Coworking

Coworking by RJ

This is a multi-part story about the relationship between two male coworkers. It is a work of fiction vaguely inspired by a similar situation I was in. Though it's not set in a particular time period, for the sake of the story, it takes place before people were knowledgeable about the spread of HIV, so condoms will not be used in future chapters. Be safe out there in the real world. If you have any comments about my work, or even just want to chat, please don't hesitate to message me.

As always, please support Nifty in any way that you can.

~ CHAPTER 1 ~

Of all the things he could be feeling, I'm surprised that he's so relaxed about this. Nothing more than a mere shrug of his shoulders and a couple choice phrases like "It's alright" and "Shit happens." If I were him, my stress level would be through the roof. I might even be a little depressed. But he's so calm and collected.

"So what's the next step for you?" I ask him.

Again, he does that nonchalant shrug of his. "Gotta find a place to live."

Jay intrigues me more than most people I know do. Maybe part of it is subconscious; he's a little younger, and maybe I'm still trying to retain my youth. But it's more than that. The age gap is nothing crazy either (him being 24 and me pushing 30) but before Jay started working here, I was the youngest of all my coworkers. By several years. Being the youngest never really has its perks. Even though I've been working here for a little over two years, I hardly relate to any of them. They all have kids that piss them off and spouses they're miserable with and they can barely talk about anything beyond what's happening at work or what they're eating for lunch on any given day. Maybe I still haven't "grown up" fully yet. I only just started settling down, just got married, just found the perfect little house with my girlfriend of 8 years (now wife), just started talking about getting a dog before we even mentioned having kids.

But Jay is different. He's still young, which means he's not yet bogged down by the whole nine-to-five lifestyle and can still talk about things other than trivial workplace happenings. He started about a month ago and we hit it off almost immediately. He just moved to the States from New Zealand over the summer and landed this customer service job -- nothing fancy or even remotely exciting, but he's taken everything with grace. He even stands out a bit. Not just because of his "chill" attitude, but because of his look. Although we're a small group of customer service reps, we're a pretty diverse set of people, Jay even more so. He's tall as hell, standing maybe at 6'5" or so. Short, greyish-white hair, clearly dyed since his eyebrows and scruff are both a dark reddish-brown. He's a curious mix of Australian and Korean (his given name is actually Jae-yong, but he insists on sticking with "Jay"). He could easily be one of those high-fashion models, but he's never come off as vain. Even when describing his tragedies, he tries hard not to make a big deal out of it. Which is interesting, because I certainly would be complaining to everyone in the vicinity had I been the one to lose my apartment and nearly all my belongings in a fire. As of yesterday afternoon, Jay doesn't have much.

"I feel horrible," I say.

He laughs. "Why?"

"You just lost most of your shit and I've been complaining about my mother-in-law sending us too many housewarming gifts."

He just laughs. "It's okay, man, there are worse things you could be complaining about."

"Like my lunch?" I ask, rolling my eyes. That's always the first topic of conversation in the break room once it's lunch time.

"Precisely." He grins a bit, finishing off the last of his beer.

"Let me at least buy you a drink."

He glances at me before nodding. "Can't say no to that."

Every Friday, the office walks over to the nearest bar after work to get drinks. It's for the sake of tradition, I suppose, that I don't cancel every time. But now that I've had a friend to accompany me to the last three outings, it's not so bad. We make our way over to the bar and I order two more beers, sitting with a sigh as he takes the seat beside me.

"So where'd you stay last night?" I ask.

"The Grande, I think it's called? The Granite?"

"The place right around the corner?" I ask, and when he nods, I look at him with wide eyes. "But, that place is expensive as shit."

"Yeah, but it's close and I don't have a car. It's just easier."

