Chris tugged at his shirt and looked down at his arms. They felt...weird. Tingly. Like he still had a thin film of that minty body wash all over him. He knew he didn't, of course; he'd done a good job of washing it all off. But his skin felt like it was glowing and prickling. The feeling wasn't bad per se, but it was weird.
Chris pulled on his jeans, grimacing as they slipped up his legs. His skin felt overly sensitive and goosebumps dotted his skin. He shifted around slightly, attempting to get comfy in the rough denim, which suddenly felt restricting. It was like they were just... rubbing -- all the damn time. Chris sighed. Maybe he needed to change his laundry detergent. It was just irritating his skin was all.
"You took your sweet fucking time," Connor said with a friendly grin when Chris finally appeared, absentmindedly rubbing his arms. The two co-conspirators caught eyes, smirking at each other across the couch. It was all they could do not to grin their asses off; they could tell it was already working. And, judging from the gentle rubbing up and down of his arms, it was slowly becoming more potent. Chris gave them both a tired smile as he came to a stop next to the arm of the couch.
"You gonna sit, Chris?" came Mickey's rough voice. He gestured to the space between them, watching as Chris wandered over and sat quietly. The stud drew his feet up underneath him as if he was protecting them rather than just getting comfy. Mickey gave Chris an indulgent smile and passed him a beer. As Chris reached for it, Mickey brushed his fingers over Chris's and watched Chris's face for a response. He didn't get much of one, just a small frown as the pretty boy thanked him. That was fine; they had all damn night to rile the poor guy up.
Dear God! Walking on the carpet had been sheer torture, Chris thought as he sipped his beer. His whole body felt tingly and slightly warm. If he didn't know any better, he'd say he was coming down with something -- and wouldn't that just be great? He shifted uncomfortably, feeling his feet slide against the hem of his jeans. Fuck! What was going on? He just wanted to scrub at his body and get rid of the weird feeling that was overcoming it.
He wasn't even sure if it was a good feeling or a bad feeling. It was all prickling and weird and made everything much more noticeable -- his clothes, the cool bottle in his hand, Mickey's fingers. When those fingers had touched him, Chris almost swore and dropped the bottle. Slightly rough fingertips sliding against his smooth knuckles, fingers warm and slightly damp with condensation -- it all felt alarmingly good. Thank God, he had such a good poker face. Otherwise, he was sure Mickey would have commented. He rubbed his arms again, trying not to look like he had fleas or something.
Chris had never felt anything like this. It was like his body was on fire. Every muscle was tensed, but somehow relaxed, and there was a steady hum just under his skin. Maybe he was having an allergic reaction to something. Hell, maybe he was just tired. He'd read that being tired did all sorts of crazy things to you. He was the type of person who found every little noise to be ten times worse when he was tired. Who's to say his skin couldn't find every little touch ten times more intense when he was tired?
The TV erupted with a loud cheer, ripping Chris out of his daze. The game had begun. When the home team returned the kick-off for an immediate touchdown, Conner leaped off the couch in celebration, brushing his thigh firmly against Chris's leg. Chris gasped and pulled back as if burned.
"You okay, bud?" Connor asked quietly, dropping his head to look at the other man and giving him a faint smile. Chris tried to ignore the tingle of his skin and the tightness in his stomach, as Connor smiled warmly at him.
"M'fine. Just tired and... and..." Suddenly Chris wanted to be naked. His skin felt strangled by his clothes. "I think I need to change my laundry detergent or something," he blurted out, shaking his head and realizing how stupid that sounded.
"Your laundry detergent?! Oh you poor thing," Mickey taunted. "You gonna be comfortable enough to make it through the game, you precious flower?"
"Why don't you take your sweatshirt off if it's your laundry detergent? " Connor offered helpfully.
The suitemates were playing their parts to perfection. Soon they would have Chris begging for more.
Chris thought about it, then nodded, sliding his sweatshirt off and letting loose a quiet gasp. The soft fuzzy lining slid slowly over his arms as he pulled it off, feeling stupidly good.
Connor grinned. After dropping the sweatshirt to the floor, Chris was rubbing his arms up and down, lost in his own touch. His eyes had dropped shut and Connor could see a shiver run through the jock. So it was working! Connor had been slightly skeptical at first, but seeing how irritated Chris was getting just proved he hadn't needed to worry. Visions of Chris eventually becoming so desperate that he shucked off all his clothing entered his mind, and for a moment it was all Connor could do not to grab his own cock and give it a few hard strokes. Connor imagined Chris glassy-eyed and delirious, on his knees begging for cock. Soon, he thought.
