What I Always Wanted to Do to My Best Friend

The room was silent when Andrés opened his eyes and found me sitting on the edge of the bed, watching him. I’d spent years looking at him like that when I thought no one could see me: with that mix of admiration and something I took a long time to name properly. That night, for the first time, I didn’t care if he caught me.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice rough with sleep.

“Nothing,” I said. “I was watching you sleep.”

He was quiet for a moment. The light coming in through the window lit up his jaw, his neck, his bare chest. Andrés has that kind of body that seems built without effort, as if the time he spends in the gym is just another habit for him and not an obsession. That night he had everything exposed: no shirt, the sheet barely covering half his abdomen, his arms open on the bed. I’d been waiting too long for that moment to look away.

“Come here,” he said.

One word. No explanations, no questions.

I wasn’t sure if he meant for me to lie down beside him or to come closer in another way. I chose the second.

I moved slowly toward him, not taking my eyes off him, expecting that at any moment he’d change his mind or say he’d made a mistake. He didn’t. When I was close enough, he reached out and placed a hand at the nape of my neck with gentle firmness, and that simple gesture utterly undid me.

“How long have you wanted this?” he asked.

“A long time,” I admitted.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?”

I didn’t have a good answer for that question. The truth was complicated: fear, pride, the certainty that if I said it out loud, it would stop being only mine. Andrés had been my best friend for four years, and that desire had grown so slowly and so discreetly that by the time I realized it, I could no longer get it out of me. I’d learned to live with it the way you live with something that has no solution: by accepting it in silence.

“I didn’t know how,” I said at last.

He nodded, as if that was enough for him. Then he moved his hand from my nape to the edge of the sheet and pulled it away in one slow tug, without drama, like someone taking out a card they’d already decided on. Beneath it, he was naked. His cock was half-awake against his thigh, thick even like that, with that heaviness only real ones have. My mouth went dry.

“Look at it properly,” he said. “It’s what you’ve been imagining for years, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I said, and my voice came out rougher than I expected.

“Touch it.”

I reached out and wrapped my hand around it. I felt the weight, the hot pulse rising beneath the skin, the way it hardened under my fingers with each beat. I gave it a couple of slow strokes, up and down, looking at his face. Andrés let out a short breath through his nose and his eyes narrowed.

***

What happened after that was nothing like I’d imagined in the nights I went to bed thinking about him, and there were many of those nights. I’d imagined it awkward, nervous, full of discomfort. I’d imagined I’d have to convince him of something. But Andrés didn’t need convincing of anything. He took control from the very start with that calm he has for everything, and I let myself be carried along.

I moved closer until our faces were inches apart. He didn’t move. He was looking at me the way you look at something you already know by heart but that still has the power to surprise you. I felt his breath on my mouth before our lips brushed, and that half-second—that suspended instant before contact—was perhaps the most intense part of the whole night.

When we kissed, time did something strange. It stretched and contracted at the same time. It was a long, unhurried kiss, without haste, as if Andrés had decided that night there was nowhere to get to. I put my hands on his chest and felt his heart racing beneath the skin. That confirmed to me that he was carrying something inside too. That this wasn’t only mine.

Without breaking the kiss, he slipped his hand under my briefs and took hold of my cock. I’d been hard since before I sat on the edge of the bed. He squeezed once, twice, sizing me up, learning me all at once. A moan slipped out inside his mouth and he gave a soft laugh without breaking the kiss.

“You’re soaked,” he murmured against my lips, rubbing his thumb over my wet tip. “How long have you been like this, tell me.”

“Since you opened your eyes,” I said.

“Liar. Before that.”

We pulled apart. He looked at me for a second. Then he said:

“Down. Suck me off.”

I knew it at once. I knew exactly what he meant, and I also knew I wanted to do it more than I’d wanted anything in a long time.

I moved down his body slowly, never stopping touching him. I ran my lips over his neck, his collarbone, the center of his chest. I bit one nipple without thinking and he gave a small start, surprised. The skin of his stomach tightened when I reached his navel. I kept going, leaving a trail of saliva along the line of hair descending from his stomach. When I got where I wanted to get, I looked up at him from there, waiting. He was completely hard, his cock resting against his belly, thick, with that vein running along the top and the head glossy and swollen. Seeing it like that—so clear, so unambiguous—gave me a mix of pride and desire I had never felt before.

