Page 9

Evan

“ W ill you stop moving?” James grumbles as I sigh and roll over for what has to be the hundredth time tonight. It wobbles the entire mattress, but thankfully the bed isn’t squeaking like the one in the hotel we stayed in a few weeks back.

“Sorry,” I murmur. “Go back to sleep.”

“That implies I was asleep to begin with,” he chuckles. Then the mattress wobbles as he sits up, propping his back against the solid, timber headboard. “What’s up?”

“I dunno,” I answer, and it comes out mildly irritable. “I’m just…restless.”

I can’t quite pinpoint why. I’ve felt antsy ever since the bonfire earlier tonight. It’s like something is niggling at the back of my brain, but I really can’t put words to the feeling.

“Did you have too many marshmallows?” James asks teasingly, in the same sort of tone he used to use with Mia when she was little. It makes me smile.

“Fuck off, I can handle my sugar just fine.”

“Uh huh. My memories of Mia’s eighth birthday say differently.”

“You dared me to eat that cake.”

“Not the whole thing!”

“Yeah, well, that’s not what I heard at the time.”

On top of the lollies I’d consumed, and the litre of soft drink, I’d wound up throwing it all up and feeling like shit for days. I still blame him for the miscommunication.

“So…” he cocks his head, “what’s wrong, then? If it’s not the sugar, I mean.”

Giving up all pretence of trying to sleep, I sit up next to him. We’re both fully-grown men, with him a bit broader in the shoulders and thicker in the middle than me, and we take up the bulk of the space of the queen bed. It really does make me think fondly of all our youthful sleepovers, like I’m reclaiming an old part of our friendship which we’ve lost over the years.

“I don’t know,” this time my answer is almost a whine. “I’m just… keyed up , I guess.”

“Keyed up?” Jay repeats cautiously, and his tone is a little strained. “Like…horny?”

My dick twitches as though he’s answering for me, even while a metaphorical lightbulb illuminates above my head. I almost sob with relief to put words to what’s bothering me. I feel a bit silly that I couldn’t recognise sexual frustration for what it was. “Fuck. Yeah. Yeah, I think that’s it.”

Being around teenagers trying to have conversations about sex right under my nose must have triggered me subconsciously.

James shifts a little. Squirms , even.

Huh.

“How’d you know?” I ask him, and my heart speeds up with anticipation. I don’t know why I’m suddenly anxious and excited to hear his answer, nor why my dick plumps up at my suspicions, either. “Are you—?”

“I haven’t had sex in almost a year,” he blurts out, and even in the darkness of the room, I can tell he’s blushing. He gets this lilt to his voice any time he’s embarrassed. It’s a tell. “So, yeah, I’m pretty much perpetually horny. Especially when…” he stops himself. “Never mind.”

“No.” For some reason, I lower my voice, even though we’re already speaking in hushed tones. I can feel blood rushing to my ears, aided by the increased beating of my heart. “Especially when what?”

He exhales, and I know he’s about to admit something he’s not proud of. “Especially when there’s a warm body in my bed.”

I’m a little confused at his embarrassment. “A warm bod—? Oh. Me?”

“Well, yeah, I guess. You’re the first person I’ve shared a bed with in a long time.”

“That makes sense,” I shrug, as though hearing that sharing a bed with me makes him horny is no big deal. Because it’s not. It’s actually flattering. “Plus, we can’t exactly go looking for hookups while we’re pretending to be engaged, can we? Not locally, anyway. Knowing our luck, someone from the school will see us out and about or something.”

Tension bleeds from his shoulders and I can feel the atmosphere in the room shifting as he relaxes. “Exactly,” he says. “But, you know, we could take turns in the shower or something. Try and get some sleep after that.”

Ugh . I’ve spent so much time alone with my right hand that I’m starting to think I’m engaged to it instead of my best friend.

Ding-ding-ding! The lightbulb in my brain flares back to life.

“Or,” I start speaking, hoping he doesn’t freak out because this idea is pretty damn genius, if I do say so myself, “we could help each other out.”

