Wakefulness came slowly, and Clark looped his arm around the waist of the hard body snuggled against him, pulling it closer. He groaned and stretched his legs before tucking them into the natural curve of the man’s bent knees. It had been years since he’d fallen asleep with another man, and damn if he hadn’t missed it. Not since Dall and I—he shoved the idea aside. Hookups were great, but who wanted to spend time and brain cells on someone who could dick really well but couldn’t put two sentences together?
“How you doin’?” He asked the question with his lips pressed tight to the nape in front of him, nose buried in the short auburn hair as he racked his mind for clues as to the man’s identity.
“I’m good, Boots.” Brain’s voice was like a shock of cold water, and Clark shoved himself backwards, separating from the man in an instant. “Aww, why’d you have to go and do that? You’re warm.” Brain’s booty scooted backwards, tucking against Clark’s groin in a way that had his dick waking up to say hello. A hand appeared over Brain’s shoulder, open, waiting, and he tentatively placed his palm in the warm grip. Two tugs had him closer, chest pressed against Brain’s back as his arm was pulled around and under Brain’s arm, palm flat over the center of the man’s chest. “So warm.”
It was dark outside, the storms having moved off while he slept, so he had no idea of how late it might be. Brain is probably still woozy from the drugs. That made the most sense. The idea of Brain—his mind shorted out at the thought. It didn’t matter Brain had a good-sized dildo in his drawer. Liking prostate stimulation didn’t automatically equate to gay. Man has me being in his bed confused with me keeping him safe. That’s all it is. Brain’s breathing changed to a slower cadence that included a tiny whistle on each exhale. Clark let out a quiet, relieved gust of air and slowly extricated himself from the covers. Carefully rolling out of bed, he left Brain grumbling in his sleep, endearingly smacking his lips.
Clark didn’t know how he’d gone from sitting against the headboard to being flat-out on the bed next to Brain, covers to his waist, but he knew it couldn’t happen again. A quick check of the weather app showed it had been nearly two hours, and as expected, the cooler nighttime air aloft had lost the ability to support the development of more storms.
Clark slipped into the hallway and pulled the door shut behind him before shuffling downstairs to where his bedroom waited. In an uneasy truce with nature’s brutal progression, he’d accepted Kirby renovating what had once been a second treatment room into a suite for him. The change kept Clark from having to go up and down the stairs more often than necessary for his back. Lately, Brain had been the only thing that had him traveling to the second floor. Getting old sucks, he told himself as he pushed open the door, seeing his own covers thrown back, left that way when he’d unassed with haste after the first blast of thunder had woken him.
“Shit like that can’t happen again.” He sighed and thumbed the latch on the doorknob. It was a nod towards privacy, something easily defeated by just a paperclip, but anyone trying to turn it and encountering resistance would at least call out before they entered. “I’ve made it this long without fucking myself over. I should be able to manage going forward.”
Stepping past the bed, he leaned into the bathroom and turned on the shower, pulling the curtain mostly closed to keep the overspray to a minimum. He stripped with efficient movements, boxers and pj’s tossed into the hamper as his dick bounced and bounded between his legs, obstinately rigid. Pushing past the curtain, he arranged it behind him with one hand as he picked up his bottle of all-in-one shampoo and bodywash. A tiny puddle in the palm of one hand, and he slicked it along his shaft, working up a fistful of suds in no time.
Clark tried to focus on the images from the hookup app he’d looked at. Calling up memories of cocks and holes, and pretty boys with cum streaked across their chests and faces. Still, his stubborn mind insisted on circling back to the feel of holding a man in his arms, of how kissing Brain’s neck had been intimate and special, the way the man’s ass had cradled his hard cock, and the erotic sounds Brain had made as he nestled into Clark’s big spoon, as if he’d found something he liked. Then he remembered the way Brain’s dick had hardened at the images on the phone, tenting his briefs in an unmistakable reaction that Clark had immediately decided to ignore.
Clark granted himself one-time permission to explore what might have been—instead of picturing anonymous images, he concentrated on the noises Brain would make as Clark worked him open. The way Brain would clamp down on fingers spearing and curving inside him, brushing against the spongy gland that would make him speak to God. Brain’s face looking up at him, eyes half-hooded and mouth open in an endless gasp as Clark pushed inside for the first time, strong hands sliding up his arms and shoulders, down his back to cup his ass and pull him deeper.
He grunted, hand moving to twist around the head of his dick, wringing every last ounce out of his orgasm, splattering his hand and wrist with the hot, white fluid that disappeared immediately, sucked down the drain along with the suds.
Clark leaned one forearm against the shower wall, letting the hot water run through his hair and down the back of his neck.
“Shit.” He shouldn’t have done that. Guilt and shame crept in that he’d used a friend—a brother—in such a way. Not that it hadn’t happened before, but that time was long in the past and had wound up with a much nicer ending than he expected this time.
I just can’t let it happen again.
He turned off the water and grabbed a towel, then scrubbed at himself roughly.
The memory of Brain arching backwards against him rocketed through his head, and he closed his eyes.
“I’m so fucked.”