Dicked Down by My Best Friend

Disclamer : everyone in this story is 18+

this is just first chapter of story its slow burn

"I hope you know I'm writing you out of my will," Leo wheezed, his face pressed flat against the mat.

"You don't have a will. You have an overdraft fees notice and a half-eaten sleeve of Oreos," Sam said. He didn't even sound out of breath, which made it ten times worse. "Pick the bar back up."

"No. I live here now. This is my grave." Leo clutched his raw, chalky palms to his chest, his heart hammering against his ribs beneath his grey hoodie. "I hate your major. I hate your hobbies. I hate whatever glitch in your brain makes you think moving heavy iron around a room counts as a personality trait."

Sam let out a sharp snort. He was broad and solid where Leo was all sharp angles and pale forearms, his posture ruined by far too many hours hunched over a laptop. "You lost the bet, genius. Two weeks of the program. You swore if I passed your chemistry midterm, you'd let me get you out of your desk chair. You're only three days in."

"Chemistry is predictable. Chemistry obeys the laws of logic," Leo grumbled, finally forcing himself upright, his spine protesting every inch of the way. "This is just state-sanctioned torture. I sit hunched over a laptop for six hours and your brilliant medical solution is to make me lift a house?"

"My solution is getting you to stop looking like a boiled shrimp," Sam said. He reached out, casually grabbing the hood of Leo's sweatshirt to yank his posture straight. "Now grab your water bottle. We're going home before you actually start crying my bro"

Leo stumbled but let Sam steady him. They'd been doing this since they were 7, a gym rat and a nerd who somehow survived childhood and ended up at the same university. Over the years, they'd worked out a perfect system: Sam kept Leo from getting entirely sucked into his books, and Leo did Sam's chemistry homework. They were so close that physical boundaries didn't really exist. A hand on the shoulder or a shove against the wall was just how they talked.

At least, it shouldn't have been.

Later, Leo was lying face down on the living room rug, his laptop playing a coding lecture nobody was listening to. His lower back throbbed, his hamstrings felt painfully tight, and turning his head was an effort.

The bathroom door opened, and Sam walked out barefoot in a pair of faded black sweatpants, his hair still damp and curling slightly at the ends. He carried a tub of muscle balm under one arm.

"Still alive bro?" he asked, nudging Leo's sock with his toe.

"No. Call my mother. Tell her I died doing something completely out of character."

Sam snorted and knelt beside him. The carpet dipped under his weight as he opened the tub. "Move over. You're lying crooked."

"Leave me alone sam, I for me i just need rest nothing else."

"Shut up and take your shirt off. Your back's probably a mess."

Leo hesitated. It was stupid. They'd changed in locker rooms together since Little League, slept in the same hotel beds on road trips, and spent summers swimming in the quarry in their boxers. There was nothing new about being shirtless around Sam. Still, something about the quiet apartment made his stomach tighten.

"I have an ice pack," Leo muttered.

"Ice is for inflammation. You need to work those knots out, or you won't get out of bed tomorrow for your lab. Come on bro. Don't be a baby."

With an exasperated sigh, Leo pushed himself up, pulled the shirt over his head, and lay back down, his cheek pressed against the rug.

Sam didn't hesitate. He swung one leg over Leo's thighs, settling across the backs of his knees to keep him in place. The weight was warm and familiar. At least, it should have been. But suddenly Leo was far too aware of Sam's thighs on either side of his legs.

"Jesus," Leo muttered. "You're crushing my legs."

"You've got no fat on legs on you. That's why." Sam scooped some cream into his palms and rubbed his hands together. "Now Deep breath."

Before Leo could take one, Sam pressed both hands flat against his back. Leo gasped, his back arching off the floor. "Fuck--Sam, wait!"

"Relax bro. Stop fighting me. The harder you clench, the more it'll hurt."

"It feels like you're grinding my bones together," Leo gritted out, his fingers digging into the carpet.

"Because you sit like a boiled shrimp all day."

Sam shifted his hands, finding the muscles on either side of Leo's spine. His thumbs worked upward toward the base of Leo's neck, pressing into the knots with slow, steady pressure. Pain flared, then gradually eased. Sam's hands were warm against his skin. Leo let out a long breath and lowered his forehead onto his crossed arms.

"There," Sam murmured. "See? Just let go drop tension bro You know me from last 14 years bro."

Sam worked across his shoulders, kneading the tension out of the muscles around his shoulder blades. After a while, the pressure became less painful. Leo's muscles began to loosen, and he stopped thinking about how much his back hurt.

Then he started noticing other things.