His breathing hitches. “ What?! ”

“We’re both horny, right?”

“Ev…”

“And we’re both probably sick of the feeling of our own hands, right?”

“Evan…”

“And we love each other, right?”

“As best friends, Ev, not—”

“ Just handies, Jay. Can we” —I lick my lips and give up trying to hide just how excited I am at the idea of having someone else touch my cock— “can we try it? Please? And if it’s too weird, we can make one of those silence pacts, like the one we made when we were kids.”

His breathing is laboured, and I can see the outline of his chest rising and falling rapidly. “I don’t know…”

Brazenly, I shuffle closer and reach for his cock, and I’m not really surprised to find that he’s just as hard inside his boxers as I am in mine. He cuts off his strangled protest and whimpers when I give him a tentative squeeze, assuming he likes being touched the same ways I do.

“Let me try, Jay,” I whisper, stroking him through the satin. “It doesn’t feel like you hate it.”

“Fuck,” he arches his hips. “O-okay. J-just tonight.”

In my moment of relief and celebration, I stop thinking altogether and press my mouth over his in a joyful kiss. He stills, and I start to pull away, ready to apologise for taking this ‘helping each other out’ thing too far already, when his left hand cups the back of my head and presses my face back into his.

His tongue sneaks into my mouth and suddenly my accidental kiss turns into one of the most passionate kisses I’ve ever had in my life. It only gets better when his right hand snakes in between us and grasps my dick over the top of my boxers. He strokes me the same way I’m stroking him, without an ounce of hesitation, and it’s exactly what I needed to feel all night.

“Fuck,” he mutters against my lips when we pause the kissing to breathe, “Ev, fuck, this feels…”

“I know,” I agree. “God, yes, Jay. Like that. Just…tighten up your grip a little. Yes . Just like that. Ungh , don’t you dare stop.”

“Can…can you…Ev…m-my balls…I…”

His plaintive begging is only making me hornier. Then his words register. “Yeah. Right. Pants off. Good idea.”

We release each other reluctantly so we can shimmy out of our boxers, then we practically maul each other’s mouths as we reconnect. “I-I’ve got lotion,” he pants at our next pause for oxygen, “if that’ll make this…easier.”

“I could come just from this,” I admit, surprised to hear how ragged and wrecked I sound just from having his hand on my dick and his tongue tangling with mine. “Your hand feels so good, baby.”

“Oh, fuck,” he arches his back, precum spilling from his head and down his shaft, and I grin as I reach lower to fondle his balls as a reward for the delightful reaction.

“You like that? When I call you baby?”

He whimpers. The non-verbal response probably means that he’s embarrassed. He fucking shouldn’t be.

“Fuck,” I tell him, “Jay, that’s so hot.”

“I…I…”

Cutting off his stammering, I slam my mouth over his again, moaning as he tightens his grip on my cock and increases his speed. He’s a quick study, my best friend.

“Jesus fuck,” I wrench my mouth from his and nuzzle my bearded jaw against his cheek, pressing my lips up against his ear. “ Baby, ” I croon, “just like that.”

“ Ah! ” he shouts and arches his back as the warmth of his release coats my fist. I rush to cover his mouth with mine again, mindful that we need to stay quiet, and he moans and whimpers into the kiss while I milk him dry.

It’s those whimpers that do me in and send me over the edge, coming all over his hand as I groan right back into his mouth.

I reluctantly end the kiss when my dick becomes too sensitive for his continued stroking, placing my sticky hand over his to stop his movement. Then I flop back onto my pillow, bringing my mess of our mixed fluids with me, and leaving Jay with some of his own as I dazedly murmur, “Holy fuck.”

***

We don’t talk about it.

It’s not for a lack of trying on my part, but we both crashed to sleep after cleaning up in the rudimentary ensuite attached to our room. Then we overslept our alarm and the morning was a mad rush of getting our shit together and then making sure the kids we were supposed to be in charge of were all lined up for the bus on time.

