11. Cameron

Cameron

M y hands are shaking by the time I make it back to my room.

I'm not sure why they were still in front of Jagger when they're anything but right now. I'm just grateful my body waited for some privacy before freaking out.

I showed my dick to my best friend.

I held his.

We came all over each other.

It was the best orgasm of my life.

That last thought is the one making me jittery, since it suggests sex will never be the same again, and as for what that means for my friendship with Jagger… Shaky hands are probably only the start.

I want to believe this doesn't change anything, and in some ways, I think that can be true. We cracked a few jokes right afterward, which felt normal despite the fact those jokes were about how much cum we created, so on the surface it seems like we're both treating this as no big deal. A scratch my back and I'll scratch yours type of favor, like rubbing each other's shoulders after a hard practice and razzing each other for being pussies for being so sore.

Plus, it's not like this is the first time I've seen Jagger's junk or watched him come. Maybe if those boundaries hadn't already been breached it'd be different, but a lot of what happened in that room wasn't new or novel. Jagger's seen me give it a tug a few times before sticking it in a woman, and I've seen people treat his foreskin like it's the most fascinating thing they've ever seen. So, in a lot of ways, there's nothing remarkable about what we did.

Unless you factor in the little detail about that being the best orgasm I've ever had, and there wasn't a female in sight. It was just me and Jagger.

Even that wouldn't phase me if I thought we could keep this to a friends-with-benefits type of arrangement, but factoring in my little freak out the other day when I almost passed out from fear of not being able to see him daily after college, what just happened might not stay in the FWB column. Not for me, anyway.

There's a reason I've been steadfast in keeping some separation between Jagger and my bisexuality. I always knew if I let myself believe it could happen, I'd fall hopelessly in love with him.

You could make the case that I already am—platonically. Though, as Liam pointed out, he doesn't think it ends there. It does, but that doesn't mean it can't morph into a romantic thing if my heart sees an opening.

Right now, I think I'm still in a safe place. All we did was satisfy a little curiosity. We took away some of the fear of the unknown. And now, if we choose to explore things with anyone else, we aren't going in blind. If we leave it at that, I'll be okay. I'll be able to keep the physical and emotional in two separate boxes.

Although… I can't even begin to entertain the thought of hooking up with anyone else given the images of Jagger running through my mind .

Collapsing onto my bed, I close my eyes and replay the last thirty minutes of my life.

Jagger's thick, dark hair flopping over his forehead, a vibrant contrast to a set of green eyes that were nearly iridescent with lust as they tracked over my body. Chiseled torso, coiled taught, as he tried to control his breathing. Warm air passing between his full lips and ghosting over mine. And his rigid cock, kissing the tip of mine where it was cocooned in his silky heat.

Fuck, I'm gonna end up hard again.

The irony is, this is far from the first time I've thought Jagger was sexy. I've always known that about him, and I've never hesitated to admit that to myself. It's just a fact, like the sky being blue or the grass being green.

I just never fixated on that, though. I never felt a desire to act on my attraction, either. Maybe I sort of wondered about it when he asked to see my dick that first time, even going so far as to declare I'd prefer he explore any curiosity he might feel with me instead of someone who might not take care of him the way I do. But it was never something I expected to come to fruition. And I damn sure never expected to find his sexiness directed at me.

But damn… Being the object of his focus is a thrill like no other. His green eyes are sort of intense when he's using them for something as benign as sharing an inside joke, but to express desire…

Hot.

As.

Fuck.

My heartbeat ticks up just thinking about it. I was torn between falling to my knees and beating my chest like a caveman to see him so hungry for me, and there's no doubt in my mind if he gives me that look again, I'll do anything he wants. It's that heady to be the object of his interest.

No wonder girls literally fall at his feet. I'd like to think I'm above that—growing up with the guy should make me somewhat immune to his charms, right? Although, you could probably make the case that I'm even more susceptible to them since a piece of him has always belonged to me, and vice versa.

