Xander Shows Me My Prostate

"At least close the door," I tell him. The sight of me naked may not be new to Xander, but I don't really want anyone else walking past and seeing me. He grins as he pushes it shut. 

I'm still feeling like I want to pull on some clothes. Boxers, at least. Because while Xander might not seem to care, the difference between me being undressed and him fully clothed is a little weird, somehow. Actually doing something about that, though, feels like it would be a victory for him in some way.

"Does your girlfriend know you're here?" I ask him; I know he'll hear the sarcasm in my tone. 

A shrug. "Did you hope I'd bring her with me?" 

There's a twitch of something, in my stomach. The idea of the both of them being stood in front of me right now; what Lucy, Xander's girlfriend, might say about my being completely bare. She'd just pretty much watched her boyfriend suck my dick, even if the act itself hadn't quite been visible. 

Can Xander still taste me now? My dick jerks at the thought of it.

I roll my eyes at him, trying to shake my brain back into the moment. The fact is that I've jerked off before, thinking about Lucy, and it wouldn't take much to get derailed and talk about that, instead.

"You ran off," Xander says. I frown, not liking how he's characterizing it, even if it might be a little correct. 

"Just needed some time to think," I suggest. He nods, slowly, watching me.

"And what are you thinking about?" 

It's such a stupid question, I snort out loud. Like, what else would I be thinking about, in the post-cum comedown of just getting my first ever blowjob, and having it be a guy that did it.

Xander chuckles. "Yeah, okay."

"Are you..." I don't know how I want to end that, but it feels like the start of an important question nonetheless. Xander lifts an eyebrow.

"Queer? Gay? Bi?" I shrug; his listing of the words are hardly helping with my indecision. Xander smiles at me. "Does it need a label?" 

It doesn't, and yet it does, or at least my brain has decided that a label would at least get me a little further down the path to understanding what the hell is going on right now. Because if Xander has picked a label then maybe that can help me pick one for myself, too, because everything I've assumed up until now doesn't seem entirely true any more. 

"What happened to 'just helping a buddy out?'" he pushes. I can't help my scowl, suddenly feeling frustrated. 

"You just sucked my dick," I point out. The scale of his grin suggests he's feeling zero regret about that. "That's more than just... regular stuff."

"So there's a scale, then." 

It sounds ridiculous, when he puts it like that, but my brain is also saying that yes, kinda, sort of, there is. Like, guys can jerk off with each other, or even jerk each other off, and that doesn't have to make it gay. But where does that limit end? My head feels too full to calculate that.

Xander's eyes narrow, his expression playful. "Did you enjoy it?" 

Another snort. He swallowed the evidence of just how much I enjoyed it. 

That noise must be enough confirmation, judging by his grin. "So why overthink it?" 

There was something appealing about that, beguiling even. Just saying to myself "don't think about anything but the fact that the friction felt so good," and leave anything deeper, more serious, to some other time. 

"But Lucy..." I say, unable to stop myself.

He shrugs again, as though that's another thing I should probably just avoid thinking about. "Like I said, there are some things we're both into that we look for... outside."

"Like sucking dick," I say; there's a little more heat to it than I intend. Not that Xander seems bothered, as far as I can tell.

"You complaining?" I shake my head, still feeling frustrated. "So what's the big problem?"

That was my problem. The fact that I couldn't think of what it was; the fact that I felt like what Xander had done with me... no, what Xander and I had done together... that it should be more significant, somehow. 

"So you told her what we did?" 

Xander smirks. "You mean, did I tell her what you taste like? What your face looks like when you cum while I push my fingers inside you?" I'm blushing, no way I can help it, but I still nod. "She likes to hear about what I do. It turns her on."

My chest feels tight. Part of me wants to stop asking, fears how what I might hear could affect me, but at the same time I can't not know as much as Xander is willing to tell me. 

"Do you tell her while you're having sex?" 