I started carefully. I ran my tongue flat from the base to the tip, following that vein centimeter by centimeter, and when I reached the top I slowly circled the glans with the tip of my tongue. Little kisses on the head, on the frenulum, without rushing. I licked his balls one by one, took one into my mouth and sucked it without moving for a few seconds, feeling the whole sac tighten against my tongue. I let the heat between us rise without burning all at once. Andrés had his eyes closed and one hand resting on the sheet beside his hip, fingers only lightly curled. Hearing his breathing change was the first sign I was doing it right.

“Take all of it in,” he said softly. “Stop playing.”

I did. I took him all the way into my mouth, as deep as I could, until I felt the head pushing against the back of my throat, and I held there. My eyes filled with water right away. I felt the muscles in his thighs tighten beside my head, the way his abdomen contracted. I started moving, slowly at first and then with more rhythm, letting his cock slide in and out of my throat with a wet, obscene sound that filled the whole room. Saliva dripped from the corners of my mouth and ran down over his balls, and I used it to jerk him at the base while I sucked the top.

“Fuck,” he panted. “Like that, exactly like that.”

There were no more instructions after that. Andrés understood he didn’t need to give any.

***

Several minutes passed. I lost track of time, focused on him, on his reactions, on learning what he liked and what drove him out of his mind. I learned that when I ran my tongue under the glans, there at the frenulum, he shut his eyes tight and let the air out in a rush. I learned that when I pressed him against my throat and held without breathing until tears sprang to my eyes, he dug his fingers into my hair without realizing it and whispered curses through clenched teeth. I learned that he moaned very low, almost unwillingly, as if trying not to let any sound escape, and that when one got away louder, he covered his mouth as if ashamed.

At one point he placed both hands firmly on my head and started fucking my mouth. Not violently, but clearly, setting the rhythm himself, pushing his hips up each time I went down. He matched the movement of my mouth as if he’d been waiting to do it for years. I opened my throat as much as I could and held off the gag reflex until he let me go. Saliva ran in strings down my chin. I took a few seconds to breathe, face soaked, his cock tapping wetly against my cheek, and started again.

“Look at me while you suck me,” he asked. “Don’t close your eyes.”

I did as he asked. Andrés propped himself up a little on his elbows so he could see me better. That image—him looking down at me through half-lidded eyes, mouth open, completely surrendered to what I was doing to him—is something I’m not going to forget for a long time. I met his gaze without leaving his cock, my lips stretched around him, and I watched his face change. I felt his breathing speed up again. He swelled even more inside my mouth.

“Stop for a second,” he said suddenly. “Stop or I’m going to come right now and I don’t want to.”

I stopped instantly. I looked at him with the question in my eyes, his cock slowly slipping out of my mouth, a strand of saliva connecting us.

“Come here,” he asked, pointing to the space beside him.

I climbed up until I was lying next to him. He put a hand on my cheek and kissed me again: different this time, more urgent, with his teeth lightly brushing my lower lip, tasting himself on my tongue without any restraint. I put one hand on his chest and the other at the nape of his neck, and we stayed like that for a moment, breathing into each other’s mouths, unhurried. I felt him search for my cock again with his hand, closing his fist around it, setting a slow rhythm that made my whole body tremble.

“Do you want to keep going?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said without hesitation.

“All the way? To the end?”

“All of it.”

He laughed. It was a low laugh, the kind he doesn’t make for anyone else to hear, only for himself. I heard it only a few times in four years of friendship, and every time I did it reminded me why I’d fallen in love with him without planning to.

Because yes. I loved him. With everything that word implies and everything it complicates.

***

I went back down. This time with more confidence, without the tension from the beginning. I took all the time I wanted: I explored what I hadn’t explored before, tried what made me curious, learned the limits and preferences of that body I’d been looking at from afar for so long. Andrés gave himself over with a quiet generosity I hadn’t expected. He never went rigid or closed himself off at any point. He just let it happen, and every now and then he rested a gentle hand on my head to let me know he was still there.

I spread his legs with my hands and settled between them. I licked him from the very bottom, behind the balls, slowly moving up the seam of the sac, sucking each one calmly, tasting the salty flavor of skin and the weight of his balls against my tongue. Andrés let out a long gasp and made no attempt to hide it. I took both balls into my mouth at once and sucked them slowly, rolling them with my tongue, while I jerked his cock with my hand above. Andrés arched back a little and rolled his eyes. I heard him let out a moan he didn’t try to hold back, rough, animal, and that drove me more insane than anything else that night.