Obviously, we couldn’t talk about it on the bus, nor could we talk about it on the drive back to James’ place with Mia in the car.

And in the weeks since then, we just…haven’t mentioned it.

So, we might not talk about it, but it’s pretty much all I can think about.

I try in vain to remember every moment of it. How Jay’s mouth tasted —minty and warm— how he smelled, the weight of his cock (thicker and longer than mine) in my hand. The sounds he made, the feeling of his dick swelling and then unloading over my fist…

I wonder if he was as moved by the experience as I was.

Because holy fuck: I made out with my best friend and exchanged a mutual handjob with him, and I fucking loved it!

I want to do it again.

…Can we do it again?

Like, okay, the night at camp was two best mates helping each other out. Bro jobs, or whatever. But, if we do it again, does it mean…more? Does it have to? Can’t it just be an extension of the lie we’re telling people? I mean, everyone involved with the school already thinks we’re sleeping together. This just adds to the authenticity. That way, if Joey asks more questions about our relationship, we won’t be lying. I’ll feel much better about it if we’re not.

“Earth to Evan,” Jack waves a hand in front of my face, and he looks thoroughly amused when I blink back to reality, taking in the indoor soccer pitch and the team surrounding me. “Ah, you’re with us again.”

I cringe. “Sorry,” I tell him, glancing at my watch. “I’ve got a bit on my mind.”

“Yeah, well,” Brett huffs and ties his long, dark hair up in his customary man bun, “try and concentrate on the game for the next sixty minutes, yeah?”

I salute him then, when his back is turned, turn the gesture into my raised middle finger.

Jack chuckles. “That’s right,” he says as I finish tying my boots, “you were hanging out with teenagers the last time we really chatted, weren’t you?”

I snort. “I guess I’ve picked up some of their habits.”

“That’s okay,” Connor teases as he pats his new son-in-law (who is a couple of years older than him) on the shoulder, “this one likes to channel his three-year-olds, too.”

Jack rolls his eyes. “I’ll teach them to call you Gramps, Con. You know I will.”

I can’t help but laugh at the scrunched, unimpressed expression on Connor’s face as we all make our way onto the pitch.

Even though I mocked Brett earlier, I do manage to put all thoughts of Jay out of my head for the duration of the game. This one is fast paced, with the other team seeming to channel Brett’s competitive energy. I spend the entire time focused solely on where the ball is and how to get it into the goal. I even manage to keep James from my thoughts during the half-time break, allowing myself to be distracted by the goings on the guys’ lives.

Jack talks about his boys, acting a little strangely when Connor mentions his nanny, but otherwise seems to be well and truly settling into the single dad lifestyle. Brett asks Connor how wedded bliss is suiting him, and he laughs and admits that his and Will’s relationship is very much the same as it was before they got married, but jokes that it’s nice to be able to say that he has a sexy fireman husband (and brushes Jack aside when Jack reminds him that Will has retired).

“What about you?” Connor asks Brett. “Still single and loving it?”

Brett shrugs. “I miss having adult company sometimes,” he admits. “Tom’s going through a Spiderman phase and, while that means I get to watch a lot of Marvel movies, conversations at my place are pretty limited. And my work is kind of solitary.”

I realise belatedly that I have no idea what it is he does for a living. I’ve always assumed, from the way he dresses and speaks, that he’s a tradie of some sort. “Sorry,” I apologise, “what is it you do again?”

“I’m a data architect for the uni up the road,” he gestures vaguely southbound, but that could mean a couple of different universities. “It’s a fancy title for someone who basically just collects, sorts and stores data. There’s a bit of software development and management involved, too. I don’t really need to talk to anyone much, and I’m pretty sure the faculty forget I exist.”

I blink. I’ve got to learn to stop judging books by their covers. “Wow. That sounds…complicated.” Pulling out my phone, I Google ‘data architect’ and then blink again at the average salary listed on SEEK. “Yeah. Yeah, wow. That’s…more complicated than being an accountant, for sure.”

