Just a Game Ch. 01

By the time they stumbled back to their building, laughing hysterically, both were desperate to pee. Dean tripped and lost his balance in his haste to kick off his shoes as they pushed past each other to get inside the apartment. To regain his footing he grabbed at Pete, who didn't have the equilibrium to provide any support--both of them hit the ground, still laughing.

"Bathroom's mine!" Pete yelled, trying to get upright again.

"No way!" Dean protested, grabbing his leg to keep him on the ground and then crawling ahead of him toward the bathroom on his hands and knees. One of the cats strolled around the corner to greet them, and then arched its back and ran off, startled by their behaviour.

"Yes way!" Pete grabbed him by his belt to haul him back, but Dean responded by unbuckling the belt as well as unbuttoning his pants, and in an instant he was clawing his way ahead, leaving his pants in Pete's hands. They both howled with laughter, which increased when Dean also dropped his drawers as he picked himself up off the floor, waggling his penis in Pete's direction before disappearing into the bathroom with a crow of triumph.

"Bastard!" Pete bellowed between breathless guffaws. He managed to stand up and also dropped his pants and boxers in the hallway before barrelling into the bathroom behind Dean, who stood at the toilet but hadn't yet started to pee. Making a quick, drunken decision, Pete poised himself to piss in the sink next to him.

"Gross--not the sink!" Dean groaned. "Come on--there's enough toilet."

Pete followed Dean's frantic gesturing and joined him at the toilet, naked hips bumping together briefly. They stood there over the toilet, each pointing his dick at the bowl, breathing hard as they waited for the stream to start. They burst into giggles again when they realized both were suffering from 'stage fright'. Pete shivered a little. Standing bare-assed in the bathroom was making him cold.

There was a brief trickle as Dean let loose a single squirt, and both burst into renewed laughter. Pete added a short dribble of his own. He shivered again. They both breathed and concentrated. Gradually Dean began to pee a steady stream. They met eyes for a moment, and once again laughter took over. As much as he'd had to pee a minute ago, Pete couldn't manage to release anything after that first trickle.

"Always the shy one," Dean teased.

"Shhhh... I almost had it!"

Dean smirked. "Want me to get you started?" he chuckled.

"What the hell does that--oh...!" Pete broke off with a gasp. Dean had shifted his jet of urine so that it hit the tip of Pete's penis. The sensation of the hot stream on him was bizarre and strangely exciting. Against all sense, his cock started to grow firm in his hand. Fortunately Dean didn't seem to notice--he finished peeing and laughed again before giving Pete a light hip-check and plodding off to the bedroom.

Pete stood at the toilet shivering for a long time after he left. He concentrated for a few minutes, willing his erection away. Finally it waned enough to allow his aching bladder to loose the evening's stored-up drinks, and in an instant he was peeing like a racehorse, groaning with the intensity of the stream.

By the time he got to the bedroom, Dean was already dead to the world, lying on his front with his ass exposed, face half buried in his pillow. Pete smiled and tossed a blanket over him before stripping his shirt off and crawling into his own bed.

Late the next morning, Pete woke with a slight headache and a dry mouth, but otherwise not feeling too badly. He heard Dean shift in bed and glanced over, watching him stretch.

"No work today?" Pete asked groggily.

"Nope. Thank God."

Pete almost got out of bed before realizing he was wearing nothing under his blanket but socks. As much as they had seen of one another, he still wasn't quite ready to be fully in the buff in front of his roommate. Moreover, he was painfully horny. He stayed hidden beneath the covers.

"Hey... Pete," Dean said sleepily.

Pete sighed. He knew that Dean was going to flash him, but he looked anyway. With an impish smirk, Dean rolled to his side, pushed his blanket back, and revealed a massive, purple-headed erection.

"Welcome to Morningwood Academy, sucka!"

"Shit, Dean--seriously?" Pete hissed, flinging a pillow at him. Dean laughed and caught the pillow, pressing it to his crotch and humping it several times with an exaggerated moan before tossing it back.

"Ugh..." Pete muttered, deflecting the pillow and letting it fall to the floor.

"Sir Dean the Defiler strikes again!" he declared, rolling cheerfully out of bed and striking a triumphant pose for a moment, cock sticking straight out in front of him, before turning to head to the bathroom.

"Fuck," Pete sighed as he heard the shower turn on. He settled back against his mattress, reaching below the covers to stroke his own raging hard-on. He'd had dreams all night involving Dean, and peeing, and somehow woken up horny as hell. Horny enough to jerk himself to an explosive, intensely satisfying orgasm before Dean was even finished in the shower. The force of it made his headache worse, but the rest of him now felt exceedingly pleasant.

