My Best Friend’s Brother Dylan | S2 E10: My Love, Is this okay?

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

Elliot's lips tasted like wine and sugar. His breath was warm against mine. I could feel the curve of his smile even while we kissed, like he knew exactly what he was doing to me. Like he’d been thinking about this too.

When we pulled apart, he stayed close. Forehead almost against mine.

“Mon cœur,” he whispered, the words like silk.

I closed my eyes, breathing him in. Drowning a little. Wanting more.

He brushed a hand over my cheek and stood. Slowly, he reached for my hand, his fingers gentle, curling around mine.

“Come here,” he murmured.

He led me toward the bed. The sheets were a pale gray, soft and inviting, rumpled just slightly from where he’d been sitting earlier. The windows spilled amber light across the room, and the air felt warmer, heavier. Like the space had changed, grown quieter, more charged.

We didn’t say anything. He kissed me again, standing at the edge of the bed. His hands slid beneath the hem of my shirt, palms warm against my skin, and I lifted my arms to let him pull it off. He smiled, like he liked what he saw, but didn’t feel the need to say it. His mouth was on my shoulder next, and then my collarbone, trailing kisses down the side of my neck that made me inhale sharply.

It was different.

Dylan kissed like he was trying to stake a claim. Elliot kissed like he was trying to show me something. Something soft. Something honest.

He eased me backward until my knees hit the bed. I sat. He followed, kissing me again, hands sliding over my thighs. His fingers dipped into the waistband of my jeans, tugging them down, slow, deliberate. I kicked them off without thinking. I was already hard. He glanced down and smiled again. Not smug. Just… happy.

“Lie back,” he said softly.

I did.

He moved between my legs, kissing the inside of my thigh. His hands gripped the backs of my knees as he opened me up, mouth hovering.

“I’ve been thinking about this since the night you stayed,” he murmured, his breath hot against my skin.

“So have I,” I said, barely above a whisper.

He kissed the crease where my thigh met my hip, then licked a slow line across my shaft, up to the head. I groaned, biting my lip. His mouth was warm, careful, reverent. He didn’t rush. He sucked me slowly, stroking with one hand, the other still pressed gently against my hip for support.

I arched into it. My breath stuttered.

He kept going, taking my cock deeper into his mouth. Every movement purposeful. Every lick and hum like a slow unraveling.

"Baby, you taste so good", Elliot moaned with my dick in his mouth.

When I moaned, he smiled against me. His hands were steady. He didn’t need to pin me down, he held me in place with attention alone. And then he pulled back, just enough to lift my legs, bending them gently. His mouth moved lower towards my ass.

“Can I?” he asked.

I nodded, already breathless.

He licked my hole once, slow and deep, and I gasped, hips twitching. His tongue was smooth, wet, exploring every inch of my butt. It wasn’t desperate or animal like Dylan had been. It was sensual. Focused. He moaned softly as he licked me open, like he enjoyed every second. Like he needed to taste me properly.

“My love,” he murmured, pausing, lips just hovering over me. “Can I please…?”

Before he could finish, I bit my lip and whispered, “Yes. Please.”

He kissed me once more, right there, before pulling away just long enough to reach into the drawer beside the bed. I heard the condom wrapper, the sound of slick fingers. I watched him roll it on his hard cock, his expression concentrated, tender. His cock was hard, curved, and thick, but the way he moved, like he wanted me to feel safe, feel everything...kept me grounded.

He climbed over me slowly, kissing my chest, my neck, my mouth.

Then I felt him. The head of his cock, pressing, teasing around my hole.

He looked down at me, voice soft. “My love, is this okay?”

I nodded. “Yes. I want you.”

He pushed his cock in carefully. A slow, smooth stretch. My hands gripped his arms, my breath hitching as he filled me inch by inch.

“Are you feeling good?” he asked, voice tight.

“Mmhmm,” I breathed. “So good.”

He began to move. Long, deep strokes. His hips rolled with a rhythm that felt like music. Like waves. He kissed me again, his mouth never far from mine.

His fingers laced with mine. His forehead pressed to mine. “Can I go harder?” he asked, kissing my cheek, my temple, the corner of my mouth.

“Yes. Fuck me, Elliot. Fuck me harder”

He picked up pace, thrusting harder, still steady. His body rocked against mine, chest to chest, legs tangled. His mouth found my jaw, my throat, my lips again. His moans were low and shaky. He kept whispering to me in between.

