I scrub the damp towel over my head before I toss it onto the floor, pacing around my bedroom, cursing at myself for what just happened in the shower.

Masturbating.

Not that it’s anything new. I’m an eighteen-year-old guy, for fuck’s sake. If a day goes by where I don’t jerk off, something’s wrong.

What was new were the images I conjured up while I pulled myself to the finish line.

Blake.

My best friend. I let images of my best friend with my cock in his mouth get me off.

What the hell is wrong with me?

But this isn’t my fault—not really. It’s Blake’s. For a month now, I haven’t been able to stop these kinds of scenes from popping into my head.

It was a Saturday like any other, and we were chilling in this very room with a laptop tucked between us as we sat shoulder to shoulder on my bed. We had some shitty show pulled up on Netflix—I can’t even remember the name now—when I declared myself bored and suggested we watch something else.

Blake suggested porn; I obviously agreed.

What we didn’t think to check was what kind of porn we were pressing play on.

Gay porn.

Or more specifically, bisexual porn. Two dudes going to town on a chick…and each other.

“You, uh, you wanna change it?” Blake asked when he realized what exactly it was we were watching.

I swallowed the lump stuck in my throat, taking note of my already throbbing cock straining against my jeans. I’d watched bisexual porn before. This was nothing new for me, but having an audience while my body reacted the way it did to two guys going at it? That was new.

I cleared my throat. “I’m good if you are.”

And that was that. The flick continued to play, and the blood continued to pump into my dick until I had to excuse myself, so into my en-suite I went to relieve the pressure building in my jeans.

As I wrapped my hand around my hard length, I heard it.

Blake.

He was doing the same thing I was, and his labored breaths were driving me over the edge more than anything else.

Once we were both done, we cleaned up and pretended like nothing was out of the ordinary.

Only it is, because I cannot stop thinking about what it would feel like to have Blake’s lips wrapped around me, hence the fun I just had in the shower at his expense…for the fourth time this week.

What kind of sick best friend am I?

“I cannot take another minute in that goddamn house. They are—”

I spin toward the noise to find Blake standing in my bedroom doorway, frozen mid-step, eyes wide with shock as he stares at my naked body.

I don’t move to cover up, not even an inch. He’s seen me naked before.

What is new is how my body reacts to being under his scrutiny. His eyes rake down my torso in a slow, agonizing manner. I can feel it as he takes me in at his leisure.

I feel it…everywhere.

My cock jumps as his gaze flicks downward, and he doesn’t miss it.

His eyes snap back to mine in an instant and in that moment, I see something new in him. There’s a fire burning in his eyes, a longing.

A longing I’ve been feeling for weeks now.

Images of us wrapped together in a heated passion assault me, the same images I’ve been seeing over and over again, because this isn’t the first time I’ve thought of Blake and me tumbled in bed together.

Ever since that fateful day at my house, something has become very clear to me: I find my best friend attractive, and not in a passing thought sort of way. It’s more than a we-watched-bi-porn-together-and-now-I’m-confused kind of way. Whenever we’re together, I can’t help but imagine what it would feel like to have his arms wrapped tightly around me in more than just a bro hug…how comfortable his large, calloused hands would feel clasped between mine…how right his lips would feel trapped to mine.

I’ll admit right now, Blake isn’t the first guy I’ve thought about in this way—thus the ventures into bisexual porn—but he is the first I’ve really thought about, the only one I keep thinking about, the only one who has been the star of every wet dream I’ve had lately.

Which is leading me to believe I might be bisexual and this isn’t a fleeting one-off thing that’ll go away with time.

I am legit attracted to both dicks and chicks, and I’ve been trying to process that information for weeks now.

I shake my head in an attempt to get rid of the thoughts bouncing around, because this isn’t something I’m ready to discuss with anyone, especially not my best friend.

“I-I…” Blake clears his throat and turns his head, a blush creeping onto his face as he fumbles for words. “I didn’t know you were naked. Sorry, bro.”

His words come out quiet, forced.

