Welcome. This story is slash, which means GUY LOVE. BETWEEN TWO GUYS.

It will be short. Short chapters like this, and only nine or ten of them.

I'm just gonna do this part once:

Einfach_mich made this happen-she helped me flesh out ideas on twitter, then she pre-read every chapter, made suggestions, and held my hand.

Also thanks to Laura_1025 and Aylah50, for pre-reading, and to SuperKannen for betaing.

The characters are SM's, not mine. I just leave the bedroom door open and see what happens.

"You going out tonight?" Edward asks, walking past my bedroom door with an open beer in his hand. He's not wearing a shirt, just a pair of black sweatpants hanging low on his hips. I try to keep my eyes on the mirror and not on his chest. I'm definitely not going to look at the plane of his stomach, or at the drawstring hanging loose and untied at his waist.

"Yeah, just having some drinks with Seth," I answer, twisting my collar to make it look appropriately disheveled. Edward takes a sip of his beer and then grins.

"Are you having drinks with Seth or are you having drinks with Seth?" he asks, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. He knows Seth and I have fooled around a few times-mostly just drunken, fumbling makeout sessions before we pass out-but we've never really dated. We're not really compatible in that regard, but Edward can't seem to wrap his brain around that.

"Having drinks, asshole," I answer, throwing a balled up pair of socks at his head. He's still grinning, that cocky fucking grin that he gets whenever he teases me about boys. "Probably just going down the street to Bar 54 and then maybe the clubs later, if we feel like it."

Edward starts making techno music with his mouth-trying to beatbox a little and mixing in some awful, screechy whooping sounds. "Sounds like fun," he says, when his performance is over.

"You wanna come?" I offer. The clubs Seth and I frequent really aren't his scene, but he's come out a few times just for the hell of it.

"Nah," he says, taking another pull of his beer. "I'm just gonna hang out here. I'm burned out from last night. Watch a movie or something, crash early."

"Cool," I answer, masking my disappointment. It's not like I expected him to say yes... but it would have made the evening a lot more fun. He pushes away from my doorway with his hand and waves with his beer.

"Have fun. Call me if you need a ride," he says. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"

I snort at his warning, because there are definitely things I could get into tonight that he would never do.

Edward's been my roommate for three years, and he's become my best friend. He lets me cry on his shoulder every time a boy breaks my heart. He marched with me in a gay rights demonstration last year. He comes to gay bars with me so I don't have to go alone, and he's the best fucking wingman I've ever had.

But he's straight.

And sometimes, like tonight, when he's all rumpled and sleepy and grinning and teasing me-all I want to do is pull him into my bed, kiss him, touch him, worship him with my mouth. But as cool as Edward is, all open and accepting and loving my big gay self, he's not gay.

He's got a different girl every week, always the hottest of the hot. He loves fucking them, too-I can hear it through the paper-thin walls of our apartment. The loud moaning, his muffled voice saying what I'm sure are filthy things, the headboard banging against the wall with such force... I can only imagine Edward making me moan, talking dirty to me, fucking me that hard.

Seth is being a whiny bitch at the bar.

"Ohmigod," he whines. "Let's just go to Exxxcess. It will be fun. There are always cute boys there!" He takes a sip of his drink-some kind of Appletini bullshit-and gives me his pouty face.

"Ugh, gross, I hate that place. Why can't we just stay here? This is fun." I'm enjoying the bar we're in now; the atmosphere is relaxed, despite the sizable crowd

"Yuck, too many straight boys," he complains, looking around the room. There are a fair number of straight guys, and girls for that matter, in this bar. I'm sure he's looking to hook up, so he wants to improve his odds... I'm just not that motivated to meet someone tonight. "Come on, Jakey, let's go," he says, tugging on my arm.

"I just got a beer. Let me finish it, at least," I argue, hoping I can stall him for a little while longer. He downs the last of his bright green martini and sets the glass down on the bar.

"Fine, I'm gonna use the bathroom. Drink fast," he commands, before slipping through a throng of people to head to the back of the bar. I ignore him and sip my beer slowly, leaning back in my bar stool to look around the room. I listen to the conversations going on around me, I watch the bartenders, I count the bottles of liquor on the shelf above the bar.

