Two Straight Guys Experimenting with Gay Porn

The apartment was too quiet for a Friday. Everett, twenty-one and finished with the last midterm of the week, lay sideways on the couch with one sock half off and the remote balanced on his stomach. The radiator knocked. Somewhere down the hall a door slammed, and laughter moved past their door without stopping for them. Wesley, twenty-two, came out of the kitchen with two bottles of water and dropped onto the opposite cushion hard enough to bounce the remote onto the rug.

“Nothing’s on,” Everett said.

“There’s always something on. You’re just picky.”

“I’m not picky. I’m bored. There’s a difference.”

Wesley cracked his water and didn’t drink it. His knee bounced, the restless tick Everett had learned to read after two years of sharing a lease, a fridge, and a bathroom that never quite dried. The week had been nothing but lectures and cheap coffee. No plans. No girls coming over. Just the two of them and a television that refused to be interesting.

They scrolled. Sports highlights Everett had already seen. A cooking show where somebody cried over a sauce. A reality thing with too much shouting. Wesley’s thumb kept moving. Everett watched the blue light slide over his roommate’s jaw more than he watched the menu, the familiar shape of Wesley’s mouth when he was thinking, the way he scratched the back of his neck and left a faint red mark. Ordinary. Safe. And somehow, tonight, not quite either.

“Okay,” Wesley said. “Weird idea.”

“Those are your specialty.”

“Gay porn.”

Everett turned his head. The remote slid off his ribs and hit the floor with a plastic click neither of them picked up. “What?”

“Just to see.” Wesley’s ears had gone pink, but his voice stayed easy, the same voice he used when he suggested Thai instead of pizza. “I’m curious. You’re curious. Don’t lie. We’ve never actually watched it. People talk about it like it’s this whole other thing, and I want to know if it’s different or if it’s just porn with the casting swapped.”

Everett sat up. His heart did a small, stupid kick against his sternum. He was straight. Wesley was straight. They’d both said it often enough, usually while some girl from their floor laughed and told them to stop performing it. Curiosity wasn’t the same as wanting. Curiosity was what you did when the night had nowhere else to go and your roommate was looking at you like the answer might be funny if you let it be.

“Fine,” he said. “But if it’s weird, we turn it off.”

“Deal.”

Wesley pulled his laptop onto the coffee table and angled the screen so they could both see without craning. The site loaded with a brightness that made the rest of the room feel dimmer, the lamp in the corner suddenly useless. Thumbnails tiled the page. Men. Shoulders, mouths, hands wrapped around cocks in every color of skin the internet could offer. Everett felt his face heat before he’d even agreed to a title. Wesley hovered, chewing the inside of his cheek, then clicked something with two guys on a couch, which felt almost like a joke given where they were sitting. The video started with a low electronic beat and the bright, ordinary sound of a zipper.

They watched the first minute in a silence that had weight. One man, older than them but not old, knelt on a rug. The other stood with his sweatpants shoved to his thighs, thick cock in his fist, stroking slow while he talked. Dirty, casual, almost conversational. Everett’s mouth went dry. He told himself he was studying it the way you studied anything unfamiliar, cataloging camera angles, comparing it to the straight stuff he’d jerked off to since he was old enough to have a lock on his bedroom door. The kneeling man’s mouth opened. The standing man’s hips rolled forward. A wet sound. A groan that didn’t sound performed so much as surprised by itself.

“Jesus,” Wesley said, quiet.

“Yeah.”

Everett shifted. His jeans had started to feel tight in a way he hadn’t authorized, the seam pressing meanly against him. He kept his eyes on the screen because looking at Wesley felt more dangerous than looking at two strangers. On the laptop the kneeling man took the cock deeper, throat working, eyes wet, and the standing man cupped the back of his head with something almost gentle. Everett’s cock twitched hard enough that he had to press his thighs together. He hoped the cushion hid it. He knew, with a sinking heat, that it didn’t.

“You good?” Wesley asked.

“I’m watching. That’s what we said we’d do.”

“You’re hard.”

