Torso Tackle

Chapter 4: Snuggle Bunny

Chapter 4: Snuggle Bunny

Although it is only four-thirty in the afternoon, Ben is so s**t-faced he needs to sleep. It’s a struggle to pull the Vipers blue-and-gold jersey over his chiseled torso, since his structure is no smaller than a city skyscraper. I yank it up and over his head, reveal his cut abs and perky n*****s, and toss the thing over the reading chair inside his bedroom.

The bedroom is rather bleak, if the truth be told; modern in style with just a hint of blue for color. A little amount of light seeps in through the only window. It smells like baby power, body butter, and Ben’s light sweat. This is the place where he sleeps and undresses and m*********s and dreams; his shelter away from me and my uncomplicated crush on him.

Cautiously, I warn him, “Jeans next, my friend,” and go for the gold buttons on his denim, and zipper.

Ben is wasted, seven too many beers over his limit. He giggles and shares, “I like it when a guy man-handles me.”

“Yeah right,” I respond, and expose his 2[X]ist briefs cradling a plump package.

“Yank ’em down, buddy. Use me all up just like you want to.” His words are slurred and playful, presenting this moment as enlightening; a bonus on top of the Vipers' win. “Be my daddy, Sebastian. Spank me and thank me.”

I chuckle at his mischievous behavior, and tell him to kick off his Nikes. Ben listens like a helpful little drunk. Now, I continue to pull down his jeans to his ankles, instructing, “Step out of the denim.”

Again, Ben listens, wavering in his intoxicated state next to me. My gaze studies the seven inches of deflated c**k and tennis ball-size package inside their white cotton. The beautiful and alluring sight brings saliva to the edges of my lips and I have to lick the glistening drops away.

“You can touch it if you want,” Ben informs, having no idea what he’s really saying since he currently resides on Planet Smashed.

I don’t take advantage of his skin, deciding to be a best friend and hold him up from falling to the bedroom’s walnut floor. Carefully, I walk him to his queen-size bed, sit him down on its edge, and provide, “You have to sleep this off for a few hours. You have dinner with Zoe’s family at eight. Be good and get some Zs.”

Ben pats the spot next to him on the bed and giggles. “Sit down.”

I plop my ass down next to his perfect body, semi-hard in my jeans, and buzz with s****l-intoxication to touch, kiss, or lick his skin. I hold back, though, knowing Ben is straight and that our friendship weighs heavily within my mind, causing me to deflect his sexiness and carry out the “decent friend” position that I have agreed to, prior to this event.

He tucks his bare arms around my body and hugs me close to him. His muscles and smooth skin align with my football jersey-covered chest, and teasingly he asks, “Sebastian, do I make you hard like Jory does?”

In truth, Ben is a god and makes everyone hard. The straightest guy could easily pop wood because of his chiseled good looks. Marines would bend over for the guy; this is how hot he is. To answer his question, I say, “Ben, if you were gay we’d be having s*x right now. I’d plow you so hard, you wouldn’t know what f*****g hit you.”

He releases me and falls back on the bed. In doing so, he shifts his legs to the bottom of the bed where they discover a tangle of cotton sheet. His head rests on a feather pillow and he whispers, “Why don’t you come down here and be my snuggle bunny?”

Snuggle bunny? This one is new coming from tough-man Ben. Obviously he’s horny and it’s the beer speaking.

“Don’t be shy, Sebastian. Get your blond ass and blue eyes down here and snuggle with me. And if you’re a good boy, I might even let you kiss my dong.”

I roll my eyes, smiling. The invitation is priceless, but I cannot jeopardize our relationship as friends and roommates by one fell swoop into his bed and arms, tasting his skin; especially if he’s fully snickered. I have more respect for Ben, cherishing him as a best friend.

“No go?” he questions with disappointment in his wavering and intoxicated voice.

“I’m flattered, Ben, but no go this time.”

“I’ll be here waiting,” he groggily adds, already falling asleep.

I tuck the big baby (or snuggle bunny) in, and tell him, “I’ll wake you at seven. That should give you plenty of time to get ready for dinner with Zoe and her family.”

“You’re my family,” he mumbles, clueless to what he’s saying, but it still sounds good to my ears.