"But you're gonna blow through all your money--"

"Relax, B," he says with a laugh. Only he calls me that. He said he likes to have little nicknames for people, and since my full name is (no thanks to my mother) Luke "BJ" Roth, and since everyone in the office so unabashedly calls me BJ, he was kind enough to shorten it. He even made a comment about how I could be the "B" and he'd be the "J" before making a face and saying that probably sounded weird. I had just laughed and said I didn't mind. I much preferred his suggestion. You'd think after all my teenage years of blowjob jokes being thrown my way that I'd get over it by now, but it still bothers me, just ever so slightly. "I have enough money saved up. Worked a really good job for a solid year after I graduated."

I blink a bit. "You graduated? College?" As soon as the words leave my lips I realize I sound like a total fucking asshole. Who says that to somebody? But I'll admit that I judged him a bit, especially initially. I think it was the tattoos. He's heavily tatted (some even on his hands and fingers), and once showed me a picture of his body – a lean but faintly muscular torso littered with seemingly random tattoos (including his arms, even some on his fingers). He even has one on his face, right near his eye. A little knife.

He narrows his eyes a bit. "I graduated the top of my class, actually," he says in an irritated voice.

I swear under my breath, feeling my face redden a bit. "Look, Jay, I'm sorry, I didn't mean--"

But he just laughs, hard, clutching his stomach a bit. "I'm just fucking with you, mate," he says, patting my back with a soft chuckle. "I mean, yeah, I graduated, and I knew my shit, but I had no discipline. Hence this," he says, pointing to the tattoo near his left eye.

I sigh in relief, smiling a bit. "Yeah, I've been meaning to ask why..." I pause, trying to find the right words.

"Why I got it?" he asks.

"Yeah."

He shrugs. "I was young and it seemed like a good idea," he said with a laugh. "My dad is the coolest. Always let me do what I want. Express myself how I want. But cool dads don't always make good dads," he says with a little smirk as he reminisces. "I had far too much freedom."

"And now you're here in the US. Home of the free, or whatever."

He laughs, rolling his eyes. "Right."

"You been missing home?" I ask.

"Eh," he says, shrugging. "I guess a little, yeah. But I'm taking things as they come. Excited for something new."

"I guess it's a good a place as any to do that," I say.

Just then, I hear a voice behind me. Someone mutters the words "Fucking faggot" and I immediately tense up. I hate that word. Kids would always tease me when I was younger because I always liked my hair long. They'd call me a fag relentlessly, and even though I'm not gay, it still sparks a certain kind of anger inside me.

When I turn to see who spoke, I realize it's Jimmy. Jimmy fucking Moran. He's always the first to get way too drunk and way too aggressive at these get-togethers, and I'm always a hair-trigger away from decking him. An imbecilic, macho-wannabe smart-mouth that's always too loud and too talkative for everyone's liking. I clench my fists before I notice he's not looking at me as he walks by. He's looking dead at Jay. Jay glances at Jimmy, cocking his eyebrow a bit until Jimmy passes by without another word, presumably to bother some poor girl at the end of the bar.

I look at Jay curiously. "Uh. What was that about?"

He shrugs. "Who knows. He's been on my case practically ever since I got here."

"Really?" I'm surprised that I didn't even notice something was up. "Why?"

"Like I said. Who knows? He's probably homophobic or something."

I pause in the middle of sipping my drink. "Sorry?"

Jay looks at me, raising his eyebrows before he reads my confusion and gets what I'm talking about. He smiles slightly. "You didn't know?"

"Know what?"

"I'm gay, dude," he says with a laugh.

I'm a little surprised, actually, and it's definitely only because of my ego. I hate that this is the first thing that comes to mind, but I think "Why hasn't he flirted with me?" I have to catch myself and remember that that's kind of a dickish thing to think -- maybe even a little narcissistic. Maybe a lot narcissistic. It's silly. I know I've had my fair share of gay guys hitting on me, and I get why they do. Though I'm not the tallest guy in the room, I could be one of the guys you think of when you think "man." I'm that fit, hairy, muscular, mildly-bearded, rugged-but-kind-looking, borderline run-in-the-mill white guy .I'm nothing terribly special (at least in my eyes), but I'm handsome, masculine, and classic, and that's more than enough for most people. Most guys, even. But my wife is always quick to remind me that not every gay guy is going to flirt with me, and that I'm just being egomaniacal.

