Page 27 of The Games We Play

Well, let’s just say karma has a great sense of humor tonight.

“Fucking Christ,” he spits out.

They both get up slowly, making their way to the couch. And I’m honestly surprised he didn’t use every excuse to try and back out.

They sit in synchrony and everyone remains quiet. Shane goes to move, but Wes holds out his palm facing him.

“Just sit there for a second,” Wes says angrily. He looks around the room and shakes his head. Someone I don’t know, the one who had to dry hump Daphne reminds Wes this was his idea and he can’t back out. A few people burst out in agreement, talking over each other, putting immense pressure on him.

“Fuck you guys.” He flips the room off.

He huffs, throwing his head back, mutters something inaudible, then begins to toss his neck back and forth, giving himself a pep talk. While he attempts to hype himself up, Shane keeps stealing glances at Mimi, and it’s pissing me off.

“Okay, just sit there. And don’t do anything until I tell you,” Wes reminds Shane, who seems more at ease than I would expect, but maybe he’s like me and he hides his emotions well.

Wes unzips his pants and dips his hand into the front of the splayed denim as he begins palming himself. He rubs himself as his head falls back, resting on the top of the couch. His eyes are closed and he starts moving his hand back and forth.

Shane slowly reaches over, lifting Wes’s shirt, but his head pops up as he swats his hand away. “Don’t fucking touch me. Just give me a fucking minute,” he spits out.

Shane pulls his hand back and holds it up in surrender.

Everyone in the room watches with stalled breath. The air in the room has grown thick and dense. Some are pretending to cover their eyes while peeking through the slits, others seem to be enjoying the anticipation of what’s going to happen.

Wes’s head falls back again, his eyes squeeze shut as he pulls out his cock and begins stroking it.

He’s big, so I’m not surprised that he’s confident being so exposed, but I can tell he’s nervous. His breath is choppy and he’s not fully hard yet. Most of his dick is hidden behind his fist that’s fully wrapped around it as he continues to stroke with shaky hands.

Another minute goes by and his cock grows beyond the size of his hand as he continues to stroke and rub himself. One hand pulls the front of his pants down while the other rubs back and forth over the shaft. His eyes still squeezed shut, but his chest is rising and falling heavier with the sensation he’s providing himself.

Shane watches. His eyes move between Wes’ cock and his face, but I don’t miss the shift in his seat and the quick lick of his bottom lip.

I don’t blame him. Watching anyone do this is stimulating, even if it is the prick Wes doing it. I think everyone in the room is feeling the same way right now, because I’m quite certain most of us have only seen ourselves do this.

“Okay, do it,” Wes breathes out.

Shane blinks quickly, frozen still, unsure of what he should actually do.

“Just do it,” Wes says again more forcefully, making Shane lurch forward. He reaches out, but pauses, and glances up at Wes, giving him a curious look.

“God, you’re such a pussy.” Wes grabs Shane’s hand and presses it to his cock. Shane’s hand wraps around the shaft and begins to pump.

“Ah, fucking Christ,” Wes whisper-grunts as his breath hitches, but he hides the initial pleasure by biting his lip and dipping his head back. His hands are at his sides, fisting the loose material of his pants.

Shane’s hand continues the stroking motion as his chest heaves and his lips part. His body shifts again, moving slightly closer to Wes as desire clears the fog in the air.

I don’t miss the whimper that leaves Wes’ mouth when Shane releases his cock, spits in his hand, then returns and wraps it back around the length of Wes’ cock.

“Oh fuck,” he hisses as his hips pump into Shane’s hand, and there’s an unspoken lust that fills the room.

Shane’s jaw is slacked as he watches himself continue to jerk Wes off, moving his hand from base to tip. He palms the thick, pink crown using the precum as lubricant that leaks from the tip.

Wes’ breath is unsteady as inaudible sounds cast out from his throat. Unable to hold back, he groans, swears under his breath, and finally forces his head upright even though his eyes are still screwed shut.

“Look at me, Wes,” Shane whispers.

Wes shakes his head, so subtle it would be easy to miss.

“Look. At. Me,” Shane repeats in a whisper as he leans in closer. Wes’ head snaps over to him. A look crosses over Shane’s face that I can’t read as his tempo changes, going wilder as he loses himself in the action.

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