He doesn’t usually go for this kind of stuff, is the thing.
Gordon’s no stranger to the world of free online pornography, and he’s got his own particular go-tos - thigh-highs, rope-tying, a worrying predilection for chubby goth girls with tender, matronly demeanors - but it’s all well-tread ground. Familiar. There’s a whole realm of stuff out there that he’s only happened upon by chance before, heart pounding the whole time like he’s scared somebody’s gonna break into his house and catch him looking too closely at a grown man’s ass and call his parents and/or the police. When you get used to sucking another guy’s dick on the regular, though, you start to get a little curious.
That last part’s new, to be fair. And it was something that he kind of just stumbled into. Like, at first it wasn’t even him doing the sucking! Even if you hate a guy, like, really, truly want to grind his face into the dirt and watch him squirm and spit out blood, who turns down a free blowjob? Not Gordon Freeman. It’s a credo that’s never led him astray. At least, until now.
It’s a slippery slope, he thinks. Having Benrey suck him off isn’t so different from any of the girls who’ve done it before, except for the part where he’s really, really good at it. So good that it made Gordon kind of forget about the whole arm thing. And the ‘wanting to kill him’ thing. It’s a lot more satisfying to take out all that pent-up aggression and frustration in the form of pulling Benrey’s hair, slapping Benrey’s cheek with his dick, fucking Benrey’s face and making him choke on it. Admittedly, it took him a good, long while to start feeling that confident - he spent most of the first go at it being terrified that Benrey would snap and bite his dick off at any moment. Wasn’t exactly a turn-off, either.
And it just keeps fucking happening. Doesn’t matter how many times he tells himself, ‘oh, it’s gonna be different this time, I’m gonna ignore his texts because I’m a rational adult who doesn’t want to fuck the guy who tried to kill me.’ (Or play Street Fighter with him. Or smoke weed with him. Or whatever.) There’s just one thing that keeps drawing him back in, and there’s no way around it: Benrey’s good at it. And he loves it. Gets this real dreamy look in his eye, a hazy little smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he licks his teeth like a hungry beast. Like he wants to swallow Gordon whole.
It’s just, it’s more enthusiasm about his dick than he’s used to. That’s all it is.
Surely, at this point, one would think, “well, Gordon’s a normal guy. And a normal guy knows how to close his eyes and enjoy the ride and not stress out too much about the particulars of that hot, slick mouth sucking him dry.” And, if you were to think that, you would be wrong.
See, the thing that got him was, uh… the way Benrey’s fist moved. Between his own legs. A flurry of motion just out of sight, beating his meat like it owes him money. It’s— it was intriguing. For lack of a better word. After all, who wants to be the little bitch in the equation? What could possibly be such a turn-on about sucking somebody off sloppy-style?
As it turns out, a lot. Gordon’s been figuring out a frightening amount of new things about himself lately. Including just how electric it feels to be on the other end. A thick cock twitching furiously in his mouth is a much more concrete signifier of “yeah, that’s good, keep doing that” than trying to decipher which of his girlfriend’s moans are real, and which are fake, and which are going to get him super fucking yelled at if he guesses wrong. And, you know, people aren’t generally in the habit of stroking his hair, okay? Just because he only gets that when Benrey’s guiding his mouth to his dick doesn’t make it any less pleasant.
The fact of the matter is, Gordon’s never been nearly so privy to another guy’s dick before, and every single time, Benrey’s got it whipped out and standing at attention. Or pressed insistently against Gordon’s lips, if they’re both feeling particularly daring. Having that kind of view would make anybody curious. But the last thing he’s about to do is ask Benrey for unfettered access, just to sate that burning curiosity. (There’s an evil little voice that likes to whisper things in his ear, sometimes: What else can he see? What would he do if Gordon played with his balls, the same way Benrey likes to do? And what’s the deal with his foreskin, anyway?)
He can do his own goddamn homework and avoid embarrassing himself into an early grave, thanks.
Which brings him here, now: hesitantly hovering over thumbnails, back rigid and tense where he’s hunched over his desk, free hand palming at the front of his boxers. As if watching gay porn is gonna get anything but blase disinterest from his government-assigned NSA handler.
The front page of the “gay” section on his porn website of choice stares back at him, a cornucopia of dicks and asses and every possible permutation thereof on display without any sense of shame. Unlike himself. The strangest thing isn’t necessarily the lavish spread of hitherto taboo sexual acts, though; it’s the variety of the men themselves: skinny ones, yes, but chubby men, muscular men, short dicks and long, mouth-watering and repellent, all squeezed next to one another on the same playing field. Like they’ve all got something to offer somebody out there.
