, and I could feel everything. His sweat on my chest. His cock slamming into me, fast and possessive. His hand stroking mine like he wasn’t just fucking me...he was laying claim again.

“I bet he kissed you while he fucked you,” Dylan muttered against my throat.

“He did,” I panted.

He growled and slammed harder. “But you came to me.”

I couldn’t argue.

He held my hips down, locking me in place as he started to pound into me.

Thwack

Thwack

Thwack

Every stroke hit just right, slapping against my ass, cock sliding in deep enough to make me gasp.

“You like this more,” he whispered.

I didn’t answer. I couldn't.

He leaned down and bit my neck, then sucked at the spot. “You want slow kisses and eye contact? Fine. But I know what your body wants. And it’s not poetry. It’s this.”

His hand snaked down and gripped my cock. I gasped.

“I can feel your hole squeezing me,” he said, voice thick. “You’re close, huh?”

“Yes..fuck, so close”

His strokes turned brutal, cock dragging against my prostate with every deep thrust. My back arched again. I was shaking, legs trembling, fingers digging into the couch cushions.

“Say it,” he growled. “Say who’s making you cum.”

“You,” I gasped. “Fuck, Dylan...Aah..”

"Aaah.. uh.. fuu...ckkk"

I came hard. Hot and messy across my own stomach. My hole clenched down on him and he hissed.

Dylan stayed buried inside me, grinding with deep, steady thrusts that left no room for doubt. His eyes stayed locked on mine, intense, almost dark with focus. I was breathless, legs wrapped around him, arms gripping his shoulders. He kissed me again, messier now, wet and hot and hungry. His cock kept hitting that spot, over and over, and I was loving inch of his cock inside me.

The friction, the heat, the pressure...it was overwhelming.

He fucked in deep, his breath stuttering in my ear, and then I felt it. His whole body tightened above me. He let out a low groan, and I felt the heat of his cum spill flood inside me in slow, heavy pulses.

“That's for you. Keep it in,” he growled.

I gasped, trembling around him, hole clenching hard. The moment was intense. Raw. My thighs shook. His cock twitched inside me.

He didn’t pull his cock out after cumming inside me. He stayed inside, holding me close, kissing the side of my face. His body was hot, slick with sweat. I felt his heart beating against mine, fast and hard.

Neither of us spoke.

He pulled back slowly, gently, like he didn’t want to leave. His cock slid out with a wet sound and I shivered, instantly feeling the aftermath. My body felt used, stretched, leaking. My whole body buzzed with it.

Dylan wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand and looked at me, breathing hard. His eyes dropped to my hole, still twitching and open from how deep he’d been.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “You are still mine.”

I didn’t have the energy to argue.

I stayed on the couch a few minutes longer while he cleaned up in the bathroom. I felt the cum slowly trickling down the inside of my thigh, still warm. I didn’t know what I felt. It wasn’t regret. It wasn’t guilt. Not exactly. But it was something.

When I finally pulled my clothes on and slipped out of Dylan’s apartment, it was nearly 1 a.m.

The walk down the hallway felt long. Quiet. I let myself into my own flat, dropped my bag by the door, and went straight to the shower.

I stood under the water a long time. Didn’t even move. Just let it wash me clean.

But it didn’t, not really.


-----

The next morning, Becca, my sis was already making coffee when I walked into the kitchen. She was sitting on the counter in one of those oversized sweaters she always stole from me, scrolling her phone, bare legs swinging.


“Well, well,” she said, without even looking up. “Look who came home late.”

I grunted and grabbed a mug.

She raised an eyebrow. “Your lunch with Elliot must’ve gone really well.”

I blinked. “What?”

She looked at me now. “You were glowing when you left yesterday. I assumed you stayed over?”

I hesitated. “Uh... actually, I came back late because I was at Dylan’s.”

Becca’s face froze for half a second.

“You were... at Dylan’s?” she said, voice cautious now.

I nodded, sipping coffee. “Yeah.”

“And what about Elliot?”

“We... spent the afternoon together.”

“So you spent the afternoon with Elliot... and the night with Dylan?”

I sighed and leaned against the counter. “I didn’t plan it. It just... happened.”

Becca gave me a look. It wasn’t judgmental. Just... Becca. Honest. Cutting through the fluff.

“Troy,” she said slowly, “you can’t lead them both on.”

“I’m not trying to.”

“Okay. But you kind of are.”

I ran a hand through my hair. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Becca hopped off the counter. Came closer. Her voice softened.

“Look,” she said, “I get it. Elliot’s sweet. He looks at you like you’re a damn masterpiece. And Dylan’s—well—Dylan’s Dylan. Hot, possessive, emotionally constipated, and apparently amazing in bed.”

I almost choked on my coffee.

“But at some point,” she continued, “you’re going to have to figure out what you want. Not who wants you more. Not who makes you feel safe or horny or nostalgic. What do you want?”

I didn’t have an answer.

She patted my shoulder. “Just don’t hurt them. Or yourself. You’re allowed to want both. But you’re not allowed to lie about it.”

I nodded. “I know.”

My phone buzzed.

It was from Dylan.

Last night was fun, spaghetti noodle. Come with me to my shoot today. Fitness campaign. You’ll get to see me shirtless and sweaty, posing with some overpriced protein powder. You’re welcome.

- Dylan

I didn’t answer right away.

Becca leaned over my shoulder to read. “Oh god,” she groaned. “He really texted you that?”

I smirked.

But I knew I was going to say yes.

----------------


Finale Coming Up (Soon)