“That was the last one,” Ash said, wiping the sweat from her forehead after putting down a cardboard box full of books and then sitting down on it.

Matt looked at her, barely suppressing a gasp from the view of her skimpy tank top which had basically melted to her feminine features. It was gradually soaking through and left little to the imagination of how her delicious body would look once bereft of the cumbersome garments obstructing Matt's view. Unfortunately, he thought, she was wearing a bra with rather thick push-up padding so he could not spot her nipples—or was he thankful because that would have been too much to bear?

Before Matt realized he was ogling his friend, Stephen entered the living room crammed with disassembled IKEA furniture and piles of boxes.

“Yo, Kelly and I are starving. It’s way past one anyway. Wanna grab a pizza next door?”

“I’ll take anything they have with veggies—roasted eggplants, peppers and zucchini if they have,” replied Ash, “but I’ll stay here and start unpacking a few things.”

Stephen nodded to Matt.

“Sounds awesome. Same here but add a couple of strips of bacon if they have any. I’ll stay here and will give Ash a hand,” the latter explained. “Oh, and extra garlic.”

Ash’s eyes lit up. “I’ll go with the extra garlic too. Oh, and before I forget…” She stood up and started rummaging in one of the boxes, mumbling the typical 'where is it's and 'thought I put it there's for two minutes until she found her wallet from which she produced a stack of dead presidents. “Here, this should do for the pizzas and enough beers to get us pretty wasted. And they better be cooled. We’ve earned it and it’s the least I can do to repay you guys for your help.”

Stephen gave her the thumbs up and promised to be back in no more than twenty minutes.

“Whoever had that brilliant idea of moving in the prime of July,” Ash began. She rolled her eyes and resumed her elaborations, “Ah, yeah, it was fucking useless Patrick who dumped me for peroxide-dye fake-boobs. Dickhead’s had this side-chick bimbo for a couple of months now. Said he couldn’t make up his mind whom to pick. Told me that directly in the face. Come to think of it! The name 'Patrick' is just ‘Prick’ with an extra ‘at’ in between.”

Matt could see the anger rising in her cheeks and hear the frustration speaking for her.

“Presumptuous bastard! Has the audacity to cheat on my over months but can’t muster the balls to stand his ground. Seriously! He made me gobble those down my throat daily and now he's even having his side bitch move into our apartment. Why do all men have to be like this?”

Matt raised his eyebrows and gave his best understanding expression. As much as he wanted to cheer her up, he was—given the increasing transparency of Ash’s meanwhile visually virtually inexistent garments—struggling his own fight in proving he was the exceptional gentleman that confirmed the rule. He swallowed hard.

“Well, not all men,” Ash corrected herself. “I know you’re different, Matt. You’ve always been a good friend.”

Matt’s thoughts let out a relieved phew upon hearing the keyword that reminded him Ash was off-limits. They had met at a welcome party in their first term, tried to hook up but soon realized they were better off friendzoning each other. It had hurt at first, but a few drinks later, they had become besties.

“Anytime, Ash,” replied Matt. “You know you’ll always find booze, chocolate, weed, a shoulder to cry on and someone to vent your frustration at with me.”

Ash frowned. “Don’t say that, Matt. You’re way more than just that. You’re the brother I never had. Little Miss Goodie Two-Shoes who left you for expendable 'my Chinese chicken soup tattoos all have a story' long-haired surf hipster has no idea what she's missing out on,” she reminded him of his recent break-up before hugging Matt tightly.

The tantalizing smell of her sweat-borne pheromones rose into his nose, making his heart skip a beat. He felt her breasts pressed against his chest, causing his own shirt to stick to his upper body too. When she let go, he thought he’d see her eyes ever so briefly scan the imprint of his body molding into the soaked shirt. He thought to see a distinct flash of hunger in the quick exchange of glances that followed.

“What was that for?” he broke the silence.

“Because you really are a great friend and I wanted to show some appreciation,” Ash explained. “... and because that bitch dumped you the same way Prick dumped me. We just needed this.”

