Studs: Gay Erotic Fiction (22 page)

“Sometimes,” he said, “sometimes I am with someone. I am with a man and I like to think of him with another. Two beautiful men, you understand? These two, they make love and in their passion they say things. I like to think of this. For sure, it is a foolishness,
une bêtise
. But you are beautiful, David, and to think of you with another…excites me.”

Foolishness. Sweet Christ, I knew foolish. I gripped the back of my neck and stared at the rug. The colors kaleidoscoped between my feet and I shut my eyes against the growing pressure in my skull.

“He said a lot of things,” I said distantly.

“Who?”

I swallowed, worked some saliva into my mouth. “I loved him, man. I loved him and he broke my fucking heart. ”

 

I’m crossing the road to his apartment when I see his motorcycle is parked in the alley. He’s gotten here before me; he must have cut a class again, little fuck. I’ve planned to let myself in, hide the gloves so we can play that kids’ game, me calling out “hot” and “cold” until he finds them
.
Beyond absurd, sure, but when you’re in love you do these things. You love a guy, it’s not all about fucking, and with Stéphane it’s not even about fucking anymore.

I brought my hand away from my face and wiped it on my jeans. “It was Olivier,” I said. “Olivier. His brother.”

 

I surfaced to darkness, confused and disoriented. Sudden recall, my fucking
stellar
performance, crying in Lucien’s arms like a retard, jolted me fully awake. I moaned inwardly, just about managed not to curl into a mortified ball and gnaw my knuckles. I lifted the duvet and sat up gingerly. He didn’t move. I’d dropped my clothes in the bathroom:
grab them, get the hell out.
But first, Christ, I needed to pee.

I shook the last drops off and ran my tongue over my teeth. My mouth felt like it was lined with suede. I scooped up some water and hunted through bottles, Creed and Acqua Di Parma, until I found some Listerine. I swished a mouthful and looked around. My clothes had been neatly piled on a hamper. Lucien…he’d been kind, listening somberly, not speaking. When it was over, he’d said I should stay “to rest, that is all, sleep if you are able.” I dropped a skein of blue spit into the john and screwed the cap thoughtfully back on the bottle, tilting my chin to the mirror: still stunning. Lucien was a good guy. He was also hot and hung and naked in the bed behind me.

He’d turned onto his back, one long leg outside the covers. The light from the bathroom fell on his pale instep; the hairy, elongated diamond of his calf; the striated thigh muscles. His luscious cock was flopped soft on languid balls. I touched his toes and he opened his eyes.

“Hey,” I said.

He stretched and yawned, folded his arms behind his head. The black whorls in his pits almost bridged the mat on his chest. “You are feeling better?”

“I’m feeling a whole lot better.”

He dropped his eyes. “So I see.”

He watched me watch his prick swell, move in jerks like the hand of a clock counting off the seconds to midnight. Sexual tension hummed between us, primal, intensely male and I thought,
There’s nothing as good as this moment.
Two men, eyes locked. Cocks achingly erect, sensitive assholes beginning to stir, to loosen up just a little bit. Thundering hearts. Hungry mouths.

“So,” he murmured.

“So?”

“
Encule-moi
.”

When I was fifteen, a kid in my math class told me that if you rammed hard enough into a guy, he’d come through his mouth. Seeing Lucien spread his legs for me got me so worked up I reckoned I could do it. I eased his thighs farther apart and ran my hands along the inner sides to the
V
of his groin. Up close, the hair in his crack brushing my lips, I caught his gut-clenching body scent: sac skin, moist perineum, the divine odor of ass.

“Oh, I’ll fuck you, man.” I sucked my finger, zigzagged the seam of his scrotum, and his dick flexed, balls lifting. His hole was a pink starburst, soft and yielding. I wet my finger again and that sound broke in his throat, the sound a man only hears when he’s penetrating another guy, pushing high into his rectum. Low grunts of pleasure from him, from me, when I touched his prostate. I swept my finger in slow, caressing arcs and took his cock into my mouth, sucked hard until he dipped over the root of my tongue and I couldn’t suck any more. I held him in my throat but I wanted him in my ass, deep inside, moving, giving me what I was about to give him. I lifted my head and slithered my finger out and curled his stickiness into my palm. “Lucien, you want me to, I’ll fuck you till you bleed.”

