My Neighbor is Home For Xmas 02

Everyone is 18+ and fully consenting.

Chapter 2: Joyride

I woke up early with a tense energy running through me and looked out my window on instinct. Jason was getting up too. I caught a quick glimpse of him as he pulled up his underwear and stepped out of his room. Just a flash. Enough. His muscles filled the doorway for half a second. It was how I wanted to be. I grabbed my phone before I could talk myself out of it.

Me: I saw your butt

I chuckled as I sent it.

Jason: lol

Jason: You love it

It was casual, and somehow that made my chest feel warm. It was like I had the friend I always wanted. What we had finally connected on was being pervs.

I dropped my phone and forced myself up. My parents were gone again and the driveway needed shoveling. The cold bit at first, then my body warmed fast once I got moving. My breath went heavy, arms burning. I peeled my coat and shirt off without thinking.

A couple girls from school passed by, bundled up and laughing. They slowed, giggled at each other, then waved. I waved back, half embarrassed, half weirdly proud. The little ego boost felt good.

Jason came out a few minutes later. I swallowed.

“Sup dude,” I said, sticking my shovel into the snow as he approached me.

“Sup,” he said. “Family’s watching Miracle on 34th Street.”

“Ah,” I said. “Boring.”

“Nah, it’s a classic,” he said, smiling. “Just seen it too many times.”

“Yeah,” I said, going out of my way to agree. “I get it.”

He watched me shovel for a second.

“You free later?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said a bit too fast, making him chuckle. “Once I’m done with this.”

“I’ve got some errands,” he said. “If you wanna go for a joyride.”

“Let’s do it.”

—[]—

We took his Dad’s pickup. It was clean and solid, expensive looking. It’s hard to describe, but the cab smelled like cold air. You could tell his Dad had coffee in there every day, and some faintly familiar male scent that took me a second to recognize. It was just Jason’s smell. It felt weird to notice it as a good thing. He drove easy, one hand on the wheel, the other draped casually over the console. He put his spotify playlist on a medium volume, pretty similar stuff to what I listened to.

As we chatted, it started to feel like we were just old buddies.

“So what do you even get at Costco?” I asked.

“Churros. Every time,” he said. “I tell myself I’ll be healthy and just grab groceries, and then I black out and I’m holding three churros.”

“Respect,” I said. “My mom always buys so much stuff at Costco it’s like she’s feeding a whole football team.”

He laughed. “Same! My mom sees bulk prices and loses self-control.”

We kept talking like that, dumb stuff stacking on dumb stuff. Music choices. How his dad refused to use the self checkout. Which aisle was a trap for idiots with too much money. It felt easy talking to him. He teased me about shoveling shirtless that morning, cocking his head like he was sizing me up.

“You trying to get attention from the ladies?” he said.

“Bro it’s hard shoveling snow! It was basically cardio,” I said. “Don’t judge.”

“I’m not judging. Those girls were hot,” he said, then added, like it slipped out, “You look ripped though.”

I laughed, but the comment landed with me. I caught myself straightening my posture, rolling my shoulders back a bit.

“So what’ve you been lifting?” he asked, casual, eyes still on the road.

“Mostly just at home,” I said. “Pull up bar. Bodyweight stuff.”

“Yeah?” he said. “It shows.”

I shrugged like I didn’t care, but my chest felt warmer. 

“You’re the ripped one,” I said. “Saw you naked today!”

He started belly laughing, and I joined him. It was like the funniest joke in the world at the moment.

We drifted into talking about workout routines, about how hard it was to stay consistent, about how college messed with schedules. He talked about walking everywhere on campus, about the gym being packed at night, about the guy with the huge dick who always walks around naked in the locker room, clearly flexing a bit.

“Dudes are competitive for no reason,” he said.

“Yeah,” I said as my eyes shifted down to his crotch. “Always comparing.”

He smirked like he caught something, then moved on, asking about my love life basically.

“It’s pretty nonexistent,” I said, looking out the window.

He nodded, then asked about people from my grade in school that he was aware of, who was dating who, who had glow‑ups. I answered like it was all normal, listing names, tossing in jokes, keeping it light. We laughed at some of the same stories we’d already heard a hundred times, but never talked about together since we never actually hung out. For a second it felt like we had been buddies forever.

Every now and then his knee shifted and touched mine. I adjusted once, then didn’t. I told myself there was no reason to move. Cars were small. This was how it went.

“So,” he said after a beat, eyes still on the road, “You ever fuck anyone yet?”

I almost choked on nothing, coughing out of surprise. It wasn’t a crazy question, just phrased funny, and I started laughing.

“No,” I said. “Not yet.”

“Ah,” he said, with no real commentary implied.

“I’ve come close though,” I said.

“Oh yeah?” he said, perking up.

“I don’t know if you know Christie M in my grade—”

“The blowjob queen,” he interrupted, smirking.

I just smiled. 

“She got you too?” he said, starting to laugh.

“Yeah, she cornered me at a party and had her way with me,” I said. We were both laughing at that point.

“That was just the first time,” I said, and we started barking with laughter.

The cab felt warm, like the heat had crept up without either of us touching the controls. I could smell him, clean soap mixed with cold air and something faintly laundry‑warm from his hoodie mixed with his natural smell, and it made my chest tighten for a second before I swallowed it down.

“Professor thinks he’s a god,” he said. “Calls on the dumb kids just the embarrass them.”

“That’s brutal,” I said. “I’d stop going.”

