8. Liam

It's been six days since the accident, six days, and I'm losing my mind.

Not from the pain, which is more of a dull ache as long as I'm not using my arm. Nor is it due to an itch I can't scratch. Actually, that's exactly what it is, only the itch isn't under the cast. It's below my belt. And even here–in the shower that's usually my sanctuary–I can't do anything about it.

Stupid plastic cast sleeve that makes it impossible to get a good hold on my cock with my dominant hand.

As Cruz so helpfully pointed out before I broke my arm, I have a nightly routine that helps me sleep. It started a little over a year ago, after I was unceremoniously outed. At first, when people started treating me like a leper, I was ashamed. I retreated from everything at the same time my parents retreated from me, so it was an all-around bad time. I had no one. Things felt bleak. My friends turned on me in a violent way and I decided enough was enough.

I made a decision to be me, whether people liked it or not. I vowed not to hide, and I swore never to be ashamed of who I was attracted to. It was liberating, in a way, but I was still alone. Still filled with tension since I was trapped at home and at school, with no hope of escape until after graduation. That's when I discovered an orgasm eased the stress a little, making it possible for me to sleep. Plus, I was a horny teenage guy with no other outlet. So, jerking off in the shower became my nightly routine. One that sticks to this day.

Giving up on my left hand, not just because of the cast sleeve but because jerking with it fucking hurts, I wrap my right around my straining cock, giving it an experimental tug. It dulls the ache, but the pressure is off, doing nothing to sate my need. I'd like to claim that's not a big deal, that I can ignore my urges and go to sleep without release, but the truth is that's just not an option since I'm living with Adonis personified.

It's virtually impossible not to notice how perfect Cruz's body is considering he flaunts it constantly. The irony is, he isn't flaunting it on purpose. His asexuality translates into him being completely oblivious to the fact his naked torso does things to me, so he has no qualms about walking around shirtless.

All. The. Time.

Add to that how he got me a birthday present and has been so genuinely concerned for my well-being that he literally won't let me carry anything, and I'm starting to feel more than just sexual attraction toward him. I'm dangerously close to developing a crush on my ACE roommate, and it's freaking me the fuck out.

Why is he so nice?

I want to believe that's just who Cruz is. That it's in his nature to take care of and look out for people. But I knew guys like that back home, or at least I thought I did, and when I needed them the most they were nowhere to be found. Hell, some of them turned out to be who I needed protection from.

When I look at Cruz, it's hard not to be reminded of that. He's everything I swore to avoid, that I'm supposed to hate. The good-looking, popular guy who skates through life because he's a gifted football player. The kind who can easily dismiss someone like me. The kind all the other mindless, macho jocks follow. The kind who will fuck you in private and lead the charge to kick your ass when your so-called friend spills your secrets.

Why I gravitate toward that type when they have no love for me, I don't have a clue. Yet, for some reason they make my dick hard, which my right hand can't seem to fix.

I let my forehead fall against the cool tile as I take a shaky breath, willing my body to cooperate before I try to find relief again. Picturing my gorgeous roommate, of course.

Cruz looks like the enemies of my past, but he doesn't act like the jocks I knew in high school. It's a mindfuck I don't know how to process. On top of that, I've never crushed on an unavailable guy before. Not once. Even before I was outed, I inherently knew that crushing on guys who weren't gay would lead to trouble. Call it self-preservation, common sense or just good luck, I didn't pine away for guys I'd never have a shot with.

I'm perilously close to venturing down that path now though, and I don't know how to stop it. Not when my literal wet dream sleeps just a few feet away.

I want to scream in frustration on the daily, but Cruz genuinely has no idea that he's torturing me, and as someone in the LGBTQ+ community, I can't bring myself to point out to an asexual person that he's the root cause of my tension. And since I can't seem to get rid of that tension in the usual manner, I'm highly uncomfortable and edgy.

Huffing out a frustrated, and hopefully muted, groan, I shut the water off and towel dry, tossing on a loose pair of joggers and a t-shirt that don't completely hide my current state of duress. Fortunately, since Cruz is oblivious to his effect on me, he isn't likely to notice that before it deflates.

