Amster-Damn Hot!

Amster-Damn Hot!

When David and I touched down in Amsterdam, we were two things: jet-lagged and dangerously horny. And not like regular horny--like,

post-finals, haven't had sex in months, possibly-feral

horny. We were there for one reason: European girls. Accents. Fast hookups. Regretful mornings. The dream.

David was already swiping on Tinder before we even hit baggage claim.

"Dude," I said, yawning. "At least wait 'til customs stops staring at us like we're drug mules."

He grinned. "I'm preheating the oven, bro. By the time we check in, I wanna be balls-deep in someone named Saskia."

Respect.

Our hotel was sleek as hell--black walls, sexy lighting, the kind of place that made you feel rich even though your debit card was one bad decision away from overdraft. The receptionist was

insane

. Like model-level hot. Like, if Instagram had a Dutch goddess filter, it would be her. Perfect bone structure, piercing eyes, business-casual blouse that screamed

I'll ruin your life and look good doing it

.

Naturally, David turned into Mr. Flirt.

"So," he said, leaning on the counter like he owned the place. "Is Amsterdam always this warm, or is it just you radiating heat?"

She looked up from her monitor, dead-eyed. "Wow. You're the third guy to say that this week. Still terrible."

I choked on my spit. She didn't stop.

"You'll be in room 207. Two single beds, I assume."

David winked. "Unless you wanna join?"

"No, thank you," she said without missing a beat. "I don't date guys who look like they just discovered protein powder."

I had to walk away. I was wheezing.

In the elevator, David rubbed his jaw. "She totally wanted me."

"Bro. She wanted you to fall down a flight of stairs."

"She smiled."

"She sneered."

"Same thing. It's cultural."

Our room was decent. Two beds, tiny balcony, bathroom with a glass shower that screamed

Instagram thirst trap.

David collapsed on one bed, spread eagle like he just finished a marathon.

"Alright," he said. "Mission: Smash begins now. We shower, hit the clubs, find some foreign honeys, and pray we don't catch anything that needs penicillin."

I peeled off my shirt. "You shower first."

"Nah, let's go together. Like the old days."

"Jesus. Okay."

We'd been best friends since, like, fifth grade. Shared locker rooms. Skinny-dipped in lakes. There was zero shame left between us. Our friendship was basically built on fart jokes and balls-out wrestling matches. This was nothing.

Still, stripping off felt... I don't know.

Different

. Like we weren't two dumb kids anymore. I mean, I knew David was hot--like, girls threw themselves at him on the regular. But I'd never really

noticed

before how... jacked he'd gotten. His back had those muscle lines that looked drawn on. And his dick? Jesus. That thing had its own zip code.

Not that I was looking. Just... noting. Cataloging. In case he needed to know for, like, health insurance reasons or something.

He stepped into the shower, turned the water on full blast, and made a sound that was way too close to a porn-level moan.

"Goddamn," he groaned. "This water's giving me a nipple orgasm."

I stepped in after him, immediately regretting everything. The steam hit like a horny cloud. Water ran down his shoulders, over his chest, across abs that looked like they'd been chiseled by horny Roman gods.

"Dude," I said, trying not to look

down

, "maybe tone down the sex noises?"

"I'm just saying," he said, slicking his hair back, "if this shower had a mouth, I'd propose."

He handed me the soap and our hands brushed. Nothing big. Just skin on skin. But it was weird. Electric. Like static, except instead of shocking me, it sent this little jolt straight to my dick.

I laughed it off. Nervous. "You gonna start naming the shampoo bottles next?"

"I already did. That one's Veronica. She's been through a lot."

I rubbed the soap on my chest, trying not to think about the fact that my best friend was now naked, wet, and standing close enough to feel his body heat. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye and--

fuck.

His whole body was like a damn Marvel transformation scene. Water cascading down his thighs. His ass doing ungodly things. And his cock... okay, I looked. Briefly. For science.

"What?" he said, catching me. Shit.

"Nothing. Just... surprised you haven't entered porn yet."

He laughed, rinsing off. "They can't afford me."

We shifted at the same time and suddenly we were face to face, our chests almost touching. Just water between us. My brain went static. His eyes flicked to mine, just for a second.

"Yo," I said quickly, heart pounding. "We done here? I'm starting to feel... emotional."

He grinned. "Yeah. We're squeaky clean. Inside and out."

