More Than Friends

He flopped down on his brown leather couch with a sigh. He gave a start of surprise as she folded her body on to the seat next to him, rather than selecting the couch opposite as she usually did. One knee bent, facing sideways and looking directly at him, she looked perfectly at home in his sitting room. The afternoon light slanting through the window made the dust motes dance. The red-blonde hair along his freckled arm glinted in the sunlight.

"Give me your hand," she said casually, and he obeyed without thinking. She took his large fine boned hand - bearing its neat clean fingernails - in two of hers and examined it with care. She turned his hand palm up in hers. Slowly she traced along each of the lines in his palm. Her touch was light. For a moment his brain went elsewhere, but he managed to pull it back. Briefly he wondered if she was going to pretend to read his fortune. Before he could complete the thought she instead ran the tips of her fingernails along each of his fingers in turn.

"You have always had beautiful hands," she murmured, "... sometimes I wonder how they would feel -" She cut herself off abruptly, without letting go of his hand. Her examination ceased and she looked directly into his eyes.

"We've been friends a long time," she started, serious now. The gravity of her tone gave him a slight tingle of apprehension.

"You are... a gentleman," she continued, "so I want to say... that you should say 'Stop' if you don't want to keep going." She paused, clearly uncomfortable.

"You don't have to worry I'll be offended. Wherever this ends, we can walk away from today as if it never happened. I won't keep checking with you for consent - it's too much like asking you to think with your head rather than... Anyway, you know now, you just have to say stop, and I will, without any repercussions." She had rushed through the last bit, and he realised she was finished, as she looked at him expectantly through her black rimmed frames.

"OK," he managed, though he wasn't quite sure what he was agreeing to. He suddenly realised how close she was to him on the couch, her knee resting against his thigh. He was sure he would have noticed that before. He was suddenly aware of her scent, a heady mix of clean laundry and fruit scented shampoo; something he had only been dimly aware of previously but very much associated with her.

"Take off your t-shirt," she said quietly.

Surprised, he managed to stammer out an inarticulate, "What?"

She looked him in the eye. "Take off your t-shirt," she repeated patiently. "I want to see your scars."

He had three little scars from an appendectomy several years ago, which would be as easily displayed by just raising his t-shirt. He stood and did so. She leaned forward on the couch, placed her hands on his hips and guided him closer. Her head was in line with his stomach, her eyes searching out the tiny marks.

"Here," he pointed near a thatch of reddish hair by his bellybutton, "here," pointing a little lower on his right side, "and..." He realised he would have to pull down the waistband of his soft grey tracksuit pants to show her the third. He flushed slightly. "And here."

She touched each scar lightly as he pointed them out, causing him a little involuntary shiver. She was right, they had been friends a long time, almost 14 years. It had always been strictly platonic, their only physical interaction being accidental - like when he turned too suddenly in his small kitchen. Or when they were sitting in the cinema & their arms bumped against each other, before they settled into their respective positions on the armrest. Unbidden, other times popped into his head - when she playfully rubbed the back of his head after he got a haircut, when she slapped his arm in mock offense, when he gave her a present and their fingers brushed as she took it.

He snapped back to the present as she ran her hand up the inside of his t-shirt, tickling the hair on his chest as she rose from the couch. He was tall, and though she wasn't short, she was still a full head shorter than him standing.

She gazed into his pale blue eyes, and with a small smile said, "I said, take it off."

"Why?" his voice squeaked. He kicked himself mentally. He could say it again, normally, if he concentrated, but that would be admitting his embarrassment. He decided to let it go.

"You can say stop anytime," she reminded him, clearly amused this time. Without quite acknowledging to himself what he was doing, he grabbed his t-shirt by the back of the neck & tugged it off in one fluid motion. She had stopped smiling, but there was something else in her eyes now.

As she looked him up and down she felt her breath catch involuntarily. He was as beautiful as she had suspected watching his form through his clothes. Impulsively, she reached out and tickled his torso.

He jumped & laughed and said "Stop!". She looked at him, serious again.

"Stop?" she checked. He paused, realising her meaning.

"Don't," he corrected himself. She grinned and tickled him again. "Don't!" he spluttered, trying to dart away from her and failing, she was relentless with those fingers, "Please, don't!!!"

She paused, just long enough to let him catch a breath, and with a mischievous grin said, "Make me."

He realised she was coming at him again and he instinctively grabbed her wrists to try to restrain her. She yielded immediately. He was much stronger than she, and would have been able to hold her easily even if she was trying to get away. But she was not struggling, despite his gentle hold. He could feel her pulse through her wrist and it was racing.

For the first time, he let himself truly think about what was happening. They were alone in his sitting room, he was topless, and he was holding her close enough that he could feel the brush of her clothes against his skin. She wrenched out of his grasp.

"Catch me," she shouted over her shoulder as she spun and dashed out of the room. He was so surprised it took him a moment to realise she wanted him to chase her. Feeling like a child playing tag, he ran into the hall. His competitive instinct kicked in, knowing she had a decent head start; but as he rounded on the stairs he realised she was only half way up and must have paused to make sure he was following.

She squealed as he came into sight and tore up the rest of the steps. He thumped up after her, and nearly caught her as she darted into his bedroom. He lunged at her bodily and the two of them crashed onto his unmade double bed together.

