Page 25 of Coming to Grips
“All right, step back,” Kyle says. He squirts shampoo into his hands and sets to work, scrubbing with his fingertips. The tingles travel from Chase’s big head to his little head. Let the distraction begin...
“Rinse,” Kyle says, nudging him into the water and then working his hands through Chase’s hair to make sure all the shampoo is gone.
And then the massage starts. First the conditioner and the scalp massage, then the neck. Chills skitter down Chase’s body despite the warm steamy environment, and a whoosh of satisfaction and relaxation washes over him.
He needs something worse than horse shit and hobbits to distract him though. Instead, he recalls Anna with the hard eyes and the erratic behavior. He sighs in relief as his dick remains limp, but when Kyle’s fingers dig into the tired muscles of his shoulders and his strong hands squeeze and work Chase’s good arm, all he can focus on is how awesome it feels. His scalp tingles and a zing of electricity shoots down his spine. And, fuck, he’s instantly sporting a half-chub.
Is there any damned point in trying to will away his arousal while Kyle kneads the base of his skull and the back of his neck with his thumbs? Chase’s head falls forward, enjoying Kyle’s touch.
Upper right arm, upper left. Kyle squeezes and rubs. When Kyle handles his injured arm this time, Chase doesn’t tense up, just breathes through it. Closing his eyes, he lets himself take pleasure from Kyle’s hands on his body, innocent as his touch is. It feels so damned good. Chase can admit it, if only to himself, right? Denying his enjoyment seems counter-productive to the purpose of the massage anyway, so why the hell not?
His dick grows thick and heavy between his legs. As long as Kyle stays behind him, he isn’t going to worry about it. Better to not make a big deal out of it. It’s happening. It’s fine. It’sallfine.
* * *
The next week passes in a routine of breakfast and exercises before Kyle heads out to work. Chase passes the days working some of the easier exercises on his own for a second and sometimes a third time, as well as visiting the horse barn for a few hours each day so the horses don’t forget him. He helps out Mick, Jessie, and Joe as best he can, brushing horses and putting away tack. Feeling useless makes him restless and helping out is as good a way as any to combat that. Plus, he’s still getting a paycheck, so he should do something to earn it.
He’s finally gotten past feeling completely exhausted at the end of the day, although he’s worn out enough to sleep like the dead.
And suddenly, it’s rehab day once again, and Chase has been antsy and looking forward to his massage. A low-level buzz simmers beneath his skin all day.
Kyle enters the bathroom and Chase steps forward to keep his crotch away from Kyle’s gaze and to let Kyle wash himself. He visualizes Kyle’s actions by the sounds of the water, and the thought of Kyle’s strong hands running all over his own body, across his pecs, down his abs, over his junk, sends signals to Chase’s groin.
With a huff, Chase gives up on fighting his arousal or being embarrassed any longer. What’s the point? It happens, and they both know it. They’ve shared a handful of showers at this point, and there’s no way Kyle hasn’t noticed.
Of course, a minor firming is one thing. A full blown, hard-as-nails erection is something else. Chase could always go thehorse-shit-and-hobbitsroute again, he supposes. Not that that ever works for long. Not once Kyle’s hands start to work their magic. It’s the calluses that get Chase most—the roughened spots on Kyle’s hands that drag deliciously over Chase’s skin sending electric shocks skittering up and down his spine.
Has Kyle been affected at all? Chase hasn’t been brave enough to risk even a peek. But why should Kyle be hard? None of his actions have been more than helping, maybe enthusiastic helping, but mere helping nonetheless. Kyle’s a gay man, so there’s a difference between touching to help someone and touching for pleasure. And Chase is his best friend, not a potential lay.
There’s a pause in Kyle’s ministrations. “I’m gonna try something and if it’s unwelcome, then elbow me in the gut.”
Before Chase can open his eyes or ask or even imagine what Kyle might try, Kyle’s hand is on Chase’s dick, stroking with the same brisk efficiency he uses for the massages. Chase’s eyes fly open and the air whooshes from his lungs, leaving him light-headed.
Kyle’s hand is on my dick.
Kyle’s strokes slow just slightly, and, if possible, the new pace feels even better. Firm, even, long tugs. Sparks shoot up Chase’s spine.
He should say something. Stop Kyle. Loudly proclaim his heterosexuality.
But he doesn’t. He can’t. Because having someone else touch him so intimately feels so damned good. Great even. His eyes flutter shut again. It feels far better than it should, and he should pull out of Kyle’s grasp, deny he wants this... But he can’t bring himself to open his mouth or move. He can’t make sense of much but the heat and pressure surrounding his dick.
Chase’s heart beats in time to the throbbing in his groin. Kyle’s hand grips and slides along Chase’s dick with practiced ease, because, of course, Kyle masturbates. He’s a red-blooded American man with a healthy libido.
Chase holds himself in check and exhales harder than he meant to in an effort to relieve the decidedly strong urge to thrust into Kyle’s fist. Kyle’s pace increases again as if hearing Chase’s unspoken plea, tugging at his aching flesh quickly and firmly, squeezing tight around the head before plunging down the shaft again.
It’s as if Chase is screwing Kyle’s fist, except he’s not moving. At least he doesn’t think he is; his eyes have rolled to the back of his head and his head is somewhere in the vicinity of the clouds.
Chase’s ass is clenched tightly, his balls are tucked up close to his body, and chills rush over him as his orgasm bears down on him like a pissed off bull after a rodeo clown. Kyle tugs and strokes. His heavy breathing sounds behind Chase, and Chase comes with a guttural groan and the force of a fire hydrant being opened, spurt after spurt of jizz shooting onto the floor of the shower and being washed away by the swirls of water.
He falls forward to lean against the wall and catch his breath, Kyle’s hand dropping away. Fucking hell…that was…yeah…good. He’s still a bit floaty as he hauls air in and out of his lungs.
Kyle shuts off the water and pushes out of the shower.
Chase follows and grabs his towel, covering his head to hide his face under the guise of scrubbing his hair dry.
It hits him. Oh my fucking God—
Kyle has just given him a hand job.
