Broken String

IX (First paragraph NSFW)

He blinks in surprise as his jeans become uncomfortably tight very quickly. Wait, what the fuck? But his eyes are still on the men on screen, and before he knows it his hand is going down and cupping himself. 
"Ah, God..." he whispers. It's been too long since he's done this, actually, way too long. 
That's probably why it's happened at such a strange time, right? 
Luckily it's his left hand that's sore, not his right. He opens his belt and his fly and sighs in relief as his erection springs free. His hand is around himself already and he strokes gently. He's not in a rush. The song in front of him ends again and he presses refresh. He doesn't even know why, but does it matter right now? He's moving faster now, his hand going up and down, his heart thumping but this time for all the right reasons. He leans back as he jacks up his t-shirt, to protect it from what's about to happen. 
"Fuck." he whispers. "Oh!" 
The orgasm overtakes him suddenly and he gasps for air, leaning back in his chair as wave after wave of pleasure pulls through him, his sticky liquid shooting out hard, then flowing gently over his hand. 

"What the fuck." he mutters, once he comes back down to earth. He presses the space bar with his left hand, stopping the music, then looks around for some tissues. 
Shit, he's soiled the hem of  his t-shirt. Whoa. That was quite the orgasm. Where the hell did that even come from? 
He gets up awkwardly, trying not to get the carpet on the floor or his jeans dirty, and sidles to his nightstand, where his tissues live. He cleans himself up quickly and he's just deciding to change into sweats when there's a knock at the door. 
"Bro, you comin'? I'm done."
He looks down quickly and checks for damage. You can't see anything, really. 
"Yep, coming!" he calls back, half snickering to himself at his choice of words while he does his jeans up again. 

He opens the door, looking as innocent as he possibly can right now.
"Did it go well?" he asks Brett as if it's the most standard time in the world and he was just reading, or something. 
 Brett's eyes glance over his face and his eyebrows seem to tense for a second, but thank God, he doesn't say anything, he just walks to the living room and plops down on the couch.
"Yeah, alright I think. Will you look over it for me?"
"Of course!"
He takes the laptop Brett hands him and starts checking what he's written. 
Does Brett realise, what he just did, in his room? Is that why the glance, why the eyebrows?
"This is a first inversion A chord, not a C chord." he says, pointing to the offending place on the screen.
"Oh, fuck it, you're right." 
Brett takes the laptop and corrects the mistake. 
Look, does it really matter if he knows, anyway? He himself has certainly known when Brett has masturbated, before, has walked in on him, in fact. What difference does it make? At least he doesn't know what exactly he was watching, when he did. Thank God for small favours. 
He glances over Brett's shoulder, pointing out another couple of places where he's gone wrong, then picks up the remote. 
"So. Film?" he asks in a voice that manages to give nothing away about how much he wants this. 
"Sure. Wait, I downloaded one the other day, give me a sec."
"Ah, cool."

He leans back in the soft couch cushions and focuses on the screen that starts to play the credits. He's going to forget everything about today. His lesson, the train wreck. Brett's comment. The fact that he has too much to practise and yet he hasn't practised much at all today. 
Yeah. None of that exists right now. He heaves a sigh and burrows himself even deeper into the couch to watch this movie with his best friend in the world.