Amster-Damn Hot!

Amster-Damn Hot!

When David and I touched down in Amsterdam, we were two things: jet-lagged and dangerously horny. And not like regular horny--like, post-finals, haven't had sex in months, possibly-feral horny. We were there for one reason: European girls. Accents. Fast hookups. Regretful mornings. The dream.

David was already swiping on Tinder before we even hit baggage claim.

"Dude," I said, yawning. "At least wait 'til customs stops staring at us like we're drug mules."

He grinned. "I'm preheating the oven, bro. By the time we check in, I wanna be balls-deep in someone named Saskia."

Respect.

Our hotel was sleek as hell--black walls, sexy lighting, the kind of place that made you feel rich even though your debit card was one bad decision away from overdraft. The receptionist was insane. Like model-level hot. Like, if Instagram had a Dutch goddess filter, it would be her. Perfect bone structure, piercing eyes, business-casual blouse that screamed I'll ruin your life and look good doing it.

Naturally, David turned into Mr. Flirt.

"So," he said, leaning on the counter like he owned the place. "Is Amsterdam always this warm, or is it just you radiating heat?"

She looked up from her monitor, dead-eyed. "Wow. You're the third guy to say that this week. Still terrible."

I choked on my spit. She didn't stop.

"You'll be in room 207. Two single beds, I assume."

David winked. "Unless you wanna join?"

"No, thank you," she said without missing a beat. "I don't date guys who look like they just discovered protein powder."

I had to walk away. I was wheezing.

In the elevator, David rubbed his jaw. "She totally wanted me."

"Bro. She wanted you to fall down a flight of stairs."

"She smiled."

"She sneered."

"Same thing. It's cultural."

Our room was decent. Two beds, tiny balcony, bathroom with a glass shower that screamed Instagram thirst trap. David collapsed on one bed, spread eagle like he just finished a marathon.

"Alright," he said. "Mission: Smash begins now. We shower, hit the clubs, find some foreign honeys, and pray we don't catch anything that needs penicillin."

I peeled off my shirt. "You shower first."

"Nah, let's go together. Like the old days."

"Jesus. Okay."

We'd been best friends since, like, fifth grade. Shared locker rooms. Skinny-dipped in lakes. There was zero shame left between us. Our friendship was basically built on fart jokes and balls-out wrestling matches. This was nothing.

Still, stripping off felt... I don't know. Different. Like we weren't two dumb kids anymore. I mean, I knew David was hot--like, girls threw themselves at him on the regular. But I'd never really noticed before how... jacked he'd gotten. His back had those muscle lines that looked drawn on. And his dick? Jesus. That thing had its own zip code.

Not that I was looking. Just... noting. Cataloging. In case he needed to know for, like, health insurance reasons or something.

He stepped into the shower, turned the water on full blast, and made a sound that was way too close to a porn-level moan.

"Goddamn," he groaned. "This water's giving me a nipple orgasm."

I stepped in after him, immediately regretting everything. The steam hit like a horny cloud. Water ran down his shoulders, over his chest, across abs that looked like they'd been chiseled by horny Roman gods.

"Dude," I said, trying not to look down, "maybe tone down the sex noises?"

"I'm just saying," he said, slicking his hair back, "if this shower had a mouth, I'd propose."

He handed me the soap and our hands brushed. Nothing big. Just skin on skin. But it was weird. Electric. Like static, except instead of shocking me, it sent this little jolt straight to my dick.

I laughed it off. Nervous. "You gonna start naming the shampoo bottles next?"

"I already did. That one's Veronica. She's been through a lot."

I rubbed the soap on my chest, trying not to think about the fact that my best friend was now naked, wet, and standing close enough to feel his body heat. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye and--fuck. His whole body was like a damn Marvel transformation scene. Water cascading down his thighs. His ass doing ungodly things. And his cock... okay, I looked. Briefly. For science.

"What?" he said, catching me. Shit.

"Nothing. Just... surprised you haven't entered porn yet."

He laughed, rinsing off. "They can't afford me."

We shifted at the same time and suddenly we were face to face, our chests almost touching. Just water between us. My brain went static. His eyes flicked to mine, just for a second.

"Yo," I said quickly, heart pounding. "We done here? I'm starting to feel... emotional."

