I never thought I’d ever say this, but the first person I truly craved was my best friend, Liam. Not in a crush way—at least, that’s what I kept telling myself for years. We’d known each other since high school, devoured beer and pizza on the weekends, trashed each other’s haircuts, complained about work. The whole “bros for life” thing. Girls came and went, but our friendship never really wavered.
He moved into a new apartment last year after his ex moved out. He asked if I could help him get settled—a few weekends of carrying boxes, assembling shaky Ikea shelves, and finally, relaxing in his half-empty living room with takeout.
A few months after, his birthday was approaching. “Dude, you coming over tonight?” he texted. “Just pizza and bad movies. Oh, and we’re drinking.”
“Hell yeah,” I answered, expecting the usual. Just two guys, nothing weird. I brought his favorite bourbon and crappy store-bought cupcakes.
When I arrived, everything looked the same as always. Jeans, t-shirt, Liam’s careless grin. He hugged me at the door, almost squeezing the breath out of me. But maybe it was me—I noticed I held him half a second longer than usual.
After two rounds of bourbon and a pizza that leaked cheese everywhere, he tossed the remote at me. “Your pick,” he said, sprawled out across the sofa, feet in my lap. “But if it’s another Marvel movie, I’m kicking your ass.”
We settled on some dumb action film, but barely watched ten minutes. We argued about which Fast & Furious movie was worst, doubled over laughing at a scene neither of us understood. His toes pressed against my thigh; I started absentmindedly rubbing circles there, a gesture I thought nothing of at first. I caught him looking at my hand, his eyes suddenly hooded and quiet.
For a second, I felt exposed. I snatched my hand away, tried to laugh it off. “Sorry, dude, guess I’m already buzzed.”
He smiled, but didn’t say anything. That weird tension hung between us for a few minutes—the usual banter replaced with something heavier.
Eventually, I excused myself to the bathroom, splashed cold water on my face. Was I reading too much into this? Why did it feel like my skin was on fire every time he touched me? I stared at myself in the mirror and wondered if I was about to wreck the only relationship that really mattered to me.
When I came back, Liam was in the kitchen. “Want another drink?” he asked, already pouring.
“Yeah,” I said, my voice hoarse for no reason. He handed me a glass, close enough that our fingers brushed.
I tried to act normal, but every word was heavier. We talked about old times, drunkenly reminisced about college, laughing so hard he had to hold onto my shoulder to steady himself. The contact lingered—accidentally at first, then not. At one point, he rested his head on my shoulder. “You know, you could have just moved in with me after Jen left,” he mumbled.
“I could have,” I admitted, not trusting myself to say more.
There was a long pause, his breathing slow and deep. “You ever think about that?”
“Sometimes,” I said, my heartbeat slamming in my ears.
Suddenly, the mood seemed brighter and heavier all at once. It was stupid late. Liam got up and stretched, shirt riding up to show a slice of bare skin and the fine line of hair below his navel. I tried not to gawk, but failed.
He caught my stare and smirked, unashamed. He grabbed the remote and collapsed next to me on the couch, a little closer than before. All the loose glances and accidental touches of the night came flooding back—the way his knee pressed against mine, the warmth spreading from where he touched me.
I tried to brush it off, but the silence became unbearable. Finally, I blurted, “Liam, can I ask you something?”
“Shoot.”
“Have you ever… thought about us? Like, being more than…” My voice trailed off into a blush.
He grinned. “Thought for years you’d never ask.”
I froze, not sure if he was joking or dead serious. Then he leaned in, the world blurring out around us. The first kiss was awkward and brand-new, lips hesitant but unmistakably electric. He tasted of whiskey and something sweet. His hand found my jaw, fingers warm and firm. I stiffened at first, nerves twisting in my gut, but his mouth coaxed mine open and the rest fell away.
When we broke apart, I couldn’t stop myself from grinning like an idiot. He laughed, wrapping his arms around my shoulders.
“Scared?” he whispered.
I shook my head, probably lying. My mind screamed with both terror and lust. “A little,” I admitted.
“I’ve wanted this forever,” he said softly, fingers combing through my hair.
He kissed me again, longer this time, and his hands wandered. I melted against him, surrendering as his tongue slid into my mouth, greedy and hot. My hands slipped under his t-shirt, exploring the taut muscle of his back; his skin burned under my palms. He made an approving noise and hooked his leg over mine, pulling our bodies flush together.
His hips ground against me—slow at first, then harder, rubbing along the outline of my hard cock through my jeans. I couldn’t believe how hungry I suddenly felt, desperate for every inch of him.
“Bedroom?” he asked, breath hot against my ear.
“Yes,” I said, voice raw.
He led me down the dim hallway, not letting go of my hand. Inside his bedroom, the streetlight cast strange shadows across the rumpled sheets. We kissed like we’d never done it before—like we’d been holding back our whole lives.
He tugged my t-shirt off, hands running across my chest as he pushed me onto the bed. His lips traced my collarbone, trailing downward, making me shudder. I dragged him down next to me, sliding my hands under his waistband. He grinned, kissing my neck, breath tickling my skin.
He undressed me piece by piece, eyes devouring me in the half-light. My heart slammed as his hands palmed my cock through my boxers, slow and teasing. “Is this okay?” he whispered.
“More than okay,” I panted, my body aching for him.
His mouth followed his hands, hot lips closing around the head of my cock as he tugged my boxers off. I gasped, hips jerking, all nerves and need. There was nothing careful about it—he was greedy, confident, taking as much of me as he could. His tongue licked and sucked, wet and filthy, and I let out a helpless moan.
I wanted him just as badly. I shoved him onto his back, pulling off his jeans and boxers. He was painfully hard, leaking, and I wrapped my hand around him, loving how he shivered beneath my touch.
“God, I’ve dreamt of this,” he gasped.
“You could have just asked,” I teased, stroking him faster.
We rolled together, bodies hot and clumsy, kissing and grinding, desperate now. I pressed my lips to his stomach, worshipping every line of him, tasting salt and skin. When I finally eased myself down, taking his cock in my mouth, he moaned so loud I thought the neighbors would hear.
It didn’t take long before we were a tangled mess, sheets pushed to the floor, sweat-slick and reckless. He reached for lube in his nightstand, fumbling it open with shaking hands. “You sure?” he asked, voice tender, vulnerable for the first time all night.
“Absolutely,” I whispered, pressing a kiss to his lips.
He worked me open, gentle but insistent, fingers slick and skilled. When he finally pushed inside, the stretch was overwhelming—sharp and perfect. He rocked into me, slow at first, hands gripping my hips.
The world melted away to just the slide of his body and the frantic, whispered words—fuck, so good, never knew, wanted this for so long. I dug my nails into his back, arching to meet every thrust, desperate for more.
Liam bent down, kissing me through it, forehead pressed to mine. I wrapped my legs tighter around him. “I’m close,” I gasped, dizzy and wild.
“Me too—fuck, don’t stop,” he panted.
We came almost together: me first, choking out his name, cock pulsing between our slick bellies, and then him, thrusting deep and losing himself with a groan. He collapsed on top of me, bodies sticky and tangled.
For a while, we just lay there, catching our breath in the dark. I felt him smile against my shoulder. “Well, about damn time,” he whispered.
I laughed, relief and satisfaction flooding me. “You think things are going to be weird now?”
He pulled me close, resting his head on my chest. “Only if we make it weird.”
And that’s how crossing that line didn’t ruin us. Instead, it gave us something I never knew I wanted so badly—someone who knew me, flaws and all, and still wanted to strip me naked in the half-light.
We both drifted to sleep, skin against skin, knowing in the morning everything would be different—better.