This story is an entirely fictional work of adult erotic fantasy.
Copyright Brooding Muscle and Boy Mercury X 2017.
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A SCAR NOBLY GOT (a sequel to SILVERBACKS) by Broodingmuscle & Boy Mercury X
My phone vibrates during English 101, we're studying Shakespeare's comedies, starting with All's Well That Ends Well.
"Hey Fight Club." Brian's nickname for me.
I trace a finger over the scar on my temple, a keepsake from my one and only punch, and respond, "Don't call me that. I don't know how to fight. Obviously."
"But you know how to take a pounding, don't you?"
Unf. Now I have a full erection in English class.
"How did you get my number?"
"Todd Hickson got it for me from Kelsey."
"Seems like a lot of trouble. I guess you can call me Fight Club if you want. Does that make me Brad Pitt? What's his name?"
"Heh, I'm pretty sure you're not the Tyler Durden in this relationship."
I'm reminded of Brian's handsome features and rich coloring, complete with golden skin and honey colored hair, and type, "I guess."
"Thanksgiving break is coming up."
"Don't worry, I still have your ring."
Then nothing for a while, and I feel the weight of Brian's state champion football ring, big as fuck and twice as ugly, with the muscular silverback gorilla imprint, our high school football mascot. He gave it to me to hold for him when his fingers were too swollen after his fight with Evan. I still can't exactly decipher his intent, but I wear it on a cord on my wrist because it's too big for any of my fingers.
"Oh yeah, my ring. Cool. Where are you?"
"English. Hard as a rock. Thanks to you,"
"Can you reach down and stroke it for me?"
"In English 101?"
"Come on baby."
I can already feel the damp spreading on my briefs and my ass twitching.
"I'm behind you, bout to crack you open."
I twist a little in my seat to relieve the mounting pressure.
I look around the class at the hundred and fifty or so dumb boys and girls and they all seem like dull children. After you've been with Brian Hayes, who wouldn't? With the one obvious exception, his equal in appeal and one time competitor for me: his fraternal twin brother Evan.
"Remember that night Zach?" He uses my real name this time.
"How could I forget?"
"My fingers are in you Zach and it feels so good."
"Jesus fuck, I'm in English class." "Stop?"
".... No. Don't stop."
I'm light-headed just thinking of that night, and how Brian fucked me, and then while he was passed out Evan returned and fingered me, before the second fight sent him flying. I haven't seen him since, but it's like I'm still in that moment where his fingers were sliding into my wet used hole and our mouths were open so close we shared the same breath.
"You feel that stretch? I'm at four fingers and you're so hot inside and wet and I can't wait to slide in you and give you a good pounding boy..."
And then the next text: "Fuck I just came."
I grind my dick against my underwear and without warning my dick swells and I shoot. At least two dozen students turn to look at me as my seat loudly jerks once, then twice, before I freeze in place. I cough and shrug. Heh.
"Thanks Brian." I type when my breathing settles. "I just made a fool of myself in class."
"I never said I was Brian."
"WHO IS THIS?"
"Sorry I clocked you that night Zach. I was aiming for Golden Boy. I'll make it up to you at Thanksgiving if you let me."
And just like that Evan was gone again. I look down at my tablet, and the prose I've been stuck on this class. How did that fucker know I was thinking of him? I trace the line with my finger to highlight it and mouth the words to myself while feeling my temple.
"A scar nobly got, a noble scar, is a good livery of honour."
Back home for Thanksgiving break, everything seems odd. Everything is the same as when I left except for odd little exceptions, like Mom bought new towels, or the neighbors put a birdbath in their front yard.
I am not without my own changes. I have let my hair grow longer, and started playing with my look, adding a bunch of bracelets on one arm (including the cord with Brian's ring), and wearing a black ring of my own on the other hand, vintage Tiffany that I found on eBay.
