Bois' Night

Cam and I had started a little tradition -- when I met them, they were going through a break-up, and I half-jokingly suggested we have a grotty little boys' night like the cis straight guys I knew in high school. They came over, we ordered a pizza, put Die Hard on the TV and drank beers all evening, watching the action and violence and not talking to each other about our feelings, just letting Bruce Willis handle our catharsis.

It became a ritual every time one of us was going through something rough, like another heartbreak or problems at work or with family. Usually, we wouldn't directly address what it was that had us down. We'd just call each other up and arrange to hang out. It always helped a bit.

A couple of times, I thought I'd felt them look at me funny when they were one too many beers deep, but nothing ever came of it. I got into a relationship just after we met, and stayed in it. And Cam liked girls. Real girls, girly girls. Femmes with long hair and long nails and soft, sweet-smelling skin. That was never me.

After that relationship ended, I was really down. It was the longest, most intense and intimate connection I'd ever had with a partner, but we wanted different things and ended amicably. Still, I was heartbroken. I called Cam one Friday afternoon and they came over that night with a crate of beers and a takeout pizza.

We settled in with a drink each and Die Hard on the screen, and for the first time since we met, we talked about how I was hurting.

"I really thought she was it, man," I kept my gaze on the bottle in my hand. "I thought we'd be together forever. Is that silly?"

"That's not silly. You two seemed great together."

"We were. At least for a while." I finished my beer. "God, I hate being single."

"So get back out there! You're a good looking guy, you won't have any trouble."

I cast them a side-ways look, but their eyes were trained on the screen. Bruce Willis was picking his way barefoot through the glass.

"It's been a long time," I said, picking at the label on the bottle.

"Scared you'll have forgotten how?"

I felt them looking at me, and felt the blush rise in my cheeks. They leaned over to the cooler by the side of the couch and handed me another beer. I popped the cap and took a long drink. We watched the movie and didn't talk for a while, not until they'd finished their second bottle and gotten halfway through a third.

"Can I ask you something?" they asked. "And feel free to tell me to fuck off."

"Sure," I said. I tried hard to act cool, like I wasn't already feeling shy.

"When you guys did it, did she ever fuck you or did you only ever fuck her?"

The heat in my cheeks flooded down across my chest and into my stomach. In my experience, it's a near unspoken rule between butches that we don't talk about getting topped. We all know some do, but we'd never admit it between bois. Call it what you like, toxic masculinity or something, but that's just the way it was. Still, the beer and the dopamine withdrawal in my system had me feeling a little more honest than I usually would.

"Yeah, we'd switch sometimes." I said, quickly chasing my confession with the rest of my drink.

"And you liked it?"

That aching heat was spreading persistently through my abdomen and down between my legs. I couldn't help it. This felt so forbidden.

"Yeah, I guess I did. I trusted her, you know?" I scratched the back of my head awkwardly. "But I liked fucking her better."

Cam's hand suddenly and decisively landed on my thigh, their fingertips resting right where I'm sensitive. It made me want to squeeze my legs shut, but I resisted. I looked up at them, looking straight back at me. The look in their eye was less like they wanted me, more like they already had me.

"I think you'll like it better when I fuck you."

All at once their mouth was on mine, kissing me hard and urgently. Their fingers dug into my thigh, and I brought my hands up to their neck and jaw. I returned the kiss, head swimming, wanting to feel them against me, wanting wildly and inarticulately for something I didn't know how to ask for.

They took care of it. I didn't need to ask. They moved on top of me and tugged firmly on the hem of my shirt, then started unbuttoning it from the top to the middle, and slid one hand down over my binder. The other hand rested on the couch above my shoulder, holding me in place, still kissing me deeply. I unfastened the rest of the buttons and they helped me slide the shirt off of my arms and toss it to the floor.

They kissed my neck hungrily, sucking hard enough I knew there would be marks, then bit down, so hard I yelped.

"Too much?" They breathed.

"No."

I pushed them sideways so they flopped back onto the couch beside me and climbed onto their lap, holding their face in my hands as we kissed again. Their hands grabbed me by the waist, then slid over my ass and down the backs of my thighs. I felt the pressure building between my legs and ground my hips down against them helplessly.

I reached down to pull off their t-shirt and they lifted their arms over their head, leaving them in a black sports bra. They kissed me again, sucking my bottom lip into their mouth, and making me whimper.

I wasn't lying before -- I really was usually more of a top. I liked the feeling of getting my partners off, often so much I didn't want or need them to reciprocate. Making them feel good felt good enough. And I liked the power that came with it too, making someone helpless, emptying their head of all thoughts but you and your hands, your mouth, your strap.

But Cam had flipped that all on its head. I wanted to be taken however they wanted me, dissolving under their touch. I wanted to be fucked senseless. I wanted to make them feel big and butch and strong.

They grabbed my ass again, pulling me against them. I felt their chest heaving with thick, heavy breath. One hand wandered back over and across my thigh and between my legs.

