Xander Shows Me My Prostate

Xander had relented, eventually. After I had squirmed and wriggled and pretty much begged for him to stop licking. After every last drop of my load had been cleared from my stomach; after he'd held my cock in one hand while his tongue ran long, slow, steady strokes from the base to the tip. 

By the end of it, I was gasping for breath and wondering if I had a third orgasm in me. 

"We never did talk," I point out. We're sat side by side, bare legs stretching out along the bed as we lean against my headboard. It took me a little while to feel comfortable, this companionable nudity, but I can almost focus and not be entirely distracted by the heft of his soft dick or the way his muscles are so pleasingly, alluringly contoured. 

Almost, anyway, and that still feels like an achievement.

Xander shrugs. "We talked a bit."

We did. And then he fucked my throat. 

"You said you were into me," I remind him. It feels wrong saying the words out loud, despite the fact that they're borrowed. Even now, I wonder just how much of Xander's talk had been heat-of-the-moment stuff. Fueled by lust rather than reflecting reality. 

He isn't denying it, though. Just nods, and there's a faint smile curling his lips. 

I swallow. Part of my brain is telling me not to push things, not to dig my way into something the answer to which might disappoint me. But once the idea is in my head, I can't get around it. 

"And you said... uh, you said you'd wanted to, y'know..." It's awkward, saying it out loud like this. When we're not in the midst of hooking up. Xander glances at me, the smile a full-grown smirk by now. I have to close my eyes in order to finish the sentence. "You said you wanted to cum on my face from the first time you met me."

When I finally look at him again, he's still staring at me. Holds it, for a moment longer. Then the smirk spreads a little wider. "I did, yeah." 

I frown, not sure which part of what I'd said that he's now confirming. "So, I mean... did you really..." 

"I thought it would be fun getting with you from the very first day I saw you," he interrupts. Perhaps he's taking pity on me, or maybe it just excites him to say this stuff out loud. Maybe he just gets off on my reaction to it all. 

I swallow, nervously. "Even though you didn't know I was... well, that I might be interested in that?" 

Xander chuckles. "You can't help attraction, Luka. You must've figured that out by now."

"So did you tell Lucy that?" 

I'm not sure why the idea of Xander talking to his girlfriend about me is so fascinating, but it seems like my brain is just going to keep drifting back to the topic. He snorts. 

"I don't tell her about every cute boy I see, no." He cuts his eyes at me; licks his lips. "But after I walked in on you that first day, I told her what happened."

I can still remember the twist of horror in my stomach when I saw him in the doorway, the way he was watching me. Laying on my back, legs spread, and a finger pushed deep into my hole. I'd expected him to tease me mercilessly, or worse. Instead, he'd given me a lesson in how it could feel even better. 

"What did she say?" I ask him now. 

Xander winks. "She made a bet on whether I'd end up fucking you first, or vice-versa." 

He says it so matter-of-factly, so casually. Like he's talking about who might pay for coffee, or who would get to play some new video game first. His tone entirely at odds with the mental image that is now shaping itself brightly in my mind. 

It's not like I haven't thought about it, or at least started to. Xander's fingers in me a nudge to consider the pleasure potential my body might possess, but which I had never considered before. He's not pressured me into trying it; hasn't even suggested I let him replace those fingers with his dick. But he didn't need to plant the idea in my head for me to have imagined it. 

When I try to speak, my mouth is dry. 

"Uh... who did she bet on?" 

Xander shakes his head, expression smug. "Nuh-uh. Not telling."

I roll my eyes, frustrated and turned on at the same time. "But... you've done that before? With guys, I mean?"

The shape of his smile makes me suspect he knows I'm kinda getting off on hearing about his history. The things he's into that I never thought about before. 

"Why, are you tempted?" 

I grit my teeth in frustration. "Can't you just answer the question?" 

Xander laughs. "Wait, so you're allowed to ask, but I'm not?" I shrug, knowing it's hypocritical and he's probably right to call me out on it, but also counting on the fact that he seems to enjoy telling me about all this shit just as much as I'm discovering I like hearing it. 