My body is also changing. Luc, my French-Canadian roommate from Montreal, a fine arts major, has been slowly breaking down my teenage notion that art faggotry and exercise are incompatible. He has a lean look that is really sexy and seems achievable, so I have been doing some calisthenics with him, just easy stuff like pull ups and sit ups and push ups. It is making a difference and I am managing to avoid the dreaded Freshman Fifteen and even get a little muscle definition going. My forearms get a workout in my fine arts elective, Sculpture and Metal Working, another suggestion of Luc's. It isn't normally open for freshman but my art teacher at my high school has a connection and she used it to get me in. It is so much fucking fun. There's a lot of work with clay and even some welding, which has helped me get over my recently acquired fear of propane tanks.
Syracuse is a big university and being New York and not the South there are tons of openly queer folks. In fact, especially in Arts, it can be tough to figure out who is straight. And everyone is super supportive of LGBTQ rights, so much so that it's almost too much. So many folks identify as `pansexual' which seems to be the new term for bisexual. It seemed overly earnest to me when I first heard it used, inclusive to a fault, as if you're afraid you might insult somebody by (God forbid!) implying you're not sexually attracted to them. But then I wondered about it applying to Evan and suddenly it seemed a lot sexier. I pictured Evan as a horny satyr, the Greek god Pan.
Much to my surprise I have been getting attention for my looks, though it still feels like a prank when a cute guy notices me. Some days I still feel like a loser dork, but every now and then I wonder if maybe it wasn't some strange fluke that I had the two hottest guys in high school competing for me at Kelsey's party. Weirdly though, I never heard from Brian all semester and Evan only texted once, so I figure maybe that big night was more about their weird sibling shit than about me.
That's why I am surprised when Brian texts to ask me to go out with him to The Buck, a hot Atlanta gay bar. It turns out the Wednesday night before Thanksgiving is a huge night for gay bars, as the newly emboldened gay kids come home from college ready for the big time.
"Finally, the dead speak," I text. Nobody does sarcasm over text like me.
"I'll explain. You won't be mad at me long."
Cocky bastard.
"I don't have a fake ID," I text.
"I got you covered," he responds.
"Don't worry. I have your ring."
"Not worried. Pick you up at 10."
What can I say but yes?
I clutch at the state champion ring he let me hold for him until Thanksgiving, wrapped in a cord around my wrist. Ugly as fuck, but I'd grown accustomed to wearing it. And to be honest, it was kind of a thrill at college to wear what people thought might be my football champ boyfriend's ring. I know he earned it, but I've worn it since college started and possession is nine tenths of the law so it seems like it is as much mine as his.
Brian pulls up at our appointed time in his shiny pick-up truck and my heart races thinking back to that night that he drove me home after we fucked.
"Hey Zach," he says as I jump in. He's as jaw-droppingly gorgeous as ever. You have to look closely to even see where his twin brother Evan broke his nose, and if anything it just makes him sexier. He wears a solid blue short sleeve shirt unbuttoned to mid chest to expose a slim silver chain, and complementing his exquisite light brown skin. His golden kinky hair is in a new style, with scattered twists and coils. But his smile is as dazzling as ever.
"Hey, how's Tulane?" I ask, trying to sound bored.
Brian's smile fades somewhat as he picks up on my frostiness. He shifts into drive and turns the wheel to get us on our way, his thickly muscled forearms flexing. "Tulane's Tulane. It's uh... pretty huge, quite the party school."
"I'll bet."
The truth is I barely know Brian Hayes at all, despite the fact we've shared the most intimate of experiences. And up until now I was sure Brian wanted to keep it that way. I mean, not even a text since August? The drive to the Buck is mostly quiet though I can't resist stolen glances at Brian's muscled thighs filling out his jeans, and the flickers in his forearms as he drives.
"I don't know if I'm dressed right," I say, as we enter the parking lot outside The Buck, looking down at my dark jeans and untucked paisley button down shirt, and feeling hopelessly dorky next to Brian's more polished club look.
"You look good enough to eat," he says, tossing me a fake ID with a slightly altered photo from our high school yearbook. We hop out of the truck.
