Below The Belt

Round 11

Tyreek's POV

Dre was being weird.

And not just his usual no homo type of weird, but a more nervous and tense type of weird.

Like this nigga deadass looks like he's about to vomit.

"You good, baby?" I asked after watching him pace around the kitchen for the eighth time. He'd been here for almost an hour and in that time he'd said about four words to me and spent the whole time fidgeting nervously. "You actin' like you boutta kill me or somethin'... You aren't, right? I mean like I'd prolly let you. Just me pose sexy or somethin' first." I draped myself dramatically across the counter, finally getting him to laugh as his pacing came to a halt.

"I ain't boutta kill you, nigga." He still looked nervous as he spoke, avoiding eye contact and moving way too much. Did I do something? I don't think I did. Maybe he was working himself up to telling me that he was tired of taking care of me- which was fine. He was the one who convinced himself he needed to do this in the first place, so I couldn't be mad if he was over it.

He came walking over to me and stopped right in front of me, looking down into my eyes for a moment before he abruptly looked away. "Let's go sit down or something." He spoke lowly to the point where I had to strain to even hear him. He was a naturally quiet guy, but it seemed his nerves made him practically silent.

"Aight baby. Whatever you want." I answered with a smile. My smile only grew when he grabbed my hand and pulled me behind him into my living room. He let me sit first, and then he sat down next to me. First he sat a bit further away, then he seemed to think about it for a moment before he hesitantly moved closer until our thighs were touching.

What the hell is he so nervous for?

I chose not to bring attention to it as we sat beside each other with him scrolling for a movie. I told him he could choose something to watch this time since we usually just watch anything relating to boxing.

He'd been scrolling for a while when I suddenly felt his hand on my thigh. I won't lie, it scared the shit out of me. But I resisted the urge to flinch and instead looked down at his hand for a second before turning to raise a brow at him. He didn't turn to meet my gaze, focusing entirely on the screen as he turned on The Wire- interesting choice for the alleged straight man but I digress.

I once again chose not to bring attention to it... Until I felt his hand start creeping up my thigh. "Ayyo..." I whispered as I watched his hand move. This nigga does not want these problems this soon...

He continued to rub my thigh as he settled into the couch. He wasn't as tense as he'd been, but he was clearly nervous about whatever the fuck he had planned. I knew for a fact that he wasn't about to let me fuck him- he for sure wasn't ready for that... Maybe he'll let me give him head. The thought alone was enough to excite me.

I inhaled sharply when he started to rub the inside of my thigh, and I gladly spread my legs a bit for him because who am I to stop his pursuit to happiness.

"Dre." I finally spoke when his hand brushed up against my dick, but he still paid me no mind. His attention was solely on the tv, like he was trying not to think too much about it. "Baby..." I spoke again, this time much quieter and more breathy as this nigga decided to get bold and just grab my shit. I started to wonder if he was drunk, but he looked completely fine. This is the same nigga who has only initiated kissing me once, and now he feeling up on my dick like he tryna do something. "Daddy if you tryna do somethin' you know I'm down but-"

"Shut the fuck up." He finally broke his silence just to tell me to stop speaking... Imma shut the fuck up though.

I draped my arms across the back of the couch as this nigga here continued to palm me through my pants. I don't know where he got this confidence from, but I know imma enjoy it.