Page 42 of A Totally Platonic Thing
I didn’t let go of him.
“You’re missing the point,” Chris complained when he subsided, sounding horribly, disturbingly like Emma. “You’re not actually attracted to me. So you must be desperate.”
I mulled that over for a second. I knew he was full of shit, but if first my ex-girlfriend and then Chris both used the same line on me, I had to at least consider that they might have, well, a point. That I was missing, apparently.
Nope, still full of shit. “And what’s wrong with you that you think your best fr—your roommate has to be desperate to get off with you? That anyone would have to be desperate to get off with you? Guys get off together sometimes. I mean straight guys, yes, Chris, I’m aware that gay guys get off with each other all the time, thank you.”
They did. We totally did. I’d jerked off with a friend in high school once or twice. Of course, that had a lot to do with being fifteen and only having access to one source of pornography and not being able to keep it together when we saw digital boobs.
We totally did. This wasn’t so weird.
I finally let myself relax a little. I loved Chris. I loved having an orgasm. I’d proved a point, too, sort of, even though I’d kind of lost track of what that point had been and who’d proved what, precisely.
Anyway. Competition, affection, annoyance, worry, and the sensory stimulus of an objectively attractive human body…and possibly a little bit of being hard up, although I wouldn’t admit that to Chris.
“And bi guys,” Chris said, sounding oddly wistful. Oookay. He had a thing for bi dudes that he’d never told me about? Bi dudes like Aidan, maybe? And there went my relaxation. “Why are you so tense? You just came.” Chris petted my arm some more. “Anyway, okay, fine. Guys get off together. Whatever. I thought that was only in gay porn.”
“It’s not only in gay porn, but believe me, it’s a lot different in real life. More awkward avoiding eye contact, less crossing swords.”
“Well, that’s a letdown.” Chris paused for a moment. “Why’d you stop yourself from calling me your best friend? You told me I was your best friend the other day. Did that change?”
What?And that quaver in Chris’s voice…Jesus, no. “Chris, I stopped myself from calling myselfyourbest friend. Sebastian’s your best friend, right? I mean, of course you’re mine—my best friend. But not everything’s equal all the time. And that’s fine.”
Chris gasped dramatically and hugged my arm tight against his chest. “Oh my God, Lucas, you aresodramatic!” Was he listening to himself? I opened my mouth, but he kept going. “Sebastian’s my best friend, of course he is. But you’re, like, you’re myLucas. You’re—there’s no category for a Lucas. Lucases transcend categories,” he said loftily. “Like best friends. That’s a category.”
“Yes, thank you, I get it,” I said dryly, swallowing the lump in my throat and trying to cover for the fact that my chest clenched up and my eyes stung a little. I shifted over a little more so I could press my cheek against his, wrap myself around him completely. “Thanks,” I added softly.
“As long as I transcend categories too?”
Okay, he had to be kidding me. I’d come on his ass while fingering him after spanking him, and I was straight, and he wasn’t, and we were roommates who’d moved in together the same day we met. If a category existed for that, I had no idea what to call it.
I started to laugh. “Yeah, dude. You definitely transcend categories. You’re so pretentious sometimes, you know that?”
Chris shook with laughter of his own. God, that felt good, having him all warm and happy in my arms after how worried and upset I’d been.
“I know. That’s why you l—like me so much.”
“It really is. That and you wash my underwear and sort it by color.”
“What’s the point in doing two loads of—and all your underwear is black or gray—never mind, shut up!” He poked me in the arm, and I tickled him again, and it devolved into rolling around and laughing.
And when we finally extricated ourselves and stood up, and started moving around and getting cleaned up and brushing our teeth, everything almost felt normal again.
Almost. Except that every time Chris brushed by me my skin tingled. And every time I got close enough to catch a hint of the scent of him, I wanted to hold him again. He kept sneaking little glances at me out of the corner of his eye, and he seemed skittish, tensing up when I got too close.
I finished up in the bathroom first and went to flick off the light, crawling into bed and flopping flat on my back.
I’d come on Chris’s ass on this bed, my bed, half an hour ago.
My cock started getting hard again.
Jesus. My whole body felt like it was sinking through my mattress, my head spinning gently. And yet that one part of it still wanted to…wanted to…yeah. It wanted Chris.
It wanted me to pull the blankets back on his side of the bed, scoot over a few inches so the invitation would be clear.
No. I was not going to think about the rest of what my cock seemed to want me to do.
What the fuck would happen if I let it run the show? Nothing good. I couldn’t use Chris for…what, some kind of experiment? A surrogate, thank you so fucking much Emma, to replace the fact that I didn’t have the time to dedicate to finding a girlfriend? Or even the time to find a hookup here and there?
