My Best Friend’s Boyfriend Was Waiting for Me Alone at the Bar

Adrián texted me at a quarter past six on a Sunday. I was sprawled on the sofa with the house in darkness, avoiding the world and, above all, avoiding him. We had gone weeks without exchanging more than two sentences. Since that night in the kitchen, when he had rested his forehead against mine while Camila slept in the room next door, we had returned to our usual choreography: her best friend’s boyfriend and my best friend’s best friend. Distant, proper, silent.

The message said Camila was having dinner with her cousin. That he was alone. That there was a new bar near the park and they served a very good craft beer. Not a word about work, not a professional excuse. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I knew what it was. I knew he knew that I knew.

“What are we doing, Adrián?” I texted him.

“I don’t know,” he replied a second later. “But come. I need to stop being the calm one, even if it’s only for an hour.”

I showered without thinking too much about it. I put on the black shirt I knew looked good on me and left without closing the window. I walked there with my hands in my pockets and my pulse beating in my throat, feeling for the first time in months that I was moving toward something instead of running away.

The bar was small, with low lights and a dark wooden counter. Adrián was at the last table in the back, against the wall. He had changed too. Gray shirt, two buttons open, his hair wet as if he had just gotten out of the shower. He looked up when I came in and didn’t smile. That was the first confession.

“You ordered without me,” I said, pointing to the half-finished beer.

“I needed one to work up my nerve,” he replied.

I sat down across from him. We looked at each other across the table without speaking for a few seconds, and the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the silence of two men who had spent months holding back the same thing and had finally decided to let it go. I felt his knee brush mine beneath the table. This time, he didn’t pull away. Neither did I.

“Camila’s coming back late,” he said, turning the glass between his fingers. “After dinner, she’s staying at her cousin’s place. I’m not telling anyone anything.”

“Adrián.”

“I know what I’m saying, Sebastián.”

I brought the beer to my mouth without taking my eyes off his. My back pressed against the leather seat. We finished our beers quickly, without looking at anyone else. He paid with a bill he left on the table without waiting for the change. We went out onto the street one after the other. His house was three blocks away. We walked without touching, without saying a word, and every step was a decision that had already been made.

We took the stairs so we wouldn’t run into anyone in the elevator. On the third-floor landing, Adrián stopped for a second with the key in his hand.

“If we go in, I can’t turn back,” he said without looking at me.

“We won’t go in if you want to turn back.”

He put the key in. Pushed the door open. Let me go in first.

***

Inside, the apartment smelled like him. Like his cologne, his freshly washed clothes, the life he shared with her. He closed the door with his foot and grabbed me by the nape before I could turn around. He kissed me against the hallway frame, his mouth open from the very first second, without shyness or hesitation. Months of holding himself back had left the kiss ready.

I bit his lower lip and he let out a short moan, a hoarse sound that came from his throat. I felt the pressure of his cock against my hip, already hard, giving him away completely. I slipped my hand beneath his shirt and scratched his back while I kept devouring his mouth. Adrián smelled of expensive soap and nerves, and the combination was driving me insane.

“The bedroom,” he said without stopping kissing me. “Not here.”

“Not the bedroom. She sleeps there.”

He laughed, his breathing ragged. He dragged me to the living-room sofa. He shoved me onto my back and climbed on top of me, his knees on either side of my hips, and this time I was the one who ripped his gray shirt off in one pull. The buttons flew across the floor. He didn’t care.

Adrián had a firm chest, with dark hair running down to his navel. I ran my tongue over his left nipple and he let out another moan, pressing my head against his chest. I moved my hand down his stomach, undid his belt, and opened the button of his pants. He was so hard that the fabric formed an obscene bulge.

“Show me,” I said, looking up at him. “I want to see you.”

He stood in front of the sofa and pulled down his pants and underwear in a single motion. His cock sprang free, erect and thick, the tip already wet with pre-cum. I had never pictured him like that in concrete terms, but now he was right in front of me and looking wasn’t enough.

I slid to the floor, kneeling between his thighs, and ran my tongue from the base to the tip without rushing. He grabbed my hair and gasped. I opened my mouth and took him all the way in, until I felt the head hit the back of my palate. I sucked his cock slowly, both hands braced on his thighs, feeling him tremble each time I squeezed his balls with my palm.