"Wow," I say, and while I examine the convincing looking card, Brian steps up close. I back up against the truck's grill.
"Hi Zach," he says, straddling me and rolling his steely bulge against mine.
"Hi Brian," I say, still trying to maintain my cool, but it's getting... harder.
"You mad, babe?" he asks, "Because I didn't stay in touch?"
"Would it have killed you to send a text?" I blurt, finally letting it out.
"I guess I could ask the same of you."
I have a ready answer for that one, but it comes out angrier than I'd hoped: "Oh please, you the godly captain of the football team who took the artsy nerd out for a pity fuck in the bushes, and I was supposed to call you? Right."
Brian smiles. "You're so cute when you're feeling sorry for yourself. Pity fuck? Artsy nerd?" he takes my arms in his hands. "I ain't seen nerds with these forearms."
"Brian," I say, blushing despite myself. Yeah I like my forearms, not built like his but nicely shaped.
Then he drops straight to his knees and undoes my belt, in the parking lot of The Buck.
"Brian! Quit it!" I demand in hushed tones trying not to draw attention, "Get up!"
He looks up at me, smiling, and all I can see is how spectacularly broad his shoulders are. "You're hard and wet. I can smell it."
"They're going to kick us out," I say.
"Let `em try," he says, flexing a bicep the size of a football. I'd call it bravado except I know exactly what he's capable of.
When he jerks down my briefs and swallows my cock to the balls, I gasp out loud and grasp at his delts for support as my knees go weak.
I'm deep in his throat, his shoulders dwarfing my hands, when his tongue starts lapping at my balls. I start to tremble and... he backs off. He looks up with the devil's own smile and wipes the saliva from his lips.
He jumps up, seals me back in my briefs, and zips me up.
"If you do that just a little bit more..." I say.
He pinches my nipples, plants a kiss on my lips and says, "I know. Later. Let's go in."
The Buck is my first gay bar, and we are visiting on what must be one of the biggest nights of the year. Brian knows exactly where we are and navigates to the bar with ease, getting us two bottled beers. This reminds me of the competition he had with his brother Evan, to bang as many guys last summer as they could. I wonder if they picked up guys here? Although I felt a real connection to Brian, and to Evan in a different way, it's nagged me ever since that I might have been just another milestone in their fuck-race.
As I hold the cold beer bottle awkwardly and take a sip, it's impossible not to notice the stares. All eyes are on Brian, achingly beautiful, six foot one with a body that puts the classical sculpture I've been studying to shame, and in that peak where boyhood and manhood meet. Of course I'm deliberately looking away to feign indifference, but as I do I can't help but notice, fuck, there are a lot of hot guys here. In the distance I see a shirtless go-go boy in short shorts and damn I want to get a closer look. Even the older guys are built, with big hard chests and leather harnesses.
"I look like I got lost on my way to middle school," I tell Brian.
"I like how you look."
I beam and take another gulp of beer so I don't grin too foolishly. Lately I've become a sucker for that kind of compliment, not that I'm deliberately fishing for one.
"Tell me more," Okay, maybe I am. Hey it's nice to be appreciated, y'know?
Brian closes in and locks me in that sex-stare and my cock goes from pleasantly plump to a full on stiffy.
He lifts my chin and draws the cold wet of his beer bottle along my neck. "I like how your Adam's apple bobs when you swallow."
"Uh-huh," I pant, swallowing.
"Yeaaah, that's the ticket," he breathes sexily, and I smell mint. He pushes against me and I feel his huge hard dick straining the crotch of his jeans.
He opens his full lips and sticks his thumb in, licking it.
"I like this cute lock of hair that comes out of place and falls onto your forehead," he uses his spit-shined thumb to push it back into place and I can feel my heart melting.
"Then there's this:"
Brian cups my ass in his left hand and lifts, pulling my bulge into his and I go up on my toes.
"Best fucking ass in Atlanta. Georgia peach."
