Defenseman No. 9 - Xavier Neal Page 0,19

direction in the process.

“Scientific.”

“Prove it,” my best friend taunts from his short distance. “Reach the end of the pool before I do.”

“You had a head start.”

“That’s only getting bigger while you stand there bitching.”

I toss him a small glare and promptly dive underneath the surface. He chooses to maintain his poor choice of movement, uselessly flailing his legs around in hopes it’ll make him go faster while I execute the style that I know suits me best. The butterfly technique allows my long, large arms to cover more territory, and my equally lengthy torso to flow through the water instead of fight against it. My perfected method I’ve used for summers to keep myself in shape when not on the ice effortlessly propels me past him, winning his elementary school challenge. Rather than stop right then, rub it in, and relish my victory, I push myself off the edge of the pool to race down to the other end. I stay focused on keeping my toes pointed and my recovery position precise. Ensure that enough air is being retrieved to cycle my system. Dedicate all energy to moving my entire body as a single unit as opposed to separate entities. The instant I touch the opposite end with the tips of my fingers, I spin and relaunch myself back the direction I came.

Upon my returned arrival, Crash sends another wave my direction, drenching my already soaked face. I immediately splash him back starting a second water-based skirmish that causes us both to laugh hysterically. He starts talking shit – to no surprise – and I don’t waste my breath on words, finding the air more useful to keep me from getting winded like he is.

His back hits the wall of the pool on a loud defeated exhale.

My body plants itself in front him, trapping him in place by planting one arm on each side of him. “Admit it.”

Our eyes lock, yet Crash refuses to concede defeat.

“Admit that I’m bigger and stronger and a better swimmer than you.”

His face leans forward at the same time he nonchalantly grazes my dick, causing it to stir for what feels like the millionth time. “Are you harder, too?”

The action hitches my breath preventing any sort of answer from leaving me.

All of a sudden, my swollen cock is not only in his grip, but firmly pressed against his. I suck in a loud hiss through my teeth as Crash’s dainty fingers struggle to stay wrapped around both of our shafts. He slowly strokes us together from base to tip, stare challenging me to stop him.

To lie.

To tell him my body’s just betraying me and that this isn’t something I’ve literally dreamt about doing.

I believe I had this very fucking fantasy the night Gillette invited him to come along.

Crash’s voice sinks deeper into even more sultry territory. “What do you think?”

It’s impossible not to grow harder and hornier from hearing it get that low.

“Who’s harder right now, boo? Me,” he squeezes tighter, tempting my hooded stare to completely close, “or you?”

The hold I have on the brick edge is so harsh I swear I’m split seconds away from breaking off a piece.

“Should I keep going?” Crash teases during another stroke. “Do we need a little more time to figure it out?”

A low, hungry growl festers in the back of my throat, blocking my ability to speak.

“Is that a yes?” His mischievous gaze steals a glimpse of my sealed lips. “I’ma need to hear a yes, boo.”

“Y-y-yes.”

He hums in approval and sways his body closer to mine. “And, feel it, too.”

I don’t think twice about smashing my mouth against his.

I don’t run through the obvious consequences or possible problems having him for even a minute might cause to our friendship.

I simply transcribe the request for more to be that of consent and recklessly dive my tongue past his lips into the wonders I’ve never been invited to experience in the past.

My methodical movements, which appear in all other aspects of my existence, are abandoned for awkward, aggressive actions. The lashes given cause our teeth to gnash together. The laps taken are so quick they easily outdo the ones I just finished demonstrating. And, the licks…the licks are so lost and needy and desperate that I steal tastes of every tiny millimeter my tongue comes across. Crash moans over each messy move while mimicking them with his hand. Our swollen cocks are savagely stroked together over and over again, his grip working furiously to match the increasing speed