The words landed between them like a dropped glass that hadn’t shattered yet. Everett’s stomach flipped. He glanced down at the ridge in his jeans, then at Wesley, and saw the same problem in Wesley’s gray sweatpants, the soft fabric tented, the shape of him unmistakable and getting more unmistakable by the second. Wesley wasn’t covering it with a pillow. He was looking at Everett’s lap with an expression that wasn’t quite a smile and wasn’t quite panic, mouth parted, color high on his cheekbones.

“So are you,” Everett said.

“I noticed.”

On the screen the standing man pulled out, shiny with spit, and slapped his cock lightly against the other man’s tongue. Both of them on the couch made a small sound they didn’t mean to make. Wesley laughed once, short and nervous, the laugh catching on the way out. Everett laughed too, because if he didn’t he might have to admit how hot his skin felt, how his pulse had dropped out of his chest and into his dick.

“It’s the noises,” Wesley said. He cleared his throat. “I think it’s the noises. And how close the camera is. You can see everything. The spit. His throat. The way his eyes go kind of blank.”

“You can see everything in straight porn.”

“Not like this.” Wesley’s hand rested on his own thigh, fingers flexing, not quite touching himself and not quite innocent either. “Not the way he’s looking at him. Like he wants to be ruined and he’s glad about it.” He exhaled through his nose. “Doesn’t mean anything. Bodies react. That’s biology. We learned that.”

“Right. Biology.”

They kept watching because turning it off now would have been an admission bigger than the hard-ons. The scene changed angle. The kneeling man was on the couch, legs spread, shirt rucked up, getting opened on two fingers while the other man talked him through it in a low voice. Lube shone. The man being fingered cursed and pushed back. Everett’s cock ached against his zipper, a dull throb that sharpened every time the man on screen moaned. He could feel his pulse in the head of it. Wesley’s breathing had gone uneven beside him, close enough that Everett could hear the hitch under the laptop speakers. Every time one of the men groaned, Wesley’s knee bounced. Every time Wesley’s knee bounced, Everett’s attention snagged on the line of his roommate’s thigh and the obvious, heavy shape under the sweatpants.

“This is getting awkward,” Everett said.

“Only if we pretend we don’t see it.”

“I see it.”

“I see yours too.” Wesley turned his head. His eyes were darker than usual, pupils wide in the low light, the blue of them nearly gone. “You keep adjusting. Little shifts. It’s not subtle, man. You’ve done it like six times.”

“Neither is that.” Everett nodded at Wesley’s lap, and saying it out loud made his own cock jump again. “You’re basically pointing at me.”

A beat. The video filled it with a slick, rhythmic sound, skin and lube and somebody saying please. Wesley’s mouth curved, something between a dare and a question he wasn’t sure he was allowed to ask.

“So we stop pretending,” he said. “We watch. We get hard. We don’t make it a whole identity crisis on a Friday night.”

“It’s already a thing.”

“Then we treat it like one.” Wesley’s voice dropped, rough at the edges. “I’m not saying we’re not straight. I’m saying my dick doesn’t care what the label is right now, and neither does yours. We can turn it off, put on the cooking show, and never talk about this. Or we can see how far the curiosity actually goes before we chicken out.”

Everett’s heart was loud in his ears. He thought about the girls he’d been with, the way he liked the weight of breasts in his hands and the smell of perfume on a neck and the particular soft give of a woman’s body under his. None of that had vanished. It just wasn’t in the room. What was in the room was Wesley’s mouth, the heat coming off his shoulder, the tent in those sweatpants, and the fact that Everett’s cock was so hard the zipper teeth felt like a punishment.

“Curiosity,” Everett said. His voice came out lower than he meant. “That’s all this is.”

“That’s all.”

They didn’t touch yet. They watched another stretch of the video with their hands in their own laps and their shoulders a careful inch apart, both of them breathing like they’d taken the stairs too fast. The man on the screen pushed in, slow, and the one under him grabbed the cushion and swore in a voice that cracked. Wesley made a noise in his throat, almost a whimper, and then looked furious with himself for making it. Everett’s hand drifted to his own zipper and stopped on the pull, thumb worrying the metal.

“You’re staring at my hand,” Wesley said.

“You’re staring at my dick.”

“Fair.” Wesley exhaled, long, and the sound shook. “Okay. Cards on the table, because I’m going to lose my mind if I keep being polite about this. I’m so hard I can’t think. You’re the same. If we keep watching this and pretending our clothes aren’t the actual problem, we’re both liars, and I hate liars.”

