He smiled to himself. And here he was kicking up old friendships left and right.
Looking forward to Cyrus’s arrival, Brantley got to his feet, then headed for his bedroom, tugging his shirt off as he walked. In the bedroom, he tossed it onto the chair before making his way to his bed. He set down his beer, shucked the rest of his clothes, leaving them in a pile where they fell. Once he was naked, Brantley clicked off the lamp, picked up the remote, then flopped onto the mattress, propping himself up with pillows.
He didn’t bother looking at the clock as he surfed the channels. Cyrus would show. The man was punctual. One of his many qualities.
Brantley thought about the last time he’d summoned Cyrus. It had been during a short leave he’d taken nearly two years ago. While he hadn’t seen Cyrus in a few years before that, he’d hit him up via text message. After a few minutes of strategic questions meant to gauge Cyrus’s current relationship status, Brantley had learned his old friend was single and, yes, on board with the idea of mindless sex. Better than with a stranger, Cyrus had mused. Brantley agreed. Needless to say, they’d engaged in quite a bit of it during that week he’d been home.
At some point, Brantley must’ve drifted off, because he woke to the sound of footsteps in the hallway. He’d known he would wake when Cyrus arrived. A keen sense of hearing had kept him alive all these years.
His bedroom door opened. The glow from the hall light silhouetted his friend. Even in the dark, he got a decent look at Cyrus, but his eyes weren’t necessary. Time hadn’t changed Cyrus in the least. He still looked as good as he had back in high school, when they’d been nothing more than friends. At six two, Cyrus was two inches shorter than Brantley and a good thirty pounds or so lighter. Where Brantley had packed on muscle since high school, Cyrus had remained long and lean and, yes, still a bit lanky.
Cyrus closed them in the room, the television offering enough light to see Cyrus was removing his T-shirt, his boots. His jeans followed before he joined Brantley on the bed, looming over him as a smile pulled at his handsome features.
Brantley returned the smile as he reached up, curled his hand around Cyrus’s neck, dragging him closer.
“You smell good,” he muttered.
Those were the only words spoken.
The kiss that ensued lacked the passion of two lovers drawn together by emotion, but there was plenty of heat fueling it. Brantley’s hands weren’t gentle as he roamed them over Cyrus’s body, urging that eager mouth lower. Cyrus obliged him, his lips blazing a trail over Brantley’s chest, gliding lower until finally the wet heat was right where Brantley wanted it.
He inhaled sharply, closing his eyes as the sensations pummeled him. It was then he saw an image in his mind, one that shocked him as much as it turned him on. Instead of Cyrus blowing him so exquisitely, Brantley imagined Reese Tavoularis was bent over him, the sweet suction of his mouth pulling ragged moans from his throat. He knew it was Cyrus who laved his dick, bringing him to the brink before easing off, but he couldn’t help imagining the sexy, dark-haired man he’d encountered twice in as many days.
Gripping Cyrus’s dark shaggy hair, Brantley held him in place, urging him to continue. Following his lead, Cyrus tormented him, bringing him to the edge, backing off. He did it several times, evidently trying to see how far Brantley would go before he broke. He wouldn’t. They both knew that, but it never stopped Cyrus from making the effort.
His cock was throbbing, eager to slide deep inside the man when he finally pulled Cyrus up, fusing their lips once more. Brantley rolled them, taking the lead, giving as good as he got before he retrieved a condom from the nightstand, rolled it on. While he lubed himself, Cyrus flipped over onto his stomach.
Still no words were spoken as they went through the motions, chasing that elusive release.
Knowing what it would take to get Cyrus off, Brantley put forth the effort to entice, nipping his shoulder, his earlobe. And when he drove his cock deep inside Cyrus, he got a rough growl in response. It spurred him on. Rearing his hips back, he drove in deep, hard. Grunts and groans followed as Brantley fucked him. It was a give-and-take, a desperate attempt to ease the tension even though it would return moments after. This wouldn’t sate Brantley, but it would suffice. It had to.
“Fuck me,” Cyrus bit out. “Goddamn you, Brantley. Fuck me.”
Using his knees, he forced Cyrus’s legs wide, dug his fingers into his hips, and yanked him back at the same time he thrust forward. Pleasure shot up his spine, the kind that came with mindless sex. He didn’t stop, but Cyrus knew he wouldn’t. Brantley’s stamina rivaled most, and he would go until he was satisfied, no matter how temporary the feeling.