Gordon’s familiar with the same two or three model types that usually end up on the front page… when he’s looking at the normal one, anyway. The one that assumes - and up to this point, had largely gotten correct - that he’s just some guy wanting to ogle some thin, busty girl in her early twenties for a quick nut. (He’s also familiar with the awkward verbiage he has to use in order to find anything outside the norm.) It’s surreal, scrolling through the list of the most popular gay videos and seeing men that look, well, like him. Men without porn star bodies or porn star dicks, jacking them on camera as if anybody’s going to want to look.
Apparently, though, a lot of people want to look. Way more than he anticipated. He’s kind of shocked, to be honest. If he were to post a video of himself choking the chicken, would millions of people really flock to it like this?
Yeah, right. It’s probably some kind of algorithmic quirk, or the result of somebody paying for a bunch of fake views. Nobody actually likes watching guys jerk off, that’s a well-established fact of the internet. It’s just not all that much to write home about. So he scrolls past videos like those, forcibly dragging his eyes away.
He’s not sure about the more hardcore stuff, either. Don’t get him wrong, he’s a pretty open-minded guy, but he likes his balls right where they are, and seeing the kind of downright torture that user ‘ballbuster89’ is leveling upon them makes his dick want to retract back into his body. Different strokes, he supposes. Then he quietly snorts aloud. That was a good one.
Anyway, Gordon instead dives into subject matter that’s a little more tame. Closer to home. Like a nice POV shot of a clean-cut young man sucking the viewer’s dick. He clicks ‘play’ and settles back, dick stirring with tentative interest under his palm.
It’s homemade, judging by the shaky phone camera and the dull lighting. Nice eyelashes, he thinks nonetheless, feeling slightly out of his goddamn mind. They’re long and full, shadowing the guy’s dark, sparkling eyes. Gordon’s brain keeps fixating on them, on the aquiline curve of his nose, the brand of his hoodie, the frayed stitching on the collar, all the pointless minutiae as if to keep him distracted from the main attraction: the thin lips and hollowed-out cheeks wrapped around a heavy, twitching dick.
Half-hard, he pulls his own dick out of his boxers. So he can take it in hand and hopefully get closer to a full-on boner.
All’s well and good. He hasn’t gotten any notifications popping up, a coworker on Slack telling him that they know what he’s doing and he was supposed to have that spreadsheet finished yesterday, why is he wasting company time jerking off to gay porn? (Gordon stops for a moment to double-check that he is not, in fact, broadcasting his personal moment of soul-searching to every geriatric researcher at Black Mesa. And then he logs out properly, just to be safe.) His breathing comes a touch faster, and he licks his palm, giving him something a little wetter and slicker to thrust into. Like the real deal.
And then the guy moans around the dick in his mouth, and Gordon jerks in his seat, a sudden jolt lancing through him. The intensity of it unnerves him so badly that he fumbles for the pause button, anything to mute it, close it, make it stop!
“What the fuck,” he mouths to nobody as he catches his breath.
What’s wrong with him? Why does this keep fucking happening? Sure, he’s always had a bitch of a time differentiating between terror and arousal, both of them kickstarting his heart into high gear and his breathing into panting, hyperventilating. It’s certainly not the first time he’s dealt with it, no, but it’s the first time Gordon’s done it to himself, and it’s making a hot, humid embarrassment flood into the space that anxiety has quickly left behind.
He groans and lets his head loll back, frustrated. Sure, he’s still pretty hard, but he can’t shake that feeling of unease. The only time he ever stresses out this hard about the porn he’s watching is afterward, usually. Once the afterglow has worn off and he’s left staring at a video of a girl squirting through a pair of skin-tight leggings, wondering how the fuck he got there. (He knows exactly how he got there and shouldn’t play stupid with his own goddamn self.)
Maybe all the hunching over is getting to him. If he keeps acting like he’s doing something suspect, he’s gonna feel like he is, right? Gordon cranes his neck from side to side and rolls his shoulders, wincing at the stretch of muscle long since knotted tight. He could grab his phone and… give it another go. In the comfort of his own bed.
Gordon’s softened a little by the time he gets himself re-situated, but that’s nothing a little manual stimulation can’t fix. He scrolls past a few videos that don’t catch his attention, then pulls up a new one - “Edged Until He Cums Buckerts”, complete with typo - and idly pumps himself while it starts up.