Sam's hands were broad enough to cover a good portion of his back, moving smoothly over his skin. Whenever Sam leaned forward to work on his lower back, the fabric of his sweatpants brushed against Leo's bare hip.

Leo went quiet. He usually had a dozen things running through his head at once: assignments, deadlines, code that refused to work. Now he could barely focus on any of them. He was too aware of Sam behind him, of the weight holding his legs in place, of the occasional brush of fabric against his skin.

A strange warmth settled low in his stomach.

*Stop it,* Leo told himself, curling his fingers against the carpet. *It's Sam. It's literally just Sam my best friends from childhood.*

He tried to think about his algorithms assignment, the busted kitchen faucet, or the girl from his sociology group who'd ignored his text three days ago. None of it helped.

Sam's hands moved back up, his fingers slipping into the short hair at the nape of Leo's neck. His thumbs rested just beneath the base of his skull. This time, he didn't press down. He simply held him there.

Leo went still.

"You're not talking," Sam observed. His voice was lower than usual, with a faint teasing edge that made Leo's stomach twist.

"I'm concentrating on not dying," Leo managed.

Sam chuckled. "Right. Is that why your heart's going a hundred miles an hour?"

Leo's stomach dropped. "That's the balm. It raises your circulation."

"Does it?" Sam's thumb moved slowly along Leo's hairline. It was a small, almost absentminded gesture, but it sent a shiver down Leo's back. "Didn't know you were an expert on athletic balms."

"I read the back of the tub," Leo choked out. He was trying desperately to sound normal. His pulse was hammering, and he had no idea whether Sam could feel it through his skin. "Can you get off me now? I think I'm cured."

Sam didn't move. He leaned closer, his chest hovering just above Leo's shoulder blades. "You sure? You were groaning pretty loud two minutes ago. Sounded like you were having a religious experience."

"Fuck you," Leo snapped. There was no real anger behind it. Just embarrassment and a growing sense of panic. "Get off."

Sam's hands slid down Leo's sides, lingering briefly over his ribs before he finally shifted his weight and climbed off him. The sudden absence of his body left Leo feeling strangely cold.

"Turn over," Sam said.

Leo stayed where he was for a moment, trying to get himself under control. He wasn't ready to look Sam in the face. Eventually, he pushed himself onto his hands and knees, grabbed his discarded shirt, and pulled it over his head. Then he sat against the base of the couch, drawing his knees up and resting his arms across them. His face felt hot.

"I'm good," he said quickly. "That was... thanks. It helped."

Sam stood over him. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. His eyes moved over Leo's flushed face and the redness creeping down his neck before settling on his eyes again. "Yeah? You look like you just saw a ghost, man."

"I'm exhausted, Sam. Some of us don't run on pure creatine."

Leo reached blindly for his beer and took a long swallow. It was lukewarm, but at least it gave him something to do with his hands.

"Go wash your hands," Leo added, trying to break the tension. "You smell like an old folks' home."

Sam didn't look offended. He simply watched him for a few more seconds. The silence made Leo increasingly uncomfortable. He couldn't tell whether Sam had noticed anything or whether he was just being his usual irritating self.

"Whatever you say, Leo." Sam turned toward the hallway, then paused at the doorframe and looked back. "Drink your beer. We're doing legs again on Thursday."

"Go to hell."

Sam grinned and disappeared into the bathroom. The door clicked shut, followed by the sound of running water.

Only then did Leo let his head fall back against the couch. He stared at the ceiling, trying to convince himself that nothing had happened. His back still burned beneath his shirt. His heart hadn't quite settled, either. And the physical evidence of his arousal, impossible to blame entirely on the massage, left him painfully aware of a truth he'd been desperately trying to ignore.

He was hard. For Sam.

In leo's mind : *No. This is impossible. I am a straight guy. I love girls,* Leo thought, panic clawing at his chest. *I am not gay. I like women. This makes zero sense.*

But the heat low in his stomach didn't care about logic. Was he actually attracted to Sam? Not some stranger at a campus party, but his best friend? The person who'd been part of his life for as long as he could remember?

he felt both hot and confused at same time, his cock was extremely hard He even wanted to masturbate but he felt it weird like what You want to masturbate for your best friend rubbing hands on your small back.

Leo closed his eyes, his mind spinning out of control. "Fuck," he whispered to the empty room.

From the bathroom, Sam called, "What was that?"

"Nothing!"

"Good. Don't forget Thursday."

Leo grabbed a cushion and pressed it over his face. Thursday couldn't come soon enough. Or maybe it couldn't come soon enough for entirely the wrong reasons.