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Hayden jolts awake with a start, wide eyes plastered open and focused on the ceiling, though its details are mostly imperceptible in the dark. He’s brought back into the waking world with his blanket tangled around his body, a thin sheen of sweat coating his skin, persistent flush to his face, and an overwhelming sense of guilt. He swallows dryly before reaching for the glass of water resting on his bedside table, hoping it will be cool enough to temper the shameful heat that’s searing through his body.
He swallows the room-temperature water, then runs his palm down his face with a gravelly sigh.
He’s hard. Unbearably so. Unfortunately so.
Hayden is ashamed to admit he’s grown familiar with this. He’s a good man, a polite man, and it’s in his best interest to try and ignore the scene that played out behind his eyes.
Whether they're open and focused on the dark of his bedroom or screwed shut so tightly it hurts, the results are the same: his dream on repeat. An outsider’s view of him and Jute in his living room during an extremely intimate moment. An extremely intimate and unrealistic moment, he tries to assure himself.
It’s not that he doesn’t like Jute, the problem is is that he does. On the surface, it seems he’s got a little crush on his neighbor, but subconsciously, he might as well be utterly head over heels for them. He seeks them out throughout the day, and when they’re apart all of Hayden’s thoughts manage to wander back to Jute. And his dreams are much of the same, except without the filter that a waking-Hayden desperately holds on to to keep himself sane.
He would be lying to say he didn’t think about Jute that way from time to time — the solitude of running a farm and standing by a till all day leaves him ample time to fantasize, but he tries to keep it moderate. Maybe a bit of heavy petting, only limiting himself to snippets, whatever other restriction he needs to put on himself so he doesn’t feel like a complete monster for salivating over a poor, unsuspecting Jute, who’s completely unaware that he feels that way towards them.
Hayden straightens the blanket out before deciding to kick it off his overheating body and strips the tank top off his body, leaving him to cool down in his boxers.
Thank God it’s dark. He can’t bear to face his shame up front.
He rests his hands on his stomach, clasped together — in a perfect world, he would be holding someone else's — and shuts his eyes.
He tries not to be bothered by the vision that proceeds the action: he and Jute are on the floor of his living room, on top of various blankets and surrounded by a few strewn about pillows, lit warmly by his crackling fireplace. It’s a romantic set up, juxtaposed by the absolutely depraved scene in front of it. Hayden swallows thickly just thinking about it, but watching it behind his eyes conjures up a burst of heat that overtakes his body and makes his cock throb in his boxers.
“Damn it all…” He mumbles, truly conflicted by his predicament.
It’s not the first dream he’s had about them and with the way things are going, it won’t be the last. If it happened to be a random, one-off thing with someone he wasn’t that close to, he would be less upset, but this is Jute. His neighbor. His best friend that he’s completely smitten with. They’re not a three course meal for a starving man, they’re a sweet and generous person that deserves Hayden’s utmost respect.
If anything, he should have been on his knees servicing Jute in his dream, showing them how devoted he truly is, showing that he will gladly do anything for them and ask for nothing in return. Instead, he was faced with the fantasy of getting rough with them, being unwieldy and impolite.
There was no natural starting point to his dream. It was as if he had walked in on himself and Jute during a pause in their lovemaking. The room was a mess, their clothes were all over the floor, the furniture had been moved, and Jute seemed to have been reduced to senseless pleasure — far from anything he could have consciously imagined. It also seemed as though Hayden himself had degraded into someone depraved and selfish, someone who groped Jute and yanked their braided hair as though they were simply his plaything.
The cruelest part of it all was witnessing the unadulterated desire so clear on his face and theirs — as if Jute would want to be pressed into the floor with their ass in the air and dripping cunt on display. It was clear that this wasn’t their first round. Jute’s release and Hayden’s seed were dripping down their trembling thighs, and despite their ruined state, in the dream, Jute was smiling.
Hayden watched himself swat at their ass before really striking them — he can still so clearly hear Jute’s first few whimpers and pained-pleasured moans, intensifying more and more with the increase of his force. When their knees buckled and back arched, he gave a swift slap to Jute’s cunt that earned him a wail. In the dream, Hayden laughed about it, giddy and eager to absorb every reaction from Jute. It was perverse.
Hayden’s throat feels tight as he recalls it and skates his hand down his torso to rest his fingers just nearly under the waistband of his tented boxers.
“You want me that bad, huh?”
Jute whined and folded in on themself as Hayden pulled his hand away, clutching the soft blanket under them and burying their face into a pillow.
“Jute, love, use your words.” He was already moving into position behind them, spreading their trembling legs with his own. His cock was so dangerously close to breaching them. He was teasing them, all with an unnaturally serene expression plastered over his red and sweaty face. “I wanna hear that pretty voice of yours beg to be filled up.”
Hayden curses himself. He curses himself for his weakness, for being ashamed, for shoving his boxers down his thighs and wrapping his hand around the base of his cock. He squeezes it, then starts stroking, remembering the way Jute turned back to him, tears pricking at their pleading eyes, their face so adorably red, and how sincere their ragged voice sounded.
“Please…? I want make you feel good, Hayden. I want to give you everything you’ve ever wanted. Just — just cum inside me, one more time?”
Dream or reality, Hayden would give Jute anything they asked for. In reality, he hastens his stroking, caught in a desperate haze. He’s not one to make much noise by himself, but small whines and whimpers emit past his lips unintentionally. In the dream that played out behind his eyelids, he stroked their hair, following the dark braid all the way down their back until he made contact with the red ribbon securing it, before winding it around his hand. His other hand caressed their side, slid over the curve of their ass, until it settled in the fold of their hips where he could line up his tip against their wanting entrance.