Everett swallowed. His tongue felt thick. “What are you suggesting?”

“Get naked.” Wesley held his gaze, and there was no joke left in it, only nerves and want held very still. “Experiment properly. That’s the phrase, right? If we’re doing this out of curiosity, we should actually see what we’re reacting to instead of dying in our jeans like we don’t know how our own bodies work. Strip. Sit closer. Keep watching. Touch ourselves if we want. Only if you want to. Say no and I close the laptop and we order food and this becomes a story we don’t tell.”

The offer sat there, clean and adult and terrifying. Everett looked at Wesley’s face, the familiar roommate face he’d seen every morning over cereal and bad coffee, and under it something new: want, careful, waiting for a yes that wouldn’t be taken back later as a misunderstanding.

“I want to,” Everett said. The truth of it landed in his stomach, hot. “God. Yeah. I want to.”

“Okay.” Wesley’s smile was shaky and real, a flash of teeth. “Okay. Good. Me too.”

They stood at the same time, awkward in the small space between couch and table, laughing once because the laptop was still playing and two strangers were fucking while they figured out whose elbow was in whose ribs. Wesley pulled his T-shirt over his head and tossed it toward the chair. It missed. Everett did the same, the cotton dragging over his face, and the air of the apartment hit his chest, cool for a second, then warmer when Wesley looked at him and didn’t look away. They’d seen each other shirtless a hundred times after the gym, after showers, on hot afternoons with the windows open. This was different. Wesley’s gaze moved over Everett’s stomach, the faint line of hair below his navel, the way his ribs moved when he breathed, and it stayed.

“Pants,” Wesley said.

“You first.”

“Coward.”

“You suggested it. You go first. Scientific method.”

Wesley hooked his thumbs in the sweatpants and pushed them down with his briefs in one motion, stepping out, kicking the heap aside. His cock sprang up, thick, flushed dark at the head, a string of precome already shining at the slit and catching the laptop light. Everett stared. He’d seen it in passing, soft and unremarkable, the ordinary nakedness of shared living. This was not that. This was heavy and hard and angled toward him, veins standing, the head swollen, and Everett’s own cock jumped so hard he felt it in his spine and behind his knees.

“Your turn,” Wesley said. His voice had gone rough, almost hoarse. He didn’t cover himself. His hands hung at his sides, fingers curled, like he was afraid if he touched his own dick he’d finish before the experiment started.

Everett undid his jeans with fingers that didn’t want to cooperate. The button fought him. He shoved the denim down, then his boxers, the waistband catching on his cock so he had to lift it free, and stepped out of the pile. Naked. Twenty-one, hard, standing in the middle of their living room in front of his twenty-two-year-old roommate with his cock bobbing in the open air, flushed and leaking and impossible to explain away. Wesley looked. Really looked. His tongue touched his lower lip, a quick unconscious flick, and his cock twitched in answer.

“Fuck,” Wesley said. “You’re bigger than I thought.”

“You’ve thought about it?”

“Not until tonight.” Wesley’s laugh was breathless. “Now I can’t stop. It’s right there. You’re right there. Come sit before I do something stupid standing up.”

He dropped back onto the couch, closer to the middle than he’d been, thighs spread to make room. His cock rested up against his stomach, leaving a wet mark on the skin. Everett sat. Their thighs touched, bare to bare, and the contact was electric, Wesley’s leg hair coarse against his smoother skin, heat pouring off both of them. On the screen the fucking had gotten harder, the couch in the video creaking in a rhythm that felt like mockery and instruction at once. Everett wrapped a hand around himself because not touching had become impossible. The first stroke made his eyes half-close, a relief so sharp it was almost pain. Beside him Wesley did the same, slow, fist gliding over the head and back down, slick already, the sound small and filthy in the quiet.

They watched the video and watched each other watching, the pretense thinning with every pass of their hands. Everett could smell Wesley, soap and skin and the salt-sharp edge of arousal. He could hear the wet click of Wesley’s fist. His own hand moved without much skill, just need, thumb smearing precome over the head until the glide was easy.

“This is insane,” Everett said.

“You can stop.”

