Xander Shows Me My Prostate

His hand on my wrist, pulling me with him as he backs into the shower. The cubicle hardly huge, but it turns out there's enough room, just, for two grown men as long as they don't mind some physical contact.

Well, quite a lot of physical contact. 

Maybe Xander thought that, after all that we'd just done together, I wouldn't protest at the slick stroke of his hands down my body. Perhaps, to him, it was just the inevitable conclusion of a hook-up, the downward slope on the intimacy bell curve.

The tile is cold against my shoulders, but I can't focus on that now. Little breaks through past the overwhelming feel of his fingers sliding down my chest, soap suds following, as he washes the cum off my pecs and my belly. It's not slow, or languid, but it's not perfunctory either. There's a familiarity there, like we're beyond the need for him to ask permission. 

I lift my stare, from his hands flat against my skin, to his face. Enjoy a second or two of watching him, engrossed in his efforts, before he feels the weight of my look upon him. Xander glancing up too, now, the quirk of a grin shaping his lips as he pushes slyly scrubbing fingers under my arms. 

"Are you planning on washing all of me?" I ask him, unable not to smile back, just a little. Xander chuckles. 

"Is there any particular part of you which doesn't need washing?" 

I make a face, exaggerated consideration. "My legs are probably okay."

He frowns, looking disappointed. "That's a pity. I was quite looking forward to being on my knees in front of you."

It's hard to swallow, my throat as thick as it is. And so I can only watch him as he guides my arms up, over my head. Fingertips digging into my pits, squirming with soaped eagerness until I'm clenching my jaw not to laugh at how ticklish it feels, before he relents. Hands running up my biceps, past my elbows, and while I don't think the pose is entirely necessary, practically speaking, I can't complain about the way it brings him so close to me. 

"Does every guy get this treatment?" 

I don't know why I feel the need to ask it. Still not sure why I have the urge to compare what we've been doing to the other guys I know he's hooked up with. If it was Dan telling me all this, I'd accuse my best friend of being prideful, of wanting his ego boosted: fishing for complements, and in a plainly obvious way. Only deep down, I know it's uncertainty not vanity that's driving my fascination. 

Xander gives me a look, hands not slowing as he does it. Fingers trailing down my flanks, half stroking and half cleaning. 

"Ask me the real question," he tells me, and I have to frown and glance away.

It'd require me knowing that question, rather than just feeling the vague outline of it pressing against me. The contours of it in my mouth, not quite so defined that I can ask it outright, but seemingly shaping every other query instead. 

"I'm just trying to understand," I manage, finally.

Xander stares at me, then reaches up and pulls my hands down from above my head. Guides them to his chest, instead, my fingertips dimpling the muscle. 

"Stay in the moment, okay?" I chuckle, doubtful, then feel him lean into my hands. "Right now, I'm here with you, aren't I?"

It's permission, but more than just to touch him. Not that I don't do that, don't take full advantage of the opportunity to slide my fingers down his wet skin. But more than that, it's my brain finally side-stepping the uncertainty and - for want of a better word, for want of better understanding - fear; tabling that discussion for later on, because right now it's easier and a hell of a lot more gratifying to just enjoy what I have in front of me. 

He smiles when he sees my smile. 

"Did it hurt?"

I know what he's asking; borrow his favored strategy, a reply that is also a question. "Did it hurt your first time?" Xander chuckles. 

"Yeah. But not enough to stop me from wanting to try it again."

I can't hide the way my grin spreads. "Yeah, I think I get that."

His hands are lower now, fingers groping at my crotch. I'd thought, after the way he'd made me cum just before, it would be a week before I got hard again. Instead he's coaxing another erection from me in a matter of seconds. 

Xander looks down, to where he's running both hands along me. Stroking me from root to tip in long, soaped-up, milking motions. 

"Fuck, this is gonna feel so good inside me," he observes. 

