Eastenders is the property of the BBC. I own neither the property nor the characters and am making no profit. This story says nothing about the actors involved, and has nothing to do with real life whatsoever. Only read if you're 18 or older.
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Kush was like something out of the movies, as far as Martin was concerned.
Unfortunately, they'd turned out to be horror movies.
He'd thought Kush was his best mate. They'd had their bustups, but Kush had really been there for him with the worst of Stacey's sectioning. He'd come to lean on Kush. Kush was strong, in body and mind - he'd overcome so much Martin couldn't imagine. Martin wanted to be comforted by him...wanted to spend time with him. He used to think he wanted to be Kush, but lately he'd started to have dreams...hands and mouths and rock hard, dueling cocks. He'd studied the way Kush bulged in his trousers and wanted to touch him...suck his first cock (well his first since his partying and drug-taking days back when he'd run over pouty-mouthed teen idol Jamie Mitchell). Kush's cock.
Martin didn't like to remember those thoughts, especially not after the bad time he'd given his ex-wife Sonia for being with women, but a few times, when he'd been drunk enough...like a few nights earlier, when they'd gone out for some beers and pub crawls...he even would have settled for kissing Kush. Just wanted to see what his lips tasted like.
Now he knew why Kush had been around. Not because he cared about Martin, or even about Stacey, but because he was the dad of Martin's son with Stacey. Or he used to be Martin's son, anyway.
He still loved little Arthur, but right now it hurt looking at him. He left the baby with Sonia and her annoying girlfriend, not telling them when he'd be back, knowing he might never be.
Kush wasn't around - probably for the best because Martin wanted to either beat or shag him senseless, and he knew neither was a good idea right now.
He couldn't face the Vic either - with Walford the way it had always been, most of them probably knew the truth and would either laugh at him or pour booze down his neck out of pity. Well, he could pour his own booze.
He was sitting on the curb outside the car lot, drinking from a cheap bottle of plonk, when a familiar-but-unfamiliar young man smiled down at him.
"Want some company?"
Martin waved a sozzled hand.
"Ain't got no money...and with a mouth like that, betcha charge plenty."
The lad's smile faded, and Martin felt sad about that. He had such a lovely smile - such nice lips. Bow, Martin thought they were called. And dark blonde, wavy hair that looked darker in the street lamps.
"Sorry...sorry...sorry..." Martin said, stumbling as he tried to stand up. He cringed as the bottle smashed to the ground - the loudest smash in the world.
The lad kept him from falling over, the smile back now, a little more hesitant. He had a big nose, like everyone always told Martin he had, and hazel-brown eyes. They were so close now, not helped by the lad continuing to hold onto his slight stomach even after he'd regained his balance. He'd never had a 6-pack, aside from the one in the back of the fridge, and he'd often stared at Kush's killer abs, wondering how to get them...or what they'd taste like against his tongue.
"Don't mind me bein' a fattie?" he slurred.
The lad stared at him like he had three heads.
"You're gorgeous," he purred, or it sounded like that to Martin in his current state of booze bliss.
And then the lad leaned forward, so close they shared one breath, and Martin knew he was supposed to push the other man away, or punch him, but no one had let him this close in months, and even then Stacey had cringed every time he'd gone near. He hadn't felt wanted in years. He just couldn't fight this. Not when it made him feel even warmer than the crap wine.
Martin kissed first - knowing how needy he was, and not caring. He'd thought it would be different with a bloke, but if it was, he couldn't notice a difference. Not with such a baby face. All he knew was he felt good, pushing the bow lips open with his tongue, the whimper from the other man at the feel of Martin's light stubble going right to his cock.
When they kissed, he even managed to forget they were in public and that Dot Cotton could clutch her cardie at any moment. Those lips were even softer than he'd imagined. He wanted to lick them, bite them...and he did, allowing the plonk to break against the pavement as he pulled the young man close, trouser crotch to denim bulge. He cupped the shapely rear in his large hands. Firmer than the lasses he'd groped, but just as full.