“I don’t want to stop.”

“Good.” Wesley’s shoulder pressed into his, solid and warm. “Look at how he’s taking it. All the way. Every time the other guy pulls back you can see how open he is. I keep thinking about what that would feel like.”

“Being fucked?” The word felt huge in Everett’s mouth.

“Or doing it.” Wesley’s hand sped up, then slowed, like he was arguing with his own orgasm and winning by a narrow margin. “Both. I don’t know. My head’s a mess. My dick isn’t. My dick has a very simple opinion.”

Everett laughed, breathless, and the laugh broke into a groan when his fist twisted over the head. His hand was slick now, shining. He stroked in time with the man on the screen without meaning to, hips lifting a little off the cushion. Wesley’s eyes dropped to Everett’s fist, tracking the motion, then came back to his face like he needed permission to keep looking.

“Can I—” Wesley started, then shook his head, frustrated with himself. “No. Say it right. I want to touch you. Not just watch you touch yourself while we pretend this is still about the video. Is that still the experiment? Is that allowed?”

Everett’s cock throbbed in his grip, a heavy pulse that answered before his mouth did. “Yes. Touch me. I want your hand.”

Wesley’s hand left his own cock and closed around Everett’s. Warm. Bigger than Everett’s hand, unfamiliar in the way it squeezed, confident because Wesley knew what felt good on a dick even if the dick wasn’t his. He stroked from base to tip, slow, learning the weight, the way Everett curved a little to the left. Everett’s head fell back against the cushion. A sound came out of him that he didn’t recognize, high and wrecked, and Wesley’s breath caught like the sound had gone straight into him.

“Like that?” Wesley asked.

“Yeah. Fuck. Tighter. Yeah, like that.”

“You’re dripping all over my fingers.”

“So are you.” Everett reached across the small space, hesitant for half a second that felt like a year, then wrapped his fingers around Wesley. Hot. Thick. The pulse under the skin was fast and strong, and the head was slick enough that his thumb skated. Wesley hissed through his teeth and his hips jerked up into the fist, chasing it. They stroked each other while the video played on, awkward at the angle, shoulders bumping, wrists crossing, neither of them looking at the screen anymore. The porn had become background, a permission slip they’d already cashed.

“This isn’t enough,” Everett heard himself say. His voice shook. He didn’t take it back.

“What do you want?”

The question was open, no trap in it. Everett looked at Wesley’s cock in his hand, the flushed head pushing through his fist, the shine, the way Wesley’s stomach jumped every time Everett’s thumb passed under the ridge. His mouth watered in a way that should have embarrassed him and didn’t, not with Wesley’s hand still working him in that steady, devastating rhythm, not with the laptop filling the room with the sound of someone getting exactly what Everett suddenly needed to try with his own tongue.

“I want to put my mouth on you,” he said. “I’ve never—I don’t know if I’ll be any good at it. I still want to. I want to know what you taste like.”

Wesley went still. His hand tightened once around Everett’s cock, then loosened, careful. His eyes were huge. “You sure? You don’t have to prove anything. This is already—”

“I’m sure.” Everett met his eyes so there wouldn’t be a later version of this where Wesley wondered. “I want it. Do you want me to?”

“Yes.” The word came out fast, almost tripped. “Yes. Please. God, Everett, yes. I want your mouth. I’ve been trying not to ask.”

Everett slid off the couch onto his knees between Wesley’s spread legs. The carpet was rough under his bare knees, a grain he would feel tomorrow and didn’t care about now. Wesley’s cock stood up in front of his face, bigger from this angle, smelling like clean skin and salt and the faint cedar of Wesley’s body wash. Everett wrapped his hand around the base to steady them both and leaned in. The first touch of his tongue to the head made Wesley swear, a sharp, helpless fuck. Salty. Smooth. Hot. Everett licked again, slower, learning the shape of the slit, the flare, the way Wesley’s whole body went tight when he pressed just under the head. Then he opened his mouth and took him in.

“Holy shit.” Wesley’s hand landed in his hair, not pushing, just resting, fingers trembling against his scalp. “That’s—fuck, that’s good. You don’t have to go deep. Just—yeah. Your tongue. Like that. Jesus, Everett.”

