Best Friend’s Secret - Part 4

All Characters Are 18+

Brad let out a short laugh, still breathless. “Not bad at all.”

Oliver gave him a knowing look that said everything without words.

——————

They parted ways after that. Brad on a high from his orgasm, Oliver nervous for his date that night. But behind the nerves, there was still a thought in the back of his mind that he couldn’t shake…Brad.

The next day, Brad tried to play it cool, but it wasn’t easy. They were at the gym again, wiping sweat from their foreheads between sets when Oliver casually mentioned his date from the night before.

“Yeah, we went back to his place,” he said, loading weight onto the bar. “Ended up hooking up. It was good. Your lesson yesterday really helped.”

Brad gave a short nod, lips pressed together. “Nice.”

Oliver looked at him, smirking like he could see through the flat tone. “That’s all you got?”

Brad forced a laugh. “What, you want a high five? Good for you, man.” He moved to the bench, laying back under the bar. But the rep felt heavier than usual. His chest was tight, and it wasn’t from the weight.

The gym was completely empty, just the two of them. When they wrapped up, Oliver checked his phone. “Shit, I’ve got class in like forty minutes. I don’t have time to go home or I’ll be late. I guess I’ll just shower here.”

Brad nodded. “Yeah, me too.”

The locker room was old school, a big tiled space with rows of lockers and an open shower room. No stalls, no curtains. Just a wall lined with showerheads.

They stripped down, tossing their clothes onto the bench. Brad tried not to look, but when Oliver peeled his shorts off and walked toward the shower, Brad’s eyes betrayed him. His body was getting well toned, sculpted from their weeks of lifting. The testosterone had added a bit of definition, a sharpness to his muscles. And when Oliver turned to adjust the water, Brad’s gaze dipped lower, catching the outline of his slit nestled between his thighs.

Brad swallowed hard and turned quickly to his own nozzle, cranking the water on. He kept his back to Oliver, head down. But his body betrayed him again, blood rushing to his cock until it stood heavy and aching.

“Brad?”

He froze. “What?”

“You’re…uh.” Oliver’s tone was amused, not judgmental.

Brad glanced down. Shit. His erection was obvious, jutting out in front of him. He turned to the side, covering it with his hand. “Fuck, sorry. You know I haven’t had sex in months, man. Sometimes it just happens.”

Oliver tilted his head, water cascading over him. “It’s fine. You can take care of it if you need to.”

Brad barked out a laugh, embarrassed. “Yeah, right. In here?”

Oliver raised a brow. “Why not? No one else is around.”

Brad shook his head, muttering, “Nah.” But his cock pulsed, throbbing, skin tight from how hard he was. The hot water didn’t help. He clenched his fist against the wall, trying to will it away, but it only got worse.

Finally, he gave in. He wrapped his hand around his shaft and stroked once, groaning under his breath.

Oliver watched him. He didn’t even try to hide it. Instead, his own hand slid between his legs, fingers circling his clit. His breath hitched, and he pressed his back to the wall, water streaming down his chest.

Brad’s hand pumped faster, water and soap making it easy. He couldn’t stop staring now. Oliver’s eyes were on him, lips parted, cheeks flushed as his fingers worked in tight circles.

“Fuck,” Brad muttered, chest heaving.

Oliver moaned softly, watching Brad’s fist glide over his cock. The sight had him grinding his hips into his own touch. “God, that’s hot.” he whispered.

Their gazes locked, and neither looked away. Brad’s strokes grew faster, his other hand gripping the tile for balance. Oliver’s thighs trembled as his fingers moved quicker, his moans spilling louder in the echo of the room.

Brad groaned Oliver’s name before he could stop himself, and that pushed him over the edge. He jerked hard, cock pulsing as thick ropes of cum spattered onto the wet floor.

Oliver cried out almost at the same time, his body shuddering as his fingers pressed tight against his swollen clit. His juices mixed with the shower spray, running down his thighs.

For a moment, the sound of their heavy breathing filled the room.

Then Brad turned back to the spray, scrubbing his face with both hands. He felt his heart hammering against his ribs. He couldn’t believe what they’d just done.

Oliver chuckled softly. “Well. That was fun.”

Brad forced out a flat, “Yeah.” He grabbed the soap, desperate to busy his hands with anything else.

They finished their showers in silence, dressed quickly, and headed out like nothing had happened. But Brad couldn’t stop the storm of thoughts spinning in his head.