Connor gave a quiet snort at the thought and tried to be patient. He lifted his hand slowly, watching as Chris bit his lower lip and struggled to watch the game. Chris's hands never stopped their slow rubbing on his arms as if they were itching. They weren't, but Chris had no idea what was wrong, and so to scratch was logical. As Chris gave a little huff of annoyance, Connor placed his hand on Chris's arm, sliding it smoothly up to his t-shirt clad shoulder.
"Ahhh!" Chris let out a little yelp.
"What?" Connor frowned, feigning innocence at Chris's wide-eyed expression. Mickey glanced at him over the top of Chris's head. The roommates were thinking the same thing: Jackpot!
"Nothing! Nothing. It's just... it's really... I think I'm over-tired is all." Chris was blushing now and chewing on his lower lip. He took a deep swig, downing his beer and placing the empty bottle on the table.
"Fuck, that had felt good! Chris was practically trembling now. Connor's hand on his skin was warm -- so damn warm. And big. And smooth and Jesus! He was not getting into this right now -- not when he was half asleep and his skin seemed to be going crazy.
Connor turned to him and chose that moment to lean over, skin brushing skin as he reached for his beer. Seriously, thought Chris. Who puts their beer so far away? But Jesus fuck if that didn't feel good. And just what was wrong with him? It almost felt like he was horny. Maybe he was so desperate to get laid this was his body's way of telling him?
As if knowing what he was thinking, Mickey shifted on the couch. His arm pressed against Chris's, and Chris felt a familiar warmth spread through his groin as he bunched up smaller on the couch. Why was his body reacting this way? He was pretty sure he was straight, but the way his suitemates were making his body react tonight had him questioning that. It was almost enough that he considered excusing himself to go jerk off hard and fast in his bedroom.
The next hour was damn near torture, and Chris didn't know how much longer he could keep this up. His skin was so, so sensitive, and it only seemed to be getting worse. The gentle thrum under his skin had turned into a steady buzz, and the tingly sensation now sent ripples of need reverberating through the rest of his body. Everything felt so odd and intense against his skin, like a mixture of pain and pleasure and something more. The overwhelming sensations made his nipples stand on end, and the fabric of his shirt rubbing against them was driving him crazy. Further south, Chris's dick was chubbing up in his too tight boxers, and while Chris had never thought much about his asshole, now he couldn't stop thinking about it now. It was almost like it was fluttering and twitching in his jeans.
What made everything worse was that he was wedged between Mickey and Connor, and the pair of them just kept touching him! It had started out small. A thump on the arm (which fucking HURT, thank you very much! Much more than it should have), or a pat on the back from Connor, which made his skin prickle. Mickey was joking around and tickling him during the breaks -- ruffling his hair, poking his sides, and blowing cool air in his ear. It made Chris want to shout or swear or both.
He felt so on edge and so damn tired that Chris just wanted to curl up and whimper his discomfort away until he felt better. It was like Mickey knew what he was thinking because all of a sudden, he slammed his palm down on Chris's thigh as a shot went in on screen. Chris yelped and Mickey raised an eyebrow in concern.
"You okay bud? You look a bit...distracted." Mickey asked, voice pitched low as if he didn't want the whooping Connor to hear. Mickey slid his hand across Chris's thigh as if to soothe his friend, but Chris wanted nothing more than to lean over the taller man and rut against him. Jesus! When had he become so turned on? Every little touch hit him deep in the gut and pooled at the base of his spine. Chris had a flush high on his cheekbones, making him look softer and prettier. He felt like he was going to explode.
"M'fine, just..uh." Chris trailed off with a whimper as Mickey's hand slid down to his kneecap, pressing against it. Chris had to bite his lip and shut his eyes, the flush deepening on his cheeks. Mickey kept his hand on Chris's kneecap as if he were just being friendly. That was fine. Chris was able to partly ignore the warm hand ...
...that is, until Mickey started rubbing slow circles with his thumb. Fuck! It was all Chris could do not to tip his head back and moan. It was so intense as if Mickey had just gripped his cock and was stroking his thumb over the head. The thought of Mickey's hands on his cock made Chris fidget in his seat. Shit! Why was he thinking about his buddy's hands all over his straight cock? He wished the damn game were over.