13. Fischer

13

FISCHER

I t feels like a dare. A way to prove I'm not uptight. I'm buzzed, but far from drunk, and Gavin's spanking demo got me at least as horny as Matthew is. I was dangerously close to humping his leg on the couch just to manage my need for friction, so this is safer territory regardless of the fact that our thighs are still touching, but only because he manspreads like he's a foot taller than he actually is.

"Is this your first buddy jerk?" I ask Matthew.

"Yeah."

It's not mine, but what happened in the dorm room, stays in the dorm room. I smirk. "You're not going soft on me are you?"

His stormy gaze narrows. "No." Like he needs to prove the point, he undoes his pants and pulls out his cock. I glance briefly at it before meeting his eyes. I got a good enough look to know he's packing, but that's not news. Back when he was living with me, he'd pop a boner while he was sleeping from time to time, and when he was spooning me, I got the sense he was bigger than the average guy, but it's still thicker than I pictured. Like it should be on a guy with more muscle.

As for mine, I figure it suits me. I'm six feet, a hundred and eighty pounds. My cock is proportionate. Not camboy huge but nothing to be ashamed of. And God knows, Matthew's seen it more than his fair share of times, so it's no big reveal when I whip it out. He doesn't even check it out.

The steps of the amphitheater are padded and deep, plenty of room to lounge back or lie down with a partner. Matthew leans on an elbow and takes his thick length in hand, eyes trained on the woman being tickled in the pussy with a feather. We have a good view of her trembling thighs and her heaving breasts as she gets close again.

"You need lube?" Matthew asks.

"You have some?"

"Sure."

He digs in his pocket and pulls out two packets.

Handy.

I rip mine open with my teeth and squeeze it onto my cock, slicking myself up with a squelching sound. "Mmm…" It feels so good, I give myself a few more slow strokes as I lean back with Matthew to get more comfortable.

"You planning to take your time, or…?"

I glance over at his hand, which is moving faster than mine, twisting his grip and handling himself roughly. I use a lighter touch, bouncing my length in my hand. "Is it a race?"

"You should get your nut out. Play with it."

"I think I know how to masturbate," I assure him.

"Doesn't seem like you do," he says, breathing heavier as he continues to get aggressive with his cock.

I dig out my half-empty nutsack and gather it up to my base, massaging some lube onto it.

"Doesn't that feel better?" he asks, maintaining eye contact with me.

I find myself having to work to swallow. His eyes are dark and glazed. Sexy. It occurs to me that we probably shouldn't be doing this, but it's too late now. I'm too into it to care if it's crossing a line. Since this place doesn't exist as far as ninety-nine percent of people are concerned, it makes it easier to pretend our pre-existing relationship doesn't exist either. "Yeah. It's good."

He licks his lips and bites down on his lower one. "Get going, Fischer," he tells me.

"Seriously. What's the rush?"

His handsome face collapses with what I'm guessing is a wave of pleasure. "Need to get off…need to come…"

"Looks like you're gonna…" I say, far more turned on by that look on his face than I should be.

He blinks rapidly, like he's trying to get a mental grip and struggling. "Focus on yourself. Jerk that dick."

Admittedly, it was never like this when Gibson and I used to jerk off on opposite sides of our dorm room on separate beds. This is more… a lot more . I feel our connection in my chest, and it's something I didn't know I needed. I've never seen Matty like this, and it's making me wonder if I've dreamed about it, because it feels familiar.

I pick up the pace until I'm matching his.

"Yeah?" he pants.

"Yeah," I breathe, staring right back at him.

His brow draws, and my thighs drop open wider, my knee pressing hard against his. The woman on his other side comes with a high-pitched cry, and I'm unsuccessful stifling my groan as I grope myself shamelessly in front of him—in front of everyone .

"People are watching us," he whispers. "This is so fucking hot."

No shit. I'm burning up in this goddamn suit. There's a fevered brightness in his cheeks, a glisten of sweat. Wet, bitten lips that make me think of sucking. Shit, he's beautiful. I find this acutely noticeable now in a way I'd only appreciated in passing before. The way his gaze drops to my mouth sends a surge through my groin, and I hear a sound of surprise coming from me.

"Fuck," he groans, his head dropping back, and his jaw clenching. I glance down to watch cum fly from his cock, shooting a foot into the air before another thick, sticky spurt drips from his tip, hanging on as he rubs his thumb firmly toward his cockhead.

