Jason had only tweaked his back and dinged up one knee on the bike. Nothing dramatic. Still, moving around the house was annoying enough that when Steve texted and offered to come by with groceries and help if he needed it, Jason said yes and half jokingly asked "can I get a sponge bath". He didn’t expect the afternoon to turn into this.

Steve arrived with bags, put the food away, then looked at him sitting stiffly on the edge of the bed and asked, calm as anything, if a sponge bath would actually help. Jason almost laughed it off. Instead he heard himself say yeah, okay, if Steve was sure.

Steve had him strip down to a towel across his lap and lie back against the pillows. He filled a bowl with warm water, found a clean washcloth, and started at Jason’s shoulders. The water was the right temperature. Steve’s hands were steady. It should have felt clinical.

It didn’t. Jason stared at the ceiling and tried to breathe normally while the cloth moved over his chest, his stomach, the tops of his thighs. Every pass felt more intimate than the last. He could smell the clean, faintly warm scent Steve? always carried. He could feel the focused attention Steve gave every inch of skin. And against his will, under the towel, his cock began to fill.

"No. Not now. Don’t do this." Jason thought... He shifted, trying to angle his hips so the growing hardness wouldn’t be obvious. The towel tented anyway. Heat crawled up his neck. Steve was right there. Married. His friend. Washing him like this was normal.
Steve’s voice was quiet.

“You don’t have to hide it.”

Jason’s eyes snapped to him. Steve wasn’t smiling. He just looked steady, almost gentle. Then he reached out and deliberately pulled the towel back, exposing Jason’s cock where it lay thick and flushed against his stomach. Jason’s face burned.

"He’s looking at it. My married friend is looking at my hard cock while I’m lying here basically helpless and I have no idea what the fuck is happening."

Steve dipped the cloth again, wrung it out, and wrapped the warm fabric around him. The sensation was so direct Jason’s hips twitched. Steve washed him slowly, thoroughly, the cloth sliding up and down the shaft, over the head, down to his balls. It was careful. It was also unmistakably deliberate. Jason’s breathing had gone ragged. Embarrassment and sharp arousal tangled so tightly he couldn’t tell them apart.
Then Steve set the washcloth back in the bowl.

Jason barely had time to process the loss of the cloth before Steve leaned down and took him into his mouth. “Fuck ”

The word tore out of him. Wet heat closed around the head of his cock and sank lower. Steve's tongue moved with focused, unhurried skill. One hand wrapped around the base; the other rested lightly on Jason’s thigh. There was no hesitation in it. Steve sucked him like he’d been thinking about it, like he wanted the weight and the taste. Jason’s head pressed back into the pillows. His good hand fisted the sheet.

"He’s sucking my cock. Steve is on my bed with my cock in his mouth and it feels better than the last five people I’ve been with. He’s married. He’s my friend. And he’s taking me deep like he loves it."

The suction was perfect, tight on the upstroke, soft and wet on the way down. Every time the head brushed the back of Steve’s throat Jason made a broken sound he couldn’t swallow. He watched through half-lidded eyes: the soft shape of Steve’s mouth stretched around him, the faint flush on his cheeks, the steady concentration. The sight alone was devastating.

Steve worked him without rushing, adjusting when Jason’s breath hitched, taking him deeper when his hips started to lift. The orgasm built fast and heavy, coiling low in Jason’s gut until it snapped. He tried to warn him. Steve only sank down and stayed there, swallowing around him as Jason came in long, helpless pulses. Nothing escaped. Steve took every bit of it, throat working, until Jason was trembling and oversensitive.

Jason came so hard his vision went white at the edges.

Steve swallowed every pulse, throat working steadily around him, until Jason was left trembling and oversensitive against the pillows. He expected the usual drop, the soft cock, the sudden self-consciousness, the awkward scramble to cover himself and pretend the last few minutes hadn’t happened.

It didn’t come.

His cock stayed thick and flushed against his stomach, still mostly hard, the head shiny and sensitive. The orgasm had been massive, the kind that usually emptied him out completely, yet the arousal hadn’t left. It just sat there, humming under his skin, like his body had decided it wasn’t finished.