He flops his head back against the wall, throat stretched out in a long, muscled curve. I have a fleeting mental picture of Lucy pressing her lips against it; how she must cling to him as he fucks her. Wonder, before I can stop my brain from skipping ahead, how it would feel if my mouth was doing that, not hers. 

"I've had sex with men, Luka, yes," he says, the words summoning me back from my spiraling imagination. I blink at him, processing. 

"And did you..." I gesture, vaguely. "Y'know..."

Xander turns to stare at me, a gaze that pins me in place. Breath stilled for a moment in my chest. "You mean, did I get fucked?" There's no softness to the way he asks it, the question as blunt as his fingers had been punching into my ass and hunting for that pleasure button he'd been the one to help me find.

I nod, no longer able to trust my voice.

His lip curls, just slightly. "Why, did you want to do that? Did you want to fuck me, Luka?" 

Maybe I'm naive, or unimaginative, or just an idiot. A big, stupid idiot who hasn't thought through anything; hasn't joined almost any of the dots between what he's been doing and the potential for more. Because I haven't really thought about fucking Xander, not really. 

I shrug at him, mortified more from my own foolish innocence than anything else. Xander stares at me for a moment longer, then breaks out into a grin. 

"You wanna know what I've imagined?" he asks, voice teasing. 

I nod again, still mute. The grin spreads. 

And then the chirp of a phone, muffled but unmistakable across the room. Xander rolls his eyes then, with a speed that startles me, pushes himself down to the end of the bed so that he can dig in the pile of his discarded clothes. 

Sits up, phone in hand and thumbing at the screen. 

"Looks like I'm on cab duty," he says, glancing over his shoulder at me. I try to bite down on the stab of frustration that surges through me. Remind myself that, despite everything that has happened - despite everything he seems to be implying could still happen - I have no real claim on him. 

He's standing, now. Pulling underwear up his legs, and then reaching for his shirt. The look he gives me makes me wonder if he really can read my mind; if he knows how annoyed I am that he's about to leave. 

"Come here."

I could play it cool, even tease him and ask why I should follow his orders, but I don't. Crawl down the mattress on my hands and knees instead, sitting up as I reach the edge of the bed. Xander already buttoning his jeans as I'm kneeling there, and I'm hyper-aware now of my own nakedness in comparison. 

His stare is speculative, somehow. Like he has a test in mind, and he's really not sure how I'm going to respond to it. 

"Y'know what else is hot, Luka?" I shake my head. "Kissing a guy. I really fucking love kissing."

It's not a question, not technically, but it's a challenge nonetheless. And I'm not sure why - after blowing him, and having his fingers deep in my hole, and Xander lapping cum off my body after having blown a messy load all across me - it feels like a new level of intimacy. Like what we've done so far has been physical, has been all about chasing ways for our bodies to feel pleasure, whereas this would mean... more.

I could sit here an analyze that. Or I could just take a risk, and do what feels good.

"Okay," I tell him, simply. 

Xander nods, a little approvingly; a spreading smile indicating that was the correct answer, or at the very least the one he was hoping for. 

And so I don't move, when he leans down, and in toward me. Don't move when his lips approach so close to mine, I can feel the warmth of his face against my own. And I don't move, am scrupulous in making sure I don't flinch or pull away, when his mouth presses into mine.

It's chaste and yet simultaneously the most mind-blowing thing we've done. Well, maybe not, but my brain is in no fit state to analyze and rank things; not when Xander's lips are parting and I'm trying to decide what the rules are here, how the game is played when it's two guys kissing. 

I've kissed, like, one girl before, at least if we're talking proper, tongues-and-everything kissing. And back then it just seemed right that I should take the lead, because that's what happens, y'know. The guy does that, and is secretly surprised and happy that he can get away with it. 

Only now, I'm the guy and yet so is Xander, and I can already feel his tongue pushing forward. Tentative, maybe, but from what I know about him that won't last long, not if I give him any signal at all that I'm down for this to get heavier. And it means the choice is mine, I get to decide what Xander gets away with and also what I get away with too, and the idea of that is so exciting, so shockingly liberating, that I instinctively open my mouth too.