"I actually had no idea," I say, shaking it off. "It's not a big deal, though. I was just surprised," I say earnestly. It really isn't a big deal, and never has been. One of my best friends is as gay as they come and it's never been a problem for us. "Just be careful with that guy."

"Why?"

"I know Jim. He can be... well, aggressive."

"Maybe he started the fire," he suggests, which makes me laugh. "It's fine, B. Jim's not a threat to me."

I can't really picture him in a fight, let alone winning one, but I decide to roll with it. "Sure." I pause for a bit, licking my bottom lip as I think it over. I had been mulling it over ever since he told me about the fire. It's the right thing to do. "So, listen. I have a proposition for ya," I start to say.

He looks intrigued. "Yeah?"

"Why don't you just crash at my place? Until you get on your feet. The guest room isn't totally ready yet, but if you can handle the couch for a few days..."

"Really?" He looks surprised at first, but his face quickly shifts to a happy expression.

"Yeah." I wouldn't have offered had we not hung out a few times prior. He's respectful of his surroundings, extremely tidy, and, most importantly, quiet. It might be nice to have a buddy around too, like in college. Plus, it'll give me an incentive to finally finish the guest room, something Tracey's been nagging me about since we moved in just two weeks ago. "I can't let you blow all your money on a prissy hotel."

"I don't know what to say, B," he says, laughing. "That'd be amazing. Thank you."

We don't stay much longer after that. After a couple people start heading home, we take that as our cue and head out, stopping by the office to grab things that he's salvaged, including a bag of clothes, before we head to my house. It's a small place, in a quiet neighborhood just outside the city. A quainter version of a typical suburb. He comments on how nice the area is as I pull into the driveway and help him with his things.

"Make yourself comfortable," I say, gesturing towards the living room vaguely once we head inside. I set his stuff down and turn to the kitchen. "You want a drink or anything?"

"Nah, I'm good," he says, looking around curiously. It's still a work in progress, but my wife and I have gotten the place mostly together. It's tastefully decorated with antiques in the foyer and a few of her art pieces before the open floor plan becomes apparent, consisting of a cozy living room and charming dining room. Overall, it has a very homey, rustic feel, especially with all the wood accents and plants and candles. "This place is awesome," he says, smiling slightly. I chuckle at him through the kitchen-hatch as he sets his bags by the couch, glancing at a few pictures above the fireplace mantle. As I crack open a beer, I hear him laugh, and I turn to see what seemed funny to him.

Instantly I'm horrified. Because right on the fucking coffee table is a dildo and a vibrator. I swear under my breath, setting my beer down and hurrying into the living room while trying not to look too panicked. "Sorry. My wife leaves her shit everywhere," I say, biting my lip as I snatch up the toys. In my head, I'm cursing her out. She told me she'd put them away before she left for work this morning.

"It's not a huge deal. It's your house," he says, chuckling softly. I'm glad he's being so cool about it, but still, my heart is fucking racing. As if he'd find out. He plops down on the couch with a sigh, looking around. "Where's the remote?" he asks.

"Um." I bite my lip, looking around as I hold onto the toys. I find the remote on the adjacent couch and then toss it to him. "I'll be right back," I say, slipping out of the room. I head upstairs to the master bedroom, taking a breather. Fuck, that was too close. Then again, it's totally fair of him to believe that the toys are my wife's. I reach under the bed and grab our box of toys, opening it up. Inside is a plethora of dildos, vibrators, sleeves, and (my personal favorite) strap-ons. Tracey and I have built a small sort of collection together, ever since we experimented with pegging. I've never been the same since. I'm always a little afraid someone will find out. After all, most people argue that letting your wife fuck you in the ass is not a super masculine thing to do. Whether or not they're right is beside the point.