Unfortunately, he's shirtless when I emerge from the bathroom, leaving me little hope of sparing my dignity. So, I shuffle around, tossing clothes in my laundry basket, tidying up, while doing my best to keep my back to him as I wait for my body to get the message that playtime is over.

"Did you take your pain pills tonight?" Cruz asks, ever the caregiver.

"Yup." Don't turn around and look at him.

"And you've got the doctor tomorrow, right? Need me to take you?"

"I've got it." I rummage through my dresser drawer, pretending to look for something. Don't think about him shirtless.

"What about your laundry? I can do yours with mine tomorrow."

"All good, thanks." The drawer bangs shut when I close it harder than intended. Don't think about how nice he's being.

"Seriously, it's no big deal. I'm already doing a load so it's no trouble, and it'll save you from having to lift a basket with your bad arm."

"Really, I'm fine." Don't think about loads.Shooting loads, swallowing loads… Ah shit. He's coming over here.

"Liam, didn't we agree you were gonna let me help out?" His velvety voice feels like a warm blanket, and I fight the urge to shiver under its timbre.

"Only if I needed it. I don't need it." Did my voice just crack?

"How are you going to carry your laundry with a cast?" He's so close I can feel his body heat at my back, smell the spice of his body wash.

"That's next week's problem, hero." Ohmigod I'm so hard, I literally feel dizzy.

"Hero?" Cruz puts his hand on my shoulder and spins me to face him, and it's so unexpected I don't have time to step back. My obnoxiously hard cock smacks him right in the hip, and as my eyes grow wide with embarrassment his Adam's apple bobs on a thick swallow.

For a minute, neither of us moves. Neither of us speak. We just sort of exist in this weird fragment of time where we can almost pretend that didn't just happen as long as we don't acknowledge it.

I've heard the expression silence is deafening, but I can honestly say that's bullshit. Silence is loud. So loud I can't even hear my own breathing. That, or I'm not breathing at all.

"You uh," he stutters, shattering the bubble as he rubs his hand over the back of his neck. "You're a lefty, aren't you?" He tips his head toward my casted arm.

"Huh?" I shake my head to clear the fog that had settled there.

"You're left-handed."

"Yeah, so?" My brows draw together in my typical defensive scowl.

"So, I'm assuming it's been a while since you've been able to take care of things downstairs."

I cross my arms defiantly, ignoring the obvious giveaway between my legs. I've got my pride. "Why would you assume that?"

"Because you're being sort of pissy and I haven't heard your normal session in the shower for nearly a week."

"You can still hear that?" My arms drop to my sides as my chest deflates. I really thought I'd gotten quieter.

Cruz's lip ticks up a fraction at the corner. "For a smaller guy you're sorta loud."

"I thought you said sound carries. And I'm not small." I cross my arms again.

"Smaller than me."

"The entire student body is smaller than you. What's your point?" I snap. Wow, I really am pissy.

"My point is there's an obvious solution to fix…that." He points at my crotch.

"Which is?"

He holds up his hands. "No cast."

"Good for you. How do your cast-free hands help me?"

"Um," His brows draw together like he's not following. That makes two of us.

"Could we please talk about something else. It's not going to go away until we do."

"Yeah, I figured. That's why I'm saying I can help."

"Help how?" I throw my arms up.

Cruz rolls his eyes as if he can't believe I'm not following him. Then grabs me by the shoulder, spins me around and steps behind me, pinning my back to his chest and cupping my dick in his large palm. "I gotchu," he grunts in my ear.

"Whoa, hey, ungh." My eyelids flutter in a fight to stay open as he gives me a firm squeeze, and a jolt of sheer ecstasy zings up my spine. "Wha… What?"

"I told you, I gotchu." Cruz's voice is almost raspy as he slides his hand inside my pants and closes his fist around my length, taking the brunt of my weight as if I'm a feather when my knees buckle on a toe-curling tug.

And another.

Over and over.

"This is… Holy… Oh God…" My hips buck forward with each slow, deliberate pull, like my cock is tethered to his hand, and it feels so good I don't even care that I'm shamelessly chasing his fist like it's my own personal dick sleeve.

