Here’s my flash with the Free Fiction Friday Group!
IF YOU LOVE SOMETHING
( IYLS )
David and Jesse are childhood friends who get separated in their teens but meet up again at university in Newcastle, Australia.
They soon find out that though some things remain the same, other change… oh boy, do they change.
As he pulled into my driveway, he turned to me and quietly asked, “What time do you start work tomorrow?”
“Um, nine,” I replied, unbuckling my belt, before turning in my seat to face him.
“I’ll come get you.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I told him. “I can ride. Besides I don’t want to have to walk home after working twelve hours solid. Thanks anyway, though.”
“I want to. And I’ll pick you up when you finish too,” he insisted quietly, his gaze downcast, and I was secretly thrilled that he wanted to and that I would get to see him, if only briefly.
“Okay. Thanks, Jere. I’ll see you in the morning then.”
He raised his eyes to mine, and for a fleeting moment, I could have sworn I saw a yearning within their depths, but the moment passed and I decided it must have been a trick of the light, or wishful thinking on my behalf.
Letting myself out, I reached into the back of the car, retrieving my duffle, and after giving Jeremy a final wave, I loped down the drive to my front door, thankful for once to dodge Mrs. Gilmore.
Throwing my bag on the dining table, deciding to unpack it after I’d showered, I eyed my bed sadly.
There’d be no waking up to find Jere curled around me, his firm chest pressed into my back, his breath in my hair.
No waking to his hair tickling my nose, or his gorgeous ass pressed into my groin.
No. Tomorrow I’d be waking up alone again.
I snorted. Welcome home, Sadler.
CHAPTER 24: SINGING IN THE SHOWER
Groaning, I rolled from my side onto my stomach, the sheets a tangled mess around my limbs, and buried my face in my pillow. I’d had the crappiest night’s sleep, tossing and turning, unable to settle. The last time I remembered checking the clock radio it had shown it was a little after three in the morning. Lifting my head, I looked at the offending item only to smother my face back into my pillow, muffling my moan. Bloody hell, seven forty-five. Great. Just fucking great. A twelve-hour shift to look forward to on only four odd hours of sleep. Fucking terrific.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” I chanted into my pillow, thumping it with my fists.
There was no time to try and catch some extra Zs. Besides, I couldn’t bear the thought of any more tossing and turning. On top of that, my bladder felt like it was about to burst, so with a sigh, I dragged my sorry ass out of bed. Dancing from one foot to the other, I couldn’t resist quickly checked my phone for any messages first. Finding none, I threw it onto the rumpled mess that was my bedcovers before stumbling my way into the tiny bathroom. Lowering my undies over my butt, I let them drop to the floor around my ankles, grabbed my dick, and let fly with my morning leak. I didn’t even try to hold in my groan of pleasurable relief. Enjoy it, Davie, my boy. This is probably the best you are going to feel all day!
Reaching into the shower stall, I grabbed both the hot and cold taps at the same time, and with knowledge born of many showers in the small space, turned them to the exact position needed to have the perfect water temp and pressure. Habit saw me swiveling about to flick on the radio before stepping under the hot spray, groaning as the water hit my skin and released the tension from my tight muscles. For a few moments I just stood beneath the flow, my arms hanging loose by my sides, enjoying the warmth of the rising steam and the hot jets of water on my back. I rolled my neck a little from side to side, easing out the kinks. God, I loved nice long showers—they were my guilty pleasure.
Of course, my inner voice—the responsible-water-conscious one—had to rear his lecturing head and make me feel bad about how much water I was wasting. Grumbling a little under my breath, I reached for my shampoo, hearing the beginning of one of Pink’s hits come on the radio. Cool, I like this one. Washing myself in time with the music I began to hum along and by the time she got to the first chorus I was in full stride, joining in, and singing at the top of my lungs.
Pretty, pretty please, don’t you ever, ever feel
Like you’re less than, less than perfect
Predictably the song made me think of Jeremy—just about everything turned my thoughts to him—but the chorus really struck a chord with me. He was perfect… well, not so much perfect, as perfect for me. We’d always been so in tune with each other. No one had ever gotten me, accepted me, or understood me the way he did. Not even Erik or Bobbi.
As I continued to sing along, I wondered at the odd looks I’d caught him giving me over the weekend. If he was gay, I’d have said he was checking me out. And then there was the whole did he or didn’t he crack a boner when I landed with my drunken arse on him. And what was it with him and his attitude toward Laurence? Once again, if he were my boyfriend, I’d have said he was jealous.
But this was Jeremy.
And Jere was straight.
Pink was reaching her zenith, and making a conscious choice, I pushed all thoughts of Jeremy from my mind, and abandoned myself to the song.
“Davie? Hey man, I’m a bit early.”
What was that?
“Hope you don’t mind me letting myself in?”
“Jere? Is that you?” Heat that wasn’t the result of my shower flooded my face as I quickly turned the water off so I could hear better.
“Yeah. Hope you don’t mind me just coming in?”
I shook my head at his question. Why would I mind? Other than about the fact he’d just caught me singing a chick song, that is. “No. No. Not at all.” Hang on a minute. He wasn’t meant to be here until quarter to nine. Damn, I couldn’t have been in the shower that long… could I? “Aren’t you a bit early?” I shouted, hoping to hell he was.
“Sorry. I was up early and thought I’d get us some coffees; maybe have some brekkie with you before you go?”
Well, thank God for that, I’m not running late!
“No, don’t apologize, it’s fine. Um… Make yourself at home, I won’t be long.”