There's that spasm of excitement in my chest again, like something small and bright is erupting there. Partly because of how his hands feel, on me, but also his words and the way he says them. No hesitation, or self-consciousness; no apparent concern that talking about wanting to get nailed might make him any less of a man, or that it could be shameful in some way. Just blunt, untempered hunger, and the fact that it's me on the other end of it is making my head spin. 

I feel myself throb in his grip; hear Xander chuckle at my reaction. 

"Are you picturing it? How you're gonna plow me?" 

Even if I hadn't been, I am now. His words loading the mental images right into my brain, a slide deck of positions and possibilities that are only making me stiffer. 

"How do you like it?" I hear myself ask. 

He snorts. "Are you getting off on hearing me talk about it?" 

I glance down, to where he's still stroking me. "What do you think?" 

Another chuckle. "I like it lots of ways, Luka. On my back with my legs pushed to my chest. On all fours, with my ass in the air and my face pressed into the carpet. Up against the wall in the shower, with a fist in my hair..."

Given the steam, and the water, my mouth shouldn't feel dry, but it does. Xander's words and his knowing smirk - the fact that he so clearly understands exactly what he's doing to me - conspiring. The fact that his own cock is hard, now, and brushing against mine isn't helping me keep my composure, either. 

"Has Lucy ever... y'know," I ask him, haltingly. "Well... uh, has she watched?" 

His lip curls, amused. "Has she watched me get fucked by another guy?" I nod, voice untrustworthy at this point. Xander winks at me. "No, not yet. Why, you wanna nail me while my girlfriend watches?"

I hadn't wanted to, hadn't even thought about the possibility, right up until he mentioned it just then. Now, I'm not sure if my legs are going to give way underneath me. I don't know how much of it is visible on my face, but whatever there is seems enough to make him snort.

"I think she'd like it," he muses, sounding almost thoughtful now. "She likes to see me made submissive."

There are a million questions, but my brain won't work. Mouth won't produce them, and it's only his grip on me and the cool of the tiles behind me that's keeping me in the moment. Otherwise, I think my head might just float right away. 

"Turn around," Xander tells me, softly, "I need to wash your back."

Instructions are good, are easier. My body responding on instinct, even if it does mean dragging my cock from his hands as I turn and place my palms either side of me on the wall. The slick stroke as he eases his fingers down my spine, tracing each ridge and cleft, and if he's amused by the way I push out my ass - the movement made without any conscious thought - he's mercifully quiet with it.

Or maybe Xander's just too focused on the path of his fingers as they follow the rivulets of suds down between my cheeks. 

My body is still needy, pliant. Little resistance to his fingertip as it presses against my entrance; no obstruction to him adding a second digit, as he twists inside me. I'm pushing up on the balls of my feet, forcing myself back onto him, as my hardness swipes against the smooth wall with each thrust. 

"It's so fucking tempting to screw you again," he mutters. 

I daren't reply to it. Because the only thing I'd be able to say is "please," or "do it," or "harder," and there has to be a limit, somewhere. Has to be a point where my brain makes the decisions my body is apparently unable or unwilling to. So caught up in lust and urgency, in the heat of Xander's apparent interest in me, that I'd spread my legs for him right here and let him pound me, unload in me, as I humped the tile for whatever friction might be enough to get me off. 

So I just let him finger me instead; one hand pressed between my cheeks, the other palm-flat between my shoulder blades, holding me in place as he probes deeper. Knowing - I have no doubt - just what I'm thinking, what I'm wanting, and yet refusing to give it to me unless I actively ask. 

I'm so focused on stopping myself from asking, I don't realize that he's dropping down behind me. Don't comprehend the change, even, until I feel both of his hands on my cheeks, spreading me open. 

"Wait, what..." 

The words catching in my throat as I feel his mouth on me. Degenerating into a long, shuddering gasp as Xander's tongue rasps across my hole, unlike anything I've ever experienced before. 

