I Tried Hypnosis With My Friend - Chapter 5

“This has to stop,” I told him.

We were still shirtless. The air smelled like sweat and sex. The video had just finished playing again.

“I’m serious,” I said. “This file, these triggers, whatever the fuck it is—it’s messing with us.”

Jules didn’t say anything at first. Just sighed and looked down.

“…Yeah,” he said quietly. “Okay.”

I nodded, standing up too fast, needing to get distance between me and the look in his eyes. “We need to find the guy who made this. Whoever created the file. Maybe they know how to undo it.”

“Yeah,” he repeated. “I’ll help look.”

I spent the weekend at my parents' place two hours away, pretending to care about lasagna and Netflix and family updates while my brain reran everything that had happened.

The sound of his moans.
The way he said my name.
The taste.
The grip.
The need.

At night, I lay in the guest room, wired and sweating, replaying it all like a movie on loop.

And on Sunday morning, I woke up soaked. My boxers clinging to me, my thighs damp, my breathing ragged. Another dream. Another one where I was on top of him, kissing down his chest, pinning him down, sliding inside—

Fuck.

I nearly punched the pillow.

When I got back to the dorm Sunday evening, he was at his desk, typing, acting normal. Like none of it had ever happened.

“Any luck?” I asked, dumping my bag by the door.

“With the file guy?” he said, turning toward me. “Nah. Nothing yet. Every lead just ends in deleted accounts or dead servers.”

I ran a hand through my hair, pacing. “Fuck. Well… keep looking. We have to find something. There has to be a way to—”

Jules scratched his neck and said it without thinking:

“—to stop this whole action–”

We both froze.

The moment the word left his lips, I felt it.

That spark.

Low in my gut. Crawling up my spine. Straight to my cock.

He felt it too—I could see it in his face. The way his lips parted. The way he shifted in his seat like he was suddenly way too aware of his own skin.

We locked eyes.

No more words.

We were on each other in seconds.

He stood from the chair and I pushed him back against the wall. Our mouths crashed together, teeth and breath and tongues, desperate and uncoordinated and so fucking right. My hand slid under his shirt, then down his stomach. His fingers clawed at my jeans.

We kissed like we’d waited our whole lives to do it. Not gentle. Not sweet. Just want.

Clothes peeled away. Shirts first. Pants. Boxers. Our cocks rubbed together, slick with precum, trapped between our abs as we ground into each other, moaning, panting, not caring how loud we were.

“Fuck,” Jules whispered against my mouth. “I missed this.”

My hand slid down to stroke him, slow and tight. He groaned and did the same to me. We stood there for minutes, just pumping each other, hips bucking, foreheads touching, eyes glazed over.

He dropped to his knees.

Sucked me like he’d needed it all weekend.

His tongue curled under my shaft, lips warm and wet, and I had to brace against the wall to stay standing. I looked down at him — his mouth stretched, his hand on my thigh, worshipping me. I couldn’t believe how good it felt.

Then I pulled him up and switched.

His cock was already leaking when I took him in.

I sucked him slow at first, tasting the salt, the ache. Then deeper, faster. He tangled his hands in my hair and started thrusting gently into my mouth. The sounds he made…

He could’ve made me cum just from that.

When I pulled back, breathless, eyes locked with his, he whispered:

“…I want you inside me.”

I hesitated. Just for a second.

Then I nodded.

We lay back on my bed. His legs parted. My hand slid down between them, fingers teasing the spot I’d never touched before. He moaned, biting his lip, hips lifting. I played with him slow, gentle, feeling him open up to me.

“I’ve never done this,” he breathed.

“I know,” I said. “Me neither.”

I pressed in slowly. Every inch felt like fire, like a home I didn’t know I was missing.

His body welcomed me. Hot. Tight. Perfect.

We moved together. Rhythm slow, then fast. Our hands never stopped roaming — chest, face, thighs, cock. Sweat slicked our skin. Our moans filled the room.

It was more than just fucking.

It was surrender.

His eyes never left mine.

Our bodies slapped together, slick and wet and shaking, every thrust dragging a breathless curse from his mouth, every second building something impossible inside me.

Then, right before we both lost it, he whispered:

“…I don’t know who I am without this.”

My body tensed.

I looked down at him, and said the same thing.

“I don’t either.”

And then I came. Deep inside him. Moaning his name.

He followed seconds later, coating both our stomachs, shaking, whimpering, wrecked.

We didn’t say anything for a while.

Just lay there, naked, tangled, breathless.

I didn’t know if I was still under the hypnosis.

But I didn’t care.

Because whatever this was...

I wanted it.