After cleaning himself up with a dirty t-shirt, he put on some fresh clothes and headed for the bathroom, needing to pee again as well as locate some Advil. Dean was still in the shower, the bathroom door, of course, wide open. The transparent shower curtain did nothing to obscure his activities, but Pete would have known just from his heavy breathing that he was masturbating. He tried to ignore him and went for the toilet, shutting his eyes while he waited for the stream to come. He was still waiting when he heard Dean finish, with a grunt and several gasps.

Pete had just about begun to pee, and then, on a whim, stopped himself. Dizzy with a mixture of unaccountable glee and the rush of over-the-top vengeance, he moved over to the shower and whisked the curtain aside. Dean looked up at him with a startled expression, which intensified to unmitigated shock when Pete began to pee all over him. The sense of release, of breaking down a boundary, was intense, and Pete was almost certain he would be hardening right now if it weren't for the fact that he'd just emptied his balls about two minutes ago. His expression was dreamy and proud.

Dean was frozen. He really didn't have any defence against this, unless he tried to push past Pete, which might just cause him to pee all over the floor instead of the shower. The hot stream washed over his legs, occasionally hitting his genitals. His cock was still semi-erect. He uttered a low grunting noise, and a soft gasp.

When Pete finished, he shook off and tucked himself back into his shorts. His posture remained proud, but now he was worried he'd gone too far--way too far. Then Dean laughed. It was an odd laugh, though--three harsh syllables, and then silence. His eyes were very wide, his jaw hanging open.

"So... yeah...." Pete said, his voice strangely high-pitched. He took a step back, shut the curtain, and turned to leave, completely forgetting about his quest for Advil. After a few moments he heard the shower turn back on.

Things were awkward for the rest of the day. They talked very little. Pete holed up in the bedroom--so the cats wouldn't be all over his computer, he claimed--hoping to make some good headway on his job hunt. His productivity was negligible as he continued to worry he'd crossed a line, and the game would be over. He tried to convince himself it didn't matter either way--why should he be so attached to it? The game was utterly asinine. Infantile, even. He decided he'd make no more attempts, and leave the ball in Dean's court.

It only took till that night for Dean to make his next move, although when it happened Pete had no idea if they were playing the same game anymore. Pete had barely left the bedroom all day and was still in bed when Dean entered and shut off the light. Pete shut down his laptop immediately, and as he did so he heard Dean stripping off his clothes, and then the squeak of the mattress. It was dark and silent for nearly five minutes before Dean turned on his bedside lamp. Pete glanced over. Dean had no covers on, not a stitch of clothing, and was starting to slowly stroke himself. Pete swallowed hard. Clearly he was intended to watch, though reason told him to avert his eyes. He watched.

Dean did not look at him as he coaxed his cock to full hardness. He reached for the drawer of his nightstand and fumbled for a bottle of lube. Pete watched him drizzle a thin stream over the deep blushing tip of his erection, and heard him moan softly as he palmed his shaft and spread the slick fluid over his member with a gentle twisting motion. He started using both hands. One snugly gripped the shaft, pumping up and down; the other caressed and teased the tip, occasionally dipping down to tug on his balls. He panted hard and increased his tempo, now and then grunting or moaning, which he didn't usually do when Pete was in the room.

Pete kept watching. Finally his hand strayed downwards beneath the blanket and into his boxers. He was well on his way to a full erection. He started stroking it gradually, not wanting to catch Dean's attention. It was hard to keep breathing normally. His organ felt super-sensitive. This was far more intense, far more taboo than beating off simultaneously with the lights out. Dean was showing off, and doing so for his benefit. Whether it was intended to shock, annoy, disgust, or arouse him, it was having mainly the latter effect. He was also increasingly envious of that lube--Dean's cock was gloriously slicked up to glistening, the excess drooling languidly over his fingers. His hands moved in such a perfectly smooth pistoning motion.

Pete let out an unintentional gasp. Dean craned his head around, finally, to look at him. He still wore his glasses--his eyes were huge and especially dark, his mouth slack and moist. He did not stop masturbating, and simply stared at him with curiosity and expectation beneath that lustful gleam.

"Uhnn..." Pete stammered. The lube--he wanted the lube. Wordlessly he snaked an arm out from underneath his blanket and pointed with an unsteady finger at the bottle that had settled near Dean's hip. Dean's eyes grew even wider. He paused his movements, and then slowly sat up. Pete didn't realize until he'd gotten up from the bed and walked over, his manhood bobbing straight out in front of him, that Dean must have thought he was pointing at his cock.

"Oh..." was all Pete managed to get out.

"Shove over," Dean said breathily.