We toweled off in silence. I turned away fast, not wanting him to see the half-chub that had started uninvited. I was not turned on. Just... body confusion. It happens. Blood goes where it wants. My dick was a rebel. A traitor.

David walked around in his towel for way too long. He knew he looked good. Show-off. I threw on underwear, jeans, sprayed half a can of cologne, and tried to pull myself together.

He leaned into the mirror, fixing his hair. "You ready to ruin some lives tonight?"

I swallowed hard. "Hell yeah. Let's go give someone an accent fetish."

He grabbed his phone, grinning. "I matched with someone already. Name's Fleur. She sent a peach emoji. That's international for ass, right?"

"Either that or fruit salad. Just wear a condom either way."

He threw his arm around my shoulder, like always. Warm. Familiar. But tonight, something about it felt... different. Not bad. Just charged.

We stepped out into the Amsterdam night, two overconfident American idiots on a mission to get laid.

And underneath all that swagger, I had this weird feeling in my chest. Or stomach. Or maybe lower. Like something had shifted. Like I was walking into something I didn't quite understand yet.

Whatever it was, I wasn't ready for it.

But I was definitely gonna find out.

Amsterdam nightlife?

Insane.

Every bar looked like a sex dungeon and a laser tag arena had a baby. Half the girls looked like they belonged on magazine covers. The other half looked like they'd ruin your life in the best way possible.

We stepped into this club--strobe lights, wall-to-wall bodies, bass so deep it rearranged my guts. David looked around like he'd just entered heaven.

"I'm gonna die here," he whispered, eyes wide. "And I'm okay with that."

We hit the bar immediately. Shots first. Vodka? Tequila? Who the hell knows. It burned like bad decisions and made our chests feel invincible. That was our warm-up.

Strike One.

David spotted a redhead dancing solo and beelined over like a horny homing missile. I followed, sipping my drink like a sidekick.

He leaned in with full swagger. "Hey. Do you believe in love at first sight, or should I walk by again?"

She blinked once. "You should walk into traffic."

I cackled so hard I nearly dropped my drink.

Strike Two.

I tried my luck with a brunette at the bar. She had thigh-high boots, smoky eyes, and the kind of cleavage that made me forget how vowels worked.

I leaned in smooth. "What's a girl like you doing in a club like--"

"No."

"I didn't even--"

"No."

She turned back to her drink like I was a YouTube ad. Cold-blooded.

Strike Three.

David got curved by a Swedish model who said she "doesn't date guys with American flags on their socks." (Fair.)

We kept drinking. It felt like the cure. Or maybe the problem. Either way, we were fully committed. Shots. Beers. Mystery cocktails. I think I ate a lime off someone's shoulder at one point. David tried to order "absinthe" and accidentally bought a twelve-euro soda.

And just when we were about to throw in the towel and go home to cry into our pillows--

They appeared.

Two girls. Late twenties. One with a nose ring and evil eyes. The other with blue hair and a grin that said

I've seen things.

Hot in a "you'll regret this tomorrow but love it tonight" kind of way.

Blue Hair leaned in, locking eyes with me. "You boys look like you're ready to party."

David and I exchanged a look. We were sweaty. We were swaying. One of us probably reeked of Red Bull and disappointment.

I gave the stupidest grin of my life. "We were

born

ready."

Nose Ring giggled and pulled something from her bra--two pills. Shiny like candy, evil like sin.

"Then here," she said, slipping one into each of our hands. "For the ride."

David raised an eyebrow, squinting like it might bite. "What's it do?"

She smirked. "Makes the night... longer."

Now, a

smart

person would have asked questions. Googled stuff. Consulted a pharmacist. But we were drunk, horny, and in a country where weed's legal and everyone bikes everywhere like it's Narnia. We popped the pills like Tic Tacs. Our standards had left the building hours ago.

We toasted with another shot, clinked our glasses, and suddenly we were invincible gods again. Lights got hotter. Girls got blurrier. Everything pulsed with some weird rhythm--especially in my pants.

They cheered. We drank more. The lights got brighter. The music got sexier. Everything felt

loose

--our bodies, our thoughts, our last three brain cells.

At some point, the girls helped us into a cab. I was laughing at absolutely nothing. David was trying to kiss his own reflection in the window.

Blue Hair giggled. "We'll get in after you, promise."

"Yeah, don't take too long," I slurred. "We're both--like--so ready to make out with someone. Like, aggressively."

Nose Ring leaned into the cab window, her perfume hitting like a goddamn drug itself. "What hotel are you guys staying at again?"