He snorts. “Nah. I’d be a shit accountant.” Checking his watch, he drops his water bottle to his feet and stands up again, shaking out his legs and shoulders. “C’mon, then. Let’s win this thing.”

Sadly, we do not win. We draw at two-all and basically collapse on the bench on the sidelines after the final whistle blows.

“That was a tight game,” Brett says, grinning despite his exhaustion. “I’m buzzed now.”

“I could sleep for, like, a week,” Connor moans. “I don’t know how the professionals do this.”

“Speaking of,” Brett says, “Did you hear they’re starting up a professional team on the Coast now? It’s probably still a year or so away from happening, but we could get season tickets for them instead of for the Roar in Brissie. Travelling up there every couple of weeks is a pain in the arse.”

“That’s assuming they’re any good,” Jack says, though I already know that he’s on board. Jack’s mad on almost all sporting events.

“It would be easier to bring the boys to games if we’re travelling locally,” I argue, just to further convince him.

His eyes light up. “True.”

“I can bring Tom, too,” Brett says. “Plus, I hear they’re talking about bringing over someone from the UK Premier League to coach the Gold Coast team.”

“Have we run out of Aussie coaches?” Henry, our goalie for the day and Connor’s best friend, saunters over. He’s a great guy, for a lawyer, but he only joins us every so often. He’s got a toddler at home, and it sounds like he’s super busy with his job, though, so none of us mind that he’s in and out of the social games. It’s not like we don’t have lives on the side.

“Probs not, but it seems to be universally accepted that the Premier League is superior to the A-League,” Brett is answering him. “I just hope they don’t fill the team with newbies and ring-ins. It would be nice to have a solid local team.”

Henry snorts. “Just so you don’t have to travel up to Brissie?”

Brett laughs and nods. “Pretty much.”

Connor, who has been typing away on his phone, scrunches up his nose. “Are they seriously trying to call the team The Thunder?” He looks up at us dubiously. “Don’t they know that it sounds like the Thunder from Down Under? You know, the Vegas show with the male strippers?” He points a finger at Jack. “Don’t you dare make a gay joke about me knowing about the strippers.”

“I was only going to ask if you’ve been to Vegas,” Jack tells him with faux innocence.

Henry, meanwhile, is frowning. “Isn’t there a cricket team called the Gold Coast Thunder?”

Connor makes another face. “Who cares about cricket?” He yawns dramatically. “ Boring .”

I reach out to high-five him because, yeah: cricket is boring as fuck. As far as I’m concerned, it’s a torture device, not a sport. Like, if I had any sort of super confidential information, that would be the way to get it out of me. In fact, I’d rather watch paint dry while having each of my toenails removed by force.

‘No, no, please no. Don’t make me watch cricket. I’ll tell you anything you want!’

I fight the urge to snicker at my own internal thoughts.

At least they’re not about James.

Ah, fuck it.

***

Strangely, the next time we see each other, things aren’t awkward. I thought they might be, but James greets me the same way he always does, and conversation flows as easily as always, too.

Today’s event for the school is simple tuckshop duty. We’re assigned to assist with another couple. Like the school, the tuckshop is run with military precision. We each have our roles assigned to us for the day, with me serving at the window and Jay packing orders, then all of us doing clean up and stocktaking, the couple of hours of mandatory volunteering are over relatively quickly.

James’ phone pings as we make our way back through the school grounds and to his car. He reads the text, then looks at me. “Mia wants to sleepover at Rose’s tonight.”

“It’s a Friday, so why not?” I ask with a shrug. “Sounds better than when she was dating whatshisname.”

“Christian,” he replies, distractedly, typing out a reply on his phone. “And they only went out three times before she enrolled here.”

“And she hasn’t gone out with anyone since?”

He shakes his head. “Nope. She really wants to get into NIDA, so everything’s about getting noticed for her drama skills.” He tucks his phone back into his pocket. “She says she has a change of clothes and a spare charger in her bag. I reckon they’ve been planning this all week.”