This one’s fairly professional in quality, camera focused primarily on the nude body of a muscular, soft-skinned man. He’s bound at the wrists, tied above his head, and gingerly tests the cuffs with a tug. There’s another person in the shot - a man, Gordon’s guessing, using all of his deductive skills - but it’s impossible to see anything but his hands, all else deliberately kept out of sight.
Okay. That’s pretty non-threatening. Gordon lets out a breath.
The guy’s flaccid, for now, anyway, but he shifts in place when those hands make contact, gently skimming over the breadth of his chest, his ribs. A muscle in his calf jumps when they graze him the wrong way. Like it tickled. Gordon’s tongue darts out of his mouth without his knowledge. They’re broad, broad enough to span the full width of a thigh, with well-defined knuckles and veins and a surprisingly tender touch. For a moment, they retreat, but then they return with a generous handful of lube and slowly wrap around his soft cock. Less soft now, after all the grabbing and squeezing, but still.
He’s not, uh, he’s not poorly-endowed by any means, even when soft, but like this, he’s totally dwarfed by a single hand. Not even the tip peeks out. A prickling heat crawls up Gordon’s back, and his own hand moves a little faster. Slow, careful strokes work the guy up to full hardness. He’s slick to a degree that’s excessive. Hedonistic, almost.
Gordon takes a page out of their book and reaches for the pump bottle of lotion on his end table. Usually he doesn’t care enough to want to deal with the cleanup afterward, but this time, he thinks he’d like to get into the mindset.
He keeps it slow, too. Tries to match the pace. No matter how much the guy squirms, the other man maintains a slow, steady rhythm. One hand over the other. He even draws back his hands entirely for a moment, letting the camera get a good view of, well, the dick. Long, thin, and jutting up over his abdomen, an almost-painful shade of red under the clear sheen of lube. And twitching like he’s deliberately trying to get the attention of those hands.
It… it might be nice. To have that kind of attention. Big, strong hands wrapped around him, tormenting him, unable to get any satisfaction on his own—
“knock knock,” he hears directly behind him.
Gordon flinches so hard that he smacks his head against his headboard and knocks his phone off the side of the bed. “What the fuck—”
“whoa,” Benrey says, voice slow with surprise. How is he behind Gordon, one might ask? Well, he’s chosen to noclip himself through Gordon’s wall instead of knocking like a normal person, head and shoulders and one hesitant arm jutting out just feet from Gordon’s bed.
He quickly yanks the sheets over his stupid, stupid dick and all the way up to his chin for good measure. “Get the fuck out! You— You can’t just do that, man!” Gordon snaps. He’s gone bright red all the way to his scalp.
“Creep into my house whenever you want, asshole!”
“you weren’t answering my texts,” Benrey whines, like this is a good excuse. “too busy… crankin’ the hog, huh. the five-finger salute. gettin’ some personal time with the ol’ eggs and snausage—”
Benrey takes the opportunity to instead step all the way through Gordon’s wall and take a seat on the edge of his bed. Then he says, pouting, “aw, for real? but… uh… you seemed like you were havin’ fun. without benny-boy.”
“Yeah, without you. Alone,” Gordon emphasizes.
“wuh… why? what if i wanna watch.”
Benrey scoots a little closer. Gordon stares at him, but doesn’t scoot any further away, like he definitely should. “’s not like i haven’t seen your junk before, man,” he says.
“Yeah, well, that was different! You have to fucking ask first!”
“but i am asking.” His eyes flick up to lock onto Gordon’s. Another wave of heat - something like embarrassment - pulses under Gordon’s skin, leaving him weirdly cold afterward. “i was askin’ you, like, a billion times, but you didn’t say nothin’, so…”
Gordon glances down at his phone, where it lies sad and abandoned on the floor. Huh. That would explain all the text notifications in the corner. He was a little fucking busy, okay, so what?
“wanna show me your dick, bro? pretty please?” Benrey asks, a hand on his chin. “looked like you were havin’ fun. i wanna watch.”
He closes his eyes and lets his head loll back in exasperation. Okay, yes, it was humiliating getting caught with his pants down, like he’s back in high school and he’s about to get the dressing-down of his life, but that’s… not what’s happening, is it. And Benrey’s got a point. He’s horny, he’s stupid, and Benrey’s seen his dick so many times by now that it’s stopped having any plausible deniability to it. Long story short, he kind of does want to keep going. Maybe he can even talk Benrey into using that mouth of his for something other than annoying the shit out of him.