My body reacts like it's wired into his. A deeply pleasurable warmth spills through my core, and the sudden ripple of contractions that shouldn't feel good, but are what I too often find myself chasing, force an eruption of my own that doesn't fly as far but makes up for its lack of distance in sheer volume. I make a huge mess on my pants.

He laughs, head digging into my arm as he falls into me while I'm still trying to catch my breath. "What?" I ask, wrapping my arm around his head and locking it against my shoulder.

"You sure know how to show your brother a good time," he says.

"You're definitely judging me now. This was your idea."

"I feel a lot better. That was awesome."

"Little shit," I say, mind and body buzzing. I shove him away so I can figure out how to deal with all the jizz on my black slacks, but my thoughts aren't exactly in working order.

The weirdest thing about what just happened is it doesn't feel weird. It feels okay to laugh about it, and the affection filling up my chest feels good, too.

Matthew takes off his jacket, then unbuttons his shirt. As he peels it off his body, I watch in confusion. "What are you doing?"

"Helping you."

He's wearing a t-shirt under his dress shirt until he takes that off, too. He uses it to clean me up before I realize I could have done that myself. The only thing I manage to do on my own is get my dick back into my boxer briefs. "I can do it," I half-ass offer without making a move.

"All right, well, I'm not sure if I helped, but at least it's less obvious what happened."

"I need another drink."

"Okay, princess. But can we have one someplace normal?"

"Let's go back to my place. I'm a mess."

He stands first, putting his dress shirt and jacket back on but not bothering to button anything.

He holds a hand out to help me up, and I take it. Once I'm standing, he straightens me out while I remain still and let him. He fastens my pants, buckles my belt, tugs my lapels, and carefully tucks a wild wave of hair behind my ear. "You look good," he says again, unprompted.

My eyes narrow minutely, just for a moment. "Are you good?"

"Sure. Ready to go?"

"Your uh…cock's still out."

Matthew holds my gaze as he tucks himself back in and zips his pants. "We good now?"

"Yeah. You sure you're okay?" Maybe this wasn't one of our better ideas.

He picks up my cane and nods toward the exit. "Let's go."

In the elevator, he leans against the wall, facing me and says, "You win. You're not uptight."

I drag my gaze up from his exposed left nipple. "Sorry. Maybe I went too far."

"You're fine," he says.

"You're quiet." I tell him, slightly accusatory.

"Just thinking. There was a lot to process up there."

"Yeah," I mumble. I'm processing too much, too. Hence the need for another drink. "You're not gonna ditch me at my place are you? You'll come up?"

He meets my eyes without raising his head. "Wanna watch some TV or something?"

"That sounds good. After I shower."

"Want me to spend the night, too?"

"Do you want to?"

He shrugs. "It's easier. I planned on it. Sort of thought we'd be out later."

"If you don't want to, I could always get you a car," I offer.

He thinks about it too long. Maybe he's torn. Maybe he's trying to figure out an excuse to leave. "Like I mentioned, I'm almost done with my piece. I was planning to finish it up tomorrow."

Excuse it is… "And then I get to see it?" I ask as the elevator reaches the ground floor.

"If you behave."

"I'll be a saint," I say with a solemn nod.

He makes a face. "Saints are no fun."

The question about whether he'll spend the night remains unanswered.

"Jesus fucking Christ , Fischer."

One second I'm getting up to take a piss, the next, I'm on my back, staring up at Matthew's face. The living room chandelier frames his head like a glittering crystal halo.

His hands are on my face, and he's examining me closely. "Can you see me?"

"Yeah," I croak.

"What's my name?"

"Matty… What happened?"

"You hit your head."

"What?"

"Stay here, you're bleeding. I see the cut."

I'm not going anywhere. I'm only half-oriented. I know who I am and where I am, I just don't get how I got here or what the hell is happening.

He's back suddenly, pressing a damp dishtowel to my hairline muttering about my cane. He's blurry, but I'm also quite drunk. One thing I do remember is that I didn't stop drinking once we got back to my place.

"Do you have a first aid kit?" Matthew asks.

I shake my head, but that's a mistake, and his grip on my chin gets firm fast. "Don't. Move."

He's sitting on my lap, straddling me, hunched over and holding pressure to my forehead. "Hmph," I grunt.