“I almost did,” he said, laughing. “But then you miss one lecture and suddenly you’re behind forever.”

I nodded along, chiming in at the right beats, matching his tone, while my brain kept looping on the same stupid thoughts about our goon sesh the night before. I wondered if he could tell I was listening with half my attention somewhere else.

Every time he shifted in his seat, the fabric of his hoodie swished softly. When he leaned back, the scent hit me again, stronger this time, and my body reacted before my head could catch up. I adjusted my legs, then adjusted again, annoyed at myself.

“You alright?” he asked, glancing over.

“Yeah,” I said. “Just warm in here.”

“Yeah,” he said, cracking the window a bit. Cold air rushed in, sharp and clean, mixing with his scent. Somehow that made it worse for my bodily reaction.

I kept nodding, kept answering, kept pretending my thoughts weren’t circling his arms, his shoulders, the way he looked comfortable without trying. I told myself this was nothing, just proximity, just guy stuff. Still, I started to find myself hoping he’d keep talking so I didn’t have to. And part of me was excited that he even wanted to hang out and take me on errands with him.

I brushed it all off like it was nothing, like it didn’t mean anything, just two guys killing time, but it felt good anyway.

He talked about college a bit. Dorm life. His roommate snoring through alarms. How the showers were always gross and the water was never hot for long enough. I laughed in the right places and tossed in a couple of my own comments so it felt even, like we were trading stories instead of having a one sided admiration fest. My attention kept drifting anyway. I watched his hands when he talked, how he opened and closed them without thinking, the way his forearm flexed when he turned the wheel, veins showing for a second before disappearing again.

He talked about the girls, and that was when the stories shifted. Late nights. Parties that bled into mornings. Dorm rooms packed too tight with bodies and sweat and noise. He described it all with this half‑grin, like he was pretending it was no big deal even though it clearly mattered.

“Everyone’s just… around all the time,” he said. “No privacy. You get used to it.”

“You must get laid constantly,” I said.

“It’s not bad,” he said, “but mostly parties are about the guys. A lot of times the girls leave and that’s the best part.”

I nodded, picturing it whether I wanted to or not. Him moving through those spaces like he owned them. People laughing too loud. Music thumping through walls. I felt my body reacting before my brain caught up, heat pooling in my crotch, pressure building in a way I tried not to acknowledge.

“Sounds intense,” I said.

“It is,” he said. “It’s fun. You don’t really think, you just go with it.”

Something about the way he said that made me look at him with narrowed eyes. I shifted in my seat, suddenly hyperaware of my jeans, of how close he was, of the fact that my body was excited and my dick was hard. I shifted my eyes forward, jaw tight, pretending I was just listening. Inside, everything felt turned up.

I told myself it was just the stories. Just adrenaline. Just guy talk. Still, I could feel myself fully worked up, uncomfortable in my pants as my dick throbbed in an awkward position that I was afraid to adjust in front of him. I was hoping he wouldn’t notice and half‑curious if he already had.

We pulled into the Costco parking lot and he didn’t put the truck in park right away. He just sat there, still talking, eyes forward. The engine idled. The pause stretched for a beat.

“So yeah,” he said, finishing a story about a party. “It’s different out there.”

“Sounds like it,” I said. My voice came out a little quieter than I meant.

He glanced over at me for a second, then back ahead. Just a look.

“College makes jerking off weirdly casual,” he said. “Like, nobody really pretends they don’t do it.”

“That’s how it should be,” I said. “It’s not exactly a secret.”

He laughed. “Exactly. Dudes just joke about it.”

I shook my head, smiling. “That’s kind of awesome.”

“It’s… convenient,” he said.

He told me about nights when he and his buddies were all up too late, half asleep, talking trash, someone inevitably bringing it up like it was a punchline almost every time. The way guys acted like it was nothing while still being weirdly aware of each other.

“Locker room energy,” he said. “Everyone acts chill, but you know everyone’s looking around wondering who will whip it out first.”

I nodded. “Then what?”

“We just sort of… put on some porn and beat it.”

“Together?” I asked, already knowing the answer, my heart racing.

“Yeah,” he said, “The first time was crazy, then it felt normal. We even cheer each other on, even with competitions sometimes.”

I nodded again. I had no words. My world was sort of flipping upside down.

“That’s crazy,” I said, then I looked down. “You’ve got a boner.”

“Yeah,” he said with a chuckle, making it flex. I watched it pulse, and my mouth went dry.

“You’ve got one too,” he said.

He laughed quietly and nudged my boner with his knuckles like it was a joke, like nothing. The contact sent a sharp wave through me. My breathing stopped. Everything tipped at once in my body, too fast, my dick reacting on its own. 

I jizzed in my pants, grabbing myself as if that would make it stop.

“Holy shit,” I muttered, staring straight ahead.

“You ok?” he asked.

“I just…” I swallowed. “I’m jizzing.”

He burst out laughing, and I half joined in as I held my pulsing boner, feeling my wet good coat my balls and thigh inside my pants. 

“Quick trigger,” he said. My mind was so blank I didn’t even have time to feel embarrassed yet. 

After a beat he added, softer, “Kinda badass though.”

I let out a shaky breath.

“Does that happen a lot?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah,” I said too quickly.

He smirked. “Gooner bro for real.”

We both laughed, maybe a little too loud. He finally put the car in park and turned to me.

“How many times can you cum in a row?”

I looked at him, puzzled.

“Like… could you go again right now?”