He sat through class, but none of it stuck. His pen scribbled notes while his mind replayed the steam-filled locker room, Oliver’s hand between his thighs, the way their eyes locked as they both came. He tried to shake it, but the images burned brighter the harder he fought them.

By the next lecture, he had Oliver’s social media pulled up on his phone. Scrolling through pictures of gym shots, nights out, stupid selfies that made him smile against his will. Before he knew it, his thumb brushed the screen wrong and a heart popped red on a photo from months ago. Shit. He quickly unliked it, pulse racing.

His phone buzzed seconds later.

Oliver: you stalking me? 😂

Brad’s stomach dropped. He scrambled for a reply.

Nah, just bored in class. You popped up and I scrolled too far.

Oliver reacted with a laughing emoji. Then: You wanna do something tonight? Maybe bar hop?

Brad typed back bet without hesitation, already buzzing with the thought of seeing him, but disguising it in his mind as just excitement to go out.

Later, back at his dorm, he tore through his closet. He’d throw on a shirt, then rip it off, try another, then another. Why the hell did it matter what he wore? He never cared this much going out with the guys. He muttered, “It’s just Oliver,” but couldn’t shake the weight of it.

A few hours later, Oliver pulled up. Brad climbed in, checking his reflection in the window before shutting the door. They bounced from one bar to the next, a couple drinks at each spot, their usual easy rhythm carrying the night.

They passed another place, neon glowing above the door. Brad nodded toward it. “What about that one?”

Oliver gave him a look. “You wouldn’t like it.”

“Why not?”

“It’s a gay bar. It’s a lot of fun, but I’m not sure it’d be your scene…”

Brad shrugged. “If you wanna go in, we’ll go in.”

Oliver smirked. “You sure?”

“Yeah.”

Inside, the vibe was different. Music thumped, men laughed and leaned close over drinks. Oliver seemed at ease here, more in his element than Brad had ever seen. And it didn’t take long before guys started coming over and complimenting his shirt, asking if they could buy him a drink, lingering too long.

Brad stood at Oliver’s side, drink clutched too firmly in his hand. He tried to laugh along, but every time someone else’s attention landed on Oliver, heat flared in his chest.

Oliver eventually looked at him. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Brad said too quickly. “Just…you about ready to dip?”

Oliver studied him, then nodded. “Sure.”

They stepped out into the cooler night air. Brad shoved his hands in his pockets, walking fast.

“What was that about?” Oliver asked, finally breaking the silence. “Inside. You seemed pissed off.”

Brad forced a laugh. “I wasn’t pissed. Just…like you said, not my scene, I guess.” He changed the subject. “We’re close to your place. Mind if I crash? I don’t feel like going back to campus tonight.”

Oliver eyed him but didn’t push further. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

At his apartment, they kicked off their shoes and peeled out of their clothes until they were down to underwear. Brad slid under the covers beside him, the familiarity of it both calming and electric. He tried to play it off casual, but his body was tense, his heart pounding harder than any workout.

Brad lay on his back staring at the ceiling, sheets draped around his legs. Every time he shifted, the mattress dipped and creaked. He huffed and rolled again.

“You’re restless as hell,” Oliver murmured into the dark.

Brad chuckled quietly. “Sorry, man. I just can’t get comfortable.”

Oliver shifted too, turning onto his side. “Here. Move this way.” He tugged at Brad’s arm, guiding him into place until Brad was nestled behind him, their bodies aligned. “Better?”

Brad hesitated, then settled. His arm naturally draped across Oliver’s torso, hand resting flat against his chest. The warmth of Oliver’s body seeped into his, calming the jitter in his chest. “Yeah actually, it is.”

For a while, they were still. Brad’s breathing slowed, his cheek brushing the back of Oliver’s shoulder. Almost without realizing it, his hand began to move. Just small, absent strokes across Oliver’s chest, tracing the faint rise and fall with each breath. His fingertips skimmed lower, circling his abdomen in lazy patterns.

As his mind began to realize what his fingers were doing, Brad’s cock thickened, pressing forward against the curve of Oliver’s ass. He froze, swallowing hard, but Oliver’s breaths were deep like he’d already drifted off. Brad let himself relax again, letting the heavy warmth of his erection rest right there, hidden by the thin fabric of his boxers.

He closed his eyes, telling himself it didn’t mean anything. Just body heat, just proximity, just him being touch-starved.

But Oliver wasn’t asleep. His pulse was sharp in his throat, every nerve alive under Brad’s hand. He stayed still for as long as he could, then slowly pressed back, his ass pushing against the firm length nudging him.

