Broken String

LXXXVII (first half NSFW)

"Okay." Brett says again, huskily, in a tone that travels straight to Eddy's dick, making it even harder. It's throbbing, now, begging to be touched, but Brett takes his time, bringing the circles ever closer, glancing past his balls.
"Oh!" Eddy calls out. Too loudly, he realises straight away. Shit, Todd and Ian are home. Are they awake?
Brett doesn't seem to care, he glances past his balls again, squeezing them gently, almost like he's washing them, too. How is he so good at this? He hasn't touched him yet and he's panting, lost, gone already.
"Please." he groans again and at last Brett takes pity, closing his hand around him and moving gently. Eddy looks down, not even bothering to glance. Brett's left hand is stroking his own erection, and he sits down on his knees, stretching out so their heads are level.
Oh, my God, they really are moving in unison, and this is so, so good. Nothing matters now, the world doesn't matter, in fact does it even still exist, or is it just them in this tiny space that might as well be a whole universe. He wants him close, closer, he wants him...
His hands move up carefully and land on Brett's back, pulling him in. His face is just in front of him, his lips plump again, slightly parted, his breaths come quick and shallow.
"Ohh." Brett moans deeply. He's picking up the pace now, for both of them. A huge orgasm builds from somewhere deep down, somewhere where only hands exist that rub soapy circles, that move up, and down. Up, and down. Brett's quick breaths caress Eddy's cheeks and he leans his head forward so his forehead touches his best friend's. He can look down, like this, watching the movement of both of Brett's hands. He could come now, but he manages to wait a moment, build more, wait for him, build more...
"Fuck..." Brett groans deeply. He can see the skin of his lower belly start to quiver and he knows he's close. Or is he also trying to hang on?
"Bretty..." he whispers and that's it, Brett's head flies back and he shouts out as his warmth shoots up, taking Eddy with him, pulling him under so their cries mingle through their universe.

"Jesus fuck." Brett whispers once the world comes back into focus, sitting down on the ground without preamble. Eddy grins.
"Good job I know Todd mopped that floor a couple of days ago."
"Even if he hadn't." Brett grunts, and Eddy laughs out loud.
Freely.
When has he last laughed freely?
"Right. Do you want your hair washed?" Brett says then, his kind tone back now, he's sitting up, shaking his head out like he's a labrador fresh out of the surf.
"Um, no, I... you washed it yesterday."
"Okay."
Eddy leans into the water that still flows over both of them. He's so, so relaxed, and he feels like he could deal with anything and everything. But...
Does Brett, too? Or is he...
Wait. What does this mean? What does it mean that Brett gets up and turns to wash himself again?
"Brett... are you sure we don't need to talk about... this?" he asks Brett's back quietly.
Then Brett turns and sits back on his haunches, puts his hands on Eddy's shoulders and allows his kind, kind eyes to bore into Eddy's soul.
"Very sure. You get better, okay? Then we'll talk?"

Eddy's mouth opens and closes like a goldfish in a Chinese restaurant's tacky water tank. Then he nods. Because he sees Brett's eyes, you see, and they're telling him please listen.
Brett is always right when his eyes say something like that.
So he'll listen.
"Okay." he tells him, his own hands covering Brett's on his shoulders. "Yeah. We'll talk when I'm better.