“Fine,” he groans at last, putting on a big show of just how much of an imposition this must be, despite the fact that he’s getting kind of hot just thinking about it. “You can hang around. But— But don’t say anything stupid, alright? If you piss me off, I’m gonna kick you out for real.”
“score,” grins Benrey. He swings his legs fully onto Gordon’s bed and folds his hands over his chest.
“Don’t get too excited. I was just… you know,” he trails off with an awkward gesture.
He doesn’t elaborate, even when Benrey frowns and cocks his head. Instead, he shucks off the sheets, exposing where his shorts have been tugged down to his ankles, then ducks down to grab his phone. Benrey leans on his elbow, suddenly intrigued.
Gordon ignores him. In fact, he does his best to pretend Benrey isn’t there at all as he turns the volume all the way down. Then he hits ‘play’.
The man on the screen jumps back into motion, midway through a slow, strangely-sensuous wiggle. Gordon’s dick stirs. It’s— the muscles are— look, it doesn’t matter what junk you have, muscles look good on anyone. Especially when they’re straining like this. He chances a sidelong glance at Benrey around the edge of his phone, then swallows, hesitantly curls his fingers around his dick again, and gives it a tug.
Oh, God. Okay. He can do this. It’s not like he’s gotta fucking perform or whatever. He’s just jerking off, and he’s got a little company. Totally natural. Sure, some of his ex-girlfriends would chew him out if they caught him jerking it to random girls on the internet, but this isn’t that, so it’s fine. Just focus on the video. Focus on the feeling of his own hand - which is pretty good, to be fair. The lotion softens the harsh calluses of his hand while he’s, you know, rubbing one out, so it’s like a 2-in-1 deal. Convenient.
It doesn’t take long for him to get back where he was, a comfortable, warm arousal. But then Benrey cranes his head around to catch a peek, eyebrows drawn together in confusion. Gordon instinctively jerks his phone closer to his face.
His heart’s leapt into his throat, an anxious chill mixing with the heat in his stomach to create a sensation not unlike a shot of cold vodka on an empty stomach. But without all the fun of actually lessening his inhibitions. They only curl tighter around his chest. If Benrey catches what he’s got on his screen, he’s gonna— he’s— well, Gordon doesn’t know, exactly, but whatever Benrey’s gonna do, it’s not gonna be fun for him. He’ll probably laugh. Or think Gordon’s weird. You know, like, weird-weird. Most guys don’t go looking for this kind of stuff, and he’s not sure he’s got it in him to explain that, no, this doesn’t mean that he’s not into girls anymore, of course you’re still good enough, Marissa, and for the love of God don’t tell your friends—
Gordon’s strokes start to falter. Suddenly this isn’t as easy as he thought it’d be.
“hey,” he hears distantly. It doesn’t fully register until Benrey waves a hand in front of his face. “hellooo. earth to gordon. what’s, uh… whatcha, what’s goin’ on? see somethin’ weird?”
He flinches. “Uh—”
“lemme see,” Benrey says, leaning closer.
Gordon jerks away. Sweat starts to bead on his forehead. “Hey, come on!”
“what’s the big deal?”
“It’s none of your business! Shouldn’t you be looking at, like, I dunno,” Gordon trails off, gesturing at himself.
Benrey makes a curious noise. One that goes up, and then down, with an infuriating smugness underlying it. “okay. yeah, no, i getcha. it’s freaky, huh.”
“Shut the fuck up, man, it’s not—”
“no, yeah, it’s cool,” Benrey continues, letting a downright punchable smirk settle on his face. “i won’t tell no one. gordon freeman’s yiff addiction is safe with me.”
“What?!” A wild laugh bursts out of him before he can stop it. “It’s— I don’t even know what that is! Why do you wanna know so bad, anyway?”
At that, Benrey wriggles closer, pressing his upper half against Gordon’s and leaning his chin on Gordon’s shoulder. Gordon smashes the front of his phone flat against his skin to hide the screen. “don’t have to be so fuckin’… fussy about it,” he mumbles, a little pouty. “i just wanna know what gets my best bro all hot.”
A hand traces the soft line of Gordon’s collarbone. He tries and fails to repress a shiver. “Jesus, okay,” he says at last. “But you can’t— if you say anything, even one stupid fucking comment, I’m dead serious, I'm gonna kick you out.” As an afterthought, he grumbles, “You’re lucky I haven’t already.”
That hand cups his shoulder, and then his upper arm, squeezing the muscle. Then it trails off. Heat flares at the tips of Gordon’s ears, taken aback by that level of… of familiarity, he supposes. He didn’t think their fuckbuddy status granted them that level of, uh, touchy-feely behavior.