When I take the last sip of my beer, I realize Seth's been gone a long time-at least fifteen minutes. I pull my cell phone out of my pocket and find a text from Seth:

Met a guy in the bathroom. Going to a house party. He's so fucking hot!

He doesn't apologize for ditching me, or skipping out on his bar tab. I settle the bill with the bartender and text Seth back:

Have fun, be safe.

It's not the first time he's ditched me for a guy, but I can't be too upset-I've done it too. I'm mostly relieved that I don't have to drag my ass to a club tonight.

I push my way through the crowds and out into the night air, taking a deep breath as soon as I'm free. I walk the few blocks to my apartment and let myself in, expecting to find Edward sprawled on the couch with a beer.

The living room is quiet, though. The TV is off. The lights are all off, except for one lamp that Edward's clearly left on for me. I grab myself a beer from the kitchen and head to my bedroom, resigned to a night of Internet porn and getting myself off. I walk past Edward's room and pause; the door is open, which is unusual.

All of the lights are off, but the city lights and moonlight streaming through his window illuminate him perfectly. He's lying in bed, a dark grey sheet covering him up to his waist. His eyes are closed, but he's clearly still awake. What draws my attention-aside from his exposed chest-is the hand that's under that sheet. The movement at his crotch.

I hold my breath, desperate to stay quiet so he doesn't stop. My heart starts pounding, probably to accommodate all the extra blood rushing to my dick. I can feel it getting harder, pushing against the front of my jeans, and I fleetingly imagine Edward stroking my cock like he's stroking his own.

He moves his free hand under the sheet too, and groans a little as he changes his technique. I can't see exactly what he's doing, but it looks like he's playing with his balls too. Fuck, that's hot. I turn my body slightly so I'm pressed against the door jamb; thrusting my hips against it relieves some of the ache in my dick. My cheek is leaning against the cool wood, and I take slow, shallow breaths as I watch Edward pleasure himself.

He curses a little under his breath and shifts on the bed, switching hands. My eyes are locked on the movement under his sheet, and I want more than anything for that sheet to be gone. I let my eyes flicker up to his abs, his chest, his tight, pale nipples. I want to lick them, bite them. I want to bite his collarbones, nip at his throat, suck hard until his skin is bruised. Oh, and his fucking Adam's apple... I want to lick that too, and nuzzle it with my nose, and scrape my teeth over it. When I finally let myself look back up at his face, my body jerks back from the doorway in shock.

His eyes are open, and staring right into mine.

He grins, and I'm about to apologize, but I notice that the movement under the sheet hasn't stopped.

He's still doing it. He's still jerking off, right in front of me, and he knows that I'm watching. The thought makes me infinitely fucking harder, and I decide that I'm not going to be the first one to walk away. If he doesn't want me to watch, he'll stop doing what he's doing.

My breath hitches when I see his right hand reappear from under the sheet. Fuck. He's going to stop.

His left hand is still moving though, so I have hope. His right hand rests on his stomach, his fingertips scratching lazily at the trail of hair there. God, that little fucking happy trail that taunts me every fucking day. I want to press my face into it, kiss it, feel the scratchy little hairs against my cheek.

I start to wonder what he's thinking-worrying that maybe he's slowing down and waiting for me to leave-but he's still smiling. Still touching himself. Still letting me watch.

The palm of his right hand flattens on his belly, and he slides it down lower. I think it's going under the sheet again, but this time... this time he catches the edge of the sheet in his fingertips and pushes it down. Right over the hard line of his dick, over where his left hand is squeezing and rolling his balls.

This time, I can't stop myself from moaning. He's so thick, so fucking hard, and I can see the pre-cum all smeared around the head of his cock. I've seen Edward's dick before, but not like this. Not hard and leaking and so fucking sexy.

I want to wrap my lips around it from the side and kiss up the length of it. I want it in my mouth, down my throat, filling me up. I want to smell him, taste him, consume him.

He's amused by my reaction. His low chuckle registers, even though I can't look away from his dick. His right hand joins his left, wrapping around his shaft, and he groans. When I manage to look up at his face, I see that his smirk is gone. His mouth is open now, his tongue touching his bottom lip, his eyes trained on his hands working his cock.

