he really…

For the millionth time, His mind reproduces the sight He walked back home to from the corner market. He intended to come back and watch the rest of the movie, waiting for His best friend to go to sleep for the night before having His nightly smoke session.

What He wasn’t expecting was to walk in on His best friend, dick out, precum glistening in the reflection of the blue light from the television. It wasn’t His first time seeing His best friend’s dick; most boys compared their hardware from an early age and on to middle school. Almost like checking each other to make sure they were indeed men, and that having such an appendage hanging off them was normal.

Hell, they’d even had dick fights, the winner usually buying the other one a chocolate bar at the convenience store. So, He’s no stranger to seeing His friend’s junk, but something about the sight this time in this moment is different.

The air in the living room felt like it could suffocate Him. It took extreme effort to act nonchalant but He’d managed it. But the little control he had just about snapped when He hears strained grunts and the sound of slick flesh from in the kitchen.

He’d said it as a taunt, fully expecting His best friend to run into his room, tail between his legs. He hadn’t thought the bastard would actually go through with finishing. And before He can make an escape to the backyard, He hears His best friend’s gasp and moan as he orgasms.

Maybe because it's been so long (literally years) since He got some action, His lower half responded. Unlike most men, He isn’t a fan of pleasuring Himself. Sure, it feels good, really good sometimes. But with both His fingers and stomach covered with His hardening ejaculate, He usually couldn’t help but feel grossed out and annoyed.

But I still stood there and listened to that. He feels His cheeks warm.

He scrambles to the backyard as soon as He feels the cotton fibers of the sweat pants He’s wearing rub against His hardness. It’s difficult, but He manages to roll the blunt He so desperately needs. The head high makes His heart race with the euphoria, and He leans back into the patio chair. His erection still throbs, and being high makes it worse.

If He was in His right mind, He wouldn't be so reckless. But His brain keeps playing the sounds of His best friend’s gasps and moans over and over again. Usually he needs to see and hear porn to get off, but out in the dead silence of the night, with the sight of His best friend pleasuring himself and the sounds he made etched in His mind, He reaches into the front of His pants. And now, thirty minutes later, they sit in front of the glowing television as if these events hadn't occurred. But He isn’t going to be the one that brings it up.

he sighs quietly to himself at how still it feels between them. “If you’re going to be this tense, we can call it a night.” he says it softly, but firmly, before taking another sip from his glass.

he always dreaded a moment like this happening and knew that it was only a matter of time. What he hadn’t counted on was his friend’s deadpan response. And even though He tried to be quiet about it, he knew that his friend stayed in the hallway, listening as he finished messily into his hand.

The act of keeping things hidden is draining to both of them, and he figures going to bed now before anything else can happen will make it easier to act like it didn’t happen. Though, a very small part of him wants to push his luck and push his friend down.

It won’t change anything though.

“What are you, an old man? It’s only eleven forty-three!” He reaches forward and grabs a handful of popcorn that's a few hours old. “And I thought we were gonna watch that one movie after this?”

he chokes on his spit. The movie his friend can’t be bothered to remember that they agreed to watch earlier will be so ironic, it will hurt. There's no way in hell he will sit in the thickness between them to watch Moonlight. he’d rather his friend catch him in the act again.

His best friend clears his throat. “You’ve just been—”

“Like you wouldn’t be after that?”

He doesn’t mean to snap, but come on, dude! How did His best friend expect him to act now? It’s like walking in on your parents doing it. Though no sane person would jerk off to that… He shakes his head. “Look, I’m sorry for snapping, but you can’t seriously expect me to act as if I didn’t see you.”

His best friend slouches against the couch. A sigh that whistles from between his lips. “You’re acting like a complete virgin about this.”

He doesn’t bother giving a response. Rather, He stands up, ignoring the bits of popcorn that fall to the floor. He doesn’t have to take this right now, especially with the echo chamber that is his mind playing over the very thing His best friend is asking Him to ignore, and what He did in the backyard.

His best friend grips his arm as He tries to storm off toward his room. “Wait, wait, but you aren’t a—”

“We can’t all be like you, you know.” He will regret the statement later, but says it now with such conviction that he drops his hand back beside him on the couch.

I wish I could go back in fucking time, He laments for the millionth time that night as He continues his amble toward his room.

In a desperate, almost pleading tone, he says, “Come on, I know that you’ve—”

“Four.”

he blinks hard. “Four?”

When his friend nods, his back still facing him, he can’t help but scoff. “You mean to tell me, you’ve only slept with four women?!”

his friend whirls around on His heel, arms crossed over His broad chest. Yet, His discomfort is clear as day. he tries to rein in his frustration. “But you’ve dated so many—”

“Most of the time I couldn’t be bothered to date them, much less get it up for ’em.” A shrug. “Just how it is. Choose to believe me or not. Doesn’t matter.”

This is not what he expected.

“And what made those four so special?” The question burns his throat on the way out.

Not for the first time this evening, his friend refuses to look his way at all. Instead He looks at a spot slightly above his head.

“Was one of them Sandra?” he almost lost Him to Sandra, and to this day he still hasn't forgiven his mother for introducing them at his twenty-third birthday party.

Another shrug. “Does it matter.”

he wants to argue that yes, it does matter, but takes a deep breath instead. This isn’t the right moment to bring any of that up.

“Have you tried it with, you know, guys?” he doesn’t know what compels him to say this but he wishes he could suck the words back into his mouth.

Very still silence. Then, “Kissing was nice, felt good, but I couldn’t go through with…” He trails off, looking everywhere but at His best friend’s face. His shoulders creep up to his ears. It's clear He doesn’t want to keep talking about this.

“Wanna try it...with me?”

You’re a fucking idiot. The electricity in the thought hurts him, and every joint locks in paralysis from his sheer stupidity. But he couldn’t help himself; he’d been on the verge of passing out, so still conscious when his friend uttered that confession, a naive admission of feelings He clearly doesn’t want to acknowledge.

His breathing falters and he bites the inside of his cheek at hearing his friend’s wheezing sigh.

“You're right,” He says, forcing His arms back to His sides. “Let’s call it a night.”