Hesitantly, Gordon unlocks his phone again. He squeezes his eyes shut as that image fills the screen: a man’s pale, hairy body, naked and bound, caught halfway through a lurid arch. His breath comes faster through his nose. He’s waiting, waiting for the other shoe to drop… but somehow, it doesn’t. Benrey just makes a quiet, curious noise.
Gordon cracks an eye open. “What do you mean, ‘that’s it’?”
Benrey shrugs. “i dunno. you were all… shittin’ your diap’ about me lookin’. i thought you were watchin’ some, uh… some kinda freak shit,” he says.
“Can you pick a different metaphor?” Gordon can’t help but laugh.
He doesn’t answer, opting to try to get back in the mood instead. Benrey’s warm behind him, a pleasant contrast to the cool air on his bare skin, and if he were a different person, it would be calming. Relaxing. But he’s Gordon Freeman, and there’s something deeply wrong with him, so he remains tense and stiff but hits ‘play’ again nevertheless.
The man on his phone lies there for a moment, untouched. Ignored. His entire abdomen heaves with each labored breath, filling the whole of the screen. And then, when the hand re-emerges into the frame, his thighs tense before it can even properly touch him. As those thick fingers wrap around his erection, there’s a sigh from just off-screen, relief and pleasure rolled into one. A curious warmth curls in Gordon’s belly. And - with a hesitant, sidelong glance at Benrey, as though worried he might be bad at this, or something - Gordon starts to pump himself again.
He matches the languid pace of the video, steadily working himself back up. There’s a tension that he can’t fully shake, knotted tight in his belly, but not so tight that he can’t do this. He can definitely do this. He was doing this, and he’s not so much of a little bitch that he’s gonna tuck his tail between his legs and run just because Benrey barged in. Benrey’s the whole fucking reason he’s in this mess to begin with, anyway.
Besides, once he gets past all the layers of neuroses and sexual hangups, it’s… not that bad, actually. Having an audience. Benrey’s eyes flicker between his phone and his entire body, looking him up and down, and his hand comes to rest idly on Gordon’s hip, and warmth blossoms under Gordon’s skin. It’s just nice to feel appreciated, you know? To be, like, the object, here. The object of somebody’s desires for once in his sad, stupid life.
“looks good, huh,” Benrey muses.
Benrey jerks his head toward the man on the screen. “he’s cute.”
“I mean, I guess,” Gordon says, voice strained.
“sound a lil’ more… enthusiastic, maybe,” mutters Benrey.
It’s a hair’s breadth from Gordon’s ear, and the closeness of it makes goosebumps pebble on Gordon’s skin. He lets out a shuddering breath. Then Benrey grabs at his phone, and he tightens right back up again.
“lemme pick for ya. if this isn’t doin’ it.”
“What? No!” At that, Gordon flinches away, keeping his phone well out of reach. The last thing he needs is to go through the entire process again, only this time, when he’s desperately shuffling through video after video and baring his entire fucking soul, he’s got Benrey at his side tearing him to shreds with stupid, annoying, thoughtless comments. “This one’s fine! I-I’m jerking off to this for a reason, right?”
Benrey makes a dismissive noise. “tch. whatever,” he says. “if you wanna… like… pound off to ugly dudes, that’s your perg— perog— prerog-a-tive.” After a moment’s thought, he sits up straighter behind Gordon. “hey. hey, what the hell? does that mean… fuckin’, you think i’m—”
“No, look, I don’t think anything!” He can’t help but laugh despite his nerves. Man, Benrey’s sensitive, isn’t he? “You’re— He’s— okay, he’s kind of cute,” Gordon admits. Heat prickles up the back of his neck, more embarrassment than arousal, and he groans a little. “I don’t think I’m gonna get used to saying that about other dudes.”
“yeesh. you’re gonna be a homophone when you’re all, right here, cock out, in your boyfriend’s lap—”
“Hey, hang on, I never said we were boyfriends! You can’t just boyfriend me without asking!”
He can only see the side of Benrey’s face from this angle, but he can immediately tell that Benrey’s pouting without even looking at him. Despite all of his better judgment, something in Gordon feels… kind of bad about it, actually. He was just— he thought they were on the same page about it!
“wow, okay,” Benrey says, low and hurt. “you don’t wanna be best friends… or even— don’t even wanna be boyfriends, just wanna be, uhh, ‘guys who suck each other like a black mesa silly straw™’-friends. whatever, man.”