When I come back, Jay has on some old black-and-white movie. I know he's into film, so it's no surprise to see him more or less entranced by the feature on screen. I come join him for a few minutes and we chat about the movie and how innovative it was for its time. But soon, my wife comes home. I hear the shuffling sound of plastic grocery bags so I quickly get up to help her at the door.

"Take these," she says hurriedly, looking flustered and handing me a number of bags. I grab them from her and we head into the kitchen, setting bags down on the counter. I notice Jay is at the hatch, peering through at us.

"Need any help?" he asks.

"No, no, that's okay," I say, and then, when Tracey looks curiously at me, fully expecting answers, I introduce the two of them. "Jay, this is my wife, Tracey. Trace, this is Jay. From work."

"Nice to meet you," he says cheerily.

"Jay is gonna stay with us for a few days," I say.

Quickly, Tracey snaps her head back towards me. "Sorry, what?" I can sense the irritation already. We know each other well. And I know exactly what she's thinking: "Why the fuck didn't you ask me?"

"He had a fire in his apartment complex," I say, not wanting her to freak out. "So I offered. He's gonna help me fix up the guest room, too," I add.

That notion seems to make her compliant. "Well, that's nice," she says, smiling slightly at Jay. "I'm just surprised, is all." She sighs and grabs a few of the bags, pulling out groceries in her typical hustle. "Well, make yourself at home. Dinner will be ready in thirty."

I'm happy to see that Jay and Tracey get along well at dinner time. She pesters him with questions, of course, trying to get to know him at a rapid pace. But he handles it very well, and soon, Tracey warms up to him a bit. She's most pleased when he offers to handle the dishes, after which she slaps my shoulder and says "You could learn a thing or two from him." I just kiss her and let her head upstairs to take a long bath, helping Jay clean up.

"Your wife is a damn model," he comments, grinning at me as he starts filling up the dishwasher. "I'm impressed."

I just smile a bit. I get that a lot. Tracey has always been the hot girl. A little shorter than me, with long jet-black hair, curves in all the expected places, and a slightly bitchy, almost dirty face (something that has always drawn me in), we make quite the match. She's a sweetheart usually, but she doesn't take shit. One of the things I love most about her. "You keep your hands off her," I tease.

"Don't have to tell me twice," he says, laughing.

By the time everything is cleaned up and Tracey is in bed (she tends to sleep early depending on her work schedule), it's pretty dark out. Jay and I chat for a long while, going through a few beers with the television on in the background before I decide to get ready for bed as well. After a shower, I throw on some pajama pants and grab a spare blanket before heading downstairs. Jay is rummaging through his clothes, and as I step into the living room, he stands there in just his boxers.

"Brought you an extra blanket," I say, tossing it onto the couch and eyeing his tattoos.

"Sweet." He smiles before pulling out a plain t-shirt and slipping it over his head with a sigh, his hair looking disheveled.

"Do you need anything else?"

"Actually, huge favor," he says, turning to me. "Do you have an extra phone charger? I forgot to buy another one."

I smile sadly. Just another thing on his long list of items he lost in the fire. "Yeah, we have a bunch. Oh, wait--" I pause, glancing at his phone on the coffee table. "I don't have an iPhone. And neither does Trace."

"Fuck," he says, laughing and running his fingers through his hair. "Well, can I borrow a laptop or something? I'm expecting all these emails from insurance and whatever."

"Yeah, of course," I say, excusing myself and heading upstairs to grab my laptop from my bedroom. I come back down, and Jay is sitting on the couch, getting cozy. I set the laptop on the coffee table and squat down as I open it up, ready to type in the password. However, as soon as the laptop opens, audio resumes playing. And it's audio from porn I was watching this morning. I must have never pressed pause before I shut the computer. "Fuckin' A," I hiss, quickly typing in my password.

