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Philippe almost jumps in surprise when he hears the door to his room open and close abruptly. He was at his dresser about to get changed out of his clothes for the day. Thankfully he hadn't actually started changing, because it's Corbeau that's come into his room without warning.
If Corbeau walked in on him naked, Philippe would have rather been dead.
“You couldn't have come in any quieter?” Philippe asks. It's not like Corbeau isn't allowed to visit. They are adults now and Philippe welcomes him. It's just that Philippe doesn't want people to get the wrong idea about their relationship.
They are friends, good friends, close friends. Sure, they shared one kiss in this room. Maybe Philippe thinks about that one kiss a little too often, but that was nothing. Corbeau was curious and they are back to being friends. Nothing serious, and nothing to get hung up on. It's not something he thinks about each time Corbeau visits him in his room.
“Adder, I need your help,” Corbeau says, it's only now that Philippe notices how strange Corbeau looks. His usually perfect hair is a little out of pace. His face is just a little red, a rare sight on Corbeau. His shirt is wrinkled, looking like it was haphazardly tucked back into his pants. Philippe's not going to look any lower than that.
“Is everything alright, Beau?” The nickname is normal now. Philippe doesn't think anything of it as it slips out his mouth. He's just worried about Corbeau. This isn't like him. Something's wrong.
“Yes, it's more of an annoyance than anything,” Corbeau lets out a frustrated huff as he sits down on Philippe's bed. His legs are spread out and he gestures to his crotch, “this damn thing won't go away.”
Now that Corbeau's gesturing to himself, Philippe does look down.
Corbeau's hard.
It's not huge, but he can see the bulge in his pants.
“I swear it's been bothering me all day,” Corbeau keeps talking but Philippe can't process any of the words coming out of his mouth. He isn't asking Philippe to touch him is he? Philippe stares dumbfounded as Corbeau keeps talking, “I wouldn't have bugged ya if I could just rub it out, but it's persistent."
“Uh…” Philippe dumbly says.
“You don't have to if you don't want to,” Corbeau says, still sitting on Philippe's bed with his legs spread out, “I just figured if it's not going away I might need some help. I'd rather it be you than some rando on the street.”
“You'd rather it be me?” Philippe asks, it comes out sounding confused, but Philippe can feel something growing in his stomach.
“I'd rather have it done with quickly so we can all go back to our evenings,” Corbeau says, “it's not like I expect you to know what you are doing. I figured it'd be like that time we kissed.”
Corbeau remembers the time they kissed.
This is nothing like the time Corbeau asked them to kiss. He's asking Philippe to touch him. That's way too intimate. There's no way Philippe could do that to someone he's been pining for.
Then again, it felt so intimate when they kissed.
Except it wasn't intimate for Corbeau. It was just like any other experiment or bit of data collection Corbeau likes to do. Corbeau kept treating Philippe like nothing had happened. Like nothing had changed.
But everything did change for Philippe. He can't stop thinking about how gorgeous Corbeau is. It doesn't matter if Corbeau's the one who keeps offering, Philippe feels like he's getting much more than Corbeau intends. Why does it feel like he's taking advantage of Corbeau?
“Adder?” Corbeau asks, snapping Philippe out of his thoughts, “are you listening?”
“Oh, um, yeah,” Philippe says, “sure.”
“Good,” Corbeau pulls his wrinkled shirt out of his pants and starts undoing his belt, “I really didn't want to find someone else.”
Philippe hadn't meant to agree to this.
If this is going to happen then, greedily, selfishly, Philippe asks, “was I the first person you thought to ask?”
“First person?” Corbeau says, “more like the only person. Who else was I going to ask.”
Slipping his hard cock out of his underwear, Philippe watches Corbeau give it a couple of pumps. Philippe's face is burning at the sight, and he can feel his mouth watering.
“I already tried this on my own, it didn't work,” Corbeau says, as he lazily pumps his cock. Other than the bit of colour on his cheeks, Corbeau sounds and looks completely unaffected. He looks at Philippe, causing Philippe's face to flush even more, and says, “come on. Let's get this over with.”
Trying to not look hesitant, Philippe walks over and sits between his friends legs. He's never done this with another person, but he's masturbated before and watched videos.
Corbeau takes his hand off his cock and moves it to Philippe's shoulder. Philippe wraps one of his hands around Corbeau's cock. It's warm and a little sticky. It's smaller than Philippe's. Philippe starts slowly moving his hand, trying to distract himself from comparing the two of their dicks.
Philippe's so hard from the thought of both their dicks next to each other.
His cock is definitely bigger and thicker. It's not that Corbeau's is small, but Corbeau himself is a lot smaller than Philippe in every aspect, so it makes sense. Corbeau's just so cute. Philippe could never say that outloud, but he's mesmerized by watching his hand go back and forth on his cock.
