He forgot his guitar.

Left in a hurry, meaning to take it but as he got up to leave we got distracted, talking intensely about a song, or a rehearsal... I can't remember what, and when the door closed behind him, he didn't have a guitar in his hands.

It's been a hellish day - completely unproductive.  I blame myself.  I found it impossible to concentrate the entire day.  Having Daniel around didn't help.  When he left it was like an admission of defeat - both of us acknowledging the day was a write off.  Try again tomorrow.

I wish he'd just stop touching me.  He doesn't realise, but he's a really touchy guy around me.  Has to put his hand on my shoulder to make a point.  Always sits so close our legs touch.  Feels the urge to lean his head on my shoulder when he's tired or squirmy.  It drives me crazy.

Usually I can handle it.  Usually I wake up early enough for my traditional morning wank in the shower and I can take his lighthanded abuse.

Not today.  Damn alarm didn't go off.  I wasn't even conscious till his muffled pounding at my front door woke me.  Woke me up from dreaming about him. And not any dream I could ever tell him about.

So I woke up horny to a blonde guitarist bashing my door in and all I could do was pull on a t-shirt and let him in.  It's tragic, but I tell you, missing my morning shower was like walking around with a loaded weapon all day. 

"You right, Daz?"

"Sorry... what?"  Hand on my leg... sending shooting heat to my groin.  Must.. fight... erection...

"You OK?  You're a bit scatty today."

//Only because you're going out of your way to drive me crazy.//

"Am I?  Oh. I... didn't really sleep well."

"Weird dreams?"

"You know it."

//You were in it.//

After full scale assault of hand brushes, leg bumps, two pats on the arse and absolutely no progress made on the new album, he finally left.  Not that I'm happy about his departure, just relieved.  It's been a frustrating day on so many levels.

So I'm cruising back to the lounge room after seeing him out and that's when I see it there.  Still carefully placed, leaning up against the couch.  I almost go to call him back, tell him he's left it behind, but I quickly dismiss the thought.  I've had more than I can handle for one day.  He can get it off me later.

I'm about to walk past it, but it draws me nearer.  Like gravity, almost.  I pick it up with infinite care, feeling like a child with daddy's gun, or something equally precious and off limits.  Not that I've never handled one of Dan's guitars before, just in the past he'd always been there to supervise, keep an eye on me, so that I wouldn't bust a string or mark the shiny surface.

I put the strap over my head and adjust it a little.  The weight around my shouders feels nice, like an arm resting there, like an embrace.  The strap brushes across my chest, sending my nipples a-tingling.  Dan gave me a nice, tight, brotherly hug right before he left, lit my fuse, and left me like a fucking time bomb ready to go off.

I walk to the bedroom, taking the guitar with me.

It smells like him.

Weird, I know, and I'm beginning to doubt my sanity, but it does.  It has a Daniel smell.

Perching on the edge of my still unmade bed, I place my fingers on the strings the way Daniel showed me, the last time he tried to impress any musical knowledge into me.  The guitar feels alien in my hands. 

My fingers feel all wrong and they probably are, cos at the time of the impromptu lesson I was paying more attention to how damn nice Dan's hands felt on mine, moulding my fingers, how the feel of his chest pressed against my back was making me lightheaded.  Needless to say I didn't absorb much of *that* guitar lesson.  No wonder Daniel thinks I'm instrumentally challenged.

I give up trying to play and just nurse the guitar, close to my body.  The hard back of the fender pressing against the hardness in my pants.  A hardness that's getting more and more difficult to ignore.

"Fuck it,"  I mumble under my breath.  "he's not gonna know." So I forget pretense and press the guitar tight to my body, so hard flush against my crotch I can feel the throb of my dick through the fretboard.

Fuck I'm twisted.

I shuck the guitar strap and strip off my shirt.  Lay back on the bed and sigh, feeling the blood rush tingling through me, the guitar a nice weight on my thigh, leg, chest.  My white pants are puckered with my erection and I'm past trying to ignore it, undoing a button, pushing a hand inside.

Precome's already soaked through my shorts, a whole days worth I bet, and I teasingly stroke around my dick, hips rolling a little, making the guitar rub my cock from the other side.

Oh god I can't believe I'm doing this.  I am sick, sick, sick...

Pants are getting in the way too much so I push them down one-handed, other hand tight on the fretboard of Dan's fender, forcing it between my legs so I can feel the stroke, stroke, on the curved edge through my boxers.  The rough fabric of the guitar strap rubs against my chest, zinging electricity from my nipples to my pulsing cock.

My boxers start to shit me so I drag them off, shove the guitar between my legs and go at it hard and sure, one hand wrapped round the base of my shaft, the other anchoring the guitar in place.  The tip of my cock is rubbing all over the back of the fender, painting patterns in precome, the sliding friction so very, very nice.

Increasing my pace as I imagine Dan's hand, Dan's fingers, recalling fractured explicit images from this morning's wet dream.  Dan... naked, head thrown back in ecstacy, golden body stretched backward, moaning my name....

"Daniel... oh god Dan..."

