The Broken Arm Favor - Chapter 2

I thought Troye was kidding.
He had to be, right? No way my best friend was actually serious about me… doing that for him. But the way he looked at me after he asked, the quiet desperation in his eyes—it stuck in my head the whole day.

I didn’t bring it up again, figured he’d let it go. But that night, I was crashing on his couch like I usually did when he was injured. Around midnight, I heard him shifting around in his bed, restless, breathing heavier than normal. Then—

“Connor,” he whispered.

I rolled over, groggy. “What?”

“Dude, I can’t take it anymore. Please—just help me out once.” His voice cracked. He sounded embarrassed, but also… serious.

I sat up, heart racing. “You’re not… you’re not actually asking me to—”

“Yes. I am,” he cut in, blunt. “I can’t do it myself. And I feel like I’m gonna explode. Please.”

My throat went dry. I laughed nervously, trying to shake it off, but he wasn’t joking. His good hand was clutching at the sheets, his whole body tense like he was holding himself back from begging harder.

It was insane. It was wrong. And yet… all I could think about was how much I’d been secretly curious since he first mentioned it.

I sighed, running a hand down my face. “Fuck, Troye… okay. Just once. Don’t make it weird.”

He sat up straighter, relief flashing across his face. “I swear. Just—just help me.”

My hands were shaking as I pulled the blanket down. He was already hard under his shorts, the bulge straining against the thin fabric. My stomach flipped when I realized this was real, not a joke anymore.

“Holy shit,” I muttered, more to myself than him.

He gave me a weak grin. “Told you I needed it.”

I hesitated one last time, then slipped my hand under his waistband. The heat of him nearly made me pull away, but his soft gasp stopped me. My fingers wrapped around his cock, and it twitched instantly in my grip, thick and warm.

“Fuck,” Troye groaned, dropping his head back.

I started slow, clumsy strokes. My mind was screaming at me that this was insane, but my body was buzzing, my cock stirring just from the sound of him moaning. I’d jerked myself off a thousand times, but touching him? Feeling his weight, his pulse, his precum slicking my fingers—it was nothing like I imagined.

“Connor… faster,” he begged, hips lifting.

I picked up the pace, my palm sliding over his head, twisting a little like I’d seen in porn. His thighs trembled, his good hand clutching the sheets tighter, the cast arm useless by his side.

“Fuck—yes, just like that,” he panted. “Don’t stop, bro, don’t stop.”

Hearing him say that—calling me bro while I stroked his cock—made me lose it inside. My strokes grew steadier, more confident. He was leaking so much precum I barely needed to think, just let my hand move, let him use me.

“Connor—fuck, I’m gonna—”

His whole body jerked as he came, hot ropes shooting across his stomach, some even splattering onto my wrist. He moaned my name, loud and shameless, shaking under my hand until he finally sagged back, panting.

I pulled away slowly, staring at the mess I’d just made with him. My heart was still racing, my own cock painfully hard in my shorts.

Troye finally looked up at me, sweaty hair sticking to his forehead. He grinned, breathless.

“Bro, no joke… that was the best handjob I’ve ever had.”

And for the first time in my life, I had no idea whether to laugh… or do it again.