Pretend With Me - Chapter 2

I told myself I was fine.

What happened last time with Elliot? Just acting. Method, or whatever. He was too good. That’s all. I mean, we were roleplaying for practice. It wasn’t supposed to be real. It wasn’t like I wanted it. I just… reacted. Bodies do that. It’s not that deep.

Still, I didn’t sleep much. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his face that close to mine. I remembered the weight of his thigh under my hand. The way our cocks touched through fabric like magnets pulling each other in. I kept waking up sweating, hard, and more confused than I’ve ever been.

So yeah, when he showed up at my house again the next day—wearing his usual smug grin, a folded script in hand—I tried to act normal.

“You busy?” he asked, barging into my room like always.

“No,” I lied.

“Cool,” he said, tossing the script onto my bed. “We’re doing this.”

I blinked. “Doing what?”

“Scene study. From my acting class. It’s a two-person piece. Real emotional tension, real chemistry—perfect for you. And don’t worry,” he added, flipping through the pages, “we’ll skip the kiss part.”

I swallowed. “Right.”

He kicked off his shoes, flopped onto the bed next to me, and started reading. I glanced down at the script. It was from some indie play I’d never heard of. Two friends confronting feelings they’ve been avoiding for years. Full of long pauses and intimate lines like “You never looked at me that way before.”

He handed me the script. “You’re Sam. I’m Kyle. Let’s go.”

I tried to focus. Really. But Elliot was too good again. He changed the tone of his voice, lowered it just enough to make my chest tighten. His eyes locked on mine like they were searching for something. And when his hand casually grazed my knee during one of the lines, I felt my whole body tense.

We were already off-book by the third page. That’s how intense it got. I wasn’t reading anymore—I was reacting.

Then came the line.

KYLE: “So you’re really gonna pretend none of it meant anything?”
SAM (me): “I’m not pretending. I’m trying to forget.”

We locked eyes.

That was the moment the script said: They kiss. Tentative at first. Then deeper.

I was supposed to skip it. We both were.

But neither of us moved away.

Instead, Elliot leaned forward. His lips brushed mine.

It was supposed to be funny. Quick. Like last time.

But it wasn’t.

It lingered.

His mouth hovered over mine for a second too long. Then our lips pressed again—softer. Warmer. His tongue flicked forward, barely touching. And then he climbed on top of me.

I froze, letting him straddle my lap. Our mouths didn’t stop. They opened wider. We kissed like we were starving. Like we forgot who we were.

My hands were on his waist. His were gripping the back of my neck. And when he shifted his hips—grinding slowly into me—I gasped.

We were both hard. Again. This time, fully pressed against each other. Our cocks rubbing through denim and sweatpants like they knew what they wanted.

I bucked up instinctively. He groaned into my mouth.

One more grind and I couldn’t hold it. My stomach clenched. My breath hitched.

I came.

Just like that. In my fucking shorts.

I panicked.

Pulled away fast, face burning. “Shit—Elliot—fuck, I didn’t mean to—”

He blinked down at me, still sitting on my lap, lips pink and shiny, his chest rising. Then he smirked.

“Guess that scene worked.”

I pushed him off me, heart racing. “This isn’t—I didn’t—”

He flopped back onto the bed like nothing happened. “Relax, dude. It’s just acting… right?”

But the way he looked at me said something else.

And the wet patch in my boxers said everything I couldn’t.