Lonely

[Excelsior]

A/N: Okay, so I haven't written a story in a considerable period of time, so er... here it is!

Oh and btw, know the title is useless! I looked like a dyspeptic Mr Punch trying to think of one.

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To other's he would seem to be a prat. But as he sits there, in my throne of a desk chair, working through the strategic foreplay that is Civilization 4: Beyond the Sword, he seems to be enjoying
himself. Occasionally he takes a drink from the cup of tea I made for him. The computer starts playing a vocal piece of classical music; it's name is unknown to me. I sit slouched on my bed, my
laptop warming my lap and stomach where it's resting there. Sometimes I glance over the top of the screen and study his profile watching my computer screen. His head resting on his hand that is
attached to his toned arm, brow furrowed in thought. I think about what it would be like to run my hands down his body, to card my fingers through his long hair. To other people, he wouldn't merit
a second look; he has very plain features, nothing pronounced or worthy of note, but to me, he his handsome. I care about him so much, perhaps too much. He hasn't had to easiest of lives, and I do
everything I can to help him.
"There we are!" he suddenly announces.
"What?" I ask, knowing he's made an achievement in the game, I can tell be the inane grin on his face.
"Conquered my own island, it's all mine," he answers, smugness radiating from his voice. "The top guy's already built a road network for me."
"Oh yes," I go, "That's very polite of him, 'I know your going to conquer me, here's a free road network!'" I retort, a smile on my face at his pleasure.
I'm glad he's enjoying playing on my computer. Even the computer herself, (Yes, I call my computer a 'she' and to me, she is animate, with moods and feelings like a real person. I called her a
glorified toaster once and I think she's still holding a grudge about that one!), seems to appreciate having him be her operator; I can see via a remote connection, the processor is cooler and
working faster, fans are spinning happily, hard drives ticking along merrily. At least I know i'm not the only one with my macabre sense of taste.
I shake my head in frustration, these thoughts will do me no good. I've barely had him back in my life as a friend for a month. I'd had feelings for him a couple of years ago, and when I told him,
it had not gone over well. He claims he is straight. I try to tell myself to move on, to not get mired down into things that cannot be, but alas, I am a sucker for those I fall for. I dream of him
at night, curled up next to me, holding me in his arms, whispering sweet nothings in my ear.
He brings his arms up above him again, stretching out his torso. I'm not complaining, it gives me an excellent view of his superbly toned forearms and biceps, and the t-shirt he is wearing gives me
an excellent view all the way to the side of his chest.
I turn my head back towards my screen, trying to focus my eyes onto reading the information on it about PHP Error handling but it's a futile act; the information is just going straight over my
head, not being absorbed at all.
"Oh bugger," I mumble, "My glasses have started steaming up."
"David, are you alright?", Joe asks me, a look of concerned confusion on his face.
I just look back at him, and then I realise, I can feel the warm tingle of tear tracks down my face. Reflexively I lick my lips, and taste a warm, bitter salty tang. I look down in shame, knowing
full well why i'm crying but not wanting him too know, fearing that if he did he would just hate me again. I didn't want to lose him. Joe the friend and Joe the comforting lover are two seperate
entities in my mind, and whilst I would love for them to be intertwined in reality, I feared that by seeking the latter, I would lose both, and that to me was an unacceptable opportunity cost.
Thoughts are running through my head, how lonely I am, how much I long to be held and cared for. I live in a good household; I have my Mum, Dad, and my Sister and we all live under the same roof.
But whilst they sit in the sitting room at night watching tv, I sit in my room, working on my computers. I'm so glad that I have Joe back in my life as a friend. I don't honestly mind him sat there
playing games, it's just his presence.
I'm startled out of my reverie when I feel my bed sink beside me. In my distracted state, I hadn't noticed that Joe has moved over towards me and sat down beside me on my bed.
"What's wrong?" he hesitently asks me, his body radiating with an aura of uncertainty; confusion as to why he's pulled towards me in my state of distress, and unsure as to what to say and do.
I answer before I think, "I need a hug" I sniffle, and then I freeze with shock, realising full well what i'd just said to Joe.
I'm just about to start babbling out an apology when I suddenly find myself bundled into a strong pair of arms. Before I can stop myself, I'm clinging onto him, weeping away.
We're like that for a few minutes until a faint pop distracts us. We both pull back surprised, and my eyes widen at what they see; his bicep is inexonorably forcing it's way out of his sleeve.
Suddenly, with an audible 'crack' his other sleeve gives way too. I notice his chest taking in an even more convex appearance than before, adjusting from it's previously toned shape.
"Joe, take a deep breath," I ask.
