Never Have I Ever: Had a Bromance with a Teammate

Jax and I lay in my bed, our backs to each other as we pretended to sleep.

We’d slept together enough times that I knew how he breathed when he was sleeping, how his body relaxed, and he slowly spread out until he took over the bed.

Was he freaking out? Did he regret what we’d done?

I still couldn’t believe it had happened. That Jax had sucked me off, and I’d come down his throat. That he’d let me jerk off on his face.

The memories of seeing my best friend on his knees for me, his green eyes dark with lust and his full lips stretched wide around my cock, made said cock chub up until I was rocking a boner.

Fuck.

I’d had more than a few BJs in my life, and most of them had been good. None could compare to Jax’s. He’d been rough and commanding and confident as fuck as he’d worked me over and made me come in only minutes. At least that first time.

That second time had been incredible. The way he’d knelt for me, encouraged me to fuck his face, and let me come on him. Seeing him hard and hot for me, watching him nut at the same time, was one of the hottest things I’d ever witnessed.

One thing I’d never told anyone, not even Jax, was that I wasn’t a confident lover. I liked sex as much as the next guy, but the pressure to perform got to me. The girls I hooked up with expected me to be perfect. To seduce and pleasure them and have the technique and stamina of a pornstar.

When I was with women, I’d never faked it, never pretended to like it or forced myself to touch them. I was attracted to women. I enjoyed their soft curves and sinking into them when they were hot and ready for me. I liked the way they smelled and the cute sounds they made when I did something they liked.

But something had always been missing. Small hands and gentle touches could get me up, but they didn’t get me off. I preferred it when they took a more active role and showed their enthusiasm, but I didn’t usually end up with women like that.

Jax’s dominance had turned me on almost as much as his tight grip and the rough way he’d handled me. Then he’d flipped roles and let me do the same for him. Why had it felt so good when he’d been the one on his knees? Was it the way he’d looked at me?

Jax had incredibly expressive eyes. The color was unusual too. Mine were plain, boring blue. His were bright green with a ring of gold around the pupils. He’d told me it was a genetic condition called central heterochromia. It made his eyes magnetic.

I was used to seeing them smile or laugh or fill with challenge. I’d never seen them darken with lust or blaze with hunger. Even when I’d watched him get his flirt on over the years, he always maintained this cool air about him, one that hugged the line between cocky and lazy.

No one had ever looked at me like he had. Like I was their entire world and their only thoughts were on how much they wanted to be there in that moment with me.

I’d always been a selfish asshole when it came to people’s attention. Maybe it was the whole only child thing and growing up without much contact with other kids that had shaped my pathological need to be someone’s entire focus.

Sex and relationships had never been easy for me to navigate. I’d spent my entire life preparing for my future. Every spare moment of my childhood had been filled with training, camps, and playing for the most prestigious teams that would accept me.

My only friends had been my teammates, and I’d been isolated from other kids. When I’d been little, no one had invited me to their birthday parties because I hadn’t been allowed to have them. My parents had never organized playdates or sleepovers because they would interfere with my focus on baseball.

Things hadn’t gotten better in high school, and baseball had been my entire life. My father had discouraged me from dating, saying that a girlfriend would pull my attention away from my future and what was important. That now was the time to fuck around and enjoy my status and all the perks that came with it.

He’d been a ball player too, but not a very good one. He’d played on his high school team but hadn’t been recruited to play in college. Instead, he’d thrown himself into Greek life and shaped his entire identity around being in a frat.

I loved my dad, I did, but most days, I resented him.

He’d put all his failed dreams on me, and the only time he ever showed any sort of pride in me was when I did something he could brag about. Failure was unacceptable, and I had to be everything he’d wanted for himself.

I loved baseball, but if I was being honest with myself, I didn’t love it the same way my teammates did. The way Jax did. He lived the game. Everything from training to studying reels and working out strategies energized him.