Because, fuck, suddenly I really, really want to make out with him. 

I don't know if he's surprised, but it doesn't take him long to return my enthusiasm. A hand snaking around my head, fingers lacing through my hair, and another to pull my chest to him. I'm sticky and sweaty and Xander doesn't seem to care; is happy to squeeze me against his body as the kiss gets sloppier and more enthusiastic. 

By the time I pull away, body straining against his eager hold on me, I'm gasping for breath. Xander's smirk looks a little manic, and there's a flood of something inside me, some extra degree of happiness that he was so caught up in it too. That this wasn't just another hook-up for him; or at least, if it was, then it was a really fucking good hook-up. 

"God, I wish I could just stay here," he mutters to me, and I shrug best I can, my mouth still wet and his fingers still tugging at my scalp. Have just enough time to suck in another breath when he yanks me back in, this second kiss even more aggressive than the first, only I'm giving back as good as I get. I've shoved my hands up, underneath his shirt, squeezing at the muscles of his lower back.

This time, he's the one that breaks us apart. The look Xander gives me is both lustful and approving, and I know he can't have missed the fact that I'm hard again - even after everything we've done this evening - and my cock is twitching for attention. 

"You should go," I tell him, and he groans in frustration. His hands taking one final opportunity to grope at me, fingers sliding down my chest until they can wrap around my erection and give me a few eager strokes. My arms hanging at my sides, now, as I allow myself to be fondled. 

"Sleep," he tells me, brushing a thumb across my wet lips. I can taste myself on the rough pad; watch him as he reluctantly steps back from me. It makes me wonder what he sees in return, a nude guy on his knees on the edge of a bed, blushing but clearly wanting more. 

And then the door closes behind him, and now I'm in my room on my own, wondering - among so many other things - what the fuck just happened. 

I should shower, should do plenty of things, but instead I just crawl under the sheets and stare at the dark ceiling. Still hard from when he kissed me, and yet the thought of jerking off doesn't really appeal. Better, somehow, to occupy this middle space of simmering horniness as I replay scenes from what happened tonight. Try to link each action together, make it make sense, as I get closer to the big uncertainty still thrumming in my brain. 

Would I let Xander fuck me? 

Two days ago, less even, and I'd have said the idea was a fucking joke. I'm straight, I like girls, and if a sly finger in my ass can make jerking off a bit more fun, then hell, why not. But letting a guy nail me? Ridiculous. 

It was difficult to rationalize that with the knowledge that I'd pushed my ass back against three of Xander's fingers as he milked my prostate and generally made me see stars. Difficult, too, to explain why a straight guy would end up with another dude's cock down his throat, not reluctantly but loving every second of that feeling of incredible, astonishing fullness. 

Could a straight guy get off on having cum sprayed all over his face, and then the dude responsible lick it off him?

I should be freaking out, that was the weirdest part, and yet I wasn't. Almost like I had taken a step back, put on one of those white scientist coats and was looking at the whole thing as if it was an experiment. "Now, Luka, we're going to see how you react to some unfamiliar stimuli," and then three minutes later I'm on my elbows and knees, hiking my ass up and hoping whoever is knuckle-deep in there will please, oh please fucking god, brush across my button again.

I wasn't sure if that meant I passed the test or failed it, only that while the thought of some hot girl still made my dick hard, so too did the image of Xander getting naked in front of me, beckoning me over to him. 

Basically all I had were zero answers, a rock-hard erection, and a strong suspicion that I was going to make some rash decisions at some point in my near future. 

The erection may have faded the next day, but the sense of jittery excitement in my belly hadn't. In fact, if anything I was more tense, more on edge, than I had been so far. Oh, and I was kicking myself that I hadn't asked Xander for his number. 

It wasn't like I could ask my sister for his details. That would've only prompted questions, a whole bunch of them that I wasn't in the right place to answer. And I couldn't even go out to distract myself, because of the itchy feeling that he might turn up at home while I was gone.