He grinned. "Yeah. We're squeaky clean. Inside and out."

We toweled off in silence. I turned away fast, not wanting him to see the half-chub that had started uninvited. I was not turned on. Just... body confusion. It happens. Blood goes where it wants. My dick was a rebel. A traitor.

David walked around in his towel for way too long. He knew he looked good. Show-off. I threw on underwear, jeans, sprayed half a can of cologne, and tried to pull myself together.

He leaned into the mirror, fixing his hair. "You ready to ruin some lives tonight?"

I swallowed hard. "Hell yeah. Let's go give someone an accent fetish."

He grabbed his phone, grinning. "I matched with someone already. Name's Fleur. She sent a peach emoji. That's international for ass, right?"

"Either that or fruit salad. Just wear a condom either way."

He threw his arm around my shoulder, like always. Warm. Familiar. But tonight, something about it felt... different. Not bad. Just charged.

We stepped out into the Amsterdam night, two overconfident American idiots on a mission to get laid.

And underneath all that swagger, I had this weird feeling in my chest. Or stomach. Or maybe lower. Like something had shifted. Like I was walking into something I didn't quite understand yet.

Whatever it was, I wasn't ready for it.

But I was definitely gonna find out.

Amsterdam nightlife? Insane.

Every bar looked like a sex dungeon and a laser tag arena had a baby. Half the girls looked like they belonged on magazine covers. The other half looked like they'd ruin your life in the best way possible.

We stepped into this club--strobe lights, wall-to-wall bodies, bass so deep it rearranged my guts. David looked around like he'd just entered heaven.

"I'm gonna die here," he whispered, eyes wide. "And I'm okay with that."

We hit the bar immediately. Shots first. Vodka? Tequila? Who the hell knows. It burned like bad decisions and made our chests feel invincible. That was our warm-up.

Strike One.

David spotted a redhead dancing solo and beelined over like a horny homing missile. I followed, sipping my drink like a sidekick.

He leaned in with full swagger. "Hey. Do you believe in love at first sight, or should I walk by again?"

She blinked once. "You should walk into traffic."

I cackled so hard I nearly dropped my drink.

Strike Two.

I tried my luck with a brunette at the bar. She had thigh-high boots, smoky eyes, and the kind of cleavage that made me forget how vowels worked.

I leaned in smooth. "What's a girl like you doing in a club like--"

"No."

"I didn't even--"

"No."

She turned back to her drink like I was a YouTube ad. Cold-blooded.

Strike Three.

David got curved by a Swedish model who said she "doesn't date guys with American flags on their socks." (Fair.)

We kept drinking. It felt like the cure. Or maybe the problem. Either way, we were fully committed. Shots. Beers. Mystery cocktails. I think I ate a lime off someone's shoulder at one point. David tried to order "absinthe" and accidentally bought a twelve-euro soda.

And just when we were about to throw in the towel and go home to cry into our pillows--

They appeared.

Two girls. Late twenties. One with a nose ring and evil eyes. The other with blue hair and a grin that said I've seen things. Hot in a "you'll regret this tomorrow but love it tonight" kind of way.

Blue Hair leaned in, locking eyes with me. "You boys look like you're ready to party."

David and I exchanged a look. We were sweaty. We were swaying. One of us probably reeked of Red Bull and disappointment.

I gave the stupidest grin of my life. "We were born ready."

Nose Ring giggled and pulled something from her bra--two pills. Shiny like candy, evil like sin.

"Then here," she said, slipping one into each of our hands. "For the ride."

David raised an eyebrow, squinting like it might bite. "What's it do?"

She smirked. "Makes the night... longer."

Now, a smart person would have asked questions. Googled stuff. Consulted a pharmacist. But we were drunk, horny, and in a country where weed's legal and everyone bikes everywhere like it's Narnia. We popped the pills like Tic Tacs. Our standards had left the building hours ago.

We toasted with another shot, clinked our glasses, and suddenly we were invincible gods again. Lights got hotter. Girls got blurrier. Everything pulsed with some weird rhythm--especially in my pants.

They cheered. We drank more. The lights got brighter. The music got sexier. Everything felt loose--our bodies, our thoughts, our last three brain cells.

At some point, the girls helped us into a cab. I was laughing at absolutely nothing. David was trying to kiss his own reflection in the window.