“No, hey, look,” Gordon stammers. He turns in Benrey’s hold to face him better. “That doesn’t mean— I don’t know, man, this is all new to me! You haven’t even, like, asked me out or anything!”
“wha…? did too!”
Gordon squints in disbelief, trying to figure out what the fuck he’s talking about. “Uh, no? Asking me to come over and ‘play Street Fighter’ doesn’t fucking count—”
Gordon lets out a long, agonized groan. “Why are you like this,” he despairs, staring up at the ceiling. Then he takes a deep breath through his nose to calm himself down. If he ends up going through all this rigamarole just to end up too frustrated to even come, he’s going to kill somebody, and the jury’s out on whether it’ll be Benrey or himself. “Okay, look,” he says at last, “clearly, we are not on the same page, here. Or even the same fucking chapter. So let’s fix that.”
Clarity fails to dawn upon Benrey. He just stares back at Gordon, bewildered. “the fuck does this gotta do with books?”
He ignores this, instead prompting, “You know, there was a second part to that thing I said earlier, right? ‘Without asking’?”
Benrey’s eyes widen a little under the brim of his baseball cap. “oh.”
Gordon waits, expecting him to take the bait. But he doesn’t. So, after a truly excruciating pause, he clears his throat and continues, “So, uh… if you wanted to ask, I really feel like that would get us on the same page.” When Benrey cocks his head at him, he sighs and says, “It’s a metaphor, Benrey. Don’t worry about it—”
“boybrimbs?” blurts out Benrey. To Gordon’s surprise, a dusky flush crawls up his face, as if Benrey’s, well, embarrassed. Did he really get so worked up about it that he fucked up saying it for real, instead of on purpose? Gordon snorts. “bro— boy best friends? with benrey? please?”
“This is the worst way you could have posed that question,” Gordon says, pants yanked all the way down to his ankles and his cock firmly in hand, “but yeah, sure. Why not. Boy best friends with Benrey.”
He’s certain he’s going to regret it when he’s not flushed with endorphins and hormones and the swell of hot blood under his skin, but that’s a problem for future Gordon. In the present, Gordon’s got more important things on his mind, like the way Benrey mutters “fuck yeah” in his ear, low and hot. It forces a shuddering gasp out of him. It’s too hot, it’s way too hot in here all of a sudden, and Gordon briefly entertains the delirious thought of ‘if he does that shit again I’m gonna come’ before shoving it right back down where it came from.
Unfortunately, Benrey’s not as oblivious as he’d like. He brushes his fingertips against the sudden swell of goosebumps on Gordon’s arms and laughs. “wow. lookit that,” he murmurs. “you got bumps.”
“Yeah, well, shut up, man,” Gordon says eloquently. He looks back at the video, where it’s been playing this whole fucking time, and settles back into prime jacking-off position. “Do you wanna do this or not?”
Benrey settles into him in turn, and Gordon can feel the entire line of his body sandwiched tightly against his, his chin nestling in the crook of Gordon’s neck. He can also feel what he is 95% sure is a boner wedged up against his ass. ‘Relief’ isn’t the emotion he thinks he should be feeling about that, but it flares up nonetheless, jostling up against ‘anxiety’ and ‘arousal’ both. It makes for a heady, dizzying combination as he tries to focus on the arch of the bound man’s back before him.
“you got good taste, freeboy,” Benrey says, keeping his voice low.
A nervous laugh pipes out of him. His hand stills, awkwardness getting the better of him. “Not really. I mean, uh, I don’t really go looking for this kind of stuff,” Gordon trails off.
“hey. keep goin’. didn’t say you could, uhh… stop touchin’ yourself, bro.”
Something dark and electric curls in the pit of his belly, and he resumes stroking himself before he can even process it. Like Benrey could just tell him to jump right now, and he’d simper, “how high?” What’s his fucking problem?
“attaboy,” comes the pleased response, so close to his ear that he can feel the soft hairs at his temple flutter with it. “you like it?”
Gordon isn’t sure what, specifically, Benrey’s referring to, but he hesitantly nods anyway.
“got a nice set of gams, don’t he.”
“Jesus, did you just walk out of a fucking speakeasy?” laughs Gordon.
“got, uh… muscles,” Benrey says, ignoring him. His hand slips down to palm at the outside of Gordon’s thigh. “big ones. thighs for days…”
He swallows his laughter, caught off guard, then breathes, “Yeah?”
“yeah. ‘s nice. crush your head like a… like a crisp watermelon on a spring morning.”
