top 5 reasons not to kiss your friend in a sketchy hotel (zandrew)

two

Zubin knows he's fucked up the moment he wakes. He can feel the warmth of Andrew pressed against his back, the little exhaling puffs of his breath against his neck making him shudder, but that's not even the worst part. No, the worst part is where Andrew's hand has settled.

He has an arm slung over Zubin's hip, almost like they're cuddling– which they are, Zubin realizes with a thrill– and his hand hovers directly over Zubin's crotch. Directly over the awful, throbbing hard-on Zubin is currently in possession of.

Fuck.

Zubin shifts uncomfortably, wondering if he can escape Andrew's embrace without waking him.  Andrew sighs against the back of his neck, moving his hand slightly. Zubin feels relieved for a moment, hoping this would be the right moment to slip away, but when Andrew's fingertips brush over his dick, it's impossible to stifle his gasp.

Screw it. Zubin scrambles out of the bed, hurrying to shut himself in the bathroom. As he moves, he hears Andrew make a soft, confused noise, and he feels awful for waking him up, but he's got much bigger fish to fry so that's something to worry about later.

He shuts the bathroom door as quietly as he can, turning on the fan to hide his heavy, panting exhales. "Shit." He mutters, frowning down at the tent in his dark sweatpants.

He had two choices– jerk off in this weird, small bathroom, or leave and act like he didn't have a raging boner. Neither sounded very appealing, but it wasn't like Zubin had any other options. "This is bullshit." He grumbles to the empty room, shoving his pants down his hips, just enough to pull his dick out.

Zubin frowns down at it, which is ridiculous, but he's tired, and his head hurts, so he gets to be a little ridiculous. Sighing, he raises his right hand to spit into it. Gross. He doesn't like using spit to jack off– he'd rather use anything else, really– but it'd have to manage.

Zubin shudders when he curls his fingers around himself, his free hand flying to the bathroom counter to steady himself. "Fuck." He sighs.

It's easy to forget his bad mood once he gets into it, the feelings of guilt for his thoughts about Andrew quickly drowned out by the slick sound of his hand working over his cock. And hey, there he goes again, so enamored by the keyboardist that even the mention of his name has him swooning.

For the first time in a while, he allows himself to play along with his mind. He shuts his eyes and lets himself pretend his hand is Andrew's, and suddenly it's twice as good. "Yeah. Just like that..." Zubin murmurs, breathless, and pushes his hips forwards into his grip.

It doesn't take long for Zubin to near the edge, each new sensation making him shake. Panting out Andrew's name amidst sighs and half-stifled, whining noises, he presses his free hand over his mouth to muffle the long, low noise he can't help but make when he comes.

"Shit..." He whispers, slumping back against the bathroom door while he settles. Once he does, he frowns down at the come streaked over his fist, making a disgustingly sticky mess on his skin as it dries. His head still hurts, and his mouth tastes kinda gross, because apparently he forgot to brush his teeth last night. Zubin groans.

He stares at himself in the mirror while he scrubs the spunk off his hand. The guilt is back now, full-force, and any lingering warm-and-fuzzy feelings have been chased off by it. What kind of freak jerks off to the thought of one of their closest friends? One who's sleeping in the next room over, no less.

Zubin's chest hurts, and his eyes sting, but he can't cry. He has to get over himself and these awful feelings, because if he doesn't he'll risk completely ruining his friendship with Andrew. And possibly drive himself crazy, which doesn't sound very fun.