Page 56 of Deviant Need

Is it gay if I get hard thinking about another guy? Fuck if I know. I’m so confused about this entire situation.

Does he want me to fuck him?

He said he wants to get fucked. I remember that conversation, how flustered he got admitting it before I had my blackout episode and we kissed. And last night when I pressed against his hole, the way he moaned and pushed back against me, he was practically begging for more. He wants my cock, not just my fingers.

Anal has always been my thing. Whether I’m watching porn or having sex, it’s what I need, what gets me off harder than anything else.

Being with a guy instead of a girl shouldn’t be much different, and I’ve heard it’s even better for men because of their prostates. I want to make it good for him, want to watch him fall apart when I’m buried inside him. The thought of being inside him like that, feeling him clench around me, drives me fucking crazy. My cock is fully hard now, pressing uncomfortably against the fabric of my boxers, insistent and impossible to ignore.

It’s not gay to want to fuck him.

…Right?

I’ve never looked at another guy and felt anything, never wanted to kiss one or touch one or do any of this. The thought never even crossed my mind before him. Now I can’t stop thinking about doing it again, about pushing him down into the mattress and making him fall apart, about hearing those desperate sounds he makes when he’s needy.

This doesn’t mean I’m gay. I’m still straight. Very straight. I just happen to want to fuck my brother, which is completely different.

But the thought doesn’t bother me as much as it probably should. We’ve always been messed up. Codependent and obsessed with each other and incapable of functioning apart. This is just one more fucked-up thing to add to the list.

I’m never letting anyone else have him. He wants connection? He’s got me for that. He doesn’t need some random asshole when he has me. He’s been through enough, and he deserves to have one person who doesn’t hurt him, who just wants to make him feel good.

My cock throbs again, and I shift slightly, trying to get comfortable. This is going to be a long couple of days if I can’t stop thinking about his mouth and his body and the sounds he made. But screw it, maybe I’ll figure out what this means by the end of it. Either way, he’s not getting away from me again.

He drops a draw four onto the pile and my eye twitches. He’s cheating, I know he is.

“Tell me how you do it.” I point at him accusingly, cards clutched tight in my other hand. “You’ve had three of those already. That’s not possible.”

He shrugs. “You just suck at Uno.”

This little shit.

I toss my cards aside and launch myself at him, pinning him down with his arms locked at his sides. I glare into his face. “Tell me how.”

“You can’t handle losing.”

“I can’t handle losing to cheaters.”

He tries pushing me off, and I go with it, letting him flip us so he’s straddling me with my arms trapped under him.

He’s panting a little. “You watch me deal the cards, you dumbass. I don’t cheat.”

“You rig it somehow. You always do.”

He starts laughing, just full-on laughing in my face.

I hate him.

He rolls his eyes. “You are ridiculous. Do you know that?”

Shoving my arms up, I grab his shoulders and roll us again until I’ve got him pinned underneath me. My necklace swings down and taps against his matching one with a soft clink.

“Get off me,” he grunts, wriggling under me.

“Not until you admit you are a dirty little cheater.”

He lets out a heavy sigh. “I’m going to smother you with a pillow in your sleep.”

His throat moves when he swallows, and I can’t stop watching it, staring longer than I should. His golden family crest necklace catches the sunlight, and I track the movement up to his neck before meeting his gaze.