"Does it hurt?"

"Does what hurt?"

"Fischer…you're scaring me. Do you think you can sit up?

"You're kinda heavy."

He scoots back and helps me sit. With some adjustments, we wind up close, knees bent, with my legs underneath his longer ones. It's the kind of position where, if he were a woman, and we were both naked, and I were feeling up to it, I could pull him a few inches closer, and we'd be fucking. "What happened?" I ask so I stop picturing that.

"Your cane caught the coffee table leg. You face planted."

"Great."

"Yeah, well, it knocked you out. And you're bleeding."

"How long was I out?"

"A minute? I don't know. I wasn't counting. I was about to call 911 when you came to."

"Sorry."

"You should be," he mumbles, his thumb worrying my cheekbone like that's where the injury is, but I definitely feel it now, throbbing well above my other eye, where he's still holding pressure. I squeeze his calves. "I'm okay."

"You could have a concussion."

"I'll survive."

He scowls and shakes his head. "You don't know that."

Liking the feel of his calf muscles, I give them another squeeze and a rub that I hope helps calm him down. "Maybe you should be a nurse," I say.

His breath puffs on my mouth, and my stomach clenches. I'm just now realizing his legs are bare. "When did you change into this?"

"When you were in the shower. You don't remember? We watched two episodes of Game of Thrones."

"Oh…" Right. I sort of recall that. His legs are hairy, though, and that's distracting me. His skin is warm, nearly hot. I can't stop touching it. I remember when my legs were strong like this. I played lacrosse in high school. I used to have great legs. Matty's never played a sport, though. He's an artist. A sculptor. He works with heavy things…

"Fischer…"

"Uh-huh?"

"What are you doing?"

I'm rubbing his outer thighs?

"I'm a little out of it," I have to admit.

"I'd move, but this is bleeding like you sliced an artery."

"Don't move," I say.

"Jesus," he says softly. "Are you trying to turn me on, or are you just messing with me?"

"Both, probably," I admit.

"You have a lazy grip," he says. "Same as with your dick."

"Doesn't feel bad, though, does it?" I ask.

"Hmph. No. It doesn't."

"Told you," I murmur. "I know how to masturbate."

"Fischer…"

"Mmhm?"

"You're not behaving yourself."

"I hit my head."

"You're acting like it."

"You do run hot."

"Yeah…" He sighs, his thumb slowing on my face but stroking longer, lower on my cheek, closer to my mouth.

I slide my hands beneath the hem of his shorts, seeking more of his warmth. Wanting him closer. My fingers dig into his muscle, and I reach another hem. His underwear. "Uh-oh. I'm feeling you up, aren't I?"

"Yep."

"You have good legs."

"Thanks."

"Is this okay?"

"Yeah, it's fine," he says. "We've done everything else tonight…"

"Not everything," I say, remembering the conversation we had earlier at the club when I got ballsy and told him about the congressman. Had I told him about Grindr? I can't remember. It's been a long time since I was this close to touching another man's cock. And this is Matty …

My best friend. My brother .

I swallow and pull my hands back to rest on his knees.

"Tease," he says quietly.

"Sorry," is my honest response.

He lifts the pressure to examine the cut again, and I notice his blown pupils.

"Still bleeding?" I ask.

"No. It's tiny. You just nicked it."

"You don't think I need stitches?"

"Nah."

He lowers both his hands and presses them to the rug. We stare at each other. "Do you think something's going on here?" he asks.

"You're asking me that now ? I thought you said I could have a concussion."

"What would Gavin think?"

I grin. "Maybe I should go to bed before I get myself in trouble."

"Pretty sure you're not supposed to sleep after a head injury."

"We should Google that," I say. "I think it's an old wives' tale."

"Well, you would know," he says.

"Why would I know?"

"Because of all the reading you do."

"Nerdy reading?"

"Super nerdy," he says, voice soft, gaze falling to my mouth again.

My stomach does the clench thing. My hands want to scrape their way down his thighs. I wonder wildly if I used to be gay, hit my head when the bomb went off, turned straight, and now I've gone and reversed it. But it's far more likely I have a concussion, and I'm not thinking clearly.

In which case, I need to back out of this . I do like to fuck with Matthew, but I don't want to yank his chain. Not when he's once again managed to become the most important person in my life.