Getting into the fantasy now, and it's liberating to let his name slip out, making me hotter, making me buck harder, thrusting so roughly against the fender Dan would've feared for the paintwork.

I spread my legs wider, fingers tightening on the guitar as I feel the first wave of orgasm approaching.  My eyes scrunch shut, my moans increase in volume, my hand's choking grip on my cock gets even firmer. I'm wanking off properly now, stiff quick movements, pumping like a freight train, hips bouncing on the bed as I get higher.

"Dan... ohhhh Dan..."

Voice getting dangerously high in volume, but it feels so good to say it aloud. 

"Mmmmmm... ahhhh..."

Fuck oh fuck oh fuck - here it comes - I can feel it-

RING

RING

"Fuck!"

Trying to phase out the phone noise, but damnit it's too late.  It gave me such a fright I lost my rhythm.  Shit.

Angrily snatch up the receiver, ready to give hell to the poor telemarketer residing at the other end.

"What?" I bellow, satan-like.

"Daz?" Fuck.  It's Dan.  Sounding kinda meek, but I guess that's due to my dragonlike greeting.  "You alright, mate?"

//Not even close.//

And his voice alone sets my cock aflame again.  I struggle to speak.

"Yeah.  Sorry mate.  Got a bitch of a headache."

"Oh.  You right?"

Hand on my cock again, moving silent and slow.  //This is so fucking nuts.  This is crazy.  You can't jerk off to your best friend's voice.//

//Well look at that.  Apparently you can. And I'm doing it.//

What was I saying?  That's right - headache.

"Yeah... I'll just lie down a bit, it'll pass."  Finger and thumb form a ring, drawing up and down my shaft.  I wedge the phone between my shoulder and my ear so I can twiddle with my nipples.  Ohhh yeah...  Grimacing in pleasure, I silence moans desperate to be voiced.  The guitar presses heavy on my leg.  "You know you left your guitar here."

"Yeah..."  Oh god how can he sound that sexy when he's not even trying?  My hand quickens and I hear the light slap of flesh against fender.  I hope Daniel doesn't.  "I'm just on my way to get it."

Fuckfuckfuck.  Time to panic.  My hand moves faster as my heartbeat increases, the taste of fear tainting but not dampening my desire.

"Where are you?" //Think casual, now. Think *relaxed*.  Don't let him hear it in your voice.//

"Just on my way.  I'll be about ten."

//Oh *shit*.  Not good.  Most definitely *not* good.//

"Good.  See you, then."

Click.

"Fuck!"  The phone drops from my ear, but I can't tear my hand from my dick long enough to put it back on the hook.  I just sit there a moment, breathing hard, cock in a strangle hold, a storm in my lust-saturated mind.

I have two choices.  One: cold shower, get dressed, try for respectable.

Two:  finish off. Fast. 

Even as I pretend to try to make this decision, my hand has started pumping again.  There's no decision to make.  If I don't get release soon I'll spontaneously combust.  I fall backwards onto the pillow and let out the moan I've been holding back since the phone rang, loud, long and low.  And it feels so fucking good to let it out.

My head lolls backward, back arching, pressing my chest up against the fender, rubbing my nipples on its hard shiny surface.  That urgency is back now, tenfold and I'm rocking my hips, pumping my cock with a vengeance, gasping low moans getting louder and closer together.

//Daniel's lips skimming my chest, fingers digging into my waist, teeth grazing my nipples.//

"Ohhh... ahhhh..."

I bite my lip, hand moving impossibly faster, soaked and sticky with sweat and precome.  My arm's gonna be caning later, but I don't give shit.  It's more than heat down there now, it's an ache so strong its pleasure-pain, and I gotta feed it.  So close now I can smell it coming, mixing with the scent of Daniel on the fender.

I grab the neck of the guitar and force it between my legs, flat side down so my cock is flush against the back of it.  It makes a faint musical bang as my hips make the first forceful contact.  Hardness against hardness.  Cold against heat.  Thrusting mindlessly against it, moaning nonstop now, so ready to come...

//Dan's chest hard and sweat slicked against mine, he's biting my neck, rubbing against me, our cocks sandwiched between us, stuck together with precome.  His cock against mine, hips thrusting against me, he's panting hard, so high, so hot, so beautifully aroused.  So close.  His eyes close, his mouth opens screaming...//

"DANIEL!  Ohhhhh..."

And that does it.  My hand clenches in its chokehold on the guitar and there isn't enough air for me to breathe as white hot pleasure pelts through my body, hard, fast, intense, leaving me pounding the fender, hot milk spilling from my cock. 

//Oh god that was incredible.//

I lie there a moment, completely spent, weight of the guitar //and consequence// on me, cock stuck to the back of it.

//Gotta get up.  Dan'll be here soon.//

I tell my limbs to work but they ignore me. 

//I can't believe I just had sex with Dan's guitar.  I am such a sick, twisted fuck.//

A muffled pounding at my front door distracts me from my self loathing.  Shit.  He's here.  For the second time today there's a blonde guitarist bashing my door in.

I'd better pull some clothes on and let him in. 

"Daz?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you spill something on my guitar?"

//Fuck.//