The Broken Arm Favor - Chapter 10

When the doctor sawed the cast off Troye’s arm, I thought I’d feel relief. Instead, I felt my stomach sink.

It was like the countdown clock had hit zero. No more excuse for why he needed me. No more reason for my hands to be wrapped around his cock every night. No more reason for me to sneak down his body and swallow him whole.

Maybe no more us.

He flexed his wrist, shook out his hand like it was new again. I forced a grin. “Congrats, man. You’re free.”

“Yeah,” he said, quieter than I expected. His eyes didn’t meet mine.

For a while we didn’t talk about it. We hung out, played video games, pretended like things were the same. But at night, lying in my bed, my body ached from the emptiness. I knew his had to too.

The next week, I went over like normal. His mom let me in, and I found him in his room, sprawled on the bed with his phone, shirt half-lifted, sweatpants hanging low.

It was too familiar. My chest thudded.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey.” He sat up, looking weirdly nervous. We both knew why.

I sat down on the edge of his bed. The silence stretched, heavy and awkward. My throat was dry. “So…”

“You don’t have to, y’know,” he blurted out suddenly. “Thanks for… for helping me all this time. But I can handle myself again.”

My heart sank. “Yeah. Right. Of course.”

But then he looked straight at me, eyes dark, jaw tense. “Thing is…” His voice cracked. He swallowed. “…I don’t care if I can use my hand again. I only want yours.”

The air snapped between us. My cock twitched instantly, swelling hard in my jeans.

Before I could answer, he grabbed the back of my neck and kissed me—messy, desperate, just like the first time. I groaned into his mouth, shoving him back against the pillows, our bodies grinding like we’d been starving for this.

“I need you,” he moaned against my lips, his hand already tugging at my waistband. “Not porn, not my hand, not anything—just you.”

Something in me broke. I yanked his sweats down, my cock straining painfully against the denim. My hands were shaking as I stripped, as if I knew we were about to cross the final line.

“Are you sure?” I whispered, my voice low, trembling.

Troye nodded fast, eyes wild. “Please. I want you inside me.”

The first time was clumsy, awkward, but fuck, it was real.

I lined up, my cock nudging his tight hole. His thighs trembled around me. My hands gripped his hips, my chest heaving.

“Go slow,” he gasped.

I pushed—just the tip, stretching him. He hissed, his head falling back. I froze, but he grabbed my arm with his newly freed hand, squeezing tight. “Don’t stop. Please, Connor.”

I pushed deeper, inch by inch, both of us groaning through the burn, until I was buried inside him. My whole body shook at the heat, the tightness.

“Fuck,” I gasped, eyes squeezing shut. “Troye, you feel—god, you’re perfect.”

He moaned right into my mouth, pulling me down for another sloppy kiss. “Move,” he begged, voice cracked with need.

So I did. Slow thrusts at first, our foreheads pressed together, moaning each other’s names. His hand clawed my back, his breath hot on my cheek.

“Harder,” he groaned, wrapping his legs around me.

I started pounding, sloppy and raw, the sound of skin smacking filling the room. Cum from earlier edging sessions still stained his sheets, but this was different—messier, wetter, primal.

“Fuck, Connor—your cock—” he whined, jerking himself with his left hand.

“Don’t,” I growled, slapping his hand away and stroking him myself while I fucked him. “I told you. Only mine.”

His whole body writhed under me, begging. “Yes—yours—fuck, I’m yours—”

We were both so close, so wound up from weeks of buildup. I slammed into him faster, stroking him to the same rhythm, precum smearing down his shaft and onto my fist.

“Cum with me,” I moaned against his lips. “I need you to cum with me.”

“Connor—fuck—I’m gonna—”

We erupted almost together, his cock exploding all over our stomachs, mine shooting deep inside him as I groaned into his mouth. We didn’t stop kissing, didn’t stop grinding through it, until the sheets were drenched, our skin sticky with sweat and cum.

When I finally collapsed onto him, panting, his arms wrapped around me tight. We were both trembling, cum smeared everywhere, but neither of us cared.

He laughed breathlessly, still holding me. “Guess I don’t need my hand after all.”

I kissed his jaw, sweaty and desperate. “Told you,” I whispered. “You’re mine now.”

And he didn’t argue.