I watch with him-because he's letting me. Because he wants me to.

He strokes with his right hand and his left hand moves around-tugging on his balls, twisting over the head of his dick, squeezing the base of his cock while the other hand flies over the tip.

I'm painfully hard now, my own cock begging for some of the attention that Edward's is getting. I have a feeling that this would end badly, though, if I pulled it out and started stroking it. That it might change this for Edward; make it a gay thing instead of an exhibitionist thing, and maybe he'd stop. I can't let him stop. I need to see him cum.

So I just lean against that door jamb, shifting when the pressure becomes unbearable, ignoring the cold beer sweating in my hand. Watching him get himself off.

Edward's moving faster now, his hand flying over his cock. His breath is coming in short gasps, and I know he's close. His hips start moving, thrusting up against the motion of his hand, and the sight of it almost makes me cum in my pants.

It's the sexiest fucking thing I've ever seen.

I want to be sitting on that cock, want him thrusting up into me. I want to make him pant and groan and call out my name.

He's close, he's grunting and panting with the effort of fucking his own fist. He's been watching himself work, but as he gets closer to his orgasm I can feel his eyes on me. I know he's looking at me. When I tear myself away from his cock-when I stop gawking for just a second, and look into his eyes-he cries out a loud, "Fuck!"

"Coming, coming," he moans, his hips bucking as his cum spurts out over his hand, his cock, his stomach. I whimper, unable to look away from his face until he closes his eyes in pleasure. When he does, I watch him draw out the rest of his orgasm. He pulls his cock slowly, draining every last bit of cum. His free hand draws circles in the thick liquid that landed on his stomach, rubbing it into his skin.

I'm mesmerized, watching as his dick softens, watching as he lets it fall against his thigh. He chuckles as he comes down from his orgasmic high and finds me still standing in his doorway, watching.

He swings his legs over the side of the bed, still fully naked, and moves toward me. I should move. I need to get out of the way. Edward's getting closer, and he still hasn't said anything, I need to fucking move, but I'm afraid that if I move-or breathe, or think, or feel a slight breeze-I'll cum. I close my eyes and try to calm myself down, just enough for me to make it back to my own bedroom before I can explode.

Edward opens his door wide and starts to move past me, probably heading for the bathroom. He pauses, grins, and lifts his finger to my lips. I jump in surprise, but he isn't phased. He wipes his finger, still covered with his cum, along my bottom lip. It rests there for just a second, and I wonder if he'll let me suck on it. Let me lick him clean.

He pulls it away before I get the courage, and walks past me. As soon as he moves, my tongue darts out to swipe the cum from my bottom lip. Fuck, it's salty and thick and so fucking good. I turn my head in time to get a look at his ass, firm and round, as he saunters into the bathroom. He turns and winks at me as he closes the door.

I fly down the hall, into my own bedroom, unbuttoning my fly as I move. Before the door clicks shut behind me, my hand is in my boxer briefs, pulling out my cock. I don't bother to get undressed, to lie down, to move away from the door. I just squeeze, and stroke, and twist my fingers around the head just like Edward did.

I hear him moving around in the bathroom, hear the water running and the toilet flushing. I ignore those sounds and think of Edward's moans, his grunts as he fisted his cock. The sound of his voice as he looked into my eyes and said, "Fuck."

The bathroom door opens, and I hear the old wooden floor creak as Edward walks past my bedroom. The footsteps stop, and I imagine him right outside my door, still naked. I imagine his palm pressed against the wood as he stops to listen. The idea of him being so close again pushes me over the edge, and I groan as I feel my orgasm rip through me.

My dick is still twitching, my cum still spilling over my hand, when I hear the floorboards creak again on the other side of the door.

"Night, Jake!" Edward calls, chuckling as he walks down the hall.

Please leave a review and let me know what you think. What was Edward thinking? Did he leave that door open on purpose?

I think I'll try a posting schedule. I've never really done that before because I tend to screw things up, but I'm far enough ahead on this I should be able to commit. Tuesdays and Fridays work for you?

Tweet me at sadtomatoFF.