I coyly trace a vein pushing out of his left bicep as it swells, "But not in Louisiana?" I say, mock-offended.
"Can't say, need an adequate market survey."
I groan at the lame business school joke and push him away. "Oh please, as if you haven't fucked half the football team by now."
Brian's smile falters and I worry I've stepped in it somehow. Brian turns to slouch next to me by the bar and goes silent. Before I can think of something to say to recover the moment, the low-key electronica emitting from the speakers is replaced by theme music and a spotlight appears on a small stage on the other side of the bar.
Brian grins and grabs my arm. "Come on, come see this."
He pulls me through the crowd toward the stage and as we reach the front I realize that the music is the Russian national anthem. I say so to Brian and he gives me an amazed look.
"How'd you know that?" he says.
"Hey I watch the Olympics, the gymnasts are hot." It seemed a less nerdy answer than the one about playing Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture in middle school band.
Brian throws back his head and laughs. "You are fucking adorable, but I don't know if I can keep up with that brain of yours," he says once he catches his breath.
Before I can formulate a sarcastic response, an announcer blares:
"Ladies and gentlemen, class is in session! Put your hands together for Professor Magda Cum Loudly!"
The crowd erupts in applause and hoots as a tall platinum blonde drag queen arrives on stage in the wackiest get-up. She's wearing an academic gown like professors wear at formal ceremonies, a wig styled in a bob, and a mortarboard cap and tassel. She casts her arms wide theatrically, holding a yard-long teaching pointer in her hand, and speaks in a thick Russian accent:
"My students, you have returned for your quaint American holiday! I am so sorry to be late to greet you, I have just flown back from Washington. Your president was in desperate need of my..." here she snaps the pointer into her palm like a dominatrix with a riding crop, "...services."
The crowd hoots and hollers and I am a thrilled to bits. My first gay bar and my first drag show? I look over at Brian and seeing my reaction he laughs and pulls me in front of him, his hands on my shoulders, so I can see better.
Professor Magda pulls aside the lower part of her robe and reveals a muscular leg in a black fish net stocking and garter. She continues, tracing her pointer along her leg toward the crotch, moaning lustily: "You know how fond your Great Leader is of my people. But do not worry, little ones," she pauses, and slaps the pointer along those firm thighs, "Your national security secrets are safe with me."
I convulse with laughter and Brian wraps his strong arms around me. I collapse into his embrace as he joins me, his loud guffaws resonating in my chest. He holds his head next to mine as we continue to watch the show and I have my first not-specifically-sexual thought about Brian Hayes ever -- `This is nice'.
Professor Magda stands and looks out into the crowd. "Where are my baby gays? Come, come, little ones."
Before I even realize what is happening, Brian had given me a sharp push forward and Magda squats down and coos at me: "Bozhe moi, you are a pretty one." She gathers the front of my shirt in her large hand and then stands up, bodily lifting me like I was a ten pound sack of Russian potatoes and placing me next to her on the stage. I stare at Brian who is cracking up over my terrified expression and I start to tremble, my social anxiety peaking. Standing next to her now I can see she seems to be six and a half feet tall and her pancake makeup and arched eyebrows are activating my coulrophobia.
A muscled go-go boy, who looks like a thicker Harry Shum from Glee, passes me a live mic with a sexy wink, then stands to the side behind Professor Magda.
"What is your name, little snowflake?" she says, caressing my hair in a gesture that is not in the least calming.
"Z-Z-Zach," I stutter.
"Well, my Z-Z-Zach," she mocks, "is this your first time at this disreputable establishment?"
"Yes..." I manage.
"And you are a baby gay, new to all the things gay?"
I look at Brian and somehow manage to crack a smile. "Well, not all the things."
The crowd whoops at my innuendo, and Magda doesn't miss a beat, arching an already parabolic eyebrow: "I see... and this is your boyfriend...?" she says, theatrically indicating Brian with the long white pointer. Catcalls and whistles resonate through bar and Brian winks and grins at the crowd.
