“Stop wiggling around, I’m trying to sleep! Wait… what’s tha… oh!”
Forced proximity with best friend Bob?
A chance to do friends to lovers with Bob? Say no more!
"Remind me to never let Javy book the Air B&B again."
Bob chuckled at your comment, despite agreeing, "Well at least we have an actual bed. Reuben and Mickey have bunk beds."
"So all the single people have to suffer?" You scoffed, continuing to shuffle through your luggage.
The annual lake trip was going well, until the room arrangements were revealed. It wasn't that you minded sharing a room with Bob.
It was the lack of a second bed.
Twenty years ago, when you were both eight, this wouldn't have been a problem. But then puberty, high school, and base camp occurred, which brought to light the crush you had been harboring on your best friend.
"We'll make it work. And if it's that bad, I can take the floor," he offered, always the considerate one. It was one of the many traits you adored about Bob.
"Robert James Floyd, absolutely not!" You scolded, eliciting a chuckle out of him. It was deep and low, just like his voice and you didn't want to admit how it made your knees nearly shake.
"I've slept in barracks before, it's the same thing."
The comment would have gotten a laugh out of you. In fact, you would have even made a remark back, probably about how you've also slept in truck beds and underneath a wide open sky.
But then Bob Floyd took his shirt off.
It wasn't even your first time seeing him shirtless, far from it. But now he had filled out, with muscle and a dusting of hair that trailed down from his chest, past his stomach.
God, was he always this hot? Had to be and somehow you just didn't notice it until later. Perhaps that was the worst part; you fell for him because of who he was. It wasn't as if he had some type of glowup over summer break, like you'd see so often in those stupid teen movies you'd watch to feel better about yourself. No, Bob Floyd was always a beautiful soul, inside and out.
And he wasn't yours. Couldn't be. The risk of him not reciprocating was too high. Plus, your family was friends with his'. That meant Thanksgiving, Christmas, Fourth of July, hell, even fucking Memorial Day gatherings would be tainted. All thanks to you.
The pressure was too high, the risk was too great.
But you could look, right?
"Sunshine?"
Bob's childhood now turned adult nickname for you broke the spell. Your wide eyes met his oceanic's. His hair, which had gotten darker over the years and now had threads of early greys, was mussed from taking off his shirt, some curls over the front of his forehead, others to the side. White shirt in hand, highlighting how massive they were when clutching the alabaster fabric. Brow's knitted together, combined with his narrow eyes and titled head created a downright adorable look of confusion.
"You,,,," he briefly turned around, to see if there was something on the wall behind him and that's why you wouldn't look at him, "You okay?"
You nodded eagerly, probably too eagerly, "Yeah sorry....I uh spaced out. Probably thinking of ways to get back at Javy."
Bob smiled, despite it never reaching his eyes when he nodded. You had turned around so quickly, unable to make such an observation.
"I'm going to go take a shower," grabbing the top and bottom you could find the quickest in your suitcase. You avoided eye contact with him, too busy feeling shame for getting caught doing something so lewd.
Rushing, you turned the water on in the showers. Focusing on ensuring you grabbed the correct products. Get the water to the perfect temperature and pressure, it exists, it has to exist because if it doesn't then you'll think about the dark body hair that went past the waistband of his jeans.
For about twenty minutes, it worked. You did your skincare routine, brushed your teeth for nearly two minutes, even blow dried your hair. Applied a lip mask, that stupid lash and brow serum the worker at Sephora conned you into buying. Moisturize every inch of your body, even though it was the dead of summer and you would sweat it all off before sunrise. That stupid reusable eye mask that you got because it was on clearance. Have you done the Wordle today, you should do the Wordle. You should do anything other than thinking about sharing a bed with your shirtless best friend.
It worked. Even put on some music, not too loud, just enough to hear and hum along.
It worked. For a while. But then you had used nearly every product in your cosmetics bag and it was time to get dressed.
Fuck.
You could never match a pair of socks, not even if your life depended on it. But tonight, fucking tonight of all nights, you had to grab a whole matching set.
The pale pink lace trimmed cami, paired with joggers. An oversized T-shirt that went further down than the pair of matching satin shorts.
You had brought the set when you were talking to a guy and thought you would be able to move on from the wonder that is Bob Floyd. What a fucking joke.
Maybe you could wear them, run back out to grab something else and run back in to change. No, why would anyone do that? If anything, it'll just make it more obvious that you didn't want to wear it in front of him. But what if you didn't change and Bob thought you had worn essentially casual lingerie on purpose? What if he found that weird? What if-
"You okay in there Sunny?" His voice always calmed you, always able to break you out of whatever self inflicted spiral you were on.
Taking a deep breath, you nodded despite Bob being unable to see you, "Yeah, I'm good. Just developed a more extensive skincare routine."
A short burst of laughter was released on the other side of the door, "You don't need all that. Already pretty."
"Bob Floyd, you are....." Charming. Amazing. Too good to be true. The love of my life,
"....too kind."
"Just telling the truth," his feet audibly stepped away. The butterflies in your chest were still exploding from his words. He made you feel safe, that this was Bob you were talking about. He'd never think you'd do something lewd or negative on purpose. Bob knew your intentions to be good. After all, he was your Bobby.