“Give them a bit of credit,” I laugh, stepping up to the passenger side of his car, “they would have come up with the plan last night. Otherwise, why wouldn’t she just ask at the beginning of the week?”

“True,” he acknowledges as we both climb into our seats. The doors close with muted thuds. “Well, my night just opened up. What are your plans?”

My stomach flips, flashbacks of the night at camp getting me all excited despite my best attempts to not make things weird or get my hopes up.

“I was gonna go home and go over some ledgers for work, but that’s sounding less and less appealing.”

The corner of his mouth twitches. “Pizza and beer at my place?”

I lean my head back and make an exaggerated drooling sound à la Homer Simpson. “You’d better not be fucking with me,” I warn him. “You know pizza is my weakness.” Carbs and cheese for life, and all that.

“I promise. I’ll even buy.”

Folding my hands over my chest, I mime swooning, “Be still my heart.”

***

The pizza is, as expected, just what I needed. Delivered piping hot, the cheese is perfectly oozy, and there’s an explosion of sauce and grease and deliciousness in my mouth on my first bite. I moan my enjoyment before James has even closed the door on the delivery guy.

“You sound indecent,” he complains, but he’s laughing as he steals the box from my hands and opens it to snatch his own slice of pepperoni-topped goodness.

“You’d know,” I mutter around my mouthful without thinking.

He freezes with his drooping triangle of perfection held halfway to his mouth. His cheeks flame and he averts his gaze. “I thought we weren’t talking about it.”

Fuck.

I polish off my slice quickly, doing the ‘ha ho ha ho’ of having put something far too hot inside my mouth as I chew. Swallowing, I hold my hands in surrender. “Sorry,” I tell him, “But…I do want to talk about it.”

Closing his eyes, he seems resigned to his fate, even though he tries to protest with a weak, “Ev…”

“Wasn’t it awesome for you? Because I haven’t come that hard in…fuck, I can’t even remember.”

His blush deepens, running down his neck and beneath the collar of his shirt. It’s adorable.

How have I never realised just how cute he is?

“You know it was,” he mumbles and sets his unbitten slice of pizza back inside the cardboard box, shutting the lid to preserve the warmth. “But we also said—”

“I said if it was weird or bad we wouldn’t talk about it. But it wasn’t either of those things.”

Finally, he brings his grey-green eyes up to meet mine. They flash with something . It’s an undefinable emotion. “You don’t think it’s weird?”

“Why? Because we’re two men who, until that happened, said we were both straight?”

I haven’t really given much thought to what enjoying kissing and jerking off another man means for my sexual identity, because in the end I’m still me, but maybe James feels differently.

He rolls his eyes. “Because you’ve been my best friend since pre-school.”

Oh , I think.

“Oh,” I say out loud. Then I frown. “Why would that make it weird? If anything, it proves the point about what we’ve been telling the school. We’re just that comfortable with each other.”

“I…” he starts to argue, then closes his mouth. “Well, I guess that’s true.”

“And it’s only weird if we make it weird, right? Like…we can just be guys pretending to be in love and engaged, who get each other off behind closed doors. Nothing strange about that at all.”

My best friend chuckles a little at that pronouncement. “Nothing strange about that?” he echoes with incredulity. “Really? Nothing? ”

“We’re best friends, Jay. This is the ultimate friends-with-benefits deal, isn’t it? We’ve already acknowledged that we can’t risk hooking up with anyone locally, and we both clearly need a bit of a release that isn’t by our own hands, so…why not keep helping each other out while we’re doing this fake engagement thing? And when it all ends, we’ll still be mates, and we can go and date again.”

“ Riiiight ,” he stretches the word out, arching one of his perfect, blond eyebrows. “It’s that simple, is it?”

“Does it have to be complicated? I get off, you get off, we’re all each other’s got until we can call the engagement off. Hey,” I grin, “that was almost poetic.”

“Yeah, in the same way one times ten is almost one hundred.”

The fact that he’s cracking jokes is a good sign.

“So?” I prod in much the same way as I used to do when we were kids. “You in?”