Blue Hair giggled. "We'll get in after you, promise."

"Yeah, don't take too long," I slurred. "We're both--like--so ready to make out with someone. Like, aggressively."

Nose Ring leaned into the cab window, her perfume hitting like a goddamn drug itself. "What hotel are you guys staying at again?"

David told her. I think. Maybe he sang it. Maybe he slurred it while licking the seatbelt. Either way, she winked.

"Perfect. We'll be right behind you."

Spoiler: they weren't.

The cab drove off and I barely noticed we were moving. My head felt like a balloon on a string. Everything was funny. My hands felt like they had extra fingers. My dick was alive, like it had its own heartbeat.

We pulled up at the hotel. The same receptionist was still at the desk, judging the hell out of us as we stumbled through the lobby.

David waved. "Heyyy, miss... sexy... Netherlands."

She didn't even blink. "Security's on speed dial."

A busboy appeared outta nowhere. Skinny guy. Ponytail. Name tag said "Lars." He looked like he hated his life and everyone in it.

"Room 207?" he asked.

I nodded. Or tried to. I might've headbutted him a little by accident.

He grabbed our shoulders and guided us toward the elevator like we were injured puppies.

"Lars," I whispered. "Bro. We're so horny right now."

David leaned into him. "Like--so horny. Dangerously. You don't even know."

Lars stared ahead like he was disassociating. "I am just here to help."

The ride up was a blur of giggles, muttering, and me trying to figure out how pants worked. At the room, Lars opened the door, shoved us in gently, and noped the hell outta there like his soul depended on it.

Door clicked shut behind us.

We were alone.

And still very, very high.

And very, very horny.

We stumbled into the hotel room like a couple of drunk frat zombies. The hallway spun behind us, the door slammed shut, and I immediately started peeling my shirt off like it was the reason my life sucked.

"I can't believe they played us," I muttered, dropping onto my bed like a corpse.

David groaned, dramatically collapsing onto his. "They didn't play us. We just... got pre-gamed and redirected."

I turned my head, glaring across the small gap between our twin beds. "That's just the pretty way of saying we got ditched."

He pointed at me from where he lay, shirtless, jeans halfway undone. "Glass half full, man. I'm just sayin', we could've ended up duct-taped in a basement somewhere. Instead, we're back in a hotel with mini soaps and erections that could pierce metal."

He wasn't wrong. My jeans were about to pop like a Pillsbury can.

I sat up with a groan and unzipped, sighing with relief as I kicked them off. My boxers were doing nothing to hide the tent I was pitching. I looked over -- David had stripped down to his Calvin Kleins too, the outline of his situation looking straight-up pornographic.

I blinked. "Jesus, bro."

He smirked. "What? You've seen it before."

"I don't remember it looking like it could rob a bank."

David waggled his eyebrows. "It does have criminal intentions tonight."

I snorted, lying back. "Dude, we're way too horny for this."

"Well, we could always cuddle," he said innocently, folding his arms behind his head like he was posing for a Firefighter Calendar.

"Don't tempt me."

He shot me a look. "No promises. But for real--just crank one out and sleep it off. It's either that or hump the mattress."

"I mean..."

"You mean yes." He grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. Within seconds, the screen filled with two blondes licking each other like they were sampling gelato. Soft moans echoed through the room, all breathy and ridiculous.

I hesitated. My heart was pounding, and it wasn't just the alcohol. I could still feel the pill buzzing through me, sending jolts straight to my groin.

David, meanwhile, had already slipped his hand under his waistband. "Welcome to the Amsterdam Afterparty."

I laughed, because what else could I do? I kicked off my boxers, pulling the blanket over me as casually as I could while my hard-on nearly smacked me in the face.

David didn't bother with the blanket.

He just kicked off his boxers and let them hit the floor like he was home alone. There he was--my best friend since fifth grade--laid out on the twin bed beside mine, completely naked, his hand wrapped around his cock like it was just another Tuesday.

I started slow, trying to focus on the screen.

But... it wasn't doing it.

The girls on screen were hot, sure. But they felt far away. Fake. Like a weird dream I was only half awake in.

What was real?

David.

Right there. In the bed across from me.

And holy hell, he looked good.

The kind of good that made your chest tight and your thoughts disgusting.