David told her. I think. Maybe he sang it. Maybe he slurred it while licking the seatbelt. Either way, she winked.

"Perfect. We'll be right behind you."

Spoiler: they weren't.

The cab drove off and I barely noticed we were moving. My head felt like a balloon on a string. Everything was funny. My hands felt like they had extra fingers. My dick was

alive

, like it had its own heartbeat.

We pulled up at the hotel. The same receptionist was still at the desk, judging the hell out of us as we stumbled through the lobby.

David waved. "Heyyy, miss... sexy... Netherlands."

She didn't even blink. "Security's on speed dial."

A busboy appeared outta nowhere. Skinny guy. Ponytail. Name tag said "Lars." He looked like he hated his life and everyone in it.

"Room 207?" he asked.

I nodded. Or tried to. I might've headbutted him a little by accident.

He grabbed our shoulders and guided us toward the elevator like we were injured puppies.

"Lars," I whispered. "Bro. We're so horny right now."

David leaned into him. "Like--

so

horny. Dangerously. You don't even know."

Lars stared ahead like he was disassociating. "I am just here to help."

The ride up was a blur of giggles, muttering, and me trying to figure out how pants worked. At the room, Lars opened the door, shoved us in gently, and noped the hell outta there like his soul depended on it.

Door clicked shut behind us.

We were alone.

And still very,

very

high.

And very,

very

horny.

We stumbled into the hotel room like a couple of drunk frat zombies. The hallway spun behind us, the door slammed shut, and I immediately started peeling my shirt off like it was the reason my life sucked.

"I can't believe they played us," I muttered, dropping onto my bed like a corpse.

David groaned, dramatically collapsing onto his. "They didn't

play

us. We just... got pre-gamed and redirected."

I turned my head, glaring across the small gap between our twin beds. "That's just the pretty way of saying

we got ditched

."

He pointed at me from where he lay, shirtless, jeans halfway undone. "Glass half full, man. I'm just sayin', we could've ended up duct-taped in a basement somewhere. Instead, we're back in a hotel with mini soaps and

erections that could pierce metal

."

He wasn't wrong. My jeans were about to pop like a Pillsbury can.

I sat up with a groan and unzipped, sighing with relief as I kicked them off. My boxers were doing

nothing

to hide the tent I was pitching. I looked over -- David had stripped down to his Calvin Kleins too, the outline of his situation looking straight-up pornographic.

I blinked. "Jesus, bro."

He smirked. "What? You've seen it before."

"I don't remember it looking like it could rob a bank."

David waggled his eyebrows. "It

does

have criminal intentions tonight."

I snorted, lying back. "Dude, we're way too horny for this."

"Well, we could always cuddle," he said innocently, folding his arms behind his head like he was posing for a Firefighter Calendar.

"Don't tempt me."

He shot me a look. "No promises. But for real--just crank one out and sleep it off. It's either that or hump the mattress."

"I mean..."

"You

mean

yes." He grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. Within seconds, the screen filled with two blondes licking each other like they were sampling gelato. Soft moans echoed through the room, all breathy and ridiculous.

I hesitated. My heart was pounding, and it wasn't just the alcohol. I could still feel the pill buzzing through me, sending jolts straight to my groin.

David, meanwhile, had already slipped his hand under his waistband. "Welcome to the Amsterdam Afterparty."

I laughed, because what else could I do? I kicked off my boxers, pulling the blanket over me as casually as I could while my hard-on nearly smacked me in the face.

David didn't bother with the blanket.

He just kicked off his boxers and let them hit the floor like he was home alone. There he was--my best friend since fifth grade--laid out on the twin bed beside mine, completely naked, his hand wrapped around his cock like it was just another Tuesday.

I started slow, trying to focus on the screen.

But... it wasn't doing it.

The girls on screen were hot, sure. But they felt far away. Fake. Like a weird dream I was only half awake in.

What

was

real?

David.

Right there. In the bed across from me.

And holy hell, he looked good.

The kind of good that made your chest tight and your thoughts disgusting.

I'd seen him naked a hundred times growing up. Locker rooms. Sleepovers. Random late-night peeing contests behind trees. But this was... different. This wasn't some harmless towel slip or a skinny-dip dare. This was

deliberate

.

Slow

. He was putting on a goddamn show--and I was front row.

He sighed, head back against the pillow, hand stroking leisurely. His abs flexed with every movement. The overhead light caught the sweat on his skin, made every curve stand out like he was carved from golden marble and dipped in sex.