My favorite moments were scrimmages and games. I loved playing, but I hated the lifestyle that went along with being an elite athlete. The rigorous training, strict diets, packed schedules, and constant pressure to be the best were all I’d known since I was five years old and my dad had convinced the local little league to let me play with the older kids because I’d always been physically big for my age. For sixteen years, my life had revolved around the game, and I had no idea who or what I was without it.

Jax glowed when he talked about his future, and his dreams of playing in the pros motivated him to push himself to be the best player he could be.

The thought of staying on this hamster wheel for another five or ten years filled me with dread and tightened my chest.

Pitchers, like catchers, didn’t have the same longevity in the game as other positions because of how hard we pushed ourselves and how physically taxing the game was on our bodies.

The main reason pitchers retired was that they got injured. Our arms were our entire worth in the game. The second we stopped being able to throw or became inconsistent, we got sacked or were benched until our contracts ran out.

Every play started with us. We could make or break a game, and because of that, we were replaceable. Major league teams carried, on average, a dozen pitchers on their roster. That meant competing against eleven of your teammates just to see any game time.

The pressure to perform was constant and started young. If you wanted to make it in pro sports, you had to be the best of the best. The game was your life, and anything less than perfection could destroy a career before it began.

My chest squeezed, and my breathing hitched as another wave of dread washed over me.

Jax rolled over and put his hand on my hip, his skin warm and soothing.

“Matt?” he whispered.

“I’m fine,” I croaked.

He pulled his hand off me, and the dread doubled.

Another burst of panic exploded in my chest. I closed my eyes and scooted back, needing to feel his big body.

Jax slipped his arm around my middle and tugged me against him, wrapping himself around me as he spooned me.

“Are you okay?” he whispered in my ear.

“No.”

He hugged me tighter. “It’s okay. Just breathe with me, okay? I’m here, and you’re safe.”

I concentrated on his chest and how it moved against my back, mirroring him so I didn’t start hyperventilating.

Fuck. I squeezed my eyes closed and did what the team therapist had suggested when I’d confessed I sometimes had panic attacks. I focused on what I could feel. On Jax behind me, his heavy arm around me. His hot breath fanning over my skin, the soft mattress underneath me.

“That’s it,” he murmured when I managed to pull in a deep breath. “You’re doing so good.”

I was a slut for praise, but Jax’s had always affected me on a level no one else’s had. It soothed and grounded me, like a tether when I was rudderless and spinning.

“Better?” he asked, his voice a low rumble, and rubbed his hand over my stomach.

“Yeah.” I cleared my throat.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I was just thinking about stuff.”

How the fuck could I tell him I’d started panicking while thinking about the future I was supposed to want more than anything?

He started to pull his arm off me, but I grabbed his wrist and held it tight, not ready to let him go. “Stay like this? Just for another minute?”

“As long as you need.” He hesitated. “Is this because of what we did?”

“No.” I pushed my ass against him, needing him closer.

He groaned and shifted his hips away from me as his hard dick poked my ass. “Sorry.”

I wiggled back. Something about his arousal, whether it was because of me or just a nighttime boner, settled the last of the noise in my head.

“Matt,” he rasped. “Are you trying to drive me crazy?”

“No,” I said honestly. “I just like feeling it.”

“Keep moving like that, and you’re going to feel a lot more,” he warned.

My dick chubbed up as warmth spread through my chest. “It feels good?”

He choked out a laugh. “Um, yeah. It feels good.”

I pushed his wrist down until his palm pressed against my matching hard-on. “For me too.”

“What do you want?” he asked, his voice strangely blank and measured.

“I don’t know.” I sighed and closed my eyes. “I just want to feel you.”

“Do you want to come?”

“I want you to. Want to feel it.”

He groaned and rolled his hips so his cock rubbed against my ass. “Like this?”

Not thinking too hard about what I was doing, I pushed my sleep pants down, then reached behind me to tug his down too. His hard cock, hot and thick, pressed against the skin of my ass.

“Matt,” he rasped and hugged me closer.

“Make yourself feel good,” I whispered, shifting until his dick settled between my cheeks.