“Fuck, Sebastián,” he said, his voice breaking. “You’re not going to last like this. I’m not going to last.”

I released him with a wet sound. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and stood up. I turned him around and pushed him back against the sofa. I pressed my mouth to his neck, bit his shoulder, and gripped his cock with my right hand while opening his ass with my left.

“You’ve never done it with a guy,” I said against his ear, not as a question.

“Never,” he said, trembling all over when I ran my finger over his opening.

“I have. Trust me.”

I led him by the hand to the guest bedroom, the only room where she didn’t sleep. I put him on all fours over the comforter. I took my own clothes off too, quickly, without ceremony. I knelt behind him, his legs spread and his ass raised toward me. First I ran my tongue between his cheeks, my mouth open, and he let out a muffled cry, arching his back against my face.

“Holy fuck,” he whispered. “Holy fuck, Sebastián.”

I ate him there for minutes, soaking him, loosening him, while he writhed and pressed the back of my neck with one hand over his shoulder. I slipped in my wet thumb, slowly, and felt him give way. Then one finger. Then two. Adrián moaned uncontrollably, his face buried in his bent arm, his cock dripping onto the comforter.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes,” he said, almost voiceless. “Yes, fuck me already.”

I reached for my pants on the floor, took a condom from my wallet, and put it on while looking at him there, offered up, legs spread and ass gleaming with saliva. I spat on him, lubed my cock with what remained of him on my fingers, and pressed the tip against his opening.

I pushed in slowly. I felt the resistance, the heat closing around me, the way he opened under the force to let me enter. Adrián let out a long moan with his eyes closed, and I held back until I had buried my cock all the way inside him. I stayed still for a second. I placed my hand on his back, between his shoulder blades.

“Breathe. I’ll give you a second.”

“No,” he panted. “Fuck me. Don’t stop.”

I started moving. Slowly at first, taking the measure of his body, feeling him relax with every thrust. Then harder, gripping his hips with both hands, fucking him with the rhythm my body demanded. Adrián moaned with every thrust, his mouth pressed against his forearm, saying my name through his teeth each time I sank all the way in.

“Harder,” he asked me. “So I can’t think about it.”

I grabbed his hair with one hand and pulled his head back. I started fucking him with all the strength I had, every thrust a sharp smack against his ass, the sound filling the room. He let me, his ass raised, his back arched, accepting everything. The mattress springs creaked beneath us.

I turned him onto his back. I lifted his legs and rested them on my shoulders. I wanted to see his face. I wanted him to know it was me fucking him, that it wasn’t a fantasy in the shower, that it was Sebastián pounding his cock into him while Camila had dinner ten blocks away.

I thrust back inside him and he cried out. He dug his nails into my shoulders. I gripped his cock and started masturbating him in time with my thrusts, my palm slick, squeezing the head every time I moved up. Adrián’s mouth was open, his breathing in tatters, his eyes fixed on mine as if he were afraid that if he closed them, I would disappear.

“I’m going to come,” he said, and I saw the exact moment his body began to tremble from the inside.

“Let’s come together.”

I sped up my hand on his cock and my thrusts at the same time. He came first, with a long moan that rose from his gut, and I felt his hot release spatter across his stomach and chest, running over my fingers. His ass clenched around my cock and dragged me along with him. I buried my face in his neck and came inside him with two, three final thrusts, moaning into his ear as the orgasm shook my entire body.

I stayed draped over him, breathing raggedly, feeling Adrián’s heartbeat against mine. He slowly ran a hand through my hair in silence. There was no rush to move.

I pulled out slowly. I kissed his mouth, still soft from the orgasm, and he returned the kiss without opening his eyes. I removed the condom, tied it off, and left it in the trash can in the guest bathroom. When I came back, he was still lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

“Camila,” he said after a long while.

“I know,” I said. “I know.”

I lay down beside him in the guest bed, one leg between his. I wrapped my arm around his chest, over the mark his own release had left, already dry. Outside, we could hear Sunday night on the street, the sound of cars, someone laughing in the distance.

“We’re going to do it again,” he said, not asking.

“Yes,” I said. “We’re going to do it again.”