Behind me Cruz gives a slight chuckle as he tugs my pants below my groin with one hand and leisurely flicks his wrist to jerk my cock with the other. "As often as you visit the shower, I had a feeling you were getting pretty pent up. Don't worry, I'll help you out."

"But…" My body shudders when he squeezes my crown. "But you're ACE. Probably straight."

"So?"

"Straight ACE guys don't hold their roommate's dicks." I press my back against his chest for leverage as I push my length into his grip, circling my hips when I bottom out in his fist. It's a silent plea to go faster, and either he doesn't realize that, or he doesn't care since he doesn't comply.

That's both infuriating and oddly satisfying since I'm torn between the desperate need for relief and the blissful eroticism of another man's hand sliding over my shaft. Dear God, he's got a firm grip.

"You do know straight ACE doesn't mean homophobe, right? Besides, roommates should take care of each other."

"Not like…fuck, that feels good. Seriously though, you don't even like sex. Wha—God, do that again," I pant as his thumb grazes my slit.

This time he does oblige, swiping the digit back and forth and around my tip, spreading my precum all over my head, and I'm pretty sure the only way to describe the moan that rumbles up my throat is wanton. Fuck.

"I never said I don't like it, I said I don't feel the urge to have it. Not like other people do."

"But… Oh shit." My pelvis surges forward when he starts pumping me again, a touch faster this time, although still not enough to tip me over the edge. It's enough to make my breath come in rapid spurts, though. "That still doesn't explain this."

"It's pretty self-explanatory, don't you think? You needed a hand, I've got one." He twists his wrist when he reaches my crown, and my head gets so heavy it falls against his chest with a guttural moan.

"Yeah, fine." My chest heaves erratically. "I needed a hand. But I'm a guy."

"So?"

"So, I don't get it. I'm the one into guys, not you. Why would... ah." Cruz tightens his grip but slows his pace, pulling me back from the edge, and that little tease has me straight up writhing into his hand like it's the key to nirvana. "How are you so good at this?"

"I'm familiar with the equipment." He chuckles.

My lust-addled brain doesn't quite follow. "You've done this before? With another guy?"

"No, but I've got my own dick, so I know the drill. I'm not sure I'll be as good at it as you are, but it's better than nothing, right?"

I'm not sure I follow his logic. Personally, I've always thought the best part of being gay was being familiar with what you're working with. Not that all men like to be handled the same way or anything, but having a cock makes it infinitely easier to understand what another man will feel when you're playing with his. Although, I didn't get the sense Cruz does a whole lot of playing, so…

"I thought you didn't—Holy fuck," I groan when he starts massaging my balls, partly because he's denied me release once again and partly because it feels so damn good to have his big, warm hand rolling them around his palm. "I thought you didn't…do this. To yourself I mean."

"I said I don't do it as often, not that I never do it."

"Feels like you do it a…oh. Oh God that's good." He gives my sac a firm tug before moving back to my shaft and pumping it rhythmically, adding the little wrist flick I've made no surprise of enjoying, and even though I haven't quite wrapped my mind about what's happening or why, I don't have the mental capacity to question it anymore. So, I don't. I just close my eyes and savor the pleasure radiating throughout my body as Cruz gives me a truly magnificent hand job. Quite possibly the best I've ever had.

While I'm fairly certain he recognizes and catalogs what I like, he doesn't focus on it the way some of my past hookups have.

It's possible that's not a fair comparison. All my other encounters have been rushed in an effort to not get caught, so if it was clear something was pushing me toward the edge they kept doing it. Even Aiden and I have been sort of frenzied since all our hookups have been in quiet corners during his frat parties.

But there's no urgency with Cruz. So, either he's being really thorough, taking infinite time to explore what I like and make this good for me, or this is what he does to himself on the rare occasions the mood strikes.

I wonder if mimicking what he does to himself on me would put him in one of those moods.

I'm not pressed against him there, so I'm not sure this is having any effect, and given the way he describes himself it's probably not. But I am in heaven.

I actually sort of love that he keeps changing things up on me. Don't get me wrong, I'm still desperate to come—my whole body is vibrating with need—but this whole hovering on the verge of detonation is hot as fuck. I mean, my cock is a steel pipe and my balls are heavier than they've ever been before, and it feels fantastic. Like, I'm sort of wondering if I'll come so hard I pass out fantastic.