The sensation of his length was strange but, at the same time, not. Being wrapped up in his arms, having him surround me, sent little zings of pleasure through my system, but it had nothing on the feel of his skin against my sensitive hole.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” I gave a little test thrust, and a jolt of electricity shot up my spine and tightened my balls. “Oh.”

“Fuck.” He crushed me against his body and moved that perfect length through my crack. Another of those incredible jolts pulsed through me with each slide of his hot skin over my hole. I rocked with him as he used my ass to get off.

Knowing that I was turning him on, that my body was getting him off, sent my arousal into a tailspin. Nerves deep in my body ignited and reacted.

The ridge of his head snagged on my hole, and I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood to stop the cry that bubbled up in my chest.

“Can I jerk you off?” He nuzzled into the back of my neck.

“Yeah.”

I’d started this experiment wanting to feel him, to get him off, but now I wanted more.

He gripped me hard and tight. My precum created a slick passage as he stroked in time with the movements of his hips.

His rough hand around me, his soft voice in my ear as he told me how hot I was, how good I felt, hit me right in the chest.

“That’s it. Fuck my hand while I fuck your crack,” he rumbled. I both pushed back on his cock and thrust into his hand.

“Jax.” My voice was a whine, my entire body tightened, and my balls drew up.

“That’s right.” He tightened his grip and thrust hard.

The head of his dick breached me. Not deep and only for a second. Ribbons of white-hot pleasure snaked through me as I opened to him, at the knowledge that he’d been inside me, even if it was just his tip.

I came hard, shuddering and shaking in his arms. I didn’t just hit my orgasm, I crashed into it. He jerked me through my release, and warm wetness pooled on my skin.

His cum.

He grunted and groaned in my ear, the vibrations against the sensitive skin setting off another tsunami of pleasure.

We lay there, spent and panting for the longest time. My entire body buzzed as I floated on the afterglow.

I liked dick. Or at least I liked Jax’s dick. I was bi.

The reality didn’t freak me out. It confused me.

The past few days, I’d tried to picture myself with a guy. Watching them in porn got me hot. Imagining myself with one of the models didn’t. Thinking about a faceless random as I fantasized about how good it would feel to have a guy play with my hole or dick didn’t really do anything for me.

Was it because of my performance anxiety? Or because it was new and unknown?

Thinking about Jax touching me made me want to try it. Picturing Jax on his knees for me or bent over me made my dick hard. I’d spent days trying to push those thoughts out of my head, but now that I knew reality was so much better than any fantasy I’d managed to cook up, I wasn’t sure I could.

Jax was my best friend. The person I trusted more than anyone in the world. It made sense that I’d feel safe exploring this with him, right?

“Are you okay?”

I startled at his whispered question. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

“Do you regret it?”

“No.” I swallowed hard. “Not at all. Do you?”

Shit. What if it hadn’t been good for him? Was Jax merely placating me? He’d come, and he’d seemed into it, but we’d just talked about how sex starved we were. Messing around with anyone would feel good in his position, right?

“No.”

He gave me a little squeeze, then sat up. He pulled off his shirt and used it to clean my back and ass.

“Need it?” He wiped his hand off.

“I’m fine.” Most of my mess had landed on the sheets.

He tossed the shirt over the side of the bed and lay back down.

I tamped down a flare of disappointment when he rolled onto his side and put his back to me again.

Right. Best friends didn’t cuddle, not even after rubbing off on each other.

“Will you be able to sleep now?”

“Yeah.” I stared at the wall. “Night.”

“Night.”

A few moments later, his breathing evened out. Then his foot pressed against my calf and pushed my leg back as he started his nightly sprawl.

I smiled into the darkness. My sexuality might have done a one-eighty, but whatever. I knew he was worried about fucking up our friendship, but sex between bros wasn’t a big deal, right?

I’d never had a bromance before, especially with a teammate, but we were rock solid, and I’d never wanted anyone the way I wanted him.