Jay just laughs as a video (one of the many I have saved) plays loudly on screen, featuring a busty young girl giving it up to three different guys at once. It's a vintage film. One of my favorites. I hit the space bar to pause the video and then quickly minimize the window, exhaling. "Nice," Jay says, chuckling.

"Sorry."

"It's alright, dude," he says as I check my web browser. I don't have anything incriminating open so I just hand the laptop to him, letting him do his thing. "You don't just watch Pornhub like the rest of us?" he asks, his eyes glued to the screen as he opens Gmail.

I feel pretty embarrassed but I laugh it off. "I don't know. Sometimes."

"Must be an old-school thing," he teases, grinning at me before typing in his email and password.

"What, you've never saved a video you liked?" I challenge.

"Okay, fair," he says, chuckling as his emails finally load up. Turns out he has a lot of unread emails, and he starts scanning them. "I had a few things on my laptop. Nothing vintage, though."

"Vintage is classic. Thought a film buff like you would appreciate that."

He laughs. "You would think. Damn," he adds softly, sighing. "These insurance people are the worst."

I glance at the screen as he scrolls repeatedly through his unread emails. "Nothing?"

"Nope. Not a peep." He crosses his arms a bit. "I sent in my claim and everything like an hour after it happened. Someone called me saying I'd `receive more information via electronic mail'," he adds in a faux operator voice.

"At least you got a call," I say, shrugging. "My sister-in-law didn't hear anything from them for almost a month after flooding damages," I say.

"A month?" He gawks at me, his eyes wide. "Fucking hell, mate." He groans a bit.

"Just be organized on your end," I say, not sure what would be good advice. I've never dealt with something like this. "Keep track of who you talk to, when you talk to them, emails, et cetera. Save everything. And maybe just shoot your contact another email."

"Yeah. Yeah, that's probably smart," he says quietly, nodding a bit as he mulls something over. Then, he searches his sent folder for the correct contact before typing up a quick email. "I'm stressed," he says, laughing slightly.

"I know, buddy," I say. I go behind him and pat his shoulders, giving them a squeeze. "You want a drink or something?"

"Nah, I shouldn't," he says, reaching back to patt my hand. "But thanks." He gives his email one more glance before logging out and minimizing the web browser. Then, he pulls up the video that was playing earlier, a view of the girl smiling at the sight of two huge cocks in front of her.

"Hey!" I reach forward to try to snag the laptop, but he holds it at arm's length, keeping it out of my reach.

"What? You told me to start appreciating our history. Or something."

I laugh slightly. "Yeah, but--" I don't have a response to that.

"I just wanna see what you like about it, is all."

I roll my eyes at the grin he's giving me before I give up, just standing behind him with my arms crossed. He smiles cheekily before pressing play, turning the volume down a bit so it's not so loud. Of course, my eyes are drawn to the video. The girl holds both cocks in front of her, going back and forth between them with her mouth while sitting on the third guy's face. It's at the perfect angle where you get to see a good chunk of every bit of action, including the guy stroking himself while he eats her out. I'm getting a little turned on, and I absentmindedly reach down and adjust myself through my pajama pants.

"I get the interest," Jay says suddenly, and I blink, having almost forgotten he's here. "Has a nostalgic feel, I guess?" He glances back at me for confirmation.

"I just like how it's filmed," I say, shrugging. "It's not so focused on, y'know, penetration shots. Like most porn is today. At least here, you still get face and body and expression. Everything else that goes with what makes sex good."

Jay looks at me with a half-grin. "You sound like me," he says, laughing. "Though, gotta be honest, I hate the music."

"Oh, the music is unforgiveable," I say, and we both laugh. "But other than that..."

"Without it, I could get behind it," he says, glancing back at the video. As we watch, he adds "It has a lot of elements I like. That artsy sort of vibe." He shrugs. "But I'm a little pretentious and can only get into it if it's practically HD."