“No biggie, man.” As casually as I can, I step over the towel I dropped moments before Blake waltzed into my room and make my way over to my dresser. I snatch out a pair of boxer briefs and slide them on before facing Blake again. “So, what’s up?”

Blake lifts his shoulders. “Nothing really. The ’rents are home and getting a little too loud with their arguing. Thought we could study? I need a distraction from all this bullshit.”

I notice then he has his backpack slung over his shoulder.

“I take it the divorce isn’t going so well?”

“That’s an understatement.”

“You’re always welcome here, you know that. Let me grab my stuff and we’ll get to work.” I spin around to grab my notebook and books from my desk across the room.

“Hey Nate?”

There’s something in his voice that gives me pause, and I turn his way. He’s standing with one hand on his backpack strap, the other shoved deep in his pocket, head thrown back so he’s looking up at the ceiling and not making eye contact with me.

“Yeah Blake?”

“Can, uh, can you put some clothes on?”

I glance down, realizing I only put on a pair of underwear and nothing else.

Blake’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, and I can’t help but wonder if they’re as soft as they look.

I press a hand to my naked chest, trying to calm the rapid beating of my heart, scared he’s going to be able to hear it from across the room, worried he’ll know just how much this whole scene is affecting me.

I don’t understand what’s going on with me, why these thoughts are flitting through my mind…why Blake is so suddenly worried about me being naked in front of him. I feel like there’s this untapped tension hanging between us, and I don’t know what it means.

“Sure.” The word comes out a near whisper before I rush back over to my dresser and pull out sweats and a tee. I slip both on then grab my things before hauling myself up onto the bench tucked into the bay window I have in my room. We almost always use the nook for homework nights, so it’s a habit at this point.

“You ready?” I ask when he doesn’t move.

He shakes his head twice before finally meeting my eyes, making his way over to the nook, and taking a spot next to me.

He pulls his backpack around to his front and grabs his supplies from it before tossing it toward my bed.

“Did you finish that paper for Comm Skills II?”

“I did, but I think it’s absolute shit, so I’ll probably try to rewrite it later tonight. Cannot believe that dick Mr. Hang is already taking away a letter grade because I missed a few homework assignments.”

“A few? Nate, you missed almost half of the ones assigned this year, and it’s April—school’s almost over.”

“Whose side you on here, dude?”

He shakes his head. “Want me to read over the paper for you? I’m acing that class, so I might have insight.”

“Sure.” I push my notebook onto his lap and stand. “You read. I’m running to the laundry room to grab socks. My feet are frozen.”

He nods and immerses himself in the paper as I rush out of the room and down the hallway. I yank open the dryer and pull out a pair of socks, sliding them on right there.

Ignoring the rest of the clothes stashed inside, I slam the door back closed and make my way back to my bedroom.

I pause in the door when I see Blake’s hunched form, his head hanging low, concentration fully on my essay. His brows are pinched, fingers running idly over his plump, rose-colored lips.

For only a moment, I allow those thoughts from earlier to drift back in. I can picture my own fingers grazing over his lips just before my mouth descends on his, seizing him in a determined kiss. My hands itch to dive into his messy midnight hair.

My dick twitches and I reach down, pressing my palm to my growing erection. Fuck. I take a steady breath, trying to calm myself, making a half-hearted attempt to put a stop to the images assaulting my mind before I do something insane…like march into that room and kiss him like I’ve been dying to.

He’s my best friend. I cannot be crushing on him. If he knew what was going through my head right now, there’s no way he’d still be sitting there.

“I can feel you staring,” he says quietly.

“Yeah?”

He nods but doesn’t say another word.

“Does it bother you?” I’m not certain why I ask, or why I care. I’m not sure what kind of answer I’m looking to get, but the words are out there now, and I can’t take them back.

Blake swallows thickly before his tongue darts out to wet his lips. His mouth opens, and then slams shut again. Open, shut…and once more as a weight settles in the pit of my stomach and the worry seeps in.

Did I do something wrong? Did he catch the lilt to my voice? Does he know what my question means beyond the surface? Does he know I’ve been thinking about him in ways you’re not supposed to think about your best friend?