“Kiss me first.”

A warm, iron ball fell tumbling inside of me and thudded to rest at the base of my dick. I stretched out on his body and took my weight on my elbows. He held my head as I nuzzled through hair, fine-spun in his armpit, a rough pelt on his chest. Searching with lips and fingertips, I found his nipples, electric, hardwired to his prick. I suckled like they were leaking sperm, his quivering thighs and fitful gasps telling me what it was doing for him. Too much. His hips came up and he began to buck, pistoning his shaft through my fist in short, staccato jabs. I gave his swollen tits a last, lingering bite and slowly relaxed my grip.

His eyes widened and he fumbled for my hand, wrestled it back to his cock. “
Finish it!
” I shook my head and he sank back to the pillow and covered his face with his arm. Although I barely touched his skin, I could feel he was losing his erection; I’d pushed him too far.

I gripped his jaw and forced him to look at me. I saw the beginnings of real hatred there, sparking in the dark, expanded pupils, but I held his gaze and something passed between us, the briefest exchange. “
Je vais t’enculer
, Lucien. I’m gonna fuck it out of you, man, fuck it
all out.
” I slipped my tongue between his teeth and flicked it against his palate. The feel of soft lips yawning open, the prickling scrape of stubble, made me crazy. I kissed him clumsily, like an unpracticed teen, in a fury of clashing teeth and stabbing tongues, grinding his mouth until I had to break away or suffocate. He smiled and gave me a moment to siphon in some air, then cupped my face and guided me into a slow and tender kiss and the erotic intimacy of it turned the bones of my skull to sweet liquid.

It’s part of it for me, the preparation. Rolling the condom down the length of my supersensitized cock. Keeping my eyes on the guy. Watching him bring his knees up, hold them spread on his chest. Or crouch on all fours, like Lucien did, his chin tucked into his shoulder. So ready. I propped the lube against his calf and spread his cheeks, felt the solid pelvic frame under my thumbs. I licked the hairs away, pasting them to his skin, and worked the tip of my tongue into the coppery tang of his ass, groaning when the thick ring yielded the delicacy of his rectum. I tongue-fucked him until my jawbone ached and his crack was a sopping mess of saliva and seeping ass slime, but he needed more than spit to cushion the burn. And Christ, he was going to burn. I squirted coils of gel and worked them up him, caressed the translucent glop over his sliding bag of balls and checked the stiff jut between his thighs. Fuck, yeah. He tensed as I centered, nudging for the right angle. “Okay?” He nodded and I stroked along the dip of his spine and pressed down on the blade of bone at the apex of his crack.

He yelped as I thrust, quick pain opening his ass to take my glans. The monstrous pleasure popped bright sweat on my body but I held still, waiting for the inner resistance to give. Leaning to one side, I could see his face, suffused with color, lips drawn back in a gasping snarl. So fucking beautiful. He exhaled and bore down and I was in. I’d gone beyond any thought of hurting him; I only held still, gritting my teeth, because if I’d moved I’d have shot. And I wanted to give this guy, this agonized male animal shuddering under me, the kind of fuck you read about in stroke stories.

He hung his head. A sheen of sweat oiled his skin and when I kissed his back, I felt tremors deep in the corded muscle. He reached behind, fingertips patting, searching the rim of rubber jammed against his ass. I pulled out an inch then gave it to him hard. Circling my hips in a slow, ecstatic grind, I hooked my forearms under his shoulders, swung him upright and sat back on my heels. His body jackknifed with pain and I held him, supported him, kissing the soft hair at the nape of his neck. Under my palm, inside his body, my iron-clenched fist of cock strained to his colon.

“Okay?”

“Yes.”

“Sure?”

“Yes.”