I'd seen him naked a hundred times growing up. Locker rooms. Sleepovers. Random late-night peeing contests behind trees. But this was... different. This wasn't some harmless towel slip or a skinny-dip dare. This was deliberate. Slow. He was putting on a goddamn show--and I was front row.

He sighed, head back against the pillow, hand stroking leisurely. His abs flexed with every movement. The overhead light caught the sweat on his skin, made every curve stand out like he was carved from golden marble and dipped in sex.

And me? I was under my blanket like a coward, trying to jerk off to two bored-looking blondes on a fake beach while my brain screamed at me to stop staring at my best friend's cock.

Which was... impossible.

David wasn't even glancing at the TV. He was just lying there, exposed, his breath getting heavier, his muscles tight. And his cock--long, thick, veiny--was standing tall in his grip like it had its own heartbeat.

I licked my lips without realizing it.

Shit. Shit.

What the hell was wrong with me?

This was David. My dude. My brother from another mother. The guy who once dared me to fart into a walkie-talkie during a sleepover.

And now... I wanted him?

No.

No, I didn't. I was just drunk. High. Full of whatever weird-ass pill those girls slipped us.

Except...

That didn't explain why I couldn't stop looking.

It didn't explain why my hand sped up under the sheets, matching his rhythm like we were synced up somehow.

It didn't explain why my stomach tightened every time he let out one of those breathy groans that made the room feel ten degrees hotter.

And then he moaned--low, throaty, deep in his chest--and my whole body clenched like I'd been electrocuted.

I gasped.

He looked over.

Eyes locked.

He didn't stop stroking.

I couldn't move.

"Dude," he said softly, like he'd just noticed something in my face.

I swallowed hard.

"What?"

"You're watching me."

I froze.

He grinned. "Not complaining. Just... didn't expect it."

I looked away. "Shut up."

He chuckled, still lazily pumping himself. "It's cool. I'm a good watch."

I stared at the ceiling, my heart pounding in my ears. My blanket suddenly felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. I was burning up under it.

For a second, we just stared at each other.

I was frozen in place, fist around my dick under the blanket. He was laid out, hand still stroking, like I'd interrupted a fantasy and he didn't mind one bit.

The tension in the room was thick. The air, hot. That soft moan still echoed in my ears.

Then--slowly, like he had all the time in the world--David sat up.

He let go of himself, standing up from the bed.

Naked. Erect. Confident.

And he started walking toward me.

Not a word. Not a smirk.

Just steps.

Measured. Purposeful.

My breath caught.

My hand stilled.

The air shifted.

And in that moment -- with his body lit by hotel lamp haze, cock swinging slightly with each step, face unreadable -- every part of me was screaming.

And none of it made sense.

David stopped at the edge of my bed.

He didn't say anything. Didn't grin. Just looked at me with this unreadable intensity, like he was searching for something on my face he hadn't dared to look for before.

My mouth went dry.

My heart? Slamming against my ribs like it wanted out.

We were best friends. Had been since we were kids. We'd done every dumb thing together--snuck beers in 8th grade, crashed prom after-parties, shared shitty high school hookups.

But this?

This was something else.

I was still under the blanket, but it didn't matter. My erection had a mind of its own, and my skin felt electric, like it could catch fire just from the heat in his stare.

And then... he moved.

Not fast. Not aggressive. Just one knee sinking onto the mattress beside me, then the other, his weight dipping the bed, his body warm and close and there.

David was on top of me.

Literally.

Like, knee-on-the-bed, cock-in-my-face, sweaty-naked-best-friend kind of on top.

I should've been panicking. Screaming. Making some dumb "no homo" joke and throwing a blanket over my boner like we weren't two college bros seconds away from doing something that could nuke our entire friendship.

But I wasn't doing any of that.

I was just... staring.

Because David wasn't looking at me like a bro.

He was looking at me like he wanted me.

And god help me -- something deep, primal, and very confused in me wanted him right back.

The room was spinning, but all I could focus on was his body -- tan, lean, glistening in that shitty yellow hotel light like a goddamn statue of Adonis that just rolled out of a frat party. His abs flexed as he leaned down, one hand braced on the mattress, the other pressing into my chest like he was pinning me to the moment.

His cock? Hard. Slapping lightly against my stomach.