I think for a moment, a specific folder coming to mind. "Gimme that," I say, snapping my fingers and gesturing for the laptop. He looks back before handing it to me, and I take it, closing the video and navigating through a few subfolders to find what I'm looking for. It's some of Tanya's favorite pornos. Full films that are essentially a collection of short stories depicted through porn. "XConfessions," they're called. They're filmed much like an indie film, just featuring actual sex based on a theme. More so hardcore erotica than your average porno. "Disclaimer: I don't have anything... well, gay," I say.

"As long as there's a guy in it, I'm fine."

I chuckle. "Fair enough. So something like this would do it for you?" I ask, pulling up a video. I fast-forward a bit and tilt the screen towards him.

He watches for a little bit and smiles. "Yeah, exactly like that. Except--" He bites his lip, narrowing his eyes a bit. "No offense, but the guy is horrendous-looking."

I look and laugh. "He's not that bad."

"He's fucking ugly and you know it," he says firmly, and I laugh.

"I'll find something else then."

"Come over here. You looming over me makes me feel weird," he adds with a laugh.

"Sorry." I go around the couch, sitting next to him with the laptop on my thighs. I close the video and scroll through the folder I'm in. "Let's see..."

"Wait, is that all porn?" he asks, leaning in.

"Yeah."

He whistles. "Quite the collection, mate."

"You don't even know," I say, backing out to the main folder. I show him some of the subfolders and all the video files that are within them. Nearly a hundred gigs worth of porn.

"Holy-- Who has time for all of this?" he asks, looking at me.

"Tanya and I like porn."

"Like? This is an obsession." He laughs.

"We just like to save what we like. Fuck off," I say, nudging him with my elbow.

"Don't get me wrong, B. I'm in awe. Can I?" He moves his hands in a position as if ready to hold the laptop. I nod a bit, giving him the reigns and letting him explore the different genres and chuckling at his little snippets of commentary. Soon, he comes across the folder labeled "Mast." "What's that?"

"You know." He just looks at me for a bit before I say "Masturbation."

"Oh. Duh." He chuckles a bit, opening that folder. It's separated into a few subfolders, including "m" for male, "f" for female, "gm" for group male, and "mm" for mutual masturbation. I tell this to him when he asks, and he says "Bet you'll never guess which one I'm gonna pick" before choosing the group male folder. He chooses a random video, which consists of a simple circle jerk.

We both watch the video play out for a minute before Jay speaks up. "Can I ask you something?"

I glance at him. "Shoot."

"Does this turn you on?"

The way he's asking is purely out of curiosity. As if for the sake of innocent inquiry. So I don't feel uncomfortable, or bothered. "I mean, yeah," I say, shrugging.

"You don't think it's gay or anything?"

"Not really. I mean, they're not really doing anything to each other. They're just jerking off," I say, gesturing to the seven frat boys stroking off together.

"Hmm." Jay nods to himself, still looking at the video. There's a pause before he asks "Have you ever jerked off with another guy?"

"Uh. Yeah," I admit, glancing at him. Only one, though. My brother.

Jay doesn't ask for further explanation and instead just says "Cool."

"Have you?" I ask.

"Well, yeah, mostly when I was a kid," he says, eyes on the video still. "But, obviously it ended up turning into more than that," he says, looking at me with a slight smile.

I don't quite know what he means by it being obvious, but I just nod, glancing back at the video. There's a long pause between us as the video keeps playing -- seven guys are in different parts of a living room all stroking to whatever's on the television. Jay breaks the silence again, moving the computer to my lap. "Here. You pick something."

I laugh. "Not digging this?"

"It's okay," he says. "But I prefer something more action-packed."

"Alright." I smirk before closing that video. I bite my lip, thinking as I scroll through the folder of genres. What to watch? I return to my wife's favorite folder of XConfessions, knowing that Jay would appreciate the cinematography at the very least. I choose one that I know has a good-looking guy in it to appease Jay. When I start playing the film, I look over and see that Jay is looking intently at the screen.

