Trent slogged through the door of the room he shared with his best friend Sam. It was late. His legs felt like jelly. Sam already snored, fast asleep, in his bunk, blanket tossed aside due to the heat. Trent admired his friend's muscular back, tan from working shirtless outside in the bright sun of this peculiar wasteland. It was a totally different world than that which the two of them had come, with vast expanses of dirt and scrubby plants rather than tightly packed 'scrapers and a sky full of gray haze.
He peeled off his sweaty T-shirt, too tired to take a shower, and kicked his dusty boots into a corner. Dropping his pants with an unceremonious clatter, he sat on the bed next to Sam. The two had known each other since childhood, but quickly grew inseparable. Through all the shit they had endured, Sam had always been there. Seeing him felt like coming home--no matter where the militia took them or what rat hole they were hiding in this month.
Sam stirred. "Trent? Just getting back?" he asked sleepily.
"Yeah. Rough day."
"You're telling me," Sam muttered, turning his head to face his friend, "If we keep up with the eight hours of training exercises on top of the six hours of chores around the base, I think it's gonna kill me."
"Add in my pilot classes," Trent snorted, "And I may die first."
Sam chuckled, "If I knew the general would get harder on us when we turned eighteen, I might've run away to the Metro Complex to become a black-market tech dealer."
Trent laughed, squeezing the back of Sam's neck with tired hands. "You don't mean that," he said, pressing his thumbs into the tight muscles there.
"Nah," Sam sighed as his shoulders relaxed slightly, "The Metro Complex is a hot, humid nightmare."
Massaging Sam's shoulders with more force, Trent smiled, "As opposed to the hot, dry nightmare of the edge of the Wasteland?"
"Mhm," Sam moaned.
Trent straddled his friend as he got into the massage, settling himself on Sam's ample buttocks. He ground his hips slightly, feeling his cock begin to harden. He had been into Sam for years, but his friend had always been to focused on his training, and his dual Skills as a Mechanic and Timeseer and while it frustrated Trent, he couldn't blame him. Having grown up not knowing he was a savant, Sam had had a lot to catch up on when they joined the militia. And being Dual-Skilled to boot, the first anyone had heard of, made the Sam very popular among the officers--and very busy.
Recently, however, he'd caught his friend staring at him when he thought Trent wasn't paying attention and his commentary had gotten more flirty. They attempted an awkward kiss once, though had been quickly interrupted. Since then, Sam had backed off--uncomfortable, or maybe just shy--and then every night, they'd come to bed, too exhausted to do anything more than fall into a dead sleep.
"It'd be nice to have some release," Sam moaned, as his knotted back muscles relaxed slowly. "Lifting all those ammo crates kills my back."
Don't I know it,
Trent thought, though he wasn't referring to ammo crates or his back muscles.
He'd lost count of the number of times he'd masturbated in the bathroom thinking about Sam.
Never the right time.
He sighed to himself, working his hands down Sam's back. The other groaned again.
"That's good," he said, squirming under Trent's weight. "Keep going."
Trent pressed further into Sam's ass, and was pleased to feel his friend buck up against him in response. Leaning down, Trent brushed his lips lightly over the base of Sam's neck and was rewarded by an anticipatory shiver.
