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Damian never really thought about it. He didn’t. Jon was his partner. They were friends – but, Jon was also great in bed and more than a friend. It was confusing.
And maybe Damian wanted them to stay as friends. Insist that there were nothing between them. Yet, there was this one time, on Jon’s bed, in a house with no parents.
Jon’s skin was warm and smooth beneath Damian’s hands. He seemed so happy. He couldn’t stop smiling, as if Damian touching him was the best thing in his life. And Damian was riding him – living in the moment, set free in his own skin, so turned on he could barely think straight. Jon always had that effect on him. The smug bastard.
Jon’s favorite long sleeved shirt was discarded on the floor beside the bed. Damian couldn’t be anymore naked and he wanted to – god. He wanted to put the shirt on. To get fucked wearing Jon’s clothes. Damian groaned and threw his head back at the thought. It was like a curse. The thought wouldn’t leave him once it made itself known. He couldn’t voice it and before he could make sense of it, Jon had sat up beneath him, wrapped those strong arms around him.
Damian was not helpless, but he surrendered, voice going high pitched as Jon moved into him.
“Jon, please,” he said.
And later, he would feel stupid about wanting to put on the shirt, but …, as he laid there then, bare-assed and getting fucked in Jon’s soft shirt, too big for him, Damian felt a strange sense of satisfaction.
They were still friends, though. What a nightmare.