Brad’s breath caught. His hand stilled on Oliver’s stomach. The room was quiet but for the sound of water pipes humming somewhere in the building.

Then, almost like testing whether he’d imagined it, Brad flexed his hips, just slightly, letting his cock grind against Oliver’s body.

Oliver stayed right where he was, pretending to sleep, but pressed back harder.

Brad’s hand slid lower, fingertips brushing the waistband of Oliver’s boxers. He froze, nerves and anticipation overtaking him.

Then Oliver shifted, lifting the elastic band with his thumb, a silent invitation.

Brad swallowed, heat crawling up his neck, and pushed his hand down. He was surprised when he felt just how wet Oliver already was, slickness coating his fingers instantly. He exhaled shakily, circling his clit with the tip of his finger.

Oliver let out a soft moan, his hips tilting to chase more. Brad’s cock twitched, pressing harder into Oliver’s ass as he kept rubbing slow, deliberate circles.

The sheets tangled and kicked down around their legs, heat wrapping around them. Oliver shoved his boxers down and kicked them away completely. Brad took the opening, rolling between his thighs, shoulders pressing them apart. He buried his face between Oliver’s legs, tongue flicking over swollen folds before sucking in deeper. His fingers worked alongside his mouth, sliding inside him as his tongue worked over his clit.

Oliver’s breath came faster, a soft whine spilling out as his thighs trembled. Brad pulled back for a moment, lips and chin slick. That’s when he really noticed that Oliver’s clit was bigger than he’d realized, almost like a small dick straining under his tongue. Something about it clicked in Brad’s head.

Without thinking too hard, he wrapped his lips around it like he was giving a blowjob, sucking with steady pressure and stroking it with his tongue. Oliver bucked hard, a sharp cry ripping from his throat, clutching at the sheets as Brad kept working it like that.

Brad’s own boxers were gone before long, tossed aside as his hand wrapped around his cock, jerking himself while devouring Oliver.

After Oliver cried out with his first orgasm, Brad pulled back, breathing hard, watching Oliver writhe. He looked down at his own leaking dick, then back at Oliver’s flushed face.

Oliver nodded. Just once.

Brad lined himself up, pressed forward, and felt the tight heat engulf him inch by inch. He groaned, bracing himself on either side of Oliver as he began to thrust. The rhythm built, their skin slapping together, Brad lowering himself more and more until his chest pressed against Oliver’s.

His head dropped to Oliver’s neck and he buried his face there.

Oliver tilted his head, pressed his lips to Brad’s cheek, testing, cautious, then pulled back to see if it was too far.

Brad lifted his head. His face was torn, contemplative, like he wasn’t sure if he should cross that line. But slowly, he leaned in closer. Closer still. The tension burned between them until finally, finally, his lips met Oliver’s.

The kiss lit something in Brad. Something raw and electric that he felt throughout his whole body. His hips jerked, thrusts growing ragged. He felt it about to happen. “I’m gonna cum” he gasped as he pulled off Oliver’s lips.

Seconds later, a surge ripped through him and he broke against Oliver, moaning into his mouth as he came inside him, body shuddering hard like he was having a seizure. But the orgasm was so powerful, he had no control over his movements.

As he came down from his high, Brad collapsed forward, his chest pressing fully against Oliver’s, the heat of their bodies sticking them together. His cock was still buried inside, twitching as aftershocks rippled through him. For a few moments he just lay there, catching his breath, listening to Oliver’s uneven breathing beneath him.

Slowly, the storm inside him began to calm. His thrusts had stilled, his body going slack, cock softening inside Oliver’s warmth until it slipped free. Brad rolled off with a sharp exhale and sat up at the edge of the bed, his head in his hands.

Oliver shifted beside him, hair damp with sweat, chest rising and falling fast. He stood, legs shaky, and quickly paced toward the bathroom before Brad’s cum started to spill out of him.

Brad stared at the floor. His mind was screaming a thousand different things at once…what the fuck did I just do, why did it feel so good, what does this mean? His heart pounded harder than it ever had before, nerves on fire under his skin.

By the time Oliver shut the bathroom door, Brad was already pulling his boxers on, then his shorts. He yanked his shirt over his head, not even caring that it was backward at first. His only thought was escape, get space, go somewhere away from the dizzying reality of what just happened.

He shoved his shoes on without tying them, grabbed his phone, and bolted. The apartment door clicked shut just as the bathroom door opened again.

Oliver stepped out, still flushed, expecting Brad to be there waiting. But all he saw was the empty bed, sheets tangled and damp, and the unlocked front door that had just closed.