I protest: "Uh no I don't..."
She reaches down and Brian takes her hand, she leads him to the side of the stage. "You will have to use the stairs, krasivyy, Madga is strong like Vladimir Putin but even Russian steroids have their limits."
The catcalls swell as Brian stands up on the stage and I hear scattered gasps of disbelief: "daaaamn", "holy fuck!" Madga is listening to the reaction and nodding. Brian laps up the attention, puffing out his chest, flexing his biceps and smiling that megawatt smile.
Magda puts a long arm around me and stage-whispers conspiratorially: "Little one, we have an expression for this in my country: "Udacha novichka; Beginner's Luck".
The crowd laughs and I flush red. I should be humiliated by the Professor's punchline, but looking at the fucking amazing Brian fucking Hayes, I have to admit she couldn't be more right. I'm kind of pissed to lose the attention on me just as I was getting comfortable with it, but over the stars for everyone to see that this golden god of a man was with me.
Brian takes the mic, and locking those green eyes on me tenderly he says: "Mine. The beginner's luck is mine." He then `drops the mic' theatrically, takes my head in his hands and shoves his long tongue down my throat.
We make out for a couple of seconds and the crowd goes so quiet you could hear a pin drop.
The moment is burst by a drawling queen in the audience: "She ain't no beginner from what I hear." And the crowd roars with laughter. This time it's Brian's turn to blush, but we both chuckle as we break the kiss since we know it's true.
Our drag queen professor gives the audience member a dirty look, but turns back to us, shooing us off stage. "Yes, yes, little ones, you are the most adorable baby gays ever, but this is a drag show, not Doctor Zhivago."
We go back to our place in front as the go-go boy tears away Magda's robe with a loud Velcro rip. I gape in disbelief as I see she is nearly as well muscled as Brian, with broad shoulders, big pecs mounded in a leather and lace bustier to look like breasts, a tiny waist with ripped abs, long legs with flaring quads covered in fish net stockings, and football shaped calves flexing to hold up all that muscle on six inch black stilettos.
"Baby gays," Magda says, "You are home for the holidays?"
We nod.
"So little privacy?"
We nod again.
"DJ, my sweet songbird!" Magda appeals, "I am so touched by this young love," drawing her large hand down her breasts to her lacy crotch she gives her own substantial package a grab "so touched in my... heart! Play something classical. Something from the days when even I was of such a tender age."
A second later a slow tune with a seventies vibe starts up. "I'm not THAT old bitch!" Magda deadpans in a deep manly voice.
"Dim all the lights sweet darling," the song begins, "tonight it's all the way...."
The go-go boy spreads two huge iridescent fans. Magda assumes center stage.
"Love just don't come easy, though it seldom does," the singer continues, while Magda lip-synchs, "when you find the perfect love, let it fill you up...."
The song picks up into a throbbing disco beat and the crowd starts to dance.
Even I can't help myself, the beat is so infectious and I'm so fucking happy. I start bouncing up and down, and Brian is delighted and claps before joining in, as the song goes on:
"Dim all the lights sweet honey, cause tonight it's you and me..."
Brian is doing this sexy grind thing, but I'm a dork so I'm springing about like Tigger hoping my calves will hold out for the whole thing. I've never danced in public before and it's the best thing ever. Strobe lights flash, the go-go boy's fans are fluttering, and my hands are reaching for the stars with every bounce. Magda swirls around and pulls us in close, and in a deep husky voice says "My dressing room if you want some privacy. Half an hour, no more!"
Brian understands before I do, and pulls me off the dance floor, leading me backstage. Brian Hayes' smile while we thread, hand in hand, through a crowd of men dancing joyfully, will be one of the most purely happy memories for the rest of my life.
I turn to see Magda looking on with something like maternal pride, one hand on her heart.