Everett sucked. He figured it out the way he’d want it done to him: tongue flat along the underside, lips tight, cheeks hollowed, his hand stroking what his mouth couldn’t take yet. Spit gathered and made the glide filthy. Wesley’s thighs trembled on either side of his shoulders. Above them the video kept going, moans and wet sounds from speakers that suddenly seemed far away. The real noise was Wesley’s breathing and the small, broken noises he made when Everett sucked harder and twisted his wrist. Everett’s own cock hung heavy between his legs, untouched and aching, dripping onto the carpet. He reached down with his free hand and stroked himself once, twice, a selfish relief, and then Wesley’s hand replaced his, reaching down past Everett’s shoulder to wrap around him.

“I’ve got you,” Wesley said, voice shredded. “Keep doing that with your mouth. Don’t stop. Christ, you look—you look so good down there.”

Wesley stroked him in a loose, distracted rhythm, better for the contact than the technique, his attention split and losing, and Everett moaned around the cock in his mouth. The vibration made Wesley’s hips jump. Everett gagged a little when he got greedy and tried to take more, eyes watering, and he pulled back, breathed through his nose, spit shining on his chin, and went down again slower. He liked the weight of it on his tongue. He liked the way Wesley’s stomach tightened into hard lines when he sucked and held. He liked, with a clarity that scared him and turned him on in the same breath, that he was on his knees for his straight roommate and neither of them was stopping, neither of them wanted to.

“Okay,” Wesley panted. His hand fisted gently in Everett’s hair and eased him back. “Okay, I need—if you keep that up I’m going to come down your throat, and I don’t want to yet. I want more. I want to taste you. I want—” He laughed, wrecked, head tipped back against the cushion for a second. “Sixty-nine. Like they did. Come up here. I want your cock in my mouth while you suck me.”

Everett pulled off with a wet sound, lips swollen, chin shiny, a string of spit breaking between his mouth and Wesley’s cock. Wesley looked at him like he’d never seen him before, eyes glassy, mouth open. Then Wesley shifted, stretching out along the couch, one foot braced on the floor so he wouldn’t slide off, and tugged at Everett’s arm. It took a clumsy minute of elbows and laughter and a near miss with the laptop—Wesley caught it before it fell, shoved it back, the video still playing—before they found the shape of it. Everett climbed over him, facing his cock, knees planted by Wesley’s shoulders, his own cock hanging down toward Wesley’s mouth. The position was graceless and perfect. Wesley’s hands gripped Everett’s hips and guided him lower.

The first swipe of Wesley’s tongue made Everett’s arms shake so hard he almost collapsed. “Oh my God.”

“Yeah,” Wesley said against him, breath hot, and took him in.

Heat. Wet. Suction that went from tentative to hungry in the space of a breath. Everett dropped his forehead toward Wesley’s thigh and opened his mouth again, taking Wesley back in while Wesley sucked him, and the feedback loop was immediate and brutal. Every time Everett moaned, Wesley felt it around his cock. Every time Wesley’s tongue did something clever—circling the head, pressing into the slit, then sinking down until Everett felt the back of his throat—Everett’s mouth went sloppy and eager in answer. They found a rhythm that wasn’t graceful and didn’t need to be. Spit ran. Breath came short. The couch creaked under their combined weight. On the laptop someone cried out and came in messy pulses across a stomach, and neither of them looked up to see whose.

Everett pulled off long enough to gasp, “Your mouth—Wesley, fuck, your mouth—”

“Don’t stop,” Wesley said, voice muffled around him, then sucked him deeper, one hand sliding up to cup Everett’s balls, rolling them gently, and Everett’s vision went white at the edges.

He forced himself to slow down, to lick instead of swallow, long stripes up the shaft, because he wasn’t ready for it to end and he could feel the end gathering low in his stomach, heavy and bright. Wesley’s cock pulsed against his tongue, leaking steadily, bitter-salt and good. They stayed like that until Everett’s jaw ached in a sweet way and Wesley’s hands were shaking on his ass, spreading him a little, thumbs pressing into the muscle, dipping into the cleft like a question he was asking with his hands because his mouth was full.

Wesley let Everett’s cock slip free, a wet pop, and turned his face to bite gently at the inside of Everett’s thigh. “I want to fuck you.”