“You feel so good.”

“You’re beautiful.”

“I want this. I want you.”

And I wanted him. I wanted to hold onto that feeling. I wrapped my legs around his waist and let him take me, let him fill me, let him love me in a way that didn’t feel dirty or forbidden.

It felt safe.

He was careful even in the rougher moments, his hand always on my cheek, or stroking my side, like he needed to be sure I was still there with him.

“Troy,” Elliot groaned, his hips beginning to stutter. “Mon amour… I might cum in you if I keep going.”

Even though I was fully in the moment; my legs wrapped around his waist, his cock stroking deep, fast, and deliberate, the rhythm of his body sending sparks through every nerve...something about those words hit different.

His cock felt so good inside me. The way he moved, the way he held me, kissed me, whispered to me. It was slow and intimate and safe. But the moment he said he might cum in my hole, something shifted. I don’t know what came over me. It was like muscle memory, like something wired deeper than I understood. My mind flashed to Dylan. How he was the only guy I’d ever let finish inside my ass. The only one who ever claimed me like that. No condom. No hesitation. Just pure, possessive heat. I could still hear his voice in my head, rough and sure; "this hole belongs to me, spaghetti noodle".

Even though Elliot wasn’t like that; he was careful, tender, full of reverence instead of dominance...something inside me reacted.

I pulled him closer and said, before I could even think about it, “I want you to cum in my mouth.”

The words just… slipped out. Honest. Unfiltered.

And maybe a little fucked up.

But I meant it. Because no matter how much Elliot made me feel held, known, seen… a part of me was still wrapped around the memory of Dylan

He just slowly pulled out of me, his breath uneven, sweat glistening along his collarbone. Then, with this quiet, reverent kind of care, he shifted forward, his knees on either side of my chest, straddling me with that same calm gentleness he carried in everything he did.

“I hope I’m not too heavy,” he murmured, voice low, eyes flickering with that soft edge of concern.

“You’re not,” I whispered, already breathless.

He smiled faintly, then looked down between us, one hand wrapping around the base of his cock. I watched, dazed, as he guided himself toward my mouth...slow, unhurried. The head of his cock brushed my bottom lip, already leaking, hot and twitching. I opened without hesitation. His other hand reached behind him, fingers curling around my shaft. I gasped as he touched me; firm, slow strokes that mirrored the way he fed himself to me, inch by inch.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t greedy. It was this quiet, intimate offering. Like he wanted to be close, fully, in every way he could.

I sucked him deeper just as his cock pulsed on my tongue; thick, warm release hitting the back of my throat. His hips jerked forward, stifling a moan, and his hand on my cock tightened slightly, the rhythm syncing perfectly with the wave breaking through my body. My orgasm hit fast...sharp, overwhelming. I came across his hand, across his thigh, a little splattering up over his ass. Messy. Close. Intimate.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away.

He just exhaled shakily and looked down at me, eyes dark with tenderness. One after the other. “Fuck,” he whispered, fingers tightening in my hair.

He leaned down, kissed me again, gently, still catching his breath.

Then he smiled. “I’ll hit the shower, my love.”

I nodded, heart racing. He padded into the bathroom, humming under his breath. I sat on the edge of the bed, sweaty and spent. It wasn’t post-nut clarity. It wasn’t regret. But it was something.

I looked around the room. At the books. The art. The softness of his sheets. I thought about how he asked me, over and over, if I was okay. If it felt good.

I thought about Dylan. Again.

Why was I thinking about Dylan?

He had never called me "my love." He never asked how I was feeling. He never kissed me like that. But somehow, it was still him I missed. And I hated myself a little for it.

I pulled on my clothes quietly. My shirt still smelled like wine and Elliot’s cologne.

I grabbed a nearby notepad. Wrote a message.

Hey, sorry... my sister just called. I have to run. Everything’s okay, I promise.

I left it on the counter. Heard the water running.

And then I walked out the door.

I told myself I was going home. But my feet moved on their own. Down the street. Around the corner. Up the stairs. Before I knew it, I was standing in front of Dylan’s apartment.

My hand hovered.

And then I knocked.


My Best Friend’s Brother Dylan | S2 E11: Careful, Dylan…