“Thanks, but that's not the only thing I could have right now,” Matt chuckled. “Hey, mind if I take off my shirt? I’m sweating like a pig.”

“Mi casa es su casa,” came her reply to which, she added, chuckling too, “In other words, I absolutely insist you do.”

When he tried to remove it, his t-shirt seemed glued to his back. After a short struggle consisting of his best impression of an air dancer, it finally came off. When he made a face and goofily stretched out his tongue in mock exhaustion, he thought he’d catch Ash shift her gaze from his pecs to his eyes like a teenage boy caught staring at a pair of boobs. He couldn’t blame her; while not exactly being a textbook Adonis, his physique—thanks to a healthy amount of regular exercise—certainly was on the more sculpted side. Also, both of them getting ditched for a side-fuck sure did its part in them feeling unwanted and hence fueling their sexual frustration.

Matt stepped to the kitchenette and wrung out his discarded garment over the sink, unconsciously making sure he’d flex his muscles plenty. “Just look at how wet this is,” he commented, not paying attention to the possible subtext.

He then threw the crumpled piece of clothing over his shoulder, rinsed his hands in the slightly rusty water before sighing and fully opening the tap to rinse the rusty pipes. He reached for the box where the glasses were.

“Want some water once the pipes are rinsed?” he asked Ash who again seemed more preoccupied by his body than his question.

“Yeah, uh… Sure. I’m parched!” came her answer as if caught red-handed again.

After a minute, the water was colorless and he filled two large glasses with the cool liquid.

Stepping towards Ash, Matt failed to keep the glass between his fingers for it was still wet and slippery. The glass slid from his hand. Trying to catch it clumsily, he stumbled towards Ash who received the glass’ entire contents on her chest. After a short shriek from the cool splash, she gave her best impression of a juggler when trying to catch the glass but, ultimately, it landed on her foot before falling to the floor without breaking. Being just in flip-flops, she winced, screamed in pain and hobbled to a box of books to sit down on and inspect her injured foot.

“Fuuuck-a-doodle-do!” she cursed as a large enough bruise to let her foot swell already became visible.

“Shit, you okay?” Matt worriedly asked, kneeling before her, examining her foot.

“It’s nothing, probably, the glass must’ve hit a large vein, is all. Still, hurts like fuck!” Ash explained, her composure already a lot calmer.

“Yeah, the edge of a heavy glass against a foot. Must hurt like hell,” he commented. “Want me to get some ice?”

“Hurts like hell? No shit? Glad you told me,” she shot back. “Thanks, but, nah, I’m good. I just find that situation kinda funny: you kneeling there, holding my foot like I was your Cinderella. Now you only need to burst in song.”

Matt chuckled at her, “Yeah, and I’m, like, the prince charming with the missing shoe? You wish.”

Ash rolled her eyes playfully. “Damnit! Could have worked this time, though.”

“Way to easy to see through, sister. Ain't gonna happen that easily, sugartits,” Matt shot back.

Ever since deciding they better stay friends, they had both practiced their pick-up lines on each other—the sillier, the better being the credo.

She let out a heavy breath through her nose. “What did I tell you about this name? But, yeah, you’re right. My tits are drenched so now at least I have a good excuse to go topless too.”

“Sure, su casa es su casa,” Matt nonchalantly retorted, paraphrasing her former admission and making sure he'd add plenty of suggestive undertone.

“You’re not even trying to be subtle here. But just so it’s clear: the bra ain’t coming off, bozo.”

Matt grinned. “Not wet enough, eh? Too bad. I knew I should have kept my lucky shirt on.”

“... and deny me the view of this dream body? You damn better leave that shirt off if you already dropped that glass on my foot, buster! So at least I have something for my eyes to look at and distract me from my near-lethal injury.”

Matt laughed, stood up again, collected the glass from the floor and stepped to the sink to fill it anew. When he returned, he shortly held his breath when his gaze fell upon Ash's breasts lazily lying in the cups of her bra. Her skirt had slid her legs up to those mid-thighs of hers he found magnificent, allowing his eyes to feast on the view of his attractive friend.