The words hit Everett low and hot, a punch of want that made his hole clench around nothing. He lifted his head, spit on his lips, and looked back over his shoulder. Wesley was staring up the length of his body, mouth red and used, eyes blown so wide they looked black.

“I’ve never—” Everett started, and his voice cracked.

“I know. Me neither. Not with a guy. Not like this.” Wesley’s hands stayed on him, steady, not pushing. “We go slow. Lots of lube. I’ve got some in my room, and condoms. If you want it. If you don’t, we keep doing this until we both come, and I’ll be happy. I’m so happy already I can barely see. Your call. Entirely.”

Everett thought about the man on the screen taking it, the way his face had gone open and wrecked and grateful. He thought about Wesley’s cock, thick and wet from his mouth, the way it had throbbed on his tongue. His hole clenched again, a flutter of nerves and need. The want was so sharp it felt like a decision his body had already signed.

“I want it,” he said. “Get the lube. And the condoms. I want you inside me. Slow. But I want it.”

“Say it again so I know I didn’t invent it.”

“I want you to fuck me, Wesley. Go get the stuff.”

Wesley squeezed his hip, a grateful, shaky pressure, and slid out from under him. “Stay here. Don’t you dare get dressed. I’ll be ten seconds.”

He was gone less than a minute, bare feet loud on the hall floor, a drawer yanked open, a muttered curse when something fell. When he came back he had a bottle and a foil square, and his cock was still hard, bobbing as he walked, condom packet already half-crushed in his fist from gripping it. The laptop had moved on to another video without them, two men, one bent over a couch arm that looked insultingly like theirs. Wesley saw it and laughed, breathless, color flooding his chest. “The internet has opinions.”

“Then listen to it.” Everett’s voice shook, but he was already moving, getting onto his knees on the cushions, chest down over the armrest, ass up, the position making him feel exposed in a way that lit every nerve he owned. Cool air touched him where he was most nervous. He heard Wesley’s breath leave him in a rush. A hand smoothed over his lower back, warm, grounding.

“Look at you,” Wesley said, soft and wrecked. “Fuck. You’re sure? Last chance to laugh this off.”

“I’m sure. Go slow. Talk to me. Don’t just—don’t disappear into it. I want to hear you.”

“You will. I’m not going anywhere.”

The lube was cold when it touched him, a shock that made him jolt and then laugh, nervous. Wesley’s finger circled, patient, spreading the slick, then pressed. Everett breathed out the way he’d tell himself to breathe through anything hard and let it in. One finger. The stretch was strange, not quite pain, a fullness that made his cock drip onto the cushion in a thin strand. Wesley worked him open with a focus Everett could feel in every careful twist, murmuring the whole time—good, that’s it, you’re taking it, tell me if it’s too much, you’re doing so well. A second finger joined the first, more lube, a slower push. Everett groaned into his forearm, the sound muffled by his own skin. Wesley crooked his fingers, searching, and something sparked, bright and mean and perfect, and Everett’s hips jerked back onto his hand.

“There,” he gasped. “Right there. Do that again.”

“Yeah?” Wesley did it again, rubbing, and Everett’s thighs shook. “That’s the spot. God, you’re tight. I can feel you gripping me. I can’t wait to be inside you. You’re going to feel incredible.”

“Then do it.” Everett pushed back, fucking himself on Wesley’s fingers, shameless now, the strangeness burned off by that bright nerve. “I’m ready. I want your cock. Put it in.”

Wesley pulled his fingers free, and the emptiness made Everett whine, which would have humiliated him an hour ago and now just made Wesley swear under his breath. The condom wrapper tore. Wesley rolled it on with a hand that wasn’t entirely steady, then slicked himself until the sound was obscene, fist working lube over latex. He lined up. The head pressed against Everett’s hole, broader than fingers, blunt and insistent, a pressure that hovered on the edge of too much.

“Breathe,” Wesley said. “Push back when you want it. I’m not going to shove.”

Everett pushed back. Wesley pushed in. The stretch burned, sharp for a second, then opened, then became a deep, shocking fullness as Wesley sank in inch by inch, stopping whenever Everett’s breath hitched, starting again when Everett said more, or nodded, or reached back and grabbed Wesley’s thigh to pull him deeper. Halfway. Three quarters. The burn eased into a heavy, perfect ache.