"Can I?"

They looked up at me with eyes so full of wanting I couldn't tell who had the power here. I nodded frantically and they pulled me forward again, sucking hard on my chest just under my collarbone, and unbuttoned my jeans with one hand, the other wrapped around the back of my neck.

They slid their fingers smoothly over my boxers and found me hot and wet. Letting out a little moan, they moved back to my lips and pushed their tongue into my mouth. We made out as they pressed their palm flat against me, and I wriggled against them, frustration building beyond what I could handle.

Suddenly they withdrew and wrapped their arms around my waist, lifting me off their lap and dropping me on the couch so I was lying on it lengthways. They quickly moved back on top of me, their knees either side of my legs. I grabbed their hips and pulled them against me, realising how strong they were, how good it felt to have their body pinning mine down.

We kissed again, hot and fast. My body burned with intensity. I felt like my desperation was bubbling out of me, and I would have done anything for their hands where I needed them again. They pulled away suddenly and looked into my eyes very seriously.

"Have you ever been with another butch before?" They asked, and I shook my head. "Okay baby, I'll be gentle."

I flushed at being referred to like that. I slid my hand down their back and squeezed their ass firmly.

"Don't be."

They grunted and lunged to kiss me again, pressing more of their weight onto me as they reached a hand inside my boxers and ran it along the length of me, feeling my wetness fully. I let out a tiny moan, and without warning, they pushed two fingers inside me.

"Ohh, fuck!"

Pressing their forehead against mine, they breathed hard and fucked me harder, driving their fingers in and out of me. Their fingers were curved at just the right angle, hitting just the right spot. I wondered vaguely how many people they'd needed to fuck to get this good at it, thinking it was a little hot to become another notch in their bedpost.

They pushed their palm against my clit and I moaned louder, feeling that pressure in my abdomen start to build properly. They looked so good on top of me like that, biting their lip, their silver chain hanging down below their neck. Leaning down again, they started sucking at the point between my neck and shoulder.

Panting with the intensity of it all, I rolled my hips up against them, leaning into the feeling over their fingers fucking me, so steady and just rough enough to border on too much, but never crossing that line.

They bucked their hips back against me, their hand positioned right between their legs as if they were fucking me with a dick, natural or strapped on. I knew that feeling they were chasing, where your mind and body sync up so perfectly you can almost feel it, almost get off on the feeling of somebody rolling and clenching around you.

"Does that feel good?" They breathed against my throat.

"Mhmm, yeah," I whimpered. "So good."

"Tell me how good."

"So good, so fucking good, Cam." I couldn't stop the moans leaving my throat.

"Keep going."

"Your fingers feel so fucking good inside me," Being bossed around got me even hotter. "I love how you fuck me. I want you to make me come, please make me come."

"Yeah?"

"Please," I panted.

"Good boi, asking so nicely." They looked down at me, fucking their fingers into me even faster. "You want to come?" I moaned a yes. "Beg me."

"Please make me come, please let me come, please, please, oh fuck, please let me come for you." My head was swimming. I couldn't think of anything but their hand inside me, their wolfish grin, their strong, lean body rolling into mine.

"Okay baby, come for me."

My orgasm crashed over me like a riptide, making me lose all control. I let out a long, deep moan, grasping Cam's hair between my fingers, pushing my hips off the couch and up against them. My body went rigid, and sharp, intense pleasure coursed through my body. They fucked their hips back against me, holding me and fucking me through it all at once.

As the feeling throbbed through my body, I flopped back against the couch. They pumped their fingers in and out of me a few more times, making my hips jerk with aftershocks. I slid my hands back down to their waist and held them there as they eased out of me and gave me a softer kiss.

They pushed up off of me and sat up on the couch, and holding eye contact with me, put their fingers in their mouth and sucked them. My stomach did a little flip and my head swam, gradually catching my breath. They picked up their forgotten beer and took a sip, and handed me mine.

I took a drink and swallowed with difficult lying down. We stayed in silence for a couple of minutes, and eventually they put their hand on my knee and squeezed it.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," I said, propping myself up against the arm of the couch. "That was-- Wow."

"Any regrets?" They asked with an eyebrow raised.

"No," I grinned back. "Do you want me to, uh. Do anything for you?"

"That's okay. I don't get fucked." They gave me a cheeky wink and I kicked them playfully.

"What now? Just back to being bros?"

"I guess so." They turned to face me. "No offense intended, but I'm not harbouring romantic feelings for you or anything. I just kind of wanted to fuck you, and it seemed like you could do with the release."

"Cool," I said, feeling relieved. "How do I compare to your femmes?"

"Honestly, you kind of fuck like it's a competition you're trying to win."

We both laughed, finished our drinks, and cracked open one more before Cam looked at the time and decided to head home. I slept better that night than I had in weeks, and it really wasn't weird between us the next time we hung out. Sometimes a bro has to help a bro out.