We both watch in silence for a bit as the first story starts, introducing the plot (the whole "hooking up with a stripper" fantasy) before it gets into the actual sex. As the two actors start kissing and fondling each other, I reach between my legs and adjust my semi a bit. I know I couldn't be discreet about it, but I had to shift it to be more comfortable. I rest my hand near my crotch, only touching my cock with my thumb. Eventually, I notice Jay getting a little more comfortable. He slouches very slightly and spreads his legs a little more before reaching between his legs and grabbing himself. When I look over, I see that his hand is in his boxers, and he's very clearly pulling at his cock slowly. My heart races a bit, but not from nervousness. Just from the energy sexual acts bring. I squeeze my own cock through my pajamas, both of us silently getting more and more audacious. I'm focused on screen for a bit, the blowjob having quickly turned into a passionate fuck. I get fully hard in my pajamas but I keep my cock down as to not tent my pants so obscenely.

And then I look over. Jay has his cock out, and he's teasing it slightly, mostly focusing on his balls. He keeps his cock up straight, which gives me a perfect view of it. I find it hard not to stare. It looks so familiar. And then it hits me -- his cock looks exactly like one of Tanya's favorite strap-ons. And, admittedly, one of my favorites. Exact shape of the head. Same length and girth. Even the color looks spot-on. My cock twinges even more at the sight of it, and my face gets warm as I think of all the times I've had that dildo inside me.

Then Jay speaks up. "You mind if I...?" He hooks his fingers in the waistband of his boxers, pausing and waiting for my go-ahead.

I clear my throat a bit, blinking those thoughts away. "Yeah, go for it," I say, watching him strip out of his underwear. He sits back with a sigh, resuming stroking himself.

After a bit, I decide to follow his lead slightly, lifting my ass a bit as I pull my pajama pants down mid-thigh, careful to not drop the laptop. Since I'm not wearing underwear, my cock flops out and I take hold of it, stroking it slowly. "Damn, B," Jay says, and when I look over, I see he's glancing at my cock. "Not bad."

I laugh a little. "Thanks," I say, surprised that I'm not embarrassed. Then again, I've never been terribly shy about my body. I glance at Jay's again, but only once, not wanting to think about it too much. "Yours too."

I'm already leaking precum as soon as I start really stroking. It gets in between my fingers and I stroke myself slowly, focusing on the head and letting out a little moan. I love those wet noises. I could listen to those alone and easily get off. Something about them turns me on so much and I find myself getting into my cock more and more. Jay shifts next to me and I look at him as he leans over his cock and spits down on it, working the spit over his shaft. Now both of us are wet, stroking our slick members beside each other. I just realize how close we are. Our legs are touching -- my left leg to his right one. He's stroking with his left hand, and me my right, so our lazy arms are touching and our hands hang there aimlessly beside each other. Occasionally I use it to tease my balls but otherwise, it just rests on my thigh. I find myself looking often at him. But it's not just that I'm looking. I find that I'm itching to stroke him. To feel him. To compare him to the dildo. The thought makes my cock throb.

And then, the computer dies. The screen goes black as the fan revs before falling into sleep mode. I groan. "Fuck!"

Jay laughs. "What just happened?"

"The battery has been shit lately," I say, trying to turn the computer back on. It's done this a few times, where it hibernates without warning in order to save power. It's an old computer. "Damn it."

"Sucks," he says, though he sounds pretty amused. "And it was just getting good."

I notice he's still casually stroking himself, and my own cock is still rock hard. "I'd have to get the power cord."

"Where is it?"

"Upstairs."

Jay shrugs. "Forget it. We could just finish here."