There were stacks of books everywhere. A "to read" stack next to the bed, and a messy finished pile of discards on the other side, waiting their turn to be shelved. His drawers hung out of their chests, too full to close properly. She had teased him about that before. It was the only other time she had been in his bedroom, when she had insisted a tour of the house wasn't complete without seeing all the rooms. He hadn't tidied then either. He was as unaware then that there was going to be a girl in his bedroom as he had been today.

He looked down at her, suddenly worried he might be squashing her. He found her laughing. He started to laugh too, the silliness of it, the pure joy of running and playing catch for fun. He rolled onto his back, legs dangling off the bed. She propped herself up on one elbow and gazed at him. Her laughter had subsided and she was serious again. He turned his head to look at her.

She leaned forward, hesitantly. Her face stopped just shy of his.

"Stop?" she said in a small voice. He got the strong impression she didn't want him to say yes. He shook his head.

He waited, but it was clear she was going to need more than that. She had started it, but she was going to make sure he was doing this willingly. When she didn't come any closer, he gradually leaned towards her until he felt his lips brush hers. The feeling made his heart do a little flip in his chest. Gentle at first, they traded soft, chaste kisses, that slowly grew in intensity as they became more comfortable. Her glasses bumped his nose. She grumbled, pulled them off, and threw them behind her in the direction of the locker next to the bed. They continued to kiss, first slowly and with langour, then more hungrily. She nipped his lip gently before pulling away. He looked at her questioningly. She seemed to be considering something.

"Take it off."

Suddenly on the back foot again, he said, "What?" feeling slightly stupid that his vocabulary seemed to have been so reduced.

"Your pants, I want to see all of you," she explained, a little less patiently this time. He paused, feeling shy suddenly, he had not been naked in front of a girl for a while. More excruciatingly, she wasn't just a girl, a woman even, she was his best female friend. He realised he was embarrassed by his massive hard on, as if he still wasn't supposed to feel this way about her - despite all evidence to the contrary based on what they had just been doing.

She raised an eyebrow. He shucked off his tracksuit pants obediently, the outline of his cock clearly visible, straining against the thin material of his boxers.

"All of you," she repeated, a little more forcefully. He realised from her breathing pattern that her heart was racing again. He pushed away his misgivings and pulled down his boxers, kicking them into the corner of the room. They landed on yesterday's clothes that hadn't made it into the laundry basket yet.

His cock sprang out to attention, and she gave that same little intake of breath that he had noticed earlier. He was coming to believe that, incredibly, it might actually be appreciation.

"Scooch up," she ordered, and he pulled himself up on the bed, still on his back, so his legs were no longer dangling. She straddled him - still fully clothed - and resumed her kissing. He could feel the stiff material of her jeans rubbing against his cock as she gently moved her hips. He gave a little involuntary moan of pleasure.

She pulled back, and for a moment he was afraid he had done something wrong. He was so unsure of this new situation he hadn't even tried to touch any part of her. He was just enjoying what she was doing to him. He raised himself on to his elbows to look at her as she sat back, still straddling him.

She studied him appraisingly, and then pushed him back down. He acceded with a small grunt - she had definitely decided she was in control. She bent and placed her lips on his ear, tracing little soft kisses down the line of his jaw, across his neck, along his protruding adam's apple, and down his chest. He lay back, enjoying the light touches, and then tensed as she shifted her hips and continued her trail down the centreline of his body to his bellybutton.

She kissed his three little scars in turn, the third so near his pubic bone he felt he his whole body go rigid. She continued her journey into the thatch of red-gold pubic hair which nestled his cock. He was aware his breathing was becoming ragged, but said nothing, afraid anything he might say or do now might stop what was happening.

He felt her kiss the tip of his hard cock and he felt a moment of panic. He fervently thanked the fates that he'd had a shower just be before she arrived. Now he was just trying to remember how well he'd scrubbed down there.

His thoughts were wiped as she licked around the tip, exploring the head with her mouth, tasting the first beginnings of pre-cum to leak out. She took more of his cock into her mouth, moving her head up and down, and slowly began to build a rhythm, her teeth gently grazing the sides in a way that made little shudders ripple through his body. His moans became louder and more regular as he began to lose control. The sheets shifted as he reached down and gripped them in his fists.

She could feel her own wetness at the sounds of his moans. To see him so turned on, and to have the control over the sounds he was making by the speed and position of her tongue and mouth, it was making her vulva throb, she could feel her clit swelling. She suppressed the urge to grind her pelvis and continued sucking his cock, starting to play with his balls with one hand.

As the pressure suddenly doubled in intensity, the small amount of blood remaining in his brain told him that she had him fully deep throated. He glanced down to see her lips wrapped around the base of his cock. The sight drove him over the edge. He came explosively, cock pulsing, loudly shouting, "Oh God, oh God, oh God."

When his orgasm had subsided he felt immediate shame; he had used her mouth and given her no pleasure. He started to say a form of words he intended on stringing into an apology; for not warning her he was going to come, and not giving her the option to avoid swallowing.

Her face came into view, smiling slightly wickedly. He decided to stop himself from saying anything stupid.

"That was fun," she grinned, "but you haven't finished me yet." She stretched out next to him, snuggling her head into his neck and cuddling in close. "Let me know when you're ready for round two."