In the dream, he had been so desperate, so frantic to be with them. He slid in urgently and with force, ripping a moan from Jute as he yanked on their braid and thrust into them so deeply he could hear how wet their pussy was. When he took root, he spanked their bruised ass which earned him a sob.
Hayden slows his hand but doesn’t stop. He digs his feet into the mattress to gain better purchase to rut into his fist. When his hips relax on the downward stroke, he rubs his thumb over his cockhead, smearing the pre-cum over his shaft. If he was truly an upstanding man, Hayden would stop at wishing it was Jute’s hand touching him instead of his, but all notions of modesty have been banished. Hayden can’t stop thinking about how much better this would be if it was Jute’s pussy instead. If it was them clenching around his member, if it was them dripping all over his shaft, if he could hold them steady, if he could squeeze their hips, if he could hear the way their voice keened, if he could tell them that he loves them.
“Thaaat’s it, honey. Feel better? Do I make you feel good, Jute?”
Jute rocked back with every thrust, burying Hayden deeper and deeper each time. In the dream, Jute was far from quiet like they are in the waking world — each twist of their synced bodies made them groan, each tug of their hair made them yelp, and every question is answered in a reedy, weary tone.
“So fucking good, thank you — thank you, thank you — oh, Hayden!” When Jute’s head fell forward, Hayden tightened his grip on their hair to keep them upright. When they trembled, Hayden rubbed their back and cooed sweet words to them. When their cunt started fluttering around his member, Hayden laughed with pure delight.
“You gonna cum, darlin’? You gonna make another mess for me? C’mon, Jutie, let’s see it. Show me how good I am to you.”
It was already evident — Hayden’s cock was covered in a mix of his seed and Jute’s arousal. With every thrust in, more oozed out around him. They were filled, and they were loving every second of it. Hayden took pride in being the one responsible.
Hayden’s free hand covers his face, muffling his animalistic panting in an attempt to keep some dignity as he jerks off to the thought of fucking his best friend. The recollection is so clear, it’s almost like he’s experiencing the dream again, both as the audience and the actor, filling both parts dutifully. Jute deserves the best, after all.
He can almost, almost, feel the figment of Jute’s orgasm take him — like it’s just a ghost of a sense memory. He almost feels the way they clenched around his cock, the way their pussy urged him in deeper and deeper, ready to take his load. He almost feels their tensed muscles under this calloused hands. It’s easier for him to recall the sounds — the raucous sob that weakened into a moan, then into a small whine. The sound of their cunt gushing all around him.
It’s enough to make him skip towards the end of the dream. He can feel it in himself, how his abdomen tightens and his thighs tremble. When he skates a hand past his shaft to cup his balls, he can feel them tense in his palm, ready to spill all over his fist. He wishes it was inside Jute instead.
At least he gets what he wants in his dream. Hayden had Jute nearly pressed flat into the blanketed floor with one hand keeping their hip propped up, the other held onto their face with a thumb lodged into their mouth, keeping those pretty lips open so he could hear as much of them as possible. He was blanketing them, draped over their back and pinning them into position with his weight. With the disparity in their height, Jute’s head was smothered by Hayden’s chest, but they seemed more than content being under him like this.
That smugness that dream-Hayden had had been reduced into senseless groans and panting. He wasn’t thrusting anymore, he rut into them, against their sensitive and spasming walls, his tip hit something deep inside that made Jute’s moan sound nearly like a scream. There were no more sounds of their bodies meeting, just how damn wet Jute was. It was obscene that he could hear the way he moved inside of them. It was obscene how much it turned him on.
“…’m close, sweetheart.” He groaned.
That's when the tone of his dream had shifted. Jute took his hand — the one hooked into their mouth — and gently held it. The other went to his forearm and guided him lower. Jute rested their head in on him and nuzzled into his burning skin with a soft sigh.
Then, they kissed one of his scars.
Then, his knuckles.
“Good... good... That’s my good boy.” Jute sighed, pleased.
Hayden is fucking his fist so hard his back is arching off the mattress. He’s lost all pretenses of keeping it quite, openly groaning into the dark room, desperate to make it over the edge. He’s muttering curses and pleas under his breath for his release.
“I love you.” The clarity of their voice rings out in his head, and he gasps.
At their words, Hayden hit that spot one more time, as deep as Jute’s body would allow, taken by the impulse to get as close as possible, to fill them with his seed like it was his only purpose. It came with a pained groan, as if he had been woefully struck, or perhaps was experiencing the most cathartic release.
His palm, soaked with his pre-cum, hits the base of his shaft and meets his balls, tensing and full. The first few ropes splatter across his taut abdomen audibly, thick and warm. A few more shoot out, less forcefully but copious in their amount. It takes a few seconds for Hayden to weaken. The pulses shorten into small spurts, and then he’s left twitching and soft.
It takes him a moment to realize his eyes are forcefully shut. Another to realize he needs to breathe. When he gets his wits about him, light is just barely peeking into his window, edging closer to morning. He can see the mess he’s made of himself, on his limp hand hovering foolishly over his soft cock, and caught in the hair of his stomach and his bush. Never mind the emotional mess he was left in.
This, too, was unfortunately familiar to him. The brief moment of bliss followed by heavy shame. His head falls back to his pillow with a displeased groan, well aware that his day will start soon. That Jute, like clockwork, will stop by to give him breakfast and strike up conversation. Hayden, like usual, will have to look them in the eye and pretend like he’s not madly in love with them, that he hasn’t been dreaming about railing them.
It’s not too late to shut his eyes for a few more minutes, hopefully to catch up on his lost sleep. Maybe this time, he’ll dream of the taking a nice, casual, walk with him. And, if he’s feeling so bold, maybe they’ll be holding hands.