He licks his lips, then nods almost imperceptibly. My whoop of victory is forestalled by his index finger being held up in front of my face. “We’re going to need ground rules.”

“Like?”

“Like not telling Mia. It’ll confuse her.”

“She’s practically an adult,” I argue, but then give it a little further thought. “But she might get the wrong impression, or ask questions we don’t have answers to, so…okay.”

“And it’s just helping each other out. Nothing else about our friendship or our fake engagement changes.”

“Well, duh. It’s not like we need to take each other on dates or anything. You’re already guaranteed entry into my pants.” I waggle my eyebrows at him.

He rolls his eyes. “And there’s no expectation of…penetration,” he cringes as he says the word, and takes a sip of his beer, probably in a bid to cover his discomfort.

He is so not getting away with that.

“You’ve never had a girl play with your prostate while blowing you?”

He sputters and chokes on his beer, spraying his mouthful down the front of his shirt. “What the fuck, Ev?” he coughs out.

“It was a serious question. You don’t need to be gay or even bi to enjoy anal.” Tilting my head to the side, I ask, “You ever fucked a girl in the arse before?”

Making him blush is my new favourite pastime.

“ Ev… ”

“I have,” I shrug. “Both things.”

“Jesus Christ…”

“I’m just saying, it’s not off the table if you wanna experiment with me.”

“Y-you’re saying—?”

“That you can play with my arse, yeah. No expectation for me to play with yours if you’re not comfortable with that.”

The amber liquid in James’ bottle sloshes around as he shakily puts it down on the coffee table next to the pizza box. “That’s…kind of intense, Ev.”

“Nah. It’d probably be in a bed.”

He blinks at me, then groans. “I’m being serious here!”

“So am I.”

“You just cracked a really dodgy dad joke!”

“I’m a stepdad now, mate. I’m getting my practice in.”

He gives a great big sigh and leans his head back, asking the ceiling, “How do I keep getting myself into these situations?”

The ceiling does not answer him. Or, if it does, I don’t hear it.

Reaching for his beer again, he finally drops onto the couch seat next to mine, leaving half a seat’s space between us. I take that as invitation to reopen the pizza box and I take another slice. It’s not quite as good now that the cheese has had time to congeal, but it’s still delicious.

After taking a couple of deep draws from the bottle, Jay asks, “Did…did you mention blow jobs before?”

“I did.” As if to punctuate how okay I am with them, I lewdly suck sauce and grease from my index finger and then my thumb. James’ cheeks turn a darker shade of pink, but his pupils dilate and he shifts in his seat.

He liked that.

“Do you…” his gaze drifts to my lips and his Adam’s apple bobs. “I mean, is that, um, something you want to do? A-as part of this” —he waves his hand in the air between us— “arrangement?”

“I’m game for getting each other off in every possible way we can,” I admit. “I mean, who better to try new things with than my best friend? We can laugh about it if it sucks or doesn’t go the way we think it should, and we’re comfortable enough with each other that we can ask questions or whatever as we go. It’s a no judgement zone. It’s just Ev and Jay having some fun.”

For the first time since we started this conversation, he seems to relax. A slow smile tugs at his lips, bringing out the dimple in his left cheek. “That does sound nice,” he says.

I nod and smile back at him, without a hint of playfulness. It feels like my expression is somehow both soft and serious when I tell him, “I mean it, Jay. You’re my best friend. There’s nobody else I’d trust with a friends-with-benefits deal like this.”

“I wouldn’t trust anyone else with this, either.” James’ confession is quiet and almost hesitant. He’s always been the more cautious one of the pair of us. (The irony that he’s the one who became a teen parent is not lost on me. Especially not now that we’re “engaged” for Mia’s sake. If there had been bets on it happening back then, both of us would have assumed it would be me.)

“So,” a grin starts to spread across my face, “you’re in? Friends with bennies?”

James being James, he just snorts and grabs his previously discarded piece of pizza. “Eat your dinner,” he answers after finally swallowing his first bite, “and we’ll see.”