The Broken Arm Favor - Chapter 9

I’d been dragging it out for almost an hour. My hand worked Troye’s cock in slow, merciless strokes, watching the way his chest heaved, his thighs tensed, his head rolled back into the pillow like he couldn’t take it anymore. Precum dripped constantly from his tip, slicking my fist, shining in the low light.

I loved it. I loved how I owned him like this, how every twitch of my wrist sent him gasping, begging, cursing.

“Fuck, Connor,” he groaned, his good hand gripping the sheets like a lifeline. “You’re driving me insane.”

I squeezed tighter, dragging my strokes faster, then slowed suddenly, making him choke out a frustrated moan.

“You’re cruel,” he panted, sweat sticking his hair to his forehead.

I smirked. “You love it.”

He looked down at me, eyes glassy, lips parted. For a moment he just watched me stroke him, his cock twitching helplessly, precum bubbling out. Then, through a moan, his voice broke in a way I’d never heard before.

“I don’t just want your hand, bro… I want you.”

The words hit me harder than anything else he’d ever said. My cock throbbed instantly. My whole body lit up. Before I could think, before I could even breathe, I leaned down and pressed my mouth to his.

It was sloppy, desperate—tongues crashing, lips wet, both of us groaning into each other’s mouths like we’d been holding it back for years. His hand clawed at the back of my neck, pulling me closer, kissing me harder.

“Fuck,” he gasped against my lips. “Finally.”

I moaned into him, still jerking his cock, but now my hips were grinding against his thigh, my own dick leaking like crazy in my sweats.

“Take it out,” he growled, fumbling with my waistband one-handed. I helped him, tugging my cock free, already hard and dripping. He wrapped his left hand around me—it was shaky, slower than mine, but the heat of it made me shiver.

“Careful,” I muttered, glancing at his cast.

“Relax,” he said, smirking. “I can still take care of you.”

And he did. We started stroking each other side by side, our hands moving in rhythm, cocks rubbing against each other sometimes, smearing precum between us, making everything slicker and hotter.

The kisses didn’t stop. If anything, they got hungrier—tongues twisting, teeth biting lips, moans swallowed between us. I couldn’t stop saying his name against his mouth, breathless: “Troye, Troye, fuck—”

“Connor,” he groaned, stroking me harder now, hips bucking into my fist. “God, your hand—don’t stop.”

I pressed my forehead against his, both of us staring at each other with wide, desperate eyes while our fists pumped. It wasn’t just jerking off anymore. It was deeper, heavier—like every stroke, every kiss was tying us closer together.

When he came, it was explosive. Hot streams of cum shot up his stomach, and the sight alone pushed me over the edge. I groaned into his mouth, spilling all over his hand, over both our cocks, mixing with his mess.

We didn’t let go right away. Even after we were both trembling and overstimulated, we kept kissing, still pumping each other lazily, smearing our cum together until everything was slick and wet between us.

Finally, we collapsed onto the sheets, breathless, sweaty, hearts racing.

Troye laughed, low and shaky, staring at the ceiling. “Shit, Connor. This isn’t just jerking off anymore, is it?”

I turned my head, watched his chest rise and fall, his skin glistening, the dried streaks of our cum on his stomach. My throat tightened, but I didn’t look away.

“No,” I whispered. “It’s not.”

And neither of us pretended otherwise.