“All the way,” Everett said when Wesley paused, trembling with the effort of holding still. “I can take it. I want all of it. Don’t leave me like this.”

Wesley bottomed out with a broken sound, hips flush against Everett’s ass, balls pressed to him. They stayed there, shaking, the video forgotten, the apartment reduced to the single fact of Wesley’s cock buried inside him, thick and hot and throbbing. Everett’s fingers dug into the armrest. He felt split open and held together at the same time.

“You feel—” Wesley’s voice cracked. His hands flexed on Everett’s hips. “Insane. You feel insane. So hot. So fucking tight I can barely think. Tell me you’re okay.”

“I’m okay. I’m better than okay.” Everett rocked, a tiny motion, and both of them groaned. “Move. Please move. I need you to move.”

Wesley drew back and thrust in, slow, a long drag that lit Everett up from the inside and made his toes curl against the cushion. Another thrust, a little harder, the angle shifting. Everett moaned, loud, and Wesley answered with one of his own, hands gripping harder, finding the tilt that glanced off that bright spot with every stroke. The couch arm dug into Everett’s chest. He didn’t care. He pushed back to meet Wesley, the slap of skin getting steadier, wetter, filthier, lube and the condom making everything glide.

“Harder,” Everett said. “I can take harder. I want to feel it tomorrow.”

“Yeah?” Wesley’s hand slid up his spine, pressed between his shoulder blades, held him down against the armrest with a careful strength. “Like this? You want it like this?”

He fucked in deep, a sharp snap of his hips, and Everett cried out, pleasure punching through the last of the strangeness, his cock jerking untouched. “Yes. Fuck. Yes. Don’t stop. Right there. Keep doing exactly that.”

“Not stopping.” Wesley’s voice was ragged, punctuated by the thrust of his hips. “You look so good like this. Taking my cock. My straight roommate bent over our couch getting fucked and loving it. Tell me you love it.”

“I love it.” Everett reached under himself and wrapped a hand around his cock, the angle awkward, the feeling overwhelming, every thrust shoving him forward into his own fist. “I love it. Wesley—right there—keep hitting that—harder—don’t you dare come yet, I want—”

Wesley did what he was told. He found the rhythm and stayed in it, deep and relentless, talking the whole time, encouragement and filth tangled until Everett couldn’t tell them apart and didn’t want to. You’re so tight. You’re doing so good. I can feel you squeezing me every time I pull back. I want to come in you so bad. I want to watch you fall apart on my dick. Everett stroked himself faster, the head of his cock smearing precome over his fingers and the cushion, every thrust a bright hit that stacked on the last until his thighs were shaking and his voice had gone hoarse.

“I’m close,” Wesley warned, pace faltering, hips stuttering. “If I keep going I’m going to lose it. You feel too good. Everett, I’m serious, I’m right on the edge.”

“Not yet.” Everett’s voice was wrecked, barely his. “Pull out. I want to ride you. I want to see your face when you come. I want to be the one moving.”

Wesley pulled out carefully, a slow slide that made both of them curse. The emptiness made Everett whine again, hole fluttering, used and open and desperate to be filled. They rearranged in a scramble of limbs and lube-slick hands, laughing once when Everett’s knee slipped and Wesley caught him by the waist. Wesley dropped onto his back, condom shining, cock standing up flushed and angry and wet. Everett swung a leg over him, braced a hand on Wesley’s chest, and reached back to line him up. He sank down in one long, shaking slide, taking him to the root, and they both groaned so loud the neighbor might have heard through the wall. Everett didn’t care about the neighbor. He cared about the way Wesley’s eyes rolled and then found his again, stunned and hungry.

“Fuck,” Wesley said, hands sliding up Everett’s thighs, gripping. “Look at you. Look at you on my cock. You took all of it. You’re sitting on all of it.”

Everett braced both hands on Wesley’s chest, feeling the hammer of his heart, and started to move. Up, until just the head remained, the stretch biting sweet at the rim, then down until he was full again and Wesley’s cock nudged that spot and his vision sparked. The control was different from being held down. He could chase the angle, grind when he found it, roll his hips in a slow circle until Wesley’s mouth fell open and his fingers dug into Everett’s ass hard enough to leave marks they’d both see later.