He's impatient, or eager, or some combination of the two. Thumbs pulling at me, and my well-fucked muscles no match for the insistence with which he pushes into me. 

I'm whimpering now, breathy pants that are punctuated by yelps as he tongue-fucks my ass and I grind my hips back into him. Desperately chasing that exquisite friction, and even if he can't go as deep, or as wide, as his fingers or his cock, what Xander is doing still sets off that kaleidoscope of sparks through my body. 

The urge to jerk off is almost irresistible, my dick painfully rigid now. Victim to the waves of pleasure he's generating in me. I'm just about to succumb; reach down and tug at myself, when I feel his hand pushing between my thighs and grabbing my shaft. 

He pulls me, and my hips have to tilt sharply to avoid the feeling that he's going to snap my cock off at the root. Ass jutting even further out, back arching, the perfect pose for Xander to lap in long, taunting strokes up from the head of my cock, along the swollen underside, across my balls, and then ending right at my fluttering hole. 

"Shit, you look so fucking slutty like this." His voice is thick, distracted with lust, but he's still doing better than I am. Even just thinking about trying to speak sets my brain quivering uselessly like jelly. 

I grunt into the tiles instead, cheek pressed flat against their smooth coldness, spine curved and trying to lift more as I push myself back into his churning tongue. Every part of me feels overwhelmed, pushed beyond what I could've even guessed were my limits. Xander's wet friction and the knowledge of what he's doing conspiring to tip me over into a wordless, desperate state where all that matters is that those feelings continue. 

I'd say, do, agree to anything, just to make sure that's the case. Not that Xander feels the need to ask permission. 

He shifts behind me; I groan in frustration, because suddenly his fingers pulling at me aren't enough, don't come close to what I now know his mouth can do, his devious tongue. Feel ridiculous even as I push myself up on my toes, knowing that I'm presenting myself like some animal in heat, but restraint has taken distant second place to the need for pleasure. 

He strokes down my erection, fingers twisting around my tip. And then, a moment later, I can feel the bluntness of his cock at my hole again. Xander's hand at the small of my back, steadying himself, and I whimper at the knowledge that he's about to fuck me again; that he's lubed himself with my precum and his drool, and that there's nothing I want more right now than to feel him deep inside me.

And so I reach back, pull my cheeks apart further, and hear him chuckle as he sinks into me in one long, smooth, wet stroke. 

"Oh fuck..."

My voice sounds different in the shower, the hiss of the water stealing my volume. Xander gives me a moment to get used to him, but nothing more; then his hips are sawing back, dragging himself out of me until only the desperate cling of my hole is keeping us connected. I hold my breath, knowing what comes next, but still lose it all in one sharp, lung-emptying gasp as he drives back in and his crotch slaps wetly against me.

"That's it, hold your ass open for me. Show me how much you need it."

There's amusement in his words, intermingled with the hunger, and no way that I can't obey his order. Tugging at myself even more, feeling myself stretch around him as he slams each stroke home. My face is sliding down against the slick tiles, body toppling and water spraying into my eyes, but Xander's fingers digging into my hips take care of what's important even as I lose my balance. Making sure there's nothing to interrupt the hard, relentless jabs of his cock as he jackhammers my insides. 

I should be scared of this, some part of my brain is whining; of how ready, and willing, and hungry I am for him to manhandle me and fuck me like so much obedient meat. A grunting, panting, squealing toy that Xander can pump himself into, and I'm not just taking it, not just allowing him to use me, but actively trying to open myself more to him. Because, fuck, the way he's stretching me, the way it feels as he grinds across those parts inside my hole that until just a few days ago I had no idea were so sensitive, so powerful... well, I can't imagine doing anything to stop that from happening. 

Even if it means I'm teetering on my toes and my shoulder, submissively presenting myself to him, and secretly desperate for him to go deeper each time. 