“Okay.” I heard him yell as I turned the water back on. I grabbed the conditioner and slathered a hefty palmful through my hair, suppressing a moan as I massaged it into my scalp. No moaning, Sadler. Jeremy will think you’re jerking off. Hmm, maybe I should go to that hairdresser’s again. She gave the best scalp massage.
I began humming along to some song I vaguely recognized, rubbing the excess conditioner all over my balls and the trimmed patch of pubes I usually left above my cock, before reaching for my razor. When it came to shaving the privates, conditioner beat shaving cream hands down, leaving the skin as smooth as a baby’s bottom and no ingrown hairs. Perfect! Another pearl of wisdom I had Erik to thank for. He’d loved the color of my pubic hair which was a darker shade of red to that on my head, insisting I leave a small patch, whereas he’d always shaved his entire groin area. I had to admit, I liked leaving a little bit. For some reason it made me feel more mannish, and less boyish.
Exercising a level of self-restraint that made me feel proud of myself, I pushed any thought of Jeremy out of my head, knowing full well what would happen to my rebellious cock if I allowed myself even the smallest imagining of him as he waited for me to finish my shower. Yep, definitely couldn’t let myself think of his gray eyes and how they literally twinkled when he laughed, or the way his dimple slowly appeared when his almost feminine lips curved up into one of his cheeky smiles. And if the thought of something as innocent as eyes and a dimple could stir my dick, then picturing the muscles of his back and ass flexing and contracting as he wriggled out of his steamer was definitely out of bounds.
Closing my eyes, I put my head under the flow of the water, bringing up my hands and running my fingers through my hair, helping the water to rinse it clean. As I stood there, it occurred to me, I hadn’t brought any clean underwear into the bathroom with me. All I had were my skimpy blue towels—my bigger bathsheets being in the wash. I mean, I only owned two sets of towels—one set in use, one set in the wash. That was all you needed… right?
For a moment, I panicked. I’d left my bedroom door open, but he’d see me as I left the bathroom, crossed the narrow hall and entered my room. My eyes flew open as a thousand different options flew through my mind at once, only to slam shut when I got conditioner in them. I cursed my stupidity, turning my face into the stream in an effort to rinse the sting away. What the hell are you freaking out for? He’s already seen you naked a few times. What’s the big deal, you idiot?
Feeling calmer, I switched the water off, using one of the midget towels to dry myself with, hanging it on the rail when I was done, before donning the dry one, wrapping it sarong style around my hips. Hmm, not much overlap there. Looking down in the direction of my cock, I willed him to remain limp. No twitching, pulsing, or throbbing, mate, and most definitely no semis allowed, or we’ll both be in deep shit!
I couldn’t say why I headed for the kitchen instead of my room—I was flirting with disaster by doing so. I knew it, but did it anyway, drawn as if by a magnet.
Trying to look as nonchalant as possible, I ambled into the kitchen-dining area, my hands in my hair trying in vain to instill a little order. One look at Jeremy, seated at my dining table looking good enough to eat in his jeans and a white tee, which gave more than just a hint at his lean surfer physique, told me my postage stamp sized towel was not going to be up to the task I’d given it—namely, that of concealing my body’s reaction to him.
As soon as I picked up my coffee, secretly pleased that he’d thought to bring me one, I turned my back to him, murmuring my thanks. Trying not to make it obvious, I glanced down at my groin, and rolled my eyes. I suppressed a sigh as a twinge of nervousness at my boldness—at the way I’d tempted fate—clawed at my belly in the way a dog might gnaw at a bone. What on earth had possessed me to think I could be in the same room as him, wanting him the way I did, in a handkerchief sized towel? No effing way could I turn and face him, now. My ever-reliable-to-ignore-me cock—yeah, the same one that seemed determined to embarrass me—had sprung a semi. Shaking my head at myself, I wondered if all guys’ dicks had a mind of their own like mine did.
In an effort to distract myself and lose my wood, I focused on trying to get the lid off the coffee Jere had brought me. God, how I hated lids on take-away coffee cups, having once had one loosen and spill its hot contents all over me. I’d been paranoid about them ever since. The lid of the cup that Jeremy brought me, though, was making a mockery of my fears by resisting my efforts to gently ease it off. I felt inordinately proud of myself when I finally managed it without spilling so much as a drop.
Tossing the stubborn lid into the bin, I took a long grateful swallow of the aromatic brew, desperately needing the caffeine hit. It wasn’t that hot anymore—I’d have to drink it fast. I allowed myself a glance at Jeremy over my shoulder. What the fuck is he doing? It looked like he was trying to appear innocent. I knew that look. I’d seen it a thousand and one times when we were kids. He’d worn it every time his mother had caught us doing something we shouldn’t have been doing, which was pretty often. What on earth is he feeling guilty about?
I did a quick scan of the room, finding nothing out of place or broken. Maybe he was checking out your arse? That one little errant thought prompted me to gulp down the last of my coffee. Surely not? Would he? Christ, I don’t know anymore! Mentally giving myself a shake, I came to the conclusion it must be lack of sleep combined with wishful thinking on my behalf, because God only knew how many hours I’d spent longing for that very thing. Man, how I wished all those funny looks actually meant something. Heading toward my bedroom, I called out over my shoulder that I was going to get dressed, and suggested he might be more comfortable talking to me from the lounge area as it was closer.
That tantalizingly mischievous thought wouldn’t be denied though, teasing me with possibilities with every step I took away from him.
What if… Should I… Would he…
I could have closed my bedroom door.
But I didn’t.
I could have shut the mirrored wardrobe door.
But I didn’t.
I could have dropped my towel and donned my underwear in another part of my room.
But I didn’t.
No. I did none of those things.
Instead I threw caution to the winds.
OMG, Davie what did you do?
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