I tread farther into the room, taking careful, calculated steps. He’s still sitting there, reading, not answering me—and it’s driving me up the fucking wall.

I resume my spot next to him, noting the moment his body stiffens as my leg brushes up against his.

“No.” He says it quietly, firmly. “It doesn’t.”

I don’t move, hardly breathe. I’m stunned and elated and confused all at once.

We sit there in silence, until finally, moments later, he pulls his attention from the paper and throws a playful grin my way.

“What?” I question hesitantly. “Why do you look like you want to kiss me right now?”

Shit, why did I have to say that?

Blake either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, his smirk still in place as he points to the notebook he’s holding. “Because this paper is good. There’s no way you’re going to fail. You have this in the bag.”

Something in his tone reaches out and touches me so strongly that I rub my chest like I can feel it…whatever it is.

“I’m proud of you, man.”

That’s it: pride.

Such a foreign feeling to me. I don’t think anyone has ever been proud of me before, especially not my parents who are so wrapped up in the glitz and glam of their lifestyle, they frequently forget I exist.

I-I…like it. The way his face is lit with joy—I did that, put that smile there, that light in his eyes.

Me.

“No shit, dude?” I ask skeptically.

“No shit.”

I let out a loud whoop and pump my fist in the air. “Hell yes!”

“But…”

“Oh, fuck me.” My high is gone just as quickly as it came because I know—know—this means scouring the paper for at least another three hours. I groan and drop my head into my hands, pulling at my auburn locks in agitation.

“I’ll pass, but thank you for the offer.”

And straight to my dick his words go.

Another groan escapes me before I’m able to catch it, but he ignores me and continues.

“It’s not that bad of a but. I just think you could wow him with this if you wanted, really stick it to him for giving you shit over your missing assignments. You’re not stupid, and it pisses me off when they continually insinuate that you are because you don’t do your homework.” A red flush covers his cheeks, a sign that he’s growing annoyed, and he rolls his eyes. “Don’t even get me started on that jackass Hang.”

I swear I’m reading way too much into every word he says lately because the tone of his voice, the force behind his words—it’s all so much…more. He doesn’t sound like a buddy who’s there to have your back through your difficulties.

He sounds like a pissed-off boyfriend, like he’s mad at Hang for the way he treats me.

Huh.

“You think I could write something better?”

“I know you can.” He says it like he’s never been surer of anything in his life, and his words breathe life into me, giving me confidence.

“Okay, okay.” I grin. “Help me out then.”

I scoot closer and pull my paper from his grasp. He uses his pen to reach over and point out a section. “This argument could be stronger.”

“Stronger how? Any ideas?”

“Glad you asked…”

Blake begins to ramble on about how I can argue against the registration system more and I listen…kind of.

My thoughts drift to places they shouldn’t when he reaches over and circles another paragraph on the paper then waves his hands in the air, talking loudly and animatedly about whatever subject we’re discussing…I couldn’t actually tell you what it is, because I have completely forgotten.

What are we doing again?

He shifts closer, the heat coming off him causing beads of sweat to pile up on the back of my neck. He’s too close—I can smell him, and holy fuck does he smell good. I want to lean over and rub my nose along his exposed neck.

“Uh, Nate?” His voice is husky, the rasp sending a jolt down my spine.

“Y-Yep?” I barely manage to utter.

“Did you just sniff me?”

Fuck. Did I?

I realize then that I’ve mindlessly crept closer to him, my face mere inches from being nestled into the crook of his neck.

Oh hell…

Inching away, I exhale a steadying breath and shift around, slouching down and spreading my legs wide in an attempt to look nonchalant.

“Nah, man. It’s all in your head.” I peer over at him. “Let’s get to work.”

“Right,” he says flatly. That spark that was in his eyes, that deep husk to his voice—it all vanishes as Blake clams up.

I’m such a pussy, way too fucking afraid to tell him I was sniffing him, too chickenshit to say I think about him, care for him.

Want him.

I’m too scared to be myself around my best friend because I can’t trust my own actions.

What in the hell did I get myself into?