“By the way, where's Beth again? Wasn't she supposed to be moving in with you today? Thought you girls wanted to be roomies,” Matt asked, trying to distract himself from the view.

“Well, take an educated guess. All good things come in threes, right? Prick dumping me, your Miss dumping you. So bitch moved in with her new boyfriend and only told me two days ago. Just ditched me too. Just like that. Now she's already whining about how he can't even wash his own, 'slightly shat'—as she put it—boxers. Serves her right! And now I'll have to find a new roomie. Fuck my life, right?” Ash answered with a mixture of amusement and annoyance.

“How about we go to your room and I help you unpack your clothes?” Matt suggested in a poor attempt to keep himself from ogling her too obviously—and her from noticing.

“... so you can sneak a peek of my undies and toy collection, you dirty bastard?” came Ash's immediate playful accusation. “Unless you wanna try some of them, of course. I'd just love to see you stuff yourself with el Gordo while wearing my lace g-string.”

“Yeah, it was a poor try at changing the subject,” Matt admitted laughing. "Might consider the offer, though."

Ash shook her head in amusement, stood up and downed the glass of water. She handed it back to Matt and asked for a new one, then slowly tried to walk to her room with her wonky foot. She seemed overly cautious at first but quickly took a rather normal pace again. By the time Matt followed her with two freshly filled glasses of water, he heard her scream and fall to the floor again. When he stuck his head in her room, he saw her lying on the floor, tears in her eyes, holding her ankle.

“Shit, what happened?” he asked, rushing into the room and then putting the glasses on a box before kneeling down again.

“Goddamnit! I stumbled over a small box and landed awkwardly on the hurt foot. The ankle gave away. I think I sprained it! Fuuuck!” came her reply in painful hisses.

“Shit! Just stay put. I saw the emergency kit just ten minutes ago. Which box was it again?”

“It’s over there,” Ash panted, pointing to the kitchenette. “Shit, and I don't even have ice in the freezer to cool it.” As Matt didn't move, she added, “Sure keep ogling my tits. Take your time, it’s not like I’m gonna move anywhere.”

“Sure.” Caught red-handed, Matt jumped to the boxes Ash had pointed to and collected the first aid kit.

He rummaged through its inventory and found a cooling gel and some bandages. Her sitting on the floor, legs apart, he spread a copious dollop of the gel onto her swelling ankle, focusing hard on his improvised first-aid skills despite the damp patch on her crotch that begged for attention in his peripheral vision. Who would wear a skirt for moving day? And why plain, white cotton panties—the ones where damp spots are visible best? And that heavy smell of pheromones!

Matt swallowed hard and took the bandage pack. He tore it open and started unrolling the gauze over the injured joint. He knew no other way to avoid a glimpse of her obviously soaked panties—regardless of the nature of the moisture, could be just sweat for all he knew... he hoped—than to let his eyes take a large detour through the entire room on the way from her foot to her eyes.

Victorious, he looked at her puzzled face.

“What did you just roll your eyes for?” she chuckled. Oops, wrong signal. He could have just closed his eyes and moved them to her face instead, dumbass.

His cheeks starting to flush, he hesitantly changed the subject, “Is that okay? Too tight?”

Her eyes lit up in comprehension. With a devilish flash in them, she replied, “The bandage is a bit tight," she paused and raised one eyebrow," and feels kinda wet," she paused, "from the gel but it feels good like this,” and she bit her bottom lip for effect.

Matt took a deep breath, closed his eyes and tilted his head to look at her foot again, this time not making the awkward extra visual detour—Nailed it!—and finished patching Ash up.

“Thank you,” Ash said and pulled her legs closer, bending her knees and spreading her legs further so her crotch was fully exposed to Matt's eyes. Had the wet spot really grown larger? Yes, it had; no doubt about that. His nostrils seemed to have a life of their own, now actively seeking to catch the scent of her sex.

Matt, now trying his best to ignore her charms, stood up to help her on her feet again. His foot, however, slipped on a drop of spilled cooling gel and made him lose his balance. He fell on the floor right in front of Ash's crotch, his nose touching her damp spot. Judging from the smell, there was no doubt about where this wetness came from.