He was sobering up enough to be embarrassed at his loud groan when the lad pulled away.
"Where can we go?" he said to Martin, lips spit-shined and red.
"C-Car lot..." Martin managed, stealing another kiss. The lad looked so young now, fresh-faced and breathless. "How old are ya..."
He rolled his eyes, like he'd heard that more than a few times before.
"Here."
Martin couldn't make out much of the information he yanked from his wallet, but he remembered enough basic math to go for a 19 or 20.
"Car lot," Martin forced out, the tent in the lad's trousers at his raspy voice making it easier to take him by the hand and drunkenly drag him along to the abandoned lot.
"It's locked! FUCK!"
Before Martin's shouting brought out half the street, the younger man kissed him into silence, then bent over to a hiding place, giving Martin a good view of his sweet cheeks pushed against the tight fabric.
"You been here before?" Martin asked, adjusting his bulge.
He got a shrug in response as February-bitten fingers trembled against the doorknob.
"Used to know the owner - well, my tongue knew his arse pretty well. Never gave a damn about the rest. Did have a nice cock though. Bet it isn't as nice as yours though."
The wink made Martin blush as they made their way inside the office, the lad quickly rummaging to find some candles and lube.
"Max always came prepared..." he said, impishly grinning at his own joke.
Martin was too busy shivering at the tin can of an office to notice. He thought there was a space heater around, but this place had already burnt down enough times without his help.
"Wimp," the other man whispered in his ear. Martin leaned in for another kiss, only to realize he was the only one wearing a coat and a jumper...although his coat soon met the floor.
"Cold," he said, running his thumbs over the other man's erect nipples, pinching them hard to get a satisfactory gasp. They were larger than he'd expected - pink/peach and easy to squeeze.
His arms were raised above his head as his red jumper disappeared, his undershirt soon following.
He had no time to freeze before he was wrapped into a tight hug, and a passionate kiss. The candlelight danced in the other man's eyes and made them sparkle.
"Need to see ya..." he rasped as he felt his jeans being lowered, meaty thighs still warmed by baggy white boxers.
"You first," the lad teased, not giving Martin a chance to respond before yanking his boxers down. Even with the cold, he was hard and leaking, a slick thud heard throughout the office as his girth slapped against his belly.
"You really ARE a fattie," the lad teased, licking his lips as he wrapped a slender hand around the juicy piece.
Martin, desperately needy to see that young flesh now, roughly tore at his trousers, belt loops whizzing from the fast emptying of leather, slacks shoved to the ground along with tight lime green briefs. He could make out a surprisingly long, thick dick, a real handful...a two-hander, probably.
"Runs in the family," he winked at Martin, who couldn't resist wrapping his beefy fingers around the rapidly hardening flesh. The first time since his perpetually drunk teen years that he'd put his hands on another man's cock. This was better, somehow - because he knew he really wanted it.
"Greedy," the lad jeered, smacking Martin's fat knob with one hand, squeezing his gut with the other. The mix of pain and pleasure and the alcohol left in his system made Martin's knees weak.
Good thing he had a more sober companion to keep him steady...now kneeling on the floor, looking up at him with lust and wonder as he pulled back Martin's baggy foreskin, lolling his tongue around the pink crown.
Martin grunted, fingers tight in the dark curls as half of his throbbing cock was swallowed up in one go.
Two hands reached around to grope his fleshy bottom, squeezing the chunky arse, kneading it, using it as motivation as the lad contorted his head to take in more of Martin's cock.
"I-I-I..." Martin barely managed as he looked down to see a hungry throat gobbling him to his bushy pubes, then, with a devilish grin, oh-so-slowly sliding down until nothing but the tip was left on his tongue.
"Please..." Martin heard himself whining, unprepared when he was spun around, so fast that his engorgement slapped the lad on the cheek.
