Juan laid down next to him, wrapped an arm around him and kissed his chest. For a while, they were lying there in silence. It felt like their friendship had found a hidden door. He could do this every day.

"How was it?" he asked after a while. He felt small, vulnerable, and at the same time, he felt safe enough to feel like this. A feeling he'd never experienced before.

"Why don't you give it a try? If you want to. You don't have to... but well, if you're curious like I was..." He shrugged his shoulders. "Then it's all yours."

Hesitantly he looked at Juan's face. He'd closed his eyes as if he wasn't expecting any compensation. Should he do it? Nobody would ever find out, this would stay between them.

He swallowed, his lips felt dry. He rolled over, so Juan was underneath him. Juan's opened his eyes and smiled — a dreamy smile. Emilio realized how handsome his friend was. He caressed his face, then, he leaned into him and kissed him. Slowly, as if it really meant something. It was a long kiss; Juan's nails were lightly scratching his back. Usually, he wasn't a big fan of foreplay, but this time he felt the urge to touch every piece of skin with his lips. Juan sighed softly while Emilio kissed his way down. The nervousness returned when he neared his friend's briefs. What if he liked it? Would it mean that he was gay? No — that made no fucking sense. He'd never felt attracted to a guy.

He thought of how much he enjoyed the feel of Juan's skin underneath his lips. How he had fantasized about Mateo. Suddenly he felt sick. He didn't want to continue this, but he neither wanted to explain why he no longer wanted this. Maybe he should just get over with it. It was probably disgusting, and then all those crazy thoughts would go away. There was not a chance in hell that he was gay.

His fingers curled around the elastic of Juan's briefs and he pulled the piece of clothing down. Hesitantly he stretched out his fingers and started to stroke his friend. Skittishly he glanced at Juan, who'd closed his eyes. He would probably fall asleep if he kept dawdling. Emilio tried to banish all his doubts. Resolutely, he started to jerk his friend off. As Juan hummed in approval, he felt encouraged enough to go further. He started to kiss the soft skin, which felt pleasantly warm. Something contracted in his stomach and he was getting hard again. He hated himself for it, he didn't want to like this.

Just do it. The soon it's over, the better. Switch off your mind and go for it.

And so, he did.

Every time he managed to make Juan moan harder, there was something fluttering in his stomach. He wanted to give him the same mind-blowing orgasm as he'd received from his friend, he wanted to be better than Dana. He tried to experiment a little more with his tongue. Juan sat up, weaving his fingers through Emilio's hair while guiding him. Emilio tried to take him as far as he could without gagging.

"Mmm," Juan muttered. "We got ourselves a natural here."

Again, it felt like Mateo was talking to him, instead of his little brother. Emilio swallowed. He wasn't sure if he should take this as a compliment or not; it wasn't exactly his ambition to become a talented cocksucker. He however felt relieved that Juan liked it — after all, that was why he was doing this.

And because you were curious about how dick tasted, you disgusting fag.

Even though the words made his shoulders cramp up, he continued stubbornly until his friend came — but without calling out his name.

The disappointment was unexpected. He got up, Juan's taste lingering in his mouth. He didn't know what to feel, it felt like his body was betraying him since he was rock hard. Lying down on the bed again, he turned his back towards Juan. Tears were stinging in his eyes. He didn't understand himself anymore, he didn't understand his body.

Juan didn't abandon him now his climax was over; he snuggled up to Emilio and wrapped an arm around him. "You okay?" he whispered, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

"I dunno," he answered honestly. It felt too good to lie here like this and it frightened him. "I feel so much conflict. What if I've fallen in love with you now? Fuck man — I don't want that."

A tear rolled down his cheek; he was terrified that something had changed for good now. Juan was his best friend, the most important person in his life. He didn't want to lose him because of this stupid experiment that had a completely different outcome than he'd expected.

"I don't think I'm the one you're in love with, E." He pressed a kiss between his shoulder blades. "It was my brother's name that you moaned when you came, not mine."

. . .

Juan's words kept echoing through the room.

Emilio had no idea what to answer. Juan seemed to sense it; in the end, he only hugged him and fell asleep like that. After a while, Emilio had freed himself from his arms. Now, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. He'd put his briefs back on again, but covering his nakedness didn't stop the image of his best friend's blow skills.

Was it true? Was he in love with Juan's brother? Just like that, out of the blue? While he hadn't seen his friend in two weeks? Or had these feelings always been there, but had he never recognized them as such? As a teenager he'd always looked up to Mateo; he had been like an older brother. Mateo had always treated him like that too; almost as if Juan and Emilio were twins. When had it changed? He couldn't call up a specific moment. Yeah — he missed his friend. He didn't have a lot of friends; actually only the two brothers. The past 30 months he'd regularly visited his friend in prison — more regularly than Juan himself — and he'd looked forward to the moment that they could hang out in a different place than the visitor's area of a prison.

That moment was close now; Mateo would gain his freedom in a few weeks. Now he wished he would stay inside longer. After what happened tonight, he didn't dare to look Mateo in the eye again. His whole life he had this feeling that Mateo was able to read him with one look; he was scared of his response when he caught such a disgusting fantasy. He probably never wanted to see him again. Mateo was the straightest guy he could think of.

Bile crept into his throat. He jumped up and sprinted to the bathroom, leaning his hands on the washbasin. His face was glowing like he was having a fever. He couldn't remember the last time he'd cried, but right now he was very close to tears. He was disgusted with himself, with his fantasies, with how his body had responded to Juan, to a guy. He didn't want it — he didn't fucking want it and there was nothing he could do about it.

For a long time, he stared at the washbasin. The nausea didn't go away, but he couldn't throw up either. Turning on the water, he splashed it in his face. Instead of turning back to Juan's room, he laid down on the couch and rolled on his side. He couldn't sleep; he kept staring forward and with all his might he tried to think of something else than Juan or Mateo.