Steve noticed immediately. He sat back on his heels, wiped his lower lip with his thumb, and simply looked at Jason’s cock for a long second. Then he stood and started undressing. Time seemed to slow. Jason lay there, still breathing hard, and watched with a strange post-orgasm clarity that made every detail sharper. Shirt first. The soft chest he’d only ever half-noticed under fabric came into view, small, definite breasts, pale and smooth, nipples already tight. Then the jeans. Soft stomach. Rounded hips. Smooth skin almost everywhere. And a small cock that was just as hard as Jason’s, the tip already wet.

"Those are real. He’s been changing and I somehow both saw it and didn’t let myself see it. He’s standing next to my bed naked and hard and he just swallowed my cum… and my cock is still hard like it’s waiting for him."

A voice in the back of his head tried to form the words. "You’re not gay. You are not going to fuck a man."

But his tongue wouldn’t move. The words never reached his mouth. His cock only throbbed harder, aching against his stomach, and he couldn’t seem to make his body do anything except lie there and watch. Steve opened the lube. The mattress dipped as he sat on the edge of the bed. Jason’s heart was slamming so hard he could feel it in his throat and his cock at the same time. He knew what the bottle meant. He knew what came next. He still didn’t move. Warm, slick fingers wrapped around him. The sensation was immediate and electric. Perfect pressure, slow strokes that pulled another low sound out of his chest. Steve was standing right there, naked, his own small hard cock dripping only inches away, calmly stroking Jason’s cock like the decision had already been made.

"He’s touching me again. He’s getting me ready. In a minute or less my cock is going to be inside him. Inside a man. My friend. And I still can’t make myself stop it."

Steve climbed onto the bed and straddled his hips. The first contact of bare skin was overwhelming. Soft thighs. Warm weight. The smooth heat of Steve’s ass settling over his cock. Jason felt his length slide along the cleft, slick from the lube, and the sensation made his hips twitch. Steve’s small hard cock rested against his stomach, leaving a wet trail. Everything about it was intimate and irreversible.

Jason could have bucked him off. He could have said the words out loud "get off me, I’m not gay" and ended it. The strength never came. His cock ached so badly it was almost painful, and the only thing his body seemed capable of was lying there and letting the next moment arrive.

Then Steve reached back, took him in hand, and guided the head to his hole. That was the point of no return and Jason felt it land in his chest like a physical thing. The blunt pressure. The slow, deliberate push. The tight ring of muscle giving way. Heat closed around the head of his cock and then, inch by careful inch, he was sliding inside.

Tight. Warm. Perfect. Better than any woman. "Fuck it’s better than any woman and I’m all the way inside my male friend and I still can’t make myself pull out." Steve sank down gently until he was fully seated. For a long moment he just stayed there, breathing, letting both of them feel it. The sensations were overwhelming, the perfect clutch of heat, the soft weight of Steve’s body, the visual of him sitting on Jason’s cock with those small breasts and that flushed, open expression.

Steve leaned forward. His hands came to rest on Jason’s shoulders. The movement made his breasts hang fuller, soft and heavy, the nipples tight. He began to roll his hips in slow, deep circles, taking Jason in long sliding strokes. The breasts swung gently with the motion.
Jason’s hands came up without permission and filled themselves with the soft weight of them. The nipples pressed into his palms. The pleasure was no longer isolated in his cock, it was everywhere, rolling through his whole body in waves that made it impossible to keep fighting.

"He’s riding me. Those soft tits are in my hands and swinging every time he moves and his face looks so open and feminine and I should stop this but it feels too good and I don’t want to stop."

The last of the resistance broke. Jason’s hips began to lift, meeting every downward roll. He stopped trying to hold still. He stopped trying to argue with the voice that had never managed to become words. He simply surrendered to the wet heat and the soft body and the quiet, needy sounds Steve was making above him. His hands stayed on those swinging breasts, squeezing, thumbs dragging over the tight nipples, while he pumped up into Steve in deeper, surer thrusts.

The second orgasm was pulled out of him by the rhythm of Steve fucking himself on his cock. Longer, heavier, almost helpless. Jason came hard, still holding the soft weight of Steve’s breasts, still watching them swing, still buried to the hilt inside his friend, with no fight left in him at all.