Mine? Also hard. Possibly about to break through the ceiling.

I could smell him -- sweat, cologne, a hint of club beer, and that warm, dude smell I weirdly recognized from a thousand locker rooms and shared dorm beds.

He didn't ask again.

He just kissed me.

And holy mother of spring break, it hit.

Not like a kiss. Like a collision.

His lips crashed into mine, hungry, open-mouthed, full of tongue and heat. We were making out like two kids home alone for the first time, except we were both naked, rock-hard, and tangled up like animals in heat.

I kissed him back, moaning into it before my brain could catch up.

He tasted like mint gum and vodka. His tongue moved with this cocky rhythm, like he'd kissed dudes before -- or at least fantasized about it more than he'd admitted during Call of Duty marathons.

His hips rolled down into me, grinding our dicks together.

I gasped. He groaned.

"Jesus, bro," he muttered into my mouth. "You're like... f*ckin' hard."

"No shit," I panted. "So are you."

We both cracked up. Because somehow it was still hilarious.

Two college horndogs, fully torqued, grinding against each other in a Dutch hotel room like some weird alternate ending to Superbad.

But under the laughter, there was this tension -- deep and simmering. Like something inside me was unraveling with every kiss, every grope, every second I felt his skin on mine.

His hands were everywhere. On my chest, my neck, my arms. I couldn't stop touching him either. His back was slick with sweat, his ass firm in my palms when I pulled him down harder, grinding like we were trying to fuse into one horny disaster.

He kissed down my jaw, over my throat, his stubble scraping like sandpaper in the best way.

"Your skin's hot," he murmured, dragging his mouth lower.

"So's yours," I said before I could stop myself.

He grinned against my chest. "You sound like a chick in a rom-com."

"Shut up and keep kissing me, you tool."

And he did.

He kissed his way down my chest, his tongue circling one of my nipples just to mess with me.

I flinched. "Dude!"

He looked up with a mischievous sparkle in his eye. "Sensitive nips, huh?"

"F*ck you."

"Not yet."

That earned him a pillow to the face, which he dodged like a champ, laughing as he slid even lower.

David's mouth was on my stomach now.

And not in a "haha bro, lemme mess with you" kind of way. No. He was slow, deliberate. His lips brushed my skin like he was tasting it, like he was testing something in himself.

And in me?

I was short-circuiting.

I'd felt horniness before. I'd been turned on, desperate, aching. But this was different. This was hot and weird and way too good. Every nerve under my skin was dialed to eleven, and all I could do was lie there, panting, watching my best friend kiss down my body like he meant it.

He wasn't drunk-sloppy either.

He was focused.

Like he knew what he was doing and was just waiting for me to stop him -- but I didn't. I couldn't.

My fingers curled into the sheets. My thighs tensed as his breath tickled lower, and my brain started spiraling.

This is David.

My best friend.

I've seen him puke in a bucket while wearing a toga.

He knows my browser history.

Why is this so hot?

Why do I want this?

He looked up at me, his hair messy, lips parted. He didn't say anything -- just stared like he was searching my face for a reason to stop.

He didn't find one.

Instead, he crawled back up over me, pressing our bodies together, chest to chest, hard to hard. I could feel every inch of him -- sweat-slick skin, flexing muscles, the insane heat radiating off both of us.

David smiled -- that cocky, half-drunk smirk he usually gave after winning beer pong. But now it meant something else.

Something way more dangerous.

And he kissed me again.

Harder this time. More desperate. Like he knew this was our point of no return and didn't care. Our hips ground together, and I moaned into his mouth, needing the friction like I needed air.

My hands grabbed at his back, sliding down to his waist, fingers digging into his skin.

Everything about him was familiar -- his laugh, his smell, the way his body moved -- but now it was foreign, too. Like I was touching someone I knew too well and not at all at the same time.

He pulled back just enough to breathe, his forehead resting on mine.

"This is crazy," he muttered.

I nodded. "Yeah."

Then kissed me again, slower now -- deeper, almost... tender. Like under all the horny chaos, there was something real he couldn't joke about.

And I felt it, too.

The pull. The gravity. The us.

Whatever this was, it wasn't just sex.

It was two dudes crossing a line they'd spent a lifetime pretending didn't exist -- and realizing it was never really a line to begin with.

