Page 75 of Puck Your Feelings

Like this is actually real.

Kane's hands come up to grip my neck, pulling me closer, deepening the kiss with a confidence that makes my knees weak. I grab his hips, tugging his body against mine, and holy fuck, this is actually happening.

The kiss turns heavy fast, all tongue and teeth and desperate little sounds that I'm not entirely sure which one of us is making. Kane kisses like a man with something to prove, and I'm more than happy to be his proving ground.

It's not until I feel my cock hardening, pressing insistently against Kane's thigh, that reality crashes back in.

I break the kiss, stepping back so hastily I get whiplash.

"Shit. Sorry," I mumble, heat flooding my face. "Got a little carried away."

But Kane doesn't move, his hands still hovering where they were on my neck. His eyes are wide, pupils blown, chest rising and falling rapidly as he stares at me, panting.

***

Kane

I'M STARING AT Becker.

I'm staring at Becker wordlessly.

I'm staring at Becker wordlessly, because holy fucking shit, Becker’s hard,because of me, and I have no idea what to do with that information.

My brain is malfunctions like someone just poured Gatorade on a circuit board.

What does that mean?

What does that make me?

I've never gotten another guy hard before.

I've never even thought about getting another guy hard before.

I should probably be having some kind of sexual identity crisis right about now, but the only coherent thought my brain can form is:

That is so. Fucking. Hot.

Without thinking—because if I think about it, I'll chicken out—I launch forward and crash my mouth back against his. His surprised "mmph" turns into a groan as I press my entire body against his, feeling his hard cock against my thigh, which instantly makes my own cock spring to attention.

Like it's been waiting for this moment its entire life.

The kiss is messy and desperate, all tongue and teeth, and I shift my hips until our cocks line up through our clothes. The friction is electric, sending sparks shooting up my spine. Becker's stubble is scraping against my chin in a way that shouldn't be as hot as it is.

"Kane. Jayden," he mumbles against my mouth, grinding his hips forward. "Are you sure—"

"Less talking," I manage to get out between kisses. "More this."

Whatever this is.

He makes a sound that's half laugh, half moan, and starts pushing me backward, walking me across the cabin floor. The backs of my knees hit the bottom bunk, and we collapse onto it in a tangle of limbs, Becker landing on top of me, his weight pressing me into the mattress.

More of this. More of the weight.

Our cocks are now aligned perfectly, the hard length of him rubbing against mine through our athletic shorts and I think I’m the hardest I’ve ever been.

More. More of this.

I might actually die if this stops.