Just not in the way you want.
Your head cleared long enough to walk out the door, into the well lit bedroom. When he first made eye contact with you, you didn't even falter, simply smiling at him.
But Bob didn't say anything at first. Usually he'd make a teasing but well meaning comment about you taking so long. His thin pink lips parted, yet no words came through.
"Are you okay Bobby?"
The concern in your voice broke the trance. His features soften, his lips quirking into a half smile, "Yeah, I'm good. Just gonna shower and then head to bed."
Tension had left the room. Flopping down onto the bed, you scrolled through social media, watching all the videos and photos the squad had posted today.
"Uh, Sunshine?" You turned and lost your breath. Bob's hair was freshly washed, ends beginning to curl. A white shirt that was barely translucent and grey sweatpants that hung low on his lithe hips.
Bob Floyd had downright slutty hips.
"I don't think the bed is big enough for both of us to lay down."
Your brow crumpled in confusion, "Javy said this was a queen."
"Javy thinks anything that isn't a single is a Queen." Bob explained, not phased at all by this mistake.
Clearly it wasn't the first time. But you were still going to kill Javy Machado tomorrow morning.
"Here, if we both sleep on our sides, it'll be good."
"Like spooning?"
"Uh yeah," a hand came up to rub the back of his neck, "That's one way to think about it."
You supposed it was better than feeling his ass against yours, "Alright, well....come on in, the water's fine."
It took some time to figure out the arrangement. What was one supposed to do with their other hand? The final agreement consisted of your hips flushed against Bob's, his arm slung over your waist.
Zero awkwardness in the air. It felt....natural.
"Night Bobby."
"Night Sunshine."
Things were looking up. There was no way this would change your friendship or threaten to reveal your well kept secret. Sleep was well within your reach.
Then Bob moved. And kept moving. Due to his closeness, you felt every maneuver, no matter how subtle.
"Floyd, do you mind?"
His movements continued, as if he was trying to avoid your body while somehow simultaneously hang onto it.
A loud huff left your lips, "Stop wiggling around, I'm trying to sleep! Wait, what's that...."
Oh.
Your hips were flushed against his, your ass perfectly fitting the space formed by his thigh meeting his hip. Right against his hardened groin.
The sweatpants were thin. He didn't have anything underneath. Thanks to the flimsy fabric of your shorts, you could feel him greatly.
You were in bed with Bob Floyd. Bob Floyd was in bed with you, rocking an erection. You were being held by Bob Floyd, in bed. Bob Floyd had a huge cock, a grower.
Silence filled the room, tension thick enough to be cut with a butter knife. Neither one wanting to move, for fear of making it worse.
He let out a shaky breath. He developed a rhythm, almost imitating one sleeping.
You shifted, just enough for your thigh to rise, but subtle enough to play off as nothing.
His breath hitched.
Inch by inch, your hips began to gyrate, rubbing against his clothed cock.
"B-Bobby," you were panting, as if having run a marathon. His fingers sank into your hips, gripping the plush flesh as he flipped you onto your back, towering over you.
You moved to sit on your elbows, to raise yourself up to argue. From years of play fighting, he was fast as lightning, pinning your hands above your head.
Bob slowly lowered himself down until his nose brushed against your, his soft hair brushing your forehead.
"Twelve years." Was all he said, gritting through his teeth, squeezing your hands in hopes it would tethered him to Earth.
All that came out of your mouth was a hum of confusion. In the moonlit light, you searched for his eyes, trying to read them.
"Stuart Hendricks asked you to prom. You had been hoping all month he would ask you. Hell, I even helped him. Told him your favorite musical and which song to sing. I was excited for ya. And then you said yes to him and I wanted to punch him. I never had thought about fighting someone until then. Took me a week to realize why I was so angry."
Oh my God.
"Eight to ten years ago," you confessed. It was Bob's turn to knit his eyebrows together.
"Eight to ten?" He repeated, "Why is there a range?"
"I remember feeling....funny when you came back from boot camp. You had filled out a bit and had on those adorable military issued glasses. But it took me some time to accept what I was feeling," you explained.
How you found those glasses endearing was beyond Bob's understanding. But it didn't agitate him, it was just one of the many things he loved about you.
"That's a lot of time lost," his voice was barely a whisper.
You nodded, "Can we.....can we start making up for it?"
"Yes," he nodded, dropping his head lower, "one hundred percent yes."
His lips were like heaven. He molded his body to yours, chests flushed together, limbs tangled within one another. A hand that spanned the entirety of his neck, his thumb guiding your chin upwards so he could deeper explore your mouth.
"Heard you singing....and it just felt....felt like we were living together," he confessed in between kisses, "felt so right, like that's what it's supposed to be like."
Nodding feverishly, your hands found purchase in his thick hair. Tugging on the sun kissed locks, earning a groan from Bob that made your thighs clench.
"Can....can I touch you?" Always the gentlemen, your Bobby.
"As long as you don't stop."
"Wouldn't dream of it sunshine," his mouth latched onto your neck, leaving open mouth kisses along the side, teeth gently grazing your sensitive skin. A hand grabbed your leg, hitching it to wrap around his waist.
Bob Floyd was fucking heaven.