“Fuck, fuck,” he repeated, clutching the sheets.

I went back to the head. I wrapped my lips around it and started going up and down fast, squeezing hard with my mouth while my hand kept jerking him at the base in the same rhythm. I felt him get even harder, his whole body tensing, his thighs tightening beside my face. His balls had pressed up against his body. I could feel his cock pulsing against my palate.

“I’m coming,” he warned me, his voice taut. “I’m coming, I’m coming now.”

I didn’t pull away. On the contrary: I took him even deeper, all the way to the base, and held him there, choking a little, my nose pressed against his belly and my throat closing around him. I felt the first convulsion throb inside me, long, thick, and then the hot stream pouring into the back of my mouth. I leaned back a little so I wouldn’t choke and let the next bursts land directly on my tongue. One, two, three, four strong spurts, and two smaller ones after that. I felt the thick taste filling my mouth completely, hot, salty, with that bitter edge only fresh cum has. I didn’t let go until he was completely finished, until his body relaxed all at once and he let out the breath he’d been holding. I kept it all, losing nothing.

I pulled him out slowly. I looked at him. I opened my mouth so he could see what I had inside—that pool of white, thick cum on my tongue—held it open for a couple of seconds so it would stay with him, then closed my mouth and swallowed in one go, showing him my empty tongue when I was done. I saw his face change when I did it.

“God,” he said very softly. “God, look at you.”

I cleaned him carefully, calmly, without any hurry. I ran my tongue over his cock while it was still hard, gathering the last traces that had run down the shaft, sucking them off patiently. A couple of soft licks to finish on the sensitive head, one last kiss on the tip that made him shiver once more and let out a short moan, almost a protest, from pure excess.

***

I climbed back up until I was lying beside him. Andrés had his eyes open and was looking at me with an expression I’d never seen on him before: completely relaxed, with no defenses at all. It showed all over his face, in his dropped shoulders, in the way he rested his arms on the bed without a trace of tension.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Very,” he said. “And you?”

“Better than I have in a long time.”

He lowered his hand and found me still hard against his hip. He took hold of me without saying anything and started stroking me slowly, looking me in the eyes, keeping a steady rhythm with his wrist. He spat into his palm and closed it around me again, and the wet sound of his hand moving up and down my cock made me close my eyes.

“Come for me,” he whispered in my ear. “On top. Don’t be afraid.”

I didn’t last long. I’d been hard for too long, with his taste still in my mouth, and a few more firm strokes were enough to make my whole body start trembling. I came over his fist and across my own stomach in several bursts, holding my breath, my face buried in his neck. Andrés didn’t let go; he kept milking me until the very last drop, handling me with the same calm he brought to everything. When I was done, he brought his stained hand to his mouth and cleaned it with his tongue without taking his eyes off me, as if returning to me what I had just swallowed.

“Fuck,” I said, with no other vocabulary.

He laughed again, that low laugh.

We fell silent. There was nothing to explain and nothing to solve that night. What had happened had happened, and we both knew it. The difficult conversations could wait until the next day, or the day after, or whenever they had to. That night we just wanted to be there, in that bed, without the outside world coming in yet.

I turned off the bedside lamp. The room fell into shadow, with only a little light seeping in from under the door. Andrés lifted an arm without saying anything and I settled against his chest. I felt him breathing, his body relaxing completely, the heat between us becoming tame and steady.

Four years of friendship. Four years of wanting him in silence, of looking at him in secret, of keeping that desire somewhere it couldn’t get in the way. And now I was here, with my head on his chest and his arm around my shoulders, listening to his breathing grow deeper as he fell asleep.

I asked for nothing more. I had never wanted anything more than this.

He fell asleep before I did. I listened to him for a while, feeling the rhythm of his chest rise and fall. Outside, the city kept going with its own life: distant cars, wind in the windows, some street noise I couldn’t quite make out. Inside, in that small room with the sheets rumpled and the smell of sex still hanging in the air, everything was exactly where it was supposed to be.

I fell asleep without making a sound, my open hand on his chest, listening to my best friend’s heart.