He could have corrected the misunderstanding then, or at least replied with a simple "no," but he did not. He didn't want to. In that adrenaline-and-lust-fuelled moment, he wanted a warm, amorous Dean, with his greased-up hard-on, in his bed next to him. Pete shoved over. Dean crawled in and settled against him, immediately slipping a hand under his blanket. Pete held his breath and didn't stop him. Dean's hand was warm and slippery as it closed around his erection and squeezed. His hips jerked in response, immediately ready to fuck that friendly fist. His hands sought something to grab, so he bunched the sheet beneath him with one, and found Dean's cock with the other.

"Oh..." Pete grunted again. Dean was hard as steel, but the flesh around that solid core was exquisitely silky. He panted at the out-of-control rush of being jerked off by another guy as he jerked him in return. Dean seemed to enjoy it just as much, moaning and pressing his face into Pete's shoulder. Dean was close, very close, as he had already been at it a while. He started making little whimpering noises, which made Pete grin. Pete felt Dean's shaft surge in his grip and stiffen even more before he dropped his chin and roared out a desperate syllable of release accompanied by several violent jerks of his hips. Pete tried to keep a firm grip on him throughout, even as Dean let go of his cock and the mattress quaked beneath them. Dean spattered across his own belly, but most of his issue dribbled over Pete's hand.

Once Dean had settled down, Pete pulled his hand back and examined the thick, white goo coating most of his fingers with fascination. Before he could think about what he should do with it, Dean had passed him an old t-shirt. Quickly he wiped off, and passed it back. Dean cleaned up his front and sat up. Pete thought that might be it, but then Dean crawled down the bed and positioned himself between Pete's legs, facing him. They made eye contact finally. Dean looked like he wanted to smile, but wasn't sure if he was supposed to. Pete was simply bewildered. He relaxed and sighed as Dean pulled the blanket down until his cock popped up cheerfully. As many times as Dean had seen it before, he hadn't seen it erect. Pete hadn't been certain until now that he wanted Dean to see it, but at this point he figured since Dean had yanked on it, he might as well look.

Dean swallowed and bit down on his bottom lip as he wrapped both hands around Pete's cock and started enthusiastically pleasuring him using the same technique he used on himself. Pete scrunched his blanket in both fists and gritted his teeth. Dean's hands were so warm, so slick, and so intuitive, and Pete's cock was humming with pleasure as if nerve endings he'd never felt before were being awakened. His head swam; his legs trembled. He felt a roiling ache deep in his balls that suddenly surged up to an almost unbearable ecstasy of release. His jaw flew open and he screamed long and loud, desperately fucking Dean's tight, perfectly-lubed, double-handed grip until all of his strength left him.

Pete lay there panting with his eyes closed until he felt Dean change position. He lifted his lids and watched as Dean picked up the already used t-shirt and started to clean off. Pete realized most of his come hand landed on Dean--the majority had jetted across his bare torso, and there were even a few generous gobs in his hair. A single drop had hit his glasses. Pete managed a small, awkward chuckle.

"Gotcha...?" he ventured.

Dean smirked as he took his glasses off to clean them, and then burst out laughing. "Yeah. Yeah, man... you got me pretty good."

Pete sighed, still working on catching his breath. He stared up at Dean curiously as he stood up. Was he just going to go back to bed, and tomorrow they would go on with life as usual? Was getting each other off spectacularly going to be just another joke? But Dean only went to turn out the lamp and place his glasses on the nightstand, and then spread himself out on Pete's bed again, pulling his blanket over both of them before molding himself to Pete's side. He tugged at Pete's shirt, which had been hit with a few drops of come but was mostly undefiled.

"Be naked with me," Dean said.

Pete frowned. "Mmm... nope."

"Seriously?" Dean gaped. "After all this, you still won't take your shirt off? Are you hiding some kind of horrific deformity? Do you have a third nipple?"

"No," Pete chuckled. "I just... don't like my body, I guess."

Dean grew serious. He slung an arm across Pete's middle. "Well... I like it quite a lot, so far. You don't have anything to worry about."

"I'm fat."

"You're not fat!"

"I'm fat."

Dean sighed. "Well, you're not skinny. But you're a perfectly fine size. You've got that sort of... stout dwarven physique. If you grew a big, bushy beard, you'd be a serious fucking badass."

Pete laughed, placing his hand over Dean's. It felt surprisingly natural there. "You're such a dork. Beards are disgusting."

"I'm going to pretend you didn't say that," Dean replied with mock severity. "Only because you're so fucking amazing to cuddle. I've literally never been so comfortable in my entire life."

"It's the fat."

Dean grinned, squeezing him tight. "All right, fine. Just don't change."

Pete smiled in the dark. After a minute or two, he whispered, "I'm really comfy too."

Dean didn't reply immediately. Pete wondered if he'd already fallen asleep. Then he whispered, "I'm gonna get you naked."

Pete's smile widened. "I'd like to see you try."