David's mouth was everywhere. My neck. My jaw. My chest. His stubble scratched and burned in the best way, and every kiss felt like a line we couldn't uncross.

He was on top of me -- heavy, hot, his muscles flexing with every shift. His body pressed mine into the mattress, and I didn't want to move. I didn't want to breathe too loud and break whatever spell had turned my best friend into this wild, hungry thing.

His lips moved lower, sloppy and urgent. His tongue dragged along my skin like he was tasting the sweat off my collarbone, my chest, my ribs. I gasped when his mouth found the dip between my abs -- sensitive, electric -- and I swear my whole body tensed beneath him.

"Dude," I croaked, not even knowing what I meant. Just something. Some noise to make sense of the fire under my skin.

But David didn't stop. He was in his own zone -- half-drunk, fully hard, and apparently not giving a damn about the rules we used to live by.

And me? I wasn't stopping him.

Hell, I was arching into him.

Every time his hips shifted, I felt everything. His weight. His heat. His boner pressing into my thigh. And mine pressing right back. We were both still ridiculously hard -- bodies so hyped up from the pill, the booze, the frustration of a night gone sideways.

And now... this.

"Jesus, you're warm," he muttered against my stomach, his voice low and hoarse. Like he was just now realizing he was touching a living, breathing man -- his best friend -- and he liked it.

His hands roamed up my sides, fingers digging into muscle like he was claiming territory. I sucked in a breath when he licked a slow, wet trail back up my torso and locked eyes with me from inches away.

His look said: I want this.

Mine probably said: I have no idea what the hell is happening, but don't stop.

And then he kissed me again.

Not gentle. Not sweet. Messy. Lips and teeth. Tongues battling. The kind of kiss you feel all the way in your spine. He groaned into my mouth when I grabbed his back, fingers dragging down to his waist, then lower, over the curve of his ass, gripping him like I needed him closer.

Which I did.

I wasn't thinking anymore.

I was starving.

The kiss broke, and our foreheads stayed glued together. Our breath mixed -- fast, loud, humid.

"You still good?" he rasped.

I nodded, unable to form a real sentence.

His hand slid between us and brushed against me -- just enough to send me jerking up into his body with a sharp, involuntary noise that didn't sound like it came from me.

"You're so damn hard," he said with this rough, shocked laugh. "Shit, Anthony..."

I didn't say anything. I couldn't.

I just felt.

Every second, I was more turned on. More confused. More okay with being confused.

Because this wasn't just about getting off. This wasn't just scratching an itch.

This was David -- wild, shirtless, grinding into me like he needed me.

He dropped lower again, dragging his lips across my hipbone

His hand wrapped around me, squeezing like he was trying to keep himself in check.

"F*ck, bro," I moaned.

"You like that?" he murmured, voice thick with want.

I nodded.

And then he took me in his mouth.

Hot, wet, sudden. The shock was so intense, my whole body jolted.

"Oh, my God!" I yelled, hips bucking up off the bed.

David's hand tightened around the base, keeping me steady. His mouth was... f*cking heaven. Warm, wet, moving up and down with the kind of desperation that made me feel like I'd just been handed the world's most intense secret.

"Oh, shit," I murmured, eyes squeezed shut, because if I watched him do this, I might actually combust. "Oh, f*ck, David..."

His name slipped out like a prayer. And maybe it was. Maybe I was praying he'd keep doing it. Maybe I was praying this was real.

My hand found his hair, gripping it like a lifeline. I didn't know if I wanted to push him away or pull him closer -- all I knew was that every suck, every slide of his tongue, every hot breath was lightning through me.

I'd had blowjobs before. But none of them had ever felt like this. Like I was being claimed. Like every part of me was being worshipped by someone who knew exactly where to touch, where to kiss, how to make me crazy.

My head thrashed back and forth on the pillow. The bed was a sea underneath me -- waves of pleasure, of disbelief, of pure, unfiltered need.

"F*ck, yes," I gasped, hips thrusting up to meet his mouth.

And he took it. Took it all. Like he'd been waiting for this, too. Like he knew exactly how to make me feel like a god.

I couldn't stop watching him.

The way his eyes fluttered closed, his cheeks hollowed, his throat bobbed. The way he moaned around my cock like it was his favorite thing.