The noise that escapes me is pretty much a sob, when Xander pulls his dick out. The feelings of hot, grinding fullness suddenly replaced by a hollow sensation, and if I knew I could reach back and guide him back inside me without toppling over on the wet floor, I'd already be grabbing at him. 

Instead, I feel him slap his cock against my ass, making me flinch each time. 

"I was about to fuckin' lose it inside you right then," Xander tells me; his fingers dig into me, twisting and scissoring as I wriggle underneath him. "But I don't think you'd mind that, would you, Luka. I think you really, really want me to dump another load into this pretty little ass, right?"

My reply is hardly more than a grunt; even the most generous of interpretations would question if there was a word in there at all. All the same, it seems like it's enough for Xander. 

"The more I do with you, the more dangerous I think you are, dude," he adds. His thumbs are pulling at me now, both of them, spreading my hole as he rubs the head of his dick against it. It feels strange, amazing, but I know that it's just a fraction of how it could be if he just buried himself into me again. "Like, I thought you were this uptight straight guy that I might get away with blowing or something. But you just keep raising the stakes."

Some part of me wants to laugh, to snort with how ridiculous that is. The idea that I've been responsible for just about any of this; the possibility that it was me, not Xander, rushing us headlong down this wild exploration of my body and my limits. As if I even had the imagination to know that it could feel this way, this incredible, if I simply let myself be used and toyed with.

"Oh, fuck it," he grunts, and a moment later he's balls-deep into me again. The speed of it, the force, making me yelp as my body adjusts to what feels like his bodyweight behind each stroke. "You're gonna get what you want... fuck..." 

I can hear his breaths becoming ragged; feel the way his fingers are tightening on me, digging hard enough they could well leave bruises, and then it's just the sound of his caged, raw grunt through clenched teeth and the knowledge that, for the second time today, he's cumming in me. 

Jagged half-strokes, as though Xander's body is reluctant to do anything which might pull him free of mine, and then a gasp - loud and long, like he'd forgotten to breathe all this time - as he tugs himself loose and I groan at the sudden emptiness again. 

"Fuck, fuck..." There's a squeak as his back slides down, against the glass of the shower cubicle, and then he's reaching for me again. Guiding me down into the space between his splayed thighs, my body feeling taut and loose and haphazard all at the same time. Muscles rediscovering their movement as Xander pulls my back against his chest and - my legs spreading obediently - digs his fingers down under my balls. 

I sob as he pushes in me, deep, and then again as his other hand grabs my swollen, neglected dick. Even just his fist around it is enough to make me feel like I could cum instantly. 

My hips shake, his probing fingertips sliding across my tortured, overloaded prostate, and then his hand is tugging free again. Clamping across my mouth instead, the taste of his load suddenly strong on my tongue, as he starts to jerk me in earnest. 

"I wanna see you cum, Luka," he hisses in my ear, lips so close I can feel them brush me wetly, but there's no way for me to reply. Nothing more, anyway, than muffled grunts and groans, enough to reveal a desperation that's almost feral in intensity as his long, measured strokes coax me closer and closer to an exhausted orgasm. 

I bite down on his fingers when I cum, the meat of his hand between my teeth as I spray the shower floor. Cum swirling in the water, my stomach creasing with muscles that feel like they've been punched repeatedly, until finally I have to shove his hand away from me. Slump back, into Xander's embrace as he releases my mouth and gently wraps his arms around my chest instead. The sound of his breathing almost as heavy as my own.

I'm not sure on just how long we sit there. Or, for that matter, at which point Xander reaches up; just manages to topple a bottle from the shelf with his fingertips, and starts rubbing soapy hands across me. A do-over of the cleaning he started earlier, before lust caught up with us. This time, I'm content to simply allow him to do it, my body too wrung out to even think about how it could escalate. 

I'm distracted enough, in fact, that I jolt in his arms when I hear him speak. Brain taking a few seconds to reboot, to process what he's saying. 

"So, I have a suggestion. And it's a little... unusual."

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This is the thirteenth 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!