This is a dangerous train of thought.

It was one encounter. An experiment. Even if it happens again—and given how much I know we both enjoyed it I'm not ruling that out—it's still just a physical outlet between friends. One my cock appears to be on board with since it's stubbornly hard even though my balls should be empty.

Grunting, I pop off the bed, grab some clean clothes, and storm off to the shower. A cold one, so I'm not tempted to linger and go through another highlight reel. Then I go down to make a couple burgers to throw on the grill, since I'm sure Jagger will be starving when he's finished with his homework.

My plan falls apart when I get distracted by shouting from the couch.

"Ooh, that one actually looked like it hurt," Liam subconsciously leans away from the TV, like he's the one who just got pelted.

"Seriously?" Bennet scoffs. "It's a pillow. How bad could it hurt?"

"It's not a pillow, pillow, it's a nylon bag stuffed with foam," Liam argues his case. "Like a boxing glove."

"Bullshit," Bennet snorts. "Boxing gloves have soft foam under compressed foam under rubber foam. They're infinitely stronger than whatever the fuck kind of foam is in that goofy pillow."

I glance at the TV and see a boxing ring front and center, with two guys wearing what resembles boxing shorts, albeit a little tighter, and tank tops. But instead of wearing gloves they're each holding a bag that sort of reminds me of the money bags that go in the armored truck in those heist movies my dad showed me as a kid. Except they're a little shiny. They've got the same handles too.

"See," Liam gestures to the TV as one of the fighter's head whips around when he gets hit. "That was a solid hit."

"With a pillow ." Bennet rolls his eyes.

"Okay, timeout." All eyes look to me as I find a seat next to Liam on the couch. "What the fuck are you watching?"

"Professional Pillow Fight Championships," Cruz says from the other side of Liam.

"This is a joke, right? Some sort of hidden camera prank show or something?" I look around the room for confirmation.

"No joke," Bennet laughs. "We thought it might be when we saw it on the guide, but it's legit. They tour with Arnold Sports and have fights at different expos."

" Pillow fighting?" I wrinkle my nose. "Like—there's an actual televised sport where you hit each other with pillows?"

"Specially licensed pillows or something, but yeah." Liam's brows draw together as he studies the TV.

"Unreal," I mutter. "How's it work?"

"Best we can tell, if you hit the other guy, you get a point," Cruz says. "Even if you technically block the hit, it still counts. You have to dodge it completely or you get scored on. And the most points wins."

"What just happened?" I ask as the ref steps in to break things up.

"That guy pushed the other guy." Bennet rolls his eyes. "Apparently, the only thing you're allowed to do is hit with that damn pillow, and you have to be holding the handles to do it."

"Whoa," Cruz and Liam cheer when one guy hits the other like he's swinging a baseball bat, and he stumbles back a few feet .

"They actually train for this shit?" I ask Bennet, who seems just as skeptical as I am, while Cruz and Liam are simply entertained.

"Can you imagine that gym conversation? ‘ What are you training for? Middleweight boxing title. You? Pillow fighting championships .'" He has an imaginary conversation between two fighters. "I'd be ashamed to say that out loud in a room full of people who hit each other for a living."

"Think you can actually make a living doing this shit?" I tilt my head toward the TV right as Jagger walks in the room and falls comically silent as he takes in the fighters on the screen.

"The fuck?" he finally asks as though his brain can't track what his eyes are seeing. "Does that say Pillow fighting?"

"Not a living, no." Bennet shakes his head, ignoring Jagger to answer my question. "Maybe some cash for a rainy day though."

"This is either the most elaborate prank in the world." Jagger swings his head around like he's looking for the culprit trying to fuck with him. "Or TV people are really hard up for shit to put on the air."

"Ooooh!" Cruz and Liam fall into a fit of giggles as one of the fighters, in his effort to back away and dodge blows from the other, hits the ropes and falls backward out of the ring.