They stay like this for a while. Every so often Philippe can feel the hands on his shoulder shift, but other than that Corbeau has no reaction.
His cock is still hard. It twitches every so often. Corbeau hasn't made a noise since they started. He hasn't gripped onto his shoulders. He hasn't given any indication that he likes what's happening. Philippe's all of a sudden feeling a lot more self conscious.
Bracing himself, Philippe dares to look up at Corbeau. Corbeau's piercing yellow eyes look straight down at Philippe. Philippe loves those eyes, but he doesn't like the causal frown on Corbeau's face.
“This isn't doing anything,” Corbeau says, voice steady and calm.
Philippe's not even the one being touched, unless you count rubbing his kneeling thighs together, but he's sure he wouldn't sound nearly as coherent if he opened his mouth. His mouth is also full of saliva. Philippe has to swallow it thickly, unless he wants to start drooling in front of Corbeau.
“I was really hoping this would worRK-” Corbeau's sentence is cut off by an unexpected groan.
Philippe's nose is touching Corbeau's stomach. Despite having swallowed his saliva, Philippe can feel some dripping out of his mouth. Corbeau's cock rests on Philippe's tongue. If it was any longer, Philippe's sure he would have choked if he tried that. He still feels the need to suppress a gag, but that's more due to his inexperience.
“Tha- that could work,” Corbeau says, gripping Philippe's shoulders a little.
Philippe has to ball up his fists around the sheets on either side of Corbeau to stop him from touching himself. He's not sure if Corbeau would mind, but he's sure he would have cum straight there and then if he did. His own cock is straining painfully against his pants.
Moving his tongue around the cock, Philippe watches as Corbeau's face slowly turns red. It's a sight to behold, and Philippe can't deny he is proud of himself.
Corbeau's no longer making eye contact, instead he's staring off into the distance. Philippe doesn't mind at all. Now he isn't embarrassed to stare up at Corbeau like he's the stars in the night sky.
Philippe watches as Corbeau's throat bobs and subconsciously swallows at the sight.
“Mrph-” Corbeau bites his lip, cutting off a moan. Philippe can see his little fangs peeking out of his lip. He has to grip the sheets harder as he feels his own cock twitch at the sight.
With new found confidence, Philippe starts to move up and down the small shaft. Corbeau stutters at the cold air hitting his wet cock, but it doesn't stay cold for long as Philippe comes right on back.
The pace quickly becomes comfortable. The movement is still a little awkward, but if Corbeau allowed it, Philippe could see himself getting used to it. The view alone was worth it. Corbeau's face is finally as red as Philippe's. There's a bead of sweat slowly coming down his forehead. And those eyes…
Philippe could stare at those eyes for ages.
The thin lines that usually make his pupils aren't blown up, but they are more round like Arbok's eyes than the thin lines like an Ekans’, which Philippe is used to. There's still a beautiful yellow ring around his pupils. Maybe it is the angle, maybe it is because of what they are doing, but the yellow has darkened. It looks more like a golden ring. Shiny and metallic.
If Philippe's mouth wasn't full of cock, he would sit up and kiss that face just to be closer to his eyes.
Swallowing again, Philippe can hear Corbeau shuttering, can feel Corbeau's grip tighten on his shoulder. Philippe wishes he could do this forever. He wishes he could watch Corbeau come undone again and again. It was a sight Corbeau only trusted him to see after all.
Unfortunately Philippe's stamina is not that great and he is getting tired. Corbeau wanted this over quickly. Swallowing and trying to use his tongue, Philippe attempts to coax Corbeau into orgasm.
Corbeau's hands move from Philippe's shoulders to the back of his head as he pulls Philippe closer to him.
Philippe can smell the stench of their activities as his nose is pressed against Corbeau's pubic hair. Philippe can't see Corbeau's face anymore, but neither of them make a noise as hot gunk hits the back of Philippe's throat.
Unconsciously, Philippe starts trying to swallow again, to get rid of the sticky substance. He unintentionally spurs Corbeau forward as he can't help but buck into Philippe's mouth until he is drained.
There's only the quiet sound of panting after.
Corbeau's cock is now flaccid in Philippe's mouth.
“Did you just drink it?” Corbeau finally asks, voice sounding more confused than flustered.
Maybe it was because he was suppressing the urge to gag, but Philippe feels the need to cough all of a sudden. He slides off of Corbeau's cock and wipes the drool off his face, coughing a little.
“That's disgusting,” Corbeau comments, more absent mindedly than accusatory. Philippe's cock twitches at the words. He's not sure when it happened, but his pants are sticky and it feels like his cock is coming back to life. Corbeau asks, voice full of curiosity, “what'd it taste like?”
“Salty?” Philippe wasn't expecting his voice to sound so scratchy, “it honestly wasn't that bad.”
Philippe would do it again if he had the chance.