Something about the slow, lazy way Benrey says that gets him to snort again.
“all… soft ‘n’ fuzzy. lil’ teddy bear,” he continues.
Fingers skim over the hair on his legs, avoiding the main attraction, so to speak, before alighting on the gentle curve of his stomach. Gordon flushes. Okay, he could stand to get in better shape, but it’s not— plenty of guys look like this, he reasons desperately with himself. If Benrey doesn’t fucking like it, well, he’s the one choosing to stay here. He can just as easily choose to leave.
While Gordon’s arguing with Benrey inside his own head, Benrey’s not actually paying attention to it, or doing anything to warrant the sudden meltdown at all, actually. Instead, he trails those fingers up Gordon’s abdomen, up to his chest, and mutters, “cute.”
Gordon’s hand speeds up between his legs. It’s getting hard to tell if Benrey’s really talking about the guy in the video, or if he’s talking about Gordon, but the frightening thing is that he doesn’t mind. Not being able to tell the difference. Because the thing is, if Benrey were saying all this shit to him, about him, he’s not sure if he’d buy it. It’d feel like a joke. But it’s nice being able to pretend.
So that truly, deeply insane part of him decides to goad Benrey on, and he says, “He’s got, uh… He looks good. Like that.”
“yeah? all tied up?”
Gordon lets out a shaky breath. “Yeah. Not being able to move…”
“kind of, uh… kinda twisted of you, gordon. wantin’ to have somebody all…” Benrey smacks his lips. “tied up,” he continues, popping the last syllable. “helpless.”
“I-I dunno, man, it’s not like—”
He can practically hear the wicked grin on Benrey’s face as he cuts him off, saying, “oh. i get it. you wanna… you wanna be the guy, don’tcha.”
Gordon slams his mouth shut on the mortifying sound that threatens to escape him. This manages to subdue it into an aborted squeak. But he doesn’t stop touching himself. Quite the opposite, actually; he pumps himself harder, eyes squeezing shut.
“dirty boy,” Benrey teases, gleeful, “you like it? want your best bud to tie you up?”
He croons the last sentence, delighting in the way Gordon squirms and stammers in response, “I— Look, I just—”
“nothin’ to be ashamed of, big guy.” He’s a snake, he’s a fucking snake, whispering in his ear like that, but Gordon only leans into it. Embarrassing behavior. Depraved. “fuckin’, gettin’ off on this? huh? i got your number, gordon,” he murmurs darkly, eyes fixed on the rapid motion of Gordon’s hand, “you like being messed with, don’tcha, filthy boy. i knew it.”
Gordon shudders, face aflame, his mind running a mile a minute—
He trembles in Benrey’s grip. “Oh God, Benrey!”
“yeah? yeah?” Benrey’s voice grows raspier, more intense. Eager. “c’monnn,” he singsongs, “you gonna?”
His rhythm doesn’t slow. Gordon’s toes curl, something bearing down in his stomach. His hip aches with the tension strung through him, all his muscles straining at once, furiously chasing the tight, slick tunnel of Benrey’s fingers.
“G-Gordon’s gonna,” he gasps. Beads of sweat coalesce on his brow. “Gordon’s gonna come— oh, fuck— don’t stop,” he can’t breathe fast enough, he feels like he’s on the cusp of panic, and he might, he just might if Benrey stops again—
“i gotcha, buddy,” grins Benrey. He leans forward, teeth flashing wickedly. “told you,” he says, pausing to pant for breath, “your, uh… your best bud benrey’s gonna make you scream.”
Another wave crests over him, threatening to crash. His balls draw up, impossibly close. If Benrey stops, he’s gonna scream for real, he swears, he fucking swears, “Don’t stop,” he begs, “don’t stop, don’t stop,” his voice pitches up against his will, breaking, a sudden swell of emotion pounding at the door and demanding to be let in—
“that’s it.” The muscles in Benrey’s arms pop out against his skin, all that strength, that big, big hand, wrapped around him. Enveloping him entirely. “c’mon… gotta— gotta be good, sweet boy, c’mon—”
He snaps back to reality with an distressingly loud moan. He’s not even— he’s not even looking at the video anymore, is he; it dangles limply from his free hand, all pretext abandoned, and he blinks his eyes open to meet Benrey’s instead.
“Oh God, Benrey,” he chokes out, mirroring his mind’s eye, “I-I think I’m gonna—”
“gonna come?” Eagerness bleeds into his voice. There’s something wild in it, something Gordon’s only heard in his most vicious moments. It brings to mind a leer, looming and gargantuan, enormous dark irises swimming in their sockets as Benrey cackles at him in the depths of Xen, and Gordon gasps aloud. What the fuck is wrong with him? “gonna come for benrey?”