We burst through into the tiny dressing room and Brian shoves me roughly onto an old couch covered with drag costumes. My face is pushed into pink taffeta and I shove my ass up, trying to shimmy out of my skinny jeans. Brian growls inpatiently and starts to yank them and I hear a stitch pop. I yell back:
"Rip your own clothes not mine, you sexy fucker!"
"You liked that last time, huh?" he says cockily and I nod greedily. Brian grips both sides of his blue short sleeve shirt and pulls sharply, revealing golden pecs with dark nipples, and stacked abs impossibly defined. I moan, so turned on by his epic physique. While he shrugs off the rest of his shirt I manage to slide down my jeans and underwear and it is Brian's turn to moan.
"Aw fuck, Zach, I don't know how I did it, but I did. And it was so fucking worth the wait."
And with that Brian dives face first into my ass and begins the longest, wettest, most stupefying rim job that I have ever experienced. As I am slowly flayed nerve ending by nerve ending by Brian's demonic tongue, the only thought I can manage to keep in my head is almost as mind boggling.
Brian fucking Hayes waited for me.
Time seems to stand still. I have never in my life felt anything like this I want it to last forever, but he has other plans. He grabs me by the hips and flips me over on my back, and the fog in my brain clears just enough to let in the sight of Brian smiling cockily between my spread legs.
"Seems like you liked that. So did I. You can thank that fucker Evan that we didn't get to do that last time."
I stare at Brian in a lust fuelled daze.
"Who the fuck is Evan?"
Brian chuckles and unbuttons the crotch of his tight jeans and his monster cock explodes free, pointing straight up out of a dark honey bush. Holy fuck.
"Do you have those lube packets?" I ask. He reaches into his front pockets, pulls out a half dozen or so and throws them up in the air like confetti.
"Open them," I pant. "We're going to need them all."
He's on me again, kissing me with that devil tongue, and I taste my own ass. We break the kiss and furiously rip open the packets and squeeze lube onto his cock in little squirts. One might work for a normal dork like me, but this is Brian fucking Hayes, and it's like putting ketchup on a carnival foot-long.
The disco song is still throbbing on the speakers near us "Don't think that you're dreaming, we found the perfect love, and I'm like a cup so fill me up."
He grinds his erection against my hole, smearing it with lube and then I can feel the head touching and teasing me.
"Unhh get in me," I groan.
"You want it?" he asks. "You're sure?
"YES."
"I don't know if you're ready," Brian says and flicks his tongue at mine.
"Motherfucker," I grunt, as the loud disco music throbs in my ears. I hike up my ass and try to drive Brian into me, but Brian pulls back every time.
"Brian please... I've waited so long."
"Since September?" he asks, suddenly vulnerable.
It starts as a lie in my head, yet comes out the God's honest truth.
"My whole life," I whisper, and I feel the head of his cock dip into me, and his tongue fills my mouth.
He glides into me slowly, and hits my sphincter, which he begins to spread open. But I'd been getting ready for this, and I adapt faster than last time. Fuck, I can feel the stretch as the widest part of his cock pushes my sphincter open, and then relief as it is through and the rest of him sinks into me.
I must have been gasping because Brian looks into my eyes and says "You okay? Is it too much?"
"Oh," I groan, "Did you put it in? Unnnhhh I hadn't noticed."
"Okay smartass," he laughs, "How's this?"
He pulls halfway out, so the biggest circumference again fights with my sphincter, then a good hard thrust and I swear my soul leaves my body. "OH Briannnn."
With his godly body he starts grinding into me. Last time I was on my knees and missed the view. His abs flex as he starts pummeling me, alternating between slow slides out and in, and more rapid thrusts buried deep in me.
"I wanted to see you this time," he says, his face close enough to mine to share a breath, his lubed hand wrapping around my erection.
"No Brian," I say, "I'll... uhnhhhh" He's amused and keeps it up, popping my sphincter with his cockhead and stroking me in time, while teasing my lips with his tongue.
"I can't -- can't," I whisper, which just incites him to pick up the pace.