"Why is that guy running away? It's a goddam pillow ." Jagger slaps a hand over his face like he can't fathom what he's seeing.

"It's a point thing." Bennet lets out an exasperated breath.

"You have to dodge it completely or you get a point against you," I clarify.

Jagger shakes his head. "Dumbass is gonna break his neck trying to get away from a pillow . I can't even." He stalks three steps toward the kitchen before pausing mid-stride, and I groan internally as he spins around.

No. I shake my head subtly .

Oh yes. A mischievous smile creeps across his face.

I mean it, no. I purse my lips.

It'll get a lot of views. Jagger waggles his eyebrows.

It's the premise of a bad porno. I roll my eyes.

Which is why it'll get a lot of views. He smirks.

God, help me. I look at the ceiling.

"What the fuck is this?" Bennet asks, his eyes darting between me and Jagger.

"Jagger wants to stage a pillow fighting championship for his social media."

"You get that this is the dumbest sport in the history of sports, and that includes how someone reinvented tennis and called it pickleball." Bennet arches a thick brow in Jagger's direction.

"That's why it's so genius." Jagger sits on the arm of the couch and plants his feet on my thighs since we're still short a chair after Cruz and Liam broke it when they were fucking last week, and Bennet's sitting in the remaining one. "It'll be a spoof so obviously it'll be over the top ridiculous, but we'll wear the shorts I just got so it's like an ad for my sponsors."

"You should maybe check with your sponsors before wearing their shorts in a pillow fighting video. I'm not sure they'd want their brand tied to such weird shit," I scoff.

"As if they're gonna say no to a bunch of fit shirtless guys wearing their shorts for a pillow fight battle royale." He snorts right back at me.

"Cruz has his own sponsors." I point out.

"Ooh yeah, he's got that underwear brand that signed him since he's gay. I bet they'll love this shit." Jagger winks at Cruz.

"Sounds like the start of a bad porno," Liam says.

I flick Jagger's thigh hard enough that he yelps. "That's what I told him. "

"What? When?" Liam asks.

"When he got…never mind." It makes us sound weird when we admit we don't have to speak to talk. "Liam's right, it's a bad porno. No one wants to see that shit"

"I never said I wouldn't watch it." Liam dodges a half-hearted shove from Cruz who takes mock offense to his boyfriend's willingness to ogle other shirtless men. "But you're right about getting the sponsors' permission, just in case they don't want their stuff marketed like that."

"Marketed like what? It's some roommates letting off steam and we'll look steamy doing it," Jagger says.

"Why would we be letting off steam?" I ask.

"Do we need a reason?" Jagger arches a brow.

"I don't particularly need to beat the shit out of you guys, no." Bennet kicks his feet up on the coffee table as he shrugs.

"Fine," Jagger huffs. "Someone doesn't do dishes, someone doesn't take out the trash, those two fuck too loud." He points at Cruz and Liam.

"Hey, we're better about that," Liam objects.

"Alright, you break furniture then. Who cares, I'm just making shit up since Bennet needs a reason to pillow fight."

"Are we gonna have prizes for the winner?" Cruz asks.

"You're gonna make money from your sponsor," Jagger says.

"Not everyone has sponsors. There should be a prize, like you don't have to take a turn cleaning the kitchen or something." Cruz insists.

"Okay, winner doesn't have to clean the kitchen for a week," Jagger suggests.

"Ooh, I got it. Winner gets to choose what we watch on TV." Liam's eyes light up. Fucker keeps wanting to watch anything but sports news since he says that's all we talk about. He might have a point, but still .

"No kitchen duty and you drive the TV. Fair enough," Bennet says.

"Still think this sounds like a bad porno," I mutter.

"As long as no one sports a woody it'll be fine." Jagger claps his hands together like some sort of evil villain plotting his master plan. "Talk to your people, Cruz. Let's have a pillow war."

Well, fuck. This has bad idea written all over it.