As I look on in wonder, his chest forces it's way out, lifting up the hem of his shirt, revealing the first row of a set of cobblestone abdominals bubbling their way into life, and the teasing
treasure trial of hair that divides them both. Suddenly he winces and groans in pain.
"David, erm..." he starts, almost embarressed to voice his predicament. It's enough to drag my eyes away from his gradually growing body to look him in the face.
"What is it?" I ask, cupping his cheek with my hand.
"My trousers... they're getting tight. I look down and my eyebrows arch upwards at what I see, the now-dry tear tracks pulling on my skin. His previously endowed crotch now looked positively
plentiful. I can see why it would be causing him problems, as the seam for the fly on his jeans almost splits said bulge in two. Without asking, he stands up, revealing that he seems to have gained
in height too; his t-shirt no longer capable of covering his hard, defined stomach. My hand falls away from his face. I wince at how cold it feels. He notices and leans down and rubs it, his other
hand frantically working in getting his belt and jeans undone. Eventually he manages it, and strains them off over his quivering thigh muscles, themselves having increased to keep up with his
still-improving body. All he had on now was his straining t-shirt and over-filled boxer shorts. I see the outline of his cock, slowly forcing it's way down his right leg.
Before it breaches and sees the light of day, he sits back down and grabs ahold of my hand. He leans forward, lips shaped for a kiss, a look I have imagined aimed my way so many times on his
handsome face.
I lean forward, and our lips make contact. The feeling is indescribable. It was possibly one of the most intense headrushes i'd ever experienced. My arms wrap around his neck, holding me onto him,
assisting me in my quest too taste more of him. One of my hands rests on his mountain like traps, the other feeling the bumps and ridges of his back, the thread of his shirt growing ever more taut
and strained. Eventually I hear a pop and a rip, and the shirt goes slack. His chest has burst it's way into the light of day. Eventually we pull back, breathing heavily and feeling flushed. We
both look down at his body at the same time, and i'm immediately dissappointed too see that his boxers and shirt are still mostly intact. His hands both grab his collar, but I stop him.
Without saying anything, his questioning look following me as I leap over to my desk. I pick up a pair of scissors and slowly and gently cut through the collar of his shirt and down both sleeves,
leaving it too fall away. I look down at his still-expanding crotch and blush in embarressment. I gesture with my hand but he just shakes his head 'no'. He pulls me back down onto the bed and
forces me into a sitting position. He then stands, towering above me having gained in height to support his majestic new mass. Looking down at my, smiling entracingly, he slowly hooked his fingers
into his waistband. Applying only a minimal amount of what I was sure was a collossal reserve of strength, he slowly ripped his boxers in half. His smile briefly falters and morphs into a look of
relief as his genitals are freed from their constrictive prison and allowed to hang freely in the light of day. The sight makes my mouth go dry.
Hung only a few feet from my face was perhaps one of the most impressive cocks i've ever seen. Even in it's currently flacid state, with faint red marks where it had been split and restricted by
it's owners now decimated clothes, it hanged over an equally pendulous pair of large testicles. Even as I sat there gawping I could have sworn I saw them pumping and churning, filling Joe's body
with testosterone and cum. I was distracted though by movement; Joe was sitting back down.
As I looked back up at him, I noticed his treasure trail had expanded - moving up his cavernous abs to cover his pecs with a sexy fine dusting of hair. I made an aborted attempt to reach out, but
my hand froze in mid air. Suddenly Joe grabbed my hand, causing me in shock too look into his eyes. What I saw there was... indescribable. Slowly, but with a notable amount of force, he moved my
hand onto his chest, where my palm came to rest against his bulging right pec. At this point I started crying again.
"Your... Your..." I sniffed, trying to get my words out, "Your everything I ever dreamed of," my eyes met his and we smiled together.
He proceded to pull me into a hug, my cheek resting on his chest, my arms failing to wrap around his hulking torso. We stayed like that for a while, until I suddenly got the urge to drift off to
sleep. Joe seemed to sense this. He gently repositioned me on the bed, holding me alightly above himself. He laid down next to me, laying on his side and wrapping me in his arms.
Just as my eyes begin to close, I hear Joe speak, his voice an octave deeper and even more masculine than before.
"David... I love you."

[sexiscriptor]

aw, that was sweet :P
being the perv I am, i had hoped for some sex, but still--loved it ^>^
--Ille

[Excelsior]

Originally Posted by sexiscriptor

aw, that was sweet :P
being the perv I am, i had hoped for some sex, but still--loved it ^>^
--Ille

well tbh i tried writing a sex scene but it all wound up being a bit... clinical :P . I could write the sex, there just seemed to be a major lacking in passion.

I'm glad somebody liked it though