Next thing he heard and felt was his cheeks being spread open, and a loud, dirty spitting sound.
"I ain't...ain't showered..." he said, ashamed, because why would someone so bloody gorgeous want someone so filthy?
He got his answer with the sudden feeling of warmth burrowing against his hairy crack, a long tongue slowly exploring his insides...cleaning him.
"Nasty...dirty boy...fuckin' slag..." he moaned, not sure if he was talking about the lad or himself.
He bent over, elbows on the nearby chair, giving more access as the tongue scaled down his taint, dared to wrap itself around one, then the other of his saggy, hairy balls.
The tongue vanished. He was about to humiliate himself by begging for it back when he felt a long, thick shaft of flesh gliding inside his wet arsehole.
His eyes widened.
"Don't worry," the lad taunted with a rough squeeze of his jiggly backside. "I want you to fuck me."
Martin squinted.
"Got no condom..."
The other man shrugged as he not-so-gently shoved Martin into the chair, coating Martin's turgid shaft with one lubed grip while the other steadily finger-fucked himself.
"I don't care."
Martin wanted to object, but when the lad spread his cheeks to give Martin a perfect view of his smooth, winking hole, he somehow lost the words.
Martin spread his legs wide, tugging at his low-hangers and stroking himself.
"You look like a whore," the lad said, his own voice husky now as he cautiously began to straddle Martin's thick waist, taking in his rigid shaft inch by inch.
Martin gritted his teeth at the merciless absorption of his throbbing penis, unable to stop himself from thrusting upward when he knew he was nearly balls deep. The whimper and ropey shot of pre-cum told him he'd hit the other man's prostate.
No one, nothing had ever felt this tight or this good around his cock. Yet the other man looked so sure of himself. It made Martin want to rattle him.
He leaned over, while he was drunk and horny enough to have less doubt, and took the unsheathed bell end of the pulsating, obscenely long erection into his mouth.
"Sorry...sorry..." the lad whispered, not able to stop himself as he began shooting volley after volley, creamy white cum coating Martin's neck and tits and chin and lips.
His shapely and powerful arse cheeks clenched tight onto Martin's fit-to-burst shaft. Martin hoped for soundproof walls as he shouted, a louder shout for each fresh load of sperm he dumped into the warm, constrictive hole.
He slumped his head down onto the younger man's neck, upset when his new lover began to pull away, pull out. He was too tired to argue, too tired to do anything but return the lazy, sleepy kiss the lad gave him. Probably out of pity, but he hoped, out of desire.
"After you sleep it off, join me at the Vic for a drink," he said, throwing his briefs over Martin's head as a thank you pressie.
Martin did doze for an hour or two, but the cold spoiled his exhaustion. He managed to find some of those mini towel things and cleaned himself up, sucked on an old breath mint to get rid of the cum taste. A taste he knew he wanted more of.
When he finally got to the pub, it was near closing, but he saw his lad. Standing behind the counter, pulling pints, oddly enough.
"This one's for you. On me," he said, smiling serenely, angelically.
Martin, even more confused, took the pint, quickly downing it.
"Think this boy here fancies ya," Mick Carter, daddy bear proprietor of the Queen Vic, growled, tossing an arm around the lad's shoulder.
Martin gulped.
"C'mon, dad...he's like...ancient. Almost as old as you."
Dad? Dad?
Mick gently slapped his son on the side of the head.
"Oi, Martin. Never did get to do the meet and greets, did ya? This is me boy...Johnny Carter."
Martin's eyes widened. The Johnny Carter. Baby of the Carter family. Their most precious possession. And Martin had just given him enough raw loads to fill up a porn flick.
"Nice to meet ya," Johnny said, extending his hand, smiling that oh-so-innocent smile.
Martin managed to put out his own hand, shaking in return.
Mick didn't notice just how long it took both of them to let go.