I look at him a bit, but he's not looking at me. He's looking at his lap, playing with his cock lightly. I bite my lip a bit. Finish here? I can't tell if I'm nervous about it or not, but at the same time, I feel pretty comfortable. There's the same sort of energy between us as there is between me and my brother. I set the laptop down on the coffee table and lean back into the couch. Both of us slouch a little more, resuming our stroking. It's strange at first, not having the porn to rely on, but I quickly get into it, half listening to Jay's moans and wet strokes as I pleasure myself, mostly watching him work his cock over. I stroke a little faster, rotating my wrist and very slightly thrusting up into my fist. I switch over to my left hand, spreading my legs a little more as I work every inch of my cock. I tease my balls with my free hand, squeezing slightly and letting my fingers brush against my taint, just teasing above my hole. I swear softly, and Jay chuckles beside me, still into himself. After a bit. he lifts up his shirt and tucks the hem under his chin.

"You close?" I ask.

"Kinda," he breathes out.

But I'm practically there. I bite my lip, grunting and speeding up my stroking until I feel my orgasm building and the cum filling my cock. And then, I'm there. I swear, feeling my dick pump out rope after rope, thrusting my hips lightly with every squirt. I pant a bit, catching my breath as my orgasm subsides, feeling warm and satisfied. I look down and see my load splattered all over my torso and arm before I notice Jay laughing. I had gotten some cum on him.

"You're a violent cummer, mate," he says, chuckling, looking at the cum on his hip and stomach.

"Shit, sorry," I say, laughing slightly.

I start to reach over to wipe it off but he beats me to it. "Don't worry about it," he says as he scoops it up himself and then works it into his cock as lube. It's just enough to make that really wet, squishy sound. He moans out, closing his eyes, and I watch him, eyes glued to his cock. I tease my semi, tugging lightly as I watch him bring himself to orgasm, holding his dick as the first few shots come out before stroking and milking out the rest of his extra-thick load. "Fuuuck," he sighs, resting heavily against the couch. "Damn, that was nice."

I laugh slightly. "You less stressed now?"

"Immeasurably." He looks over at me tiredly and chuckles.

I pat his thigh before sitting up with a grunt, stretching slightly. "You want a towel or something?"

"Yes please," he says, nodding.

"One sec." I chuckle a bit, standing up and pulling my pants back up. Careful not to drip any cum on the floor, I go into the kitchen. I grab the spare dish towels and wipe myself off first before coming back with another one to clean himself up with. "Here ya go."

"Thank you, good sir." He takes the towels and I watch him wipe himself up, including his cock, before standing up. I offer to take the used rags, thinking to toss them in the hamper. His is wet when I grab it, and I get chills slightly. Jay thanks me again before he pulls up his boxers and grabs the blanket.

"So, uh. I'm gonna head up to bed."

He chuckles. "Alright. Good night, sleep tight."

I laugh. "'Night, buddy."

I turn and head upstairs, exhaling deeply. Did that just happen? Not only did it happen, but I found it incredibly arousing. I can't get the image of his dick out of my head as I head upstairs. The similarity is uncanny, and I know that toy very well. But I have to confirm. When I get to the room, I toss the rags in the hamper before I reach under my bed and pull out the box of toys, rummaging through them to find the one I was looking for. I was right. It looks exactly like his cock. I grip the balls in my hand and wrap my fingers lightly around the shaft, feeling the fake ridges of the silicone dildo. Frankly, I'm getting a little turned on again. I squeeze the fake cock in a tight grip, biting my lip slightly and closing my eyes as I picture Jay in my hand, moaning as I bring him to orgasm. How many times has this thing been up my ass? And then I wonder, what if Jay himself was inside me instead? The thought comes so quickly that I blush, my face feeling warm and my heart racing a bit.

Just then, Tanya stirs a bit, and she opens her eyes, looking at me. She glances at the dildo in my hand and then her mouth splits into a sleepy smirk. "Well hello there," she says, sitting up slightly, messing with her hair. "Looking for some fun, are we?"

~ To be continued... ~