Healing Hands

Charlie takes his seat in front of you. You were face to face, Charlie on his bed and you on your chair. He was up a bit higher than you. Carefully you take his leg and rest it on your thigh. You could already see an ugly looking bruise forming around his knee.

Nonconsciously your eyes run up and down his shapely leg, it took everything you had not to run your hands over them. They were pale, a creamy white. There was hair but just a fine light wisp, soft to the touch.

Not like the thick coarse hairs of your legs. With your large strong tanned hands you gingerly begin feeling and probing around his injured knee. He flinches at first then forces himself to relax. You feel the front, around the kneecap, you run your hand along the sensitive underside. You get him to flex it, bend it, turn it. Your steady fingers feeling around at the tendons and joints and muscles. You were pretty confident nothing was really damaged, just a nasty bruise.

You don't say anything however.

You continue to feel his soft supple flesh. Gripping just a little higher up the thigh, running just a little lower down the slender calf. You begin to give him a light massage. No words were spoken, no words were needed. You rub and knead his lithe limb. As you go you begin exploring out from the knee more and more, you oh so slowly start to rub your outstretched hand up his inner thigh...stopping three quarters of the way up. You hear a soft sigh escape his lips. He sat perfectly still, watching you work his flesh in your large steady hands.

Your eyes were locked on his shapely leg, you freeze as you stare.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck no. No! This isn't happening right now.

You sit still. He sits still. Both of you knowing damn well what was happening but not acknowledging it. You could just make out his crotch peeking out from under his layered shirts. He was getting hard. Fuck...you were getting hard! You also notice a dark patch of wetness beneath his balls, probably sweat from the Frisbee...but you hadn't noticed it before. You grit your teeth. NO!

You push your chair back and too abruptly set his leg back onto the ground. He lets out a little yelp.

You say bruskly. "It's fine. It's all fine. Just a bruise." You tear your eyes off of him, you were furious with yourself. Fuck you wanted him right then. You fucking wanted him!

He sits still. In his soft voice. "Okay Jonathan. Thank you."

"Why don't you call me Jon?" You snap. "Everyone calls me Jon. Jon! Everyone. Why are you so fucking..." You cut yourself off.

"Oh...um...oh...I'm sorry..."

You sigh as you grip your forehead. "Sorry. Christ, sorry Charlie. I don't know what's gotten into me. You can call me Jonathan if you want to." You wanted him to call you Jonathan, it was different, it was special. In that moment of caring you become a **** to your desires once more.

You look back up at him. You see in his wide brown eyes he was just as confused as you were. He didn't know what to do or say. But like you he didn't want it to end.

"How's...how's your shoulder?" You move to sit beside him on the bed. He doesn't answer you, he just stares at you with those eyes...those incredible eyes.

Without hesitation you reach out and brush his hair back from his face. You hand resting gently on his smooth slender neck. Your gaze was locked in his. "Your shoulder okay Charlie?" You whisper as you begin to rub the back of his neck gently, his thick soft hair caressing the back of your hand. "It's okay?"

He gives you a slow barely perceptible little nod yes. He was lost in the moment. His breath picking up, that adorable flush brightening his face, his mouth slightly parted. He didn't move a muscle. He wasn't resisting you in the slightest.

You weren't thinking about his shoulder anymore. You start to run your fingers through his thick rich raven black hair, it was so different from Samantha's straight thin blonde locks. You reach up with your other hand and, after a brief pause, so very lightly begin tracing your index and middle finger around the edges of his full plump kissable lips. His breathing picks up more. You trace and feel those full pink lips. He...he kisses the tip of your middle finger...and again...he opens his lips and...sucks...sucks so lightly on the tip of your finger. You watch mesmerized as he tenderly licks and sucks the sensitive tip of your middle finger, his beautiful eyes locked on yours.

Reaching back around you cup his head with both hands, your fingers running through his hair, your inner wrists touching his dainty jawline. You pull him toward you, reaching out to him with your lips. He closes his eyes and lets out a long hot breath, parting his lips for you. You pull him closer...closer... Your nose brushes softly against his... Closer...

BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM!

A loud hammering knock on the door drums through the room shattering the fragile intimate moment.

Thank God!

You shake your head, shaking off his bewitching effect on you. You stand abruptly, actually pushing roughly off of him. Forcing him back onto his bed. You spring away from him as if he was red hot. You hurry to move toward the door. "Put your pants on. Put your fucking pants on!" You order your roommate in a hushed but brisk rude tone.

You instantly regret your harsh tone. Deeply deeply regret it. You wanted to apologize, you wanted to scream at him, you wanted to jump out the window, you wanted to jump on him and ravish him. You didn't know what you wanted! Your head was a dizzying confused jumble.

Samantha, Samantha. Think of Samantha!

He scrambles to the ground and pulls his pants on, buttoning them up quickly. You shift uncomfortably, just then realizing the raging hard on you were sporting. You adjust your long shirt to cover it. He stands facing out the window, he was tense, confused, afraid. He didn't know what to do. He covers his face with his hand and trembles. Your first instinct was to go to him, to hold him...

FUCK! STOP THIS!!!

You glare at him. Not gay he said, yeah fucking right. He was gay alright. So what the fuck was your excuse?

You turn to answer the door.