And me? I was under my blanket like a coward, trying to jerk off to two bored-looking blondes on a fake beach while my brain screamed at me to stop staring at my best friend's cock.

Which was... impossible.

David wasn't even glancing at the TV. He was just lying there, exposed, his breath getting heavier, his muscles tight. And his cock--long, thick, veiny--was standing tall in his grip like it had its own heartbeat.

I licked my lips without realizing it.

Shit. Shit.

What the hell was wrong with me?

This was David. My dude. My brother from another mother. The guy who once dared me to fart into a walkie-talkie during a sleepover.

And now... I wanted him?

No.

No, I didn't. I was just drunk. High. Full of whatever weird-ass pill those girls slipped us.

Except...

That didn't explain why I couldn't stop looking.

It didn't explain why my hand sped up under the sheets, matching his rhythm like we were synced up somehow.

It didn't explain why my stomach tightened every time he let out one of those breathy groans that made the room feel ten degrees hotter.

And then he moaned--low, throaty, deep in his chest--and my whole body clenched like I'd been electrocuted.

I gasped.

He looked over.

Eyes locked.

He didn't stop stroking.

I couldn't move.

"Dude," he said softly, like he'd just noticed something in my face.

I swallowed hard.

"What?"

"You're watching me."

I froze.

He grinned. "Not complaining. Just... didn't expect it."

I looked away. "Shut up."

He chuckled, still lazily pumping himself. "It's cool. I'm a good watch."

I stared at the ceiling, my heart pounding in my ears. My blanket suddenly felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. I was burning up under it.

For a second, we just stared at each other.

I was frozen in place, fist around my dick under the blanket. He was laid out, hand still stroking, like I'd interrupted a fantasy and he didn't mind one bit.

The tension in the room was thick. The air, hot. That soft moan still echoed in my ears.

Then--slowly, like he had all the time in the world--David sat up.

He let go of himself, standing up from the bed.

Naked. Erect. Confident.

And he started walking toward me.

Not a word. Not a smirk.

Just steps.

Measured. Purposeful.

My breath caught.

My hand stilled.

The air shifted.

And in that moment -- with his body lit by hotel lamp haze, cock swinging slightly with each step, face unreadable -- every part of me was screaming.

And none of it made sense.

David stopped at the edge of my bed.

He didn't say anything. Didn't grin. Just looked at me with this unreadable intensity, like he was searching for something on my face he hadn't dared to look for before.

My mouth went dry.

My heart? Slamming against my ribs like it wanted out.

We were best friends. Had been since we were kids. We'd done every dumb thing together--snuck beers in 8th grade, crashed prom after-parties, shared shitty high school hookups.

But this?

This was something else.

I was still under the blanket, but it didn't matter. My erection had a mind of its own, and my skin felt electric, like it could catch fire just from the heat in his stare.

And then... he moved.

Not fast. Not aggressive. Just one knee sinking onto the mattress beside me, then the other, his weight dipping the bed, his body warm and close and

there

.

David was on top of me.

Literally.

Like, knee-on-the-bed, cock-in-my-face, sweaty-naked-best-friend kind of on top.

I should've been panicking. Screaming. Making some dumb "no homo" joke and throwing a blanket over my boner like we weren't two college bros seconds away from doing something that could nuke our entire friendship.

But I wasn't doing any of that.

I was just... staring.

Because David wasn't looking at me like a bro.

He was looking at me like he

wanted

me.

And god help me -- something deep, primal, and very confused in me wanted him right back.

The room was spinning, but all I could focus on was his body -- tan, lean, glistening in that shitty yellow hotel light like a goddamn statue of Adonis that just rolled out of a frat party. His abs flexed as he leaned down, one hand braced on the mattress, the other pressing into my chest like he was pinning me to the moment.

His cock? Hard. Slapping lightly against my stomach.

Mine? Also hard. Possibly about to break through the ceiling.

I could smell him -- sweat, cologne, a hint of club beer, and that warm, dude smell I weirdly recognized from a thousand locker rooms and shared dorm beds.

He didn't ask again.

He just kissed me.

And holy mother of spring break, it

hit

.

Not like a kiss. Like a

collision

.

His lips crashed into mine, hungry, open-mouthed, full of tongue and heat. We were making out like two kids home alone for the first time, except we were both naked, rock-hard, and tangled up like animals in heat.