“This doesn’t feel straight,” Wesley said, laughing and gasping at once, thrusting up to meet him.

“I don’t care what it feels like.” Everett rode him harder, sweat gathering at his temples, running down his chest, dripping onto Wesley’s stomach. “I care that you don’t stop. I care that you keep looking at me.”

“Never.” Wesley’s hands helped, lifting him, pulling him down harder, the wet slap of their bodies filling the room louder than the laptop. “Ride me. Use me. I want to watch you come on my cock. I want to see your face. Touch yourself. Let me see it.”

Everett’s cock bounced against Wesley’s stomach, leaving wet streaks on the skin, on the faint trail of hair. Wesley wrapped a hand around it and stroked in time with the bounce, thumb swiping the head on every upstroke, grip tight and perfect, and the combination—cock buried deep inside him, fist working him, Wesley’s face open and desperate and beautiful under him—snapped the last thread Everett had been holding.

“I’m coming,” Everett said, the words tumbling out. “Wesley, I’m—fuck, I’m coming, don’t stop, don’t—”

He came hard, spilling over Wesley’s fist and stomach and chest in thick, hot pulses, hole clenching rhythmically around the cock inside him, each spasm dragging another stripe out of him. The orgasm rolled through him in waves that made his thighs shake and his voice break into something close to a sob, pleasure so big it crowded out every other thought. He kept moving through it, grinding down, milking it, watching Wesley watch him fall apart.

Wesley swore, hips jerking up, chasing the tight, fluttering squeeze. “Me too—I’m right there—can I—Everett, can I come?”

“Yes.” Everett dropped his weight, taking him as deep as he could, and rolled his hips. “Come. I want to feel it. Come inside me.”

Wesley slammed up and held, buried to the hilt, and came with a groan that sounded torn out of him, raw and loud. Everett felt the throb of it even through the condom, Wesley’s cock pulsing in heavy beats, Wesley’s hands bruising-tight on his hips, Wesley’s face gone slack and open, mouth shaping Everett’s name without quite getting the sound out. They stayed locked together through the aftershocks, Everett still weakly rolling his hips, oversensitive and unwilling to stop, Wesley still twitching inside him, both of them panting like they’d sprinted the length of the block.

Everett folded forward, forehead against Wesley’s shoulder, sweat sealing them together, his come smeared between their stomachs. Wesley’s arms came around him, loose and shaking, one hand spread wide on his back. The laptop had gone quiet, or they’d stopped hearing it. For a few breaths there was only the sound of them coming down, hearts knocking, the radiator, the faint tick of the laptop fan.

“Holy shit,” Wesley said into Everett’s hair.

“Yeah.”

They separated carefully, Everett lifting off with a wince and a laugh, Wesley holding the condom in place. Wesley dealt with it, tied it off, and Everett’s legs didn’t want to hold him, so he sat, boneless, and laughed again when Wesley handed him a fistful of tissues from the box on the side table and took a handful for himself. They cleaned the worst of it off their stomachs and the cushion, passing tissues back and forth, shoulders bumping, not quite looking and then looking, the air thick with sex and the citrus bite of the lube.

“That was…” Everett started, and didn’t have a word big enough. His mouth was still swollen. His ass ached in a way that made him want to shiver.

“Hot,” Wesley said. He dropped the tissues in the trash by the couch and sank back into the cushions, naked, spent, a flush still high on his chest, cock soft against his thigh. He glanced at Everett, and the smile that pulled at his mouth was small and satisfied and a little stunned. “Surprisingly, stupidly hot. I didn’t know I could come that hard.”

“Yeah.” Everett wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist and settled beside him, close enough that their arms touched, both of them still catching the ragged edge of their breath. “I didn’t think I’d like it that much. Any of it.”

“Me neither.” Wesley’s shoulder pressed warm against his. “One-time experiment. That’s what this was. Two straight guys. Curiosity. We got it out of our systems.”

“Curiosity,” Everett agreed, and the smile wouldn’t leave his face either, lingering, helpless, shared in the low light as they sank back into the couch together, skin still humming, the night not quite finished settling over them.