My guts clench around the hard mass in me and my balls erupt with cum, in huge arcs that hit Brian's beautiful pecs and then drip off onto my chest.
"FUCCKKKKK," I belt, and I can see Brian's eyes roll back in his head as everything in me convulses around his hard-on.
Brian kisses me hard, and holds his cock in me, but stops fucking. "Come home with me," he says.
"I can't -- Brian hurry, finish in me," I say, squeezing down on him.
"Unnnh baby you make it hard but no. Not till you come home with me."
How the fuck does he have this kind of self-control? My dick is still rock hard so I know I can go again. My mom is going to kill me, but I say yes.
I keep learning I can't say no to Brian Hayes.
As Brian drives, I see the whole city with new eyes. Fucking makes everything look more alive.
"Brian, what about -- Evan?" I ask.
"He won't be home," Brian answers. "He's been given "hours", grounded basically, at West Point."
"Grounded? What do you have to do to get grounded at a meathead military school?"
Brian gives me a startled glance: "I guess Mr. Smartypants `that's the Russian national anthem' doesn't know everything after all."
"I never said I know everything, just y'know, the important stuff."
"Well newsflash, smart guy, West Point is a military academy for cream of the crop Army officers," Brian explains sarcastically, "it's more elite than your school and a fuck lot more than mine."
"Huh. I didn't know," I say. Thinking I'll score points with Brian by leveraging their sibling rivalry, I add "So how the hell did Evan get in?"
Ha ha, right? But Brian just looks confused at my tone.
"How'd he get in? You mean, who recommended him? Well we've know Senator Samuels most of our lives, Dad treated him after his tour of duty, and he likes Evan a lot so his recommendation helped."
I wink, "Aw yeah, I get it, scratch my back, I'll scratch yours, eh?" Hell Zachary, you need to just stop talking.
"Jesus Zach, no! Evan has like, a fucking 4.0 GPA and he aced his SATs"
What? My mind reels as my picture of Evan Hayes does a one eighty. Evan fucking Hayes, alpha football jock, is smarter than me? My cock throbs.
"I'm sorry Brian. I didn't mean to make you angry. I thought you guys hate each other."
Brian's face softens "We don't ha-- well, it's complicated. Sorry if I blew up a little. Talking about school just pushes my buttons." He looks at me wistfully. "I kind of wished I'd set my sights higher." Smirking he adds, "Like I hear there's this great school in Syracuse with a hellava student body."
I slap his cantaloupe sized delt. "Mister, if you are turned on by puns this relationship is over!"
"HA Zach, that was a play on words, not a pun."
Fuck, he's right. Now both the Hayes twins are showing me up on my own turf.
Brian's eyes flare with lust and he groans: "Goddam Zach why did I stop, I'm so boned now my pants are fucking cutting me in half."
We pull up at the Hayes house both tenting our jeans. The house is everything you'd expect from a surgeon -- clean, modern, expensive.
My heart is pounding as we tiptoe in, terrified of waking Brian's parents. Even as a kid I remember Dr. Hayes as an intimidating figure and the prospect of him finding me creeping around his home on the night before Thanksgiving fills me with dread.
Brian's room isn't what I expected. It's more modern and graphic, more designed I guess. There are photos of Brian and Evan years ago, smiling together but still looking one sideglance away from a fight. When I was a kid Evan had the worse reputation, but I wonder if that was real or a bad rap. I can't help but think Brian with his lighter skin and blonde curls might have just gotten a more generous presumption of innocence. Even from me.
Brian wraps his arms around me from behind, and lowers himself to my height to dart his tongue in my ear and grind up against me. Even through my jeans and his I can feel his erection.
"Halftime show's over, game on" he says, and I slide my jeans down.
Standing there at his desk, looking out his bedroom window, I feel the head of his cock tease at my hole again. I'm still loose from earlier, maybe even more relaxed, but glad to hear him rip open another lube packet with his teeth, and ooze it over his thick cock before easing into me.