Cruz gives my sac a couple firm pulls and wraps his hand around my shaft again, stroking harder and faster. My head rolls from side to side against his broad chest as my hips punch forward, fucking my cock into his fist like it's possessed. I'm pretty sure it might be since I couldn't stop thrusting if I tried.

A slew of noises erupt from my throat—grunts, moans, maybe even something between a whimper and a cry—causing Cruz to cover my mouth with his hand.

"This is why I know what you do in the shower every night, noisy fucker." Since he laughs as he says that I know he's teasing, sort of. "Keep it down so we don't get interrupted before we finish."

I try holding my breath, and between that and the hand over my mouth, I keep it down. Mostly. But it's hard to stay totally silent when your dick is so hard it could cut glass, and it's being furiously stroked by a man as sexy as Cruz.

Damn it's hot to watch my crown push through his fist. To see the tendons in his hand flex as he squeezes with each pump.

My calves ache from rising on my toes to follow his grip. Abs too. But the slight burn is worth the impending freefall. I thrash my head back and forth like I'm struggling to breathe when really I'm trying to warn him of the fact I'm about to go supernova, and when he keeps pumping mercilessly despite the fact my hips have gone out, I do.

I wail into the palm covering my mouth as my cock jerks in his hand, which keeps traveling my length as if on a mission to make sure I'm empty. Slide after sensual slide, his grip relaxes only slightly as he spreads my cum over my quivering dick, stopping only when my tremors do. That's when the last of my strength leaves me, and Cruz has to crush my body against his to keep me from hitting the floor.

"I gotchu," he rumbles next to my ear as he takes his hand off my mouth and pins his arm to my chest, holding me upright.

"You keep saying that," I slur. "Why?"

I feel his shoulders rise behind me as my dick lurches, and it's only after I can't connect those two things that I realize he's still holding it. Well, that's…not unpleasant at all.

"Can you stand?" Cruz asks.

"Better not assume that." My voice quivers as I try, and fail, to push off his chest.

Cruz shifts his hand from my cock to my waist, pulling my shorts up in the process, and helps me shuffle to the bed, where I fall boneless onto the mattress.

"Are you okay? You don't usually look this out of it after your showers."

While it's a struggle to keep my heavy eyelids open, I register the fact his brow is furrowed with concern. "Mmph." I lift my hand in a little wave that I'm pretty sure is the universal gesture for ‘all good.' Maybe.

"Hang on."

There's a moment of silence before a chill crashes over me and my eyes snap open with a start to find Cruz hovering over me. "Are you washing my dick?"

"It's pretty messy." The cool rag makes a few passes over my spent cock before I feel the waistband of my joggers snap back into place. "Even though most of it hit the wall." Cruz gives me a helpless little shrug that seems part embarrassed and part stunned, like he didn't know such a thing was possible or that he could be responsible for it. It makes me want to laugh, but I've got just enough sense in my lust-addled brain to know that might make him self-conscious, so I hold it in.

"Are you, uh…better?" He asks when he climbs into his bed.

"Much." I sink deeper into the mattress with a heavy sigh. "You?"

"What about me?"

It takes all my strength to turn my head to look at him. "You just jerked me off like it was no big deal, and that's not usually something friends do for each other."

"I told you, straight and ACE doesn't mean prude."

"You could be gay, and it'd still be something friends don't usually do for each other."

He dismisses me with a wave of his hand. "Extenuating circumstances."

"Spoken like a true hero."

"Wow, that orgasm really messed with your brain. Jerking you off doesn't make me a hero."

"Spoken like a guy with a massive hero complex." I yawn, loudly. "Seriously, you good?"

It's a few seconds before he speaks softly, "Yeah. I'm good."

He sounds sincere, and even if he isn't, I'm quickly losing the battle to stay awake, so I'd probably pass out mid-conversation, which I doubt he'd appreciate. Rolling on to my back, I let my eyes fall shut, wondering if the events of the evening mean I can fully trust Cruz, or whether they should make me even more wary. After all, hero complex or not, what he just did is not friendly behavior, no matter how much I enjoyed it.

I drift into a deep, sated sleep before I can answer that question. The best I've had all year.