A Helping Hand Chapter 6 (Patreon)

All characters engaged in sexual activity are 18 or older.

I can still feel his soft lips on mine. Unfortunately, after we stopped kissing yesterday, Dean helped me get dressed and then locked himself in his room. I tried talking to him about what happened, but he refused, and it’s been quiet in the apartment ever since. 

But fuck did it feel good. His soft lips caressing mine. The heat of his body pressed against me. His hand wrapped around my cock, stroking me until I came. His dick, slipping and sliding between my ass, silently begging to push inside me. 

I’ve always thought I was straight. Between dating girls through high school and a few in college—not to mention I enjoy having sex with them—being gay never even crossed my mind. But no one has ever made me come the way Dean did last night. There was just something intoxicating about the way his broad chest and shoulders draped over mine. Or the way his calloused hands felt on my skin. Honestly, I’m not sure what I am anymore, but I wouldn’t mind fooling around with Dean some more to figure it out. 

Just thinking about it has me hard all over again, so when I get out of bed and shuffle to the bathroom, my shorts are very tented. I reach out to turn the knob, but the door opens before I even get to it. Dean’s standing there, his light brown hair messy from sleep, wearing only underwear.  

“Oh, hey…” Dean mumbles awkwardly, his eyes running down my body, lingering on my bulge before he looks down at his bare feet. 

“Dean…”

His head jerks back up, and our eyes lock. “I’m really sorry about last night. I got carried away. It won’t happen again,” he blurts out, his voice cracking on the last word.  

He tries to side-step me, but I block him with my good arm. “Dean, I don’t know if you’re freaking out because you didn’t like it or what, but I want you to know that I did like it.”

Dean wets his lips, his eyes meeting mine again, like he’s trying to figure out if I’m playing some type of joke on him. “You did?”

I nod earnestly. “I really did. I liked it a lot, actually. Haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.” I gesture to my erection. “This isn’t morning wood. It’s from thinking about what you did to me last night.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” I grin at him. “So please stop freaking out and just talk to me.”

A small but genuine smile appears on his face, causing heat to creep up my neck. God, he’s so fucking cute. 

“Okay, why don’t I make us some breakfast, and then we can talk?”

“Sounds good.” 

I go through my morning routine on autopilot, my brain refusing to think about anything but Dean. Is he gay? Did he like what we did last night? Was that the first time he’s done something with a guy? The idea of Dean being with another guy makes my stomach churn. 

“Relax, Toby. You don’t even know what this is yet,” I mutter to myself. 

By the time I join Dean in the kitchen, the smell of eggs and hash browns fills the apartment. “Smells amazing,” I say, taking a seat at the counter. 

Dean grins at me and puts a plate full of omelets, another of hash browns, and one with toast in front of me. “Breakfast of champions. You should increase your protein intake so you can heal faster.” 

“Thanks!” We eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, but then the waiting gets the better of me. “So…”

Dean stiffens next to me for a second, but when he sees the look on my face, he rolls his shoulders and forces a smile. “So.”

I take a deep breath before saying, “I don’t really know how to have this conversation, so I’m just going to come out and say it. Are you gay?”

He gives me a weak smile and then shakes his head. “No, not really. I’m Demi.” 

I blink at him, desperately trying to understand what he just said. 

He chokes out an awkward laugh. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed that you would know what that means… I’m demisexual. It’s part of the asexual spectrum.” 

Now that I’ve heard of. “Isn’t that when you don’t like having sex with people?”

Dean hums thoughtfully. “Sort of, it’s a spectrum so not everyone is the same. I’m Demi, which generally means that I need to have an emotional connection with someone before I can be sexually attracted to them.”

“Okay, that makes sense… I think.”

He grins this time, amusement bursting from his eyes. “Demisexuals can be gay, straight, bi, or some other orientation. But we need to have some sort of emotional connection.” He takes a breath. “I’m demi-bisexual, which means that I can be attracted to both men and women.”

“Okay, I think I get it now. So, have you been with someone else before? Cause I don’t remember you ever talking about liking or dating anyone.” 

Dean gets this faraway look, like he’s remembering something. He speaks slowly, as if choosing his words carefully, “There was someone before. Back in high school, there was this girl I was friends with. I fell in love with her, and she was my first everything. First kiss, first and only girlfriend, first time having sex... We dated for a while, but then she cheated on me, and it broke my heart.” 

Rage courses through me. How could anyone cheat on Dean? I reach out and place my hand over his. “I’m sorry, that’s a really shitty thing to have to go through.” 

He nods and smiles at me. “It’s okay, I’m over it now. But I haven’t really liked anyone since then, not until recently that is…”

Realization dawns on me. “Oh, you mean me?”

A faint blush colors his cheeks, and he ducks his head, looking at his plate instead of me. “Yeah, I’ve—uh, um—I’ve liked you for the past two years now.”

“Holy shit! Two years… why didn’t you say anything?”

Dean shoots me an incredulous look that says everything. “Well, I thought you were straight!”

“I… I’m not sure what I am. I thought I was straight too. But, fuck Dean, what you did last night was amazing. Especially now that I know you don’t really do it.” 

He laughs loud and genuine, and it sends sparks shooting through my body. It’s a sound that I’ve come to love. “Just because I don’t hookup with people doesn’t mean that I don’t jack off, dude. I do that pretty much every day. Every person who’s Demi is different; some people like doing that and some don’t.” 

“Oh, well, you’re very good at it.” 

The blush on his cheeks gets deeper. He mumbles, “Thanks.” 

We’re both quiet for a solid minute before I ask, “So what should we do?” 

He hesitates for a moment before saying, “I want to be with you. But if you need time to figure this out, I understand. I don’t want to force you into anything you’re not ready for.” 

What am I ready for? Am I bi? Do I really want a boyfriend? Would I be okay with touching his dick? Clearly, I don’t mind him touching mine. I wish I knew the answers, but there is one thing I am sure about. I think I like Dean too. 

“I want to try and see where this goes.” 

Something flashes across his face, but he quickly schools his expression, making it unreadable. “Okay, we can try,” he whispers. 

I beam at him and lean in for a kiss. He meets me halfway, and I see fireworks behind my eyelids the moment our lips touch. Kissing Dean is unlike kissing anyone else. His tongue teases the seam of my lips, and I open for him, tasting the eggs and hash browns and something uniquely him when his tongue teases mine. We make out for a while, our breakfast cold and forgotten.