I wanted to know when I'd see him again. I wanted to know what he wanted to do with me, and I wanted to know what he'd told Lucy about us. It was like trying to be patient for Christmas when you're a kid, and frankly I'd never been all that good at that, either. 

After snapping at my dad one too many times, and being told in no uncertain terms that I'd better work off whatever bullshit extra energy I had before he grounded me into eternity, I pulled on shorts, a sleeveless shirt, and my running shoes, and decided to try jogging the frustration out.

It was a hot day, hardly a cloud in the sky, but the heat was a good feeling on my arms and shoulders. I'm not much of a sprinter, but I can hold a pace for a good while. Enough that I could even start to lull the whirling tornado of thoughts and questions in my head, not into silence but at least to the background, where I could ignore them a little better. Focus instead on the slap of my rubber soles on the pavement, the rasp of the nylon with each stride, and the sweat beading on my skin. 

Physical stuff, then, but different to the physical stuff I've been obsessing over for the past couple of days. 

After about an hour I figured I should turn around. Thirty minutes after that, I was starting to wonder if I'd been over-ambitious altogether. Or, at the very least, that I should've brought something to drink. The same heat which had been such a pleasant distraction was now uncomfortably intense. 

I made myself keep going, though, mainly because there was no other option. Pace slowing; the muscles in my legs complaining. Sweat soaked through my shirt.

I was zoning out, I realized, dizzy in the sun. Almost stumbled at the same time I noticed it, legs losing their rhythm just for a moment, but enough to leave me wrong-footed. Part of me wanted to sit down on the curb, but in theory I was 10 minutes from home and if I allowed myself a rest, well, I wasn't sure I had the motivation to get going again. 

The sound of blood rushing in my ears was so loud, I didn't hear the car pull up next to me. 

"Hey, Luka. Wanna ride?" 

At first, I wonder if it's a trick of my brain. Projecting the voice I've been imagining on and off for the past 24 hours into what I'm hearing now; so frustrated that I haven't been able to get in touch with Xander, that I'm conjuring him up in places he's not. Only, as I turn and bend to look into the car that's idling at the curb, there's no way it's not his face grinning back at me. 

The handle is hot in my grip, but the inside of the car is blessedly cool as I slump down in the seat, panting. Xander is staring at me, I know, and some part of my brain is telling me that this is it, this is what you've been waiting for, so why aren't you staring back? Only right now it's all that I can do to gasp for breath, head lolling back against the seat, feeling sweaty and wrung out. 

"Are you okay, dude?" 

There's real worry in his voice, now, though it takes me a few seconds to process that. Finally turning - or, more accurately, letting my head flop sideways - to meet his eyes. "Just... hot..." I manage, eventually.

There's a drink in the cupholder between us; I point at it. "Can I?" Xander nods, still staring; watches, as I upend the bottle and chug the contents greedily. Not caring that it's going down my chin, too, only that I'm so damn thirsty and this not-quite-cold Gatorade tastes so fucking good. 

I hiss with relief as the last few drops go down, arm flopping to my side again as I feel my heart rate start to spiral down to normal. Manage to turn my head again, finding Xander is still watching me with a look of cautious concern.

I don't mean to, but I can't help it. Can't help but giggle at his earnest expression, the slight frown. Because it hits me, something I already knew but had managed to forget amid all the flirting and the kissing and the way his hands feel on me, and in me... Xander is just a genuinely nice guy. The sort of person who's happy to be designated driver for his friends when they're wasted. The sort of dude who isn't going to pressure you into something, but he's not going to judge you for the decisions you make, either. 

Honestly, the sort of guy that, when you're about to run a science experiment on yourself because it's the only way you're gonna have a fucking clue about what you actually want, you'd be really, really lucky to have there too.

And so I reach out and cup his cheek in my palm, give him the biggest, tiredest, sweatiest grin I can manage, and feel about as confident as I think I'm ever gonna be when I answer his confused look with a happy suggestion. "Take me somewhere, okay, so we can fuck." 

---

This is the tenth part of an ongoing story - really appreciate everyone who has commented, emailed, or rated it so far! You can find more of my writing at www.alexpendragon.com - thanks for reading!