"You like that?" I say softly.
"Mmmhmmm," he groans as he fills me up.
"I'm hard again," I sigh, my erection bouncing back.
"Good," he whispers, "fuck, this'll be fast."
I pull my cheeks apart to get him all in, and it's hard enough to keep myself standing while he sets all my nerves alive. I remember he liked me verbal last time, and say "Like that, stud?"
"Yeah baby."
"You're filling me up -- biggest I ever had." His thrusts pick up speed. "Biggest ever. Fuck me Brian!"
He starts slamming me, and I realize he's the fucking quarterback, and my one hundred and twenty-five pounds is like nothing to him. He's slamming my prostate and even though it emptied an hour ago, it can't ignore Brian's assault.
"Ohhhh oh!" he grunts and pistons, and he lifts me off the ground as his cock drives home and starts shooting in me. My ass spasms, and I shoot again, the cum a mere squirt but my body in full orgasm.
Brian doesn't just cum and stop, he keeps at it for a minute or so, draining his balls into my waiting ass.
"Baby, baby, baby," he moans, pulling me tight and kissing my head and neck as the sweat on both our bodies cools.
He sets my feet on the ground and his softening cock plops out of my hole. We lay down on his bed and bask in the post-fuck glow, but soon my guts are having their natural reaction to having a log shoved in them depositing a load the size of an enema.
"Where's your bathroom," I ask.
"Just down the hall, follow the bannister."
I exit his bedroom which is just at the top of the staircase. I see a stained wood bannister come up from the ground floor and run the length of the landing. It's dark but the moonlight from Brian's open door reflects off the white painted spindels, so I follow their line to the hall bathroom at the end. I don't dare turn on the light as I see two other bedrooms, one with the door cracked open. I reluctantly use the toilet, wishing I could keep his load in me, but worried about leaking in his bed. What an introduction to Mrs. Hayes -- Hi there, sorry I leaked your son's cum on the sheets. But when I get back, Brian is lying on his side facing me, and lifts the sheets for me to slide in.
Feeling him envelop me gives me a new appreciation for his muscles. I'm not even horny now, but his solid frame is so safe and comforting.
"So this is spooning," I say.
"You've never done this?"
"Who would I have done this with? The only guy I fucked with relationship material went off to Louisiana for three months."
"Evan and I did this when we were little kids," he says, "even when we were like eleven or twelve sometimes we'd still sleep like this."
I'm tempted to ask him who was Big Spoon, but instead I say: "Only child," rubbing my hand over Brian's ring still strung around my wrist, out of habit.
"Maybe it's a twin thing," Brian says, pulling me tight against him, and again kissing my head and ear.
"I have your ring," I say, "kind of used to it now." But still, I loosen it and pass it to him, without seeing his face.
Brian says nothing, but slides the ring onto his finger, and wraps his arm around my chest.
"Brian -- I -- I just don't want to make a fool of myself with you. I know you said you're into me, and that's great. But it's hard to believe sometimes. And like, everything is so much more fun when you're around. But then everything is so boring when you're not. It gets to me. I don't know what we're doing here, but if I let myself get too excited about it, and believe, and then it's not... It's just hard."
I wait for Brian to respond, but all I hear is the gentle hum of his snoring.
The next waking moment I have is in the morning as Brian whispers to me he's going down to grab some coffee for us. I get up, stretch and go to the bathroom at the end of the hall to wash up. I bend over the sink to lather my face and hair, trying to get it presentable, but soap is in my eyes which means a more extensive rinse. I hear Brian come in while I'm towelling my hair dry, and with the towel over my head I feel him pull me back hard against him. Fuck, he's hard as rock again. He rides my crack through my thin underwear and suddenly so am I. I smile, push back, and moan lustily.
"Morning, Fight Club," I hear. What the fuck? I rip the towel away.
"Evan!?" I gasp, as Brian's fraternal twin looms behind me in the mirror. "What are you doing here?"
To Be Continued, in part 2