It was mesmerizing.

It was terrifying.

It was the hottest thing I'd ever seen.

He looked up, eyes dark with lust, and suddenly it was his turn to watch me fall apart.

I didn't hold back. I couldn't.

Everything was too much -- too good, too intense, too everything.

"I'm gonna..." I warned, voice strained. "I'm gonna..."

But David didn't stop. He just took me deeper, his hand stroking in time with his mouth, and my orgasm hit like a f*cking meteor.

My hips bucked. My breath hitched. My thighs shook as I came hard, stomach tightening under David's hands. The moan that ripped out of me was guttural -- no shame, just release.

I came so hard, so fast, I didn't even know it was happening until I was gripping his hair, my back arched off the bed, and I was shouting his name like it was the last thing I'd ever say.

It was a mess. A glorious, sticky mess. And he didn't stop until I was shuddering, half-laughing, half-sobbing.

He didn't move.

Just held me. Let me fall apart under him.

And I did.

Harder than I had in years.

When I finally opened my eyes, I saw him staring at me -- eyes wide, jaw tight, breathing just as ragged.

David stayed heavy on top of me, chest flush against mine, sweat slick and hot between us. His breathing was loud, uneven -- like he'd just run a marathon and then kissed me senseless. I could feel the pulse of his heartbeat under my cheek, pounding wild and real.

His eyes caught mine, and for a second -- just a second -- the cocky, shameless David I'd known since middle school was gone. Instead, there was something softer. Something... unguarded.

"You good?" he asked, voice rough but low.

I swallowed hard, still buzzing, still trying to make sense of my brain doing cartwheels. "Yeah... yeah, I'm good," I lied, because who the hell was I kidding? I wasn't "good." I was wide open -- raw, confused, and insanely turned on.

David grinned, that devil-may-care grin that made it impossible to take anything seriously, even when the ground was shifting beneath us. "Because if you're good, maybe I'm not done."

I laughed, a shaky, breathy thing that came out way too nervous. "Dude... what the fuck are we even doing?"

He shrugged like it was nothing -- like kissing your best friend in a random Amsterdam hotel was just a regular Tuesday night. "Breaking all the rules, apparently."

The mattress creaked as he shifted, pressing closer, his hand sliding down my side to rest right where I still throbbed from seconds ago. My skin tingled where he touched, every nerve ending screaming in slow-mo.

"Man, you're fucking hot when you're all worked up," he said, voice low and raw, like a challenge wrapped in a compliment.

I wasn't sure if I was blushing or just sweating through the high heat of the room, but I managed, "Yeah, well... you're not exactly a saint yourself."

David laughed, that loud, shameless laugh that made me want to throw caution to the wind and just dive in.

And maybe that's what I did.

Because next thing I knew, he was moving against me, his body grinding rough and steady. It wasn't delicate or sweet -- hell no. It was manly and fierce and so damn passionate that I could barely think straight.

His hands roamed everywhere -- hips, chest, arms -- claiming, marking, like this moment was ours alone. Our bodies slick with sweat, pressed so tight I could feel every curve and muscle, every beat of that stubborn heartbeat racing in my chest.

His breath hitched against my ear, hot and heavy. "You ready for this?"

I nodded, words tangled in the haze of alcohol, pills, and pure, wild desire. "Yeah... I'm ready."

The pill had done its job. We were both so hard it hurt -- like we'd swallowed a couple of baseball bats and had to figure out what to do with them.

David leaned over the bed, rummaging in his suitcase. He pulled out a bottle of lube.

My heart stuttered in my chest.

But I didn't say anything.

Couldn't.

I was too busy watching the way his muscles played under his skin as he moved. The way his abs looked in the dim light. The way he was looking at me like he'd just realized I was the last piece of the puzzle he hadn't found.

He smirked, the same smirk he'd had when we played football, right before he smashed into me so hard I saw stars. But this time, it didn't feel like competition. It felt... intimate.

David leaned over me, his body a sculpture of want. He kissed me again -- deep, slow, his hand sliding down my stomach to grip my cock. I moaned into his mouth, hips rising to meet him. He stroked me, his touch softer than I ever knew he could be, and my eyes rolled back in my head.

And then he stopped.

His hand trailed lower, over my balls, and he paused, his breath hot on my skin. "You okay with this?"