I wrapped his fingers around his prick. “Then do it. Get it hard.”

I leaned back and watched his lean flanks hollow. Such a small ass, taut cheeks exactly fitting my hands. But the asshole enormous. Rising and falling. Taking it, loving the fullness, the stretch, the singularity of pleasure that only a stiff prick can give a guy. I felt the first, exquisite spasms ripple his gut as he moaned and stroked and I reached around and found it rigid as mine again, a stand of dickflesh rearing from his groin. Gripping his waist, I rose with him and tipped him forward and the assy stink of sex filled my nostrils. The condom was halfway up, smeared with clear mucus, and for one heart-stopping moment I thought,
Go ahead, slip it off
. I stared at the raw, red gape slowly infolding.
Slip it off.

He grunted and arched like a cat as I fed the sodden latex back up his ass. His shoulders gathered and he pushed back in a powerful counterpoint to my driving prick. In, in, slow out and thudding in, my balls swinging with each slapping thrust, I clutched his hips, hammering him, fucking him, oh Jesus, fucking his sweet ass. A bead of sweat rolled down my temple and I raised my face to the homo gods; sent out a silent, screaming prayer for control. If the bastards were watching, they paid me no heed; my rhythm began to falter as his seething intestine kissed hot friction along every nerve in my dick.
Come on, come on, come on
… He was braced on one arm, his left hand under, doing it so slowly. He moaned as I took over, each rapid jerk, each thrust in and out of his ass edging us nearer, nearer. He came with no warning, jetting through my fingers in hard, explosive gouts; semen flying, spattering his chest with a necklace of pearls. I felt the aftershocks of climax tighten his ring and it was enough. I convulsed and cried out his name and lifted into the nuclear light of orgasm and everything became white, all white.

 

“Oh, man.” I licked my lips. Sex always makes me thirsty as hell but I couldn’t have moved if someone had leveled a shotgun at me.

Up on one elbow, Lucien grinned and began to toy lazily with my tits. I covered his hand and interlaced our fingers and it felt nice, holding him like that. I closed my eyes again and let myself drift.

He ruffled his mouth in my hair. “Was it good for you?”

I turned on my side and burrowed into his neck where the sweaty carotid beat. I drew up a sliver of skin and sucked it against my teeth. “What do you think?” I said.

“I think that it was. It was good for me, also.” He pulled me closer and draped my leg over his hip. Sperm had dried on my cock so he lubed his fingers with the slick from his ass and massaged it in, deftly working the softness out. I squeezed his hard-on as he palmed my slit and did something behind my balls that made me moan like a bitch.

“God, yes, there…”

“And this time it will be better.” He was half-smiling and more than the subtle, expert wank, it was the look in his eyes that transformed my shaft to rock.

“Lucien,” I said, “you’re gonna have to help me out here. How the fuck could it be better?”

“Yes, better. This time I will fuck you and when I make you come, it will be my name you cry, not Stéphane’s. Mine.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh.

Oh that feels nice. His kisses so sweet.

Those kisses so wet. Well, they’re not really that wet, not in the big scheme of wetness. I just met him. I pull that READ MY LIPS shirt over my head. Do I know where his mouth has been? Well, does he know where my mouth has been? I can’t be bothered worrying about saliva anyhow. I can’t live in a world where we can’t kiss. Does he feel me hold back? No, I think it’s okay. He knows I’m a little nervous, I think.

Hey, now he’s sucking my dick! Ooh, that’s nice. He can do that thing way at the back of his throat that always makes me gag when I try it. Wait, if he’s sucking my dick, does that mean I have to suck his? Do Unto Others as They Would Do Unto You! No, I’m an adult. I took that workshop about boundary drawing. I can say yes and no in my life. Well, maybe I’ll just lick his balls for a while. That would be a friendly gesture. Well, maybe up the shaft for a bit. It couldn’t hurt to just lap across the head of his dick once or twice. Maybe wrap my lips around it for a plunge up and down. Not for too long though, I don’t want to have an anxiety attack tomorrow.