Unconsciously, he dug his nose into her crotch, feeling her swollen lips under the thin, now transparent fabric of her panties.

Ash began protesting, “What the fuck do... you... think...” but quickly, her attestations of reluctance got a much more pleased undertone while the contents remained unchanged. “No, please... stop...” she gasped between labored breaths while Matt's nose kept probing her drenched undergarments. “I'm... dirty... down... the—“ came her ultimate expression of refusal, stretching the last syllable in a moan of pent-up desire.

Then, as Matt added a finger that pushed aside the crotch of her panties to grant his nose—and the rest of his face—full access to her engorged, slippery labia, Ash moved away.

“What the hell, let's fuck.” With that, she hooked both her thumbs into the waistband of her panties and removed them before throwing them into Matt's face. “And don't you even bother to remove your pants. Kelly and Stephen will be back any minute now. And you better fuck me good, 'cause I really need that orgasm right now.”

Encouraged by her demands, Matt willingly obliged. He unbuttoned his pants, unzipped the fly and knelt between Ash's legs. His cock went in and her legs naturally wrapped themselves around his back to support his thrusts.

His plunges into her pussy were hard and deep enough to push her an inch or two with every forward motion since the faux parquet floor was getting slippery from the copious lubricant that sprang from her private orifice and the sweat freely flowing out of all her pores. Matt had to slowly crawl with her until her back was against the wall right under the window.

Being close to his own orgasms and wanting to fulfill Ash's request for her release, he supported his thrusts by a thumb brushing over her clit, hoping this would facilitate her climax. Indeed, within seconds, he heard her gasping turn into moans and felt her nails rake over his back as her fleshy walls cramped around his meat. He pulled out just in time, stood up and let his seed splash over her satisfied face.

They quickly exchanged a wide grin.

It was only then he noticed he had shagged his bestie right under the window. Lucky them, his eyes fell on Kelly and Stephen who were crossing the street, carrying four pizza boxes and two six-packs of beer.

“Shit, Ash, gotta buy us some time! Get cleaned up, will ya?” he quickly requested before opening the window and leaning out just far enough so he was still covered by the wall waist-down. He shouted, “Watcha got there?!”

“Just as you guys asked,” explained Stephen. “Veggies with garlic for the lady and the same for you with extra bacon.”

“Plus the beers,” Kelly said, holding up the six-packs.

“Got the chili oil?” Matt asked, trying his best to sound casual.

“Of course, you think it's the first time I buy pizza?” Stephen shot back.

By that time, Matt heard Ash whisper, “I'm good, Matt. But put your t-shirt on, okay? Your back's scratched open pretty bad.”

"Shit, I forgot,“ Matt replied and dashed to the living room where his drenched t-shirt was still hanging over the backrest of a chair.

Once his still sweaty t-shirt touched the scratches on his back, he cried out in pain from the salty sweat.

"Fuck, Matt, I should have thought of this. I'm so sorry!“ Ash explained, hobbling into the kitchenette.

"What should you have thought of?“ Stephen's inquisitive voice sounded from the door, startling both of them.

"Uh, you know...“ Ash began, obviously looking for a flimsy excuse.

"Been hitting the gym a bit too hard lately,“ Matt covered for her. "Back's been killing me all morning. Glad we got this drudgery over with.“

Kelly came in too. "Ash, go wipe your nose, you got a booger there,“ she said, pointing at a cum stain Ash had obviously neglected. Before Kelly took a closer look at it, however, she shouted, "Holy fuck, girl, what happened to your foot?“

"Tripped, twisted the ankle,“ replied Ash, shrugging. "Best timing ever, right? Luckily, Mr. Wannabe-Adonis here has a good hand with tight-fitting bandages, right Matt?“

Matt raised his eyebrows and made a sheepish frown. "Enough of the flattery, I'm starving.“

A few slices of pizza and a couple of cans of beer later, Ash suggested, "Yo, Matt. Why don't you just take the free room—the one Beth was supposed to take—and move in here? I think we'd kill it together. Watcha say?“