I nodded, unable to speak.

He kissed me again, his hand slipping further down until his fingertips grazed my hole. I jolted, the sensation so unexpected that it stole my breath away.

David's eyes searched mine, looking for any sign that I'd changed my mind. I didn't. I couldn't.

The pill had done more than just make us horny. It had blown the doors wide open on our friendship. And we were both stepping through.

With a gentle touch, he pushed a finger inside me, and I moaned. It was strange, but it didn't feel wrong. It felt... good.

I relaxed into it, letting him explore, letting him push and twist until my body started to melt into the bed beneath me. His other hand was still stroking my cock, matching the rhythm of his finger inside me, and I was lost.

He kissed my neck, his breath ragged, his mouth leaving a wet trail down to my chest, and I knew he was going to do it.

My best friend, the guy who'd seen me through it all, was going to eat my ass.

And I was going to let him.

I spread my legs wider, arching my back, and he took the hint. His mouth moved down, his tongue swirling around my hole, and I could feel him smiling against my skin.

The sensation was unlike anything I'd ever felt before. Wet, warm, and... right. Like it was something I'd been craving without knowing it.

I watched him, his eyes looking up at me, questioning, and I nodded, urging him on. He took it as permission and went to work, his tongue probing and teasing until I was a squirming mess beneath him.

His hand gripped my cock tighter, stroking in time with his tongue, and I knew I wasn't going to last much longer.

But then he pulled away, his eyes dark with need.

"Ready?" he asked, and I knew he wasn't just talking about the rimming anymore.

I nodded, unable to find words.

And then he was there, between my legs, his dick pressing against my ass.

He pushed in slow, giving me time to adjust. It burned at first, but the pain quickly gave way to a deep, intense pleasure that had me biting my bottom lip to keep from crying out.

We started off in missionary, him above me, looking into my eyes, but that quickly changed. We tried doggy style, with me on all fours, and then I was on my back, legs in the air, watching him fuck me like he'd been doing it forever.

Each position brought a new wave of sensations, a new angle that had me seeing stars. His cock was everywhere inside me, filling me up in ways I hadn't even known were possible.

But it wasn't just about the sex. It was about the connection. The way our eyes met, the way our breaths melded together, the way his hands felt like home on my body.

And when we both came, it was like the universe had aligned -- like everything made sense in that one explosive moment. We kissed through it, our bodies shaking with the intensity of our release.

We lay there, skin-on-skin, bodies still buzzing, like the room had its own pulse and we were riding it together. David was sprawled half on top of me, all muscle and sweat, his stupidly good-looking face resting against my chest like this was totally normal.

Me? I was spiraling.

My brain was doing donuts while my body... well, my body clearly had its own agenda and wasn't interested in logic right now.

"Bro," I finally croaked. "What the actual hell just happened?"

David shifted just enough to smirk up at me. "We nailed it. Literally."

"Dude," I groaned, covering my face with one hand. "We were supposed to be hooking up with girls."

"We tried. They ditched us, remember? We improvised. Honestly? Best Plan B ever."

I peeked at him between my fingers. He looked obnoxiously chill for a guy who had just done unspeakably amazing things to his best friend.

"You're not freaking out?" I asked.

"Nah." He grinned, brushing sweat-slick hair off my forehead. "You're hot. I was horny. You were horny. The math checks out."

I blinked. "So... we're just bros who bang now?"

David shrugged. "I mean, I'm not mad about it. Amsterdam was supposed to be legendary. This? This is top-tier legendary."

"But... like... what does it mean?"

David rolled on top of me, his weight solid, grounding, stupidly comforting. "It means we stop overthinking. We had a moment. A crazy hot, confusing, probably-going-to-haunt-us-forever moment. And maybe we'll have another. Or ten."

I stared up at him, my breath caught somewhere in my throat.

"And maybe," he added, voice dipping lower, "we stop chasing after random girls and start seeing what happens when we stop pretending this isn't already the best thing ever."

My heart thudded, loud enough I was sure he could feel it.

Then, without warning, he kissed me.

Not soft. Not hesitant.

It was David -- full-throttle, tongue-first, completely reckless and totally him.

And I kissed him back.

Because whatever this was... it felt stupidly good.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough for now.