“I guess I'll have to find out if I return the favor,” Corbeau says. Philippe will never understand how he can say these things so casually, “do you need help too?”
“No!” Philippe says, easily half hard in his spoiled pants again. The thought of Corbeau's lips wrapped around his cock, yellow eyes staring up at him from below would have been enough for him to cum again if he didn't suppress himself.
“Are you sure?” Corbeau asks, sounding somewhere between bored and innocent as he puts his own cock back in his underwear and fixes up his clothes, “I'm not getting up again anytime soon, but you're probably hard from that. I don't mind returning the favor.”
“No, it's fine,” Philippe hopes Corbeau doesn't notice how Philippe moves closer to the underside of the bed in an attempt to hide the wet spot on his pants, “I prefer to deal with these things by myself.”
“You and me both,” Corbeau says, standing up and stretching.
Philippe watches the curve of his back as he stretches his arms above his head. His shirt is more wrinkled than before and his only half tucked into his pants. Both of his suspender straps are hanging loosely by his sides. The collar of his shirt is open and his hair. His hair is messy and out of place. His face may not be red anymore but, it is the most gorgeous thing Philippe ever saw.
“Ugh, I probably look like a mess,” Corbeau says, running his hand through his hair, “thanks for the help. Do you still have that comb I left in your washroom?”
“Yeah, I do,” Philippe says. He watches as Corbeau walks away to the ensuite washroom connected to his room.
With Corbeau out of sight, Philippe stares at the bed sheet in front of him. You can tell by the ripples in the sheet where Corbeau was sitting in front of him. There's a wet spot right in front of Philippe that must be from his drool.
Philippe's gut twists painfully.
Why does it feel like he just took advantage of his friend?
Staring at the drool on the bed, more and more shame piles on. Logically he knows Corbeau is fine and everything went exactly how he wanted it to go. Corbeau got rid of his painful hard on and he only needed help from someone he trusts.
Someone he trusts…
Philippe has long realised that Corbeau doesn't think about sex and romance the same way he does. Whenever those topics come up, Philippe can't help but play it off like he doesn't care for those things either. He doesn't want to scare off his best friend.
Does Corbeau know Philippe has feelings for him?
He must. Corbeau's usually so smart and good at reading people. Philippe doesn't feel like he's done a very good job at hiding it.
If Corbeau does know, why would he want to do these things with Philippe?
Philippe can hear Corbeau say ‘that's disgusting’ on repeat in his head. Corbeau must not know. That must be why it feels like Philippe took advantage of his closest friend.
“How do I look?” Corbeau asks, walking out of the washroom.
His shirt is fixed. There's not a spot of red on his cheeks. His hair is back perfectly in place. Philippe can't deny that he preferred the disheveled look, but that's because of how perfect Corbeau normally looks. Corbeau looks perfect. That's not what Corbeau wants to hear though.
“Normal,” Philippe says, “you look like you usually do.”
“Good,” Corbeau says, walking towards the door out of Philippe's room, “unless there's anything else you want to do with me, I'll get out of ya hair.”
There's lots of things Philippe wants to do with Corbeau. He's had so many fantasies. So many dreams
“No,” Philippe says, “bonsoir, Beau.”
Corbeau just lifts his hand to say goodbye as he leaves the room, closing the door behind him.
Philippe stands up and locks his bedroom door. He's glad Corbeau's the only one that comes in here without knocking. That could have been bad. Philippe doesn't want Corbeau to be here for what he's going to do next.
Looking back at his bed, Philippe can't bear the thought as he walks into his washroom. He looks at himself in the mirror. His face is still red.
Looking down, Philippe sees the large wet spot at the front of his crotch. The stickiness is painfully cold and tacky by now. Somehow that hasn't stopped his cock from being half hard and pushing against his pants.
Taking his cock out, it's uncomfortably sticky in his hand and too big. It's nothing like Corbeau's cock. It's disgusting and dirty.
Spitting in his hand to try and make this smoother, Philippe starts to rub up and down. He uses his other hand to grip the sink and looks at himself in the mirror.
“You're disgusting,” Philippe says to himself, picking up the pace, “how could you do that to him? He's too good for you. He doesn't, he doesn't like you like that. He thinks you're on the same page but- but-”
Philippe's getting uncomfortably close to orgasm and he hasn't even started that long ago.
“Y-you can't do that to him, he” Philippe continues staring at his stupid red face, tears prickling in his eyes, “he trusts you. Why can't you be happy with that? Why can't you be normal about your best friend? It's- it's disgus-”
White hot liquid splatters the cabinet underneath the sink. Philippe bucks into his hand until all his energy is gone.
With blurry vision, Philippe slowly cleans up the cabinet and his pants. He takes a quick, cold shower before lying down on his bed. He doesn't have the energy to change the sheet, but he makes sure to lay as far away from the dried up drool as he can.