Gordon nods hard and fast, so fast that his glasses threaten to slip off his face. He’s the one touching himself right now, not Benrey, but he can’t help but ask, “Please, I’m so fucking close, man, lemme—”
“yeah,” Benrey says quickly, “yeah, c’mon, come for me, gordonnn,” and Christ, if that little lilt to his voice doesn’t get him hotter than anything.
“Gonna,” he pants; he’s losing control of his voice, his volume, he can’t do anything but swear, over and over, louder and louder, and his balls tighten threateningly, his legs tense, the thick muscles of his thighs standing out in stark relief, and—
And Benrey shushes him, like he’s calming a frightened horse, and a fresh, boiling wave of humiliation crashes over his head - who the fuck does Benrey think he is, talking to him like, like he’s an animal - but it just makes the slap of skin against skin speed up all the more, furiously beating himself off, imagining it’s Benrey’s hand on him instead, even though Benrey’s so fucking mean and he won’t touch Gordon the way he wants to be touched and he’s just pressing a hand over Gordon’s mouth, muffling him—
And he comes with a strangled yell, snuffed into Benrey’s hand, a throaty and agonized thing. It’s louder than he’s ever, ever gotten before, much less while jerking off. His dick twitches furiously in his hand, cum spilling in an arc that would put the Gateway Arch to shame, all over his belly and stretching up to his chest, and he slumps, limp, in Benrey’s hold. Gordon lets his head loll back into Benrey’s shoulder, panting like he’s just run a marathon.
There’s an indescribable look on Benrey’s face, he finds, as his eyelids flutter back open. Makes his heart skip a beat.
“Quit looking at me like that,” Gordon croaks.
Benrey blinks, and just like that, it’s gone. In its place is his usual flat, impassive expression. With a touch of surprise, Gordon supposes. A part of him can’t help but feel disappointed. The bigger part of him is relieved: there’s only so much emotional vulnerability he can take at once, okay, and this whole fucking position he’s found himself in is really pushing his limits.
It’s not like he makes any effort to move, though. He’s not even sure he can right now. His knees tremble, his heart pounds, visible even in his belly, and his head swims so badly that Gordon thinks he might genuinely pass out. So he lets his eyes close again. Just for a moment.
“hey,” comes Benrey’s voice, some indeterminable amount of time later. “hey, buddy. friennnd. wakey wakey, bitch.”
Benrey shifts under him, and, oh. Yeah. He’s still rock-fucking-hard, isn’t he. Gordon stirs, a lazy flush creeping back up to his face.
“Fuck, man,” he groans, attempting to sit up, “I don’t know what the fuck just happened. I feel like I got hit by a truck.” When he manages to face Benrey properly, there’s a smug, satisfied grin that meets him, because of course there is. Gordon can’t even be that mad about it.
“nice,” he says. “good. cool. lemme, uhh—”
“I could help,” Gordon blurts out, cutting him off. “Uh. If you want.”
Benrey’s eyes widen.
“fuck yeah,” Benrey says in a rush, “gordon freeman wylin’ out on my dick—”
Gordon pushes him back with a firm hand. “Never mind! Changed my mind!”
Benrey whines at him. He can’t keep up the facade for long, and he breaks out laughing despite himself. Then he drops down between Benrey’s legs on the bed and tugs at the waistband of his sweatpants.
“I’m just warning you, if you say anything stupid while I suck your dick, I can - and will - bite you,” Gordon tells him in no uncertain terms.
As he slips Benrey’s dick out of his pants, Benrey just nods and mutters agreements that border on nonsensical. It’s warm and full in his hands, foreskin stretched tight around a flushed, leaking head, and Gordon has to tamp down a little swell of jealousy. They can’t all be, fucking, eldritch computer demons or whatever. Normal people don’t have the option of choosing exactly what they want their dick to look like, and there’s nothing wrong with not having a goddamn beercan between your legs. Frankly, it’s more of a pain in the ass than anything.
That said, he’s still the one choosing to open wide for it. After he sates a bit of his lingering curiosity about Benrey’s foreskin, anyway. It’s just, it’s kind of fascinating how it moves under his hand. How it slips back over the head. Any guy would be curious. And he feels less weird about taking his time with it after, like, whatever the fuck just happened between them.
After all, they’re boy best friends now, right? What’s the harm?