His chuckle is low, loaded. "I'm gonna tell her all about how your dick felt in my throat when she's blowing me next, Luka. Gonna slap her face with my cock, then make her swallow me like I swallowed you."

I'm dizzy, I realize. Forgetting to breathe, even though it should be an automatic thing. Body swinging between hot and cold, palms itching as I clench and unclench my fists at my sides. Have to take a step back, the edge of my mattress hitting the backs of my legs, a welcome prompt that I can slump down as I try desperately to steady myself again. 

He steps closer, so close he's almost stood between the spread of my thighs. Looking down with a sort of loaded, knowing awareness, as if he has a direct line to the fizzing turmoil in my brain right now. 

"It was so fucking hot, sucking you with all those people in the room with us. The way your ass felt, squeezing around my fingers. Seeing you try to hold the noises in."

I want to tell him to stop. To give me a break, a rest; stop overwhelming me with things that seemed to have a direct line to the deepest parts of my lizard brain. I'm hard again, some part of me notices, my cock wagging between my splayed legs. 

"If you haven't guessed yet," Xander continues, voice teasingly low, "I'm really fucking into you, Luka." He's unbuttoning his jeans, pushing them down his legs so that he can step out of them. Shirt next, one smooth motion peeling it off his smooth torso. My eyes are struggling to know where to look, skipping from his face to his chest, to the bulge swelling out the front of his clinging briefs, to the curved muscles of his thighs. 

Another step closer, and now his hand is on my chest. Pushing me back, and it takes so little force, so little effort before I can feel the sheets against my shoulder blades. Xander rising as he guides me, knees either side of my hips, leaning down to follow me. His smirk filling my view, all my jittery eyes can fix upon. 

There's no weight on me, but it still feels like he's pinning me in place. The weight of his presence, maybe; the mass and momentum of what's happening, happening so quickly, having the same result as if the full heft of him was pressed against my chest. 

Leaving me with nothing I can do but stare up, and try to swallow past a throat suddenly thick. Pointedly aware of the way my hard cock is pressing against his ass through his underwear. 

It's unexpectedly difficult not to lever my hips up, and grind myself against him. 

Not that I have any suspicion that Xander would mind. In fact I can only think that he'd encourage it; at the very worst - if I'm going to continue thinking of myself as someone holding back, resisting temptation, trying to slow things down - see it as a challenge and escalate what's already happening. 

My brain isn't up to the challenge of predicting just what that escalation could look like. Given the fact that I'm naked and he's almost there too, I'm pretty sure it would involve the sort of friction that has already made it hard for me to focus. 

"Wh-what else do you do... with guys?" It takes me a second to get the words together, the sentence stumbling. Xander tenses his thighs slightly, squeezing them either side of my hips. 

"Why, what did you want to try?" He says it like it's no big deal; like I'm ordering off-menu in a restaurant. 

"I'm not saying I want to try anything," I manage to reply. A raised eyebrow at that. 

"No?" Xander presses down onto my erection again, making a slow, circling motion against me. "Does all of you agree with that statement?"

My dick, I want to tell him, doesn't have an imagination. It just likes friction, and goes hunting for it where it can. It's my brain that's meant to rein it in, and that's the part getting overloaded with the heat and musk of him. 

"Just... just tell me," I press. Xander chuckles, the sound indulgent. 

"Are you getting off on hearing me say it?"

I am, of course, and that's another astonishing part of the past couple of days. Learning just how big of an effect it could have on me. 

He can see that on my face, that awareness, maybe. Or perhaps Xander just gets off on telling me, his mirror role to my own fascination. 

"I mean, most of the stuff you do with girls, you can do with guys," he says, playfully. I resist the urge to point out that I haven't really done anything with girls. That, until his fingers and his hands and his mouth, all that stuff was pretty much theoretical to me. 

He's not saying he's actually done it all, but that's not stopping my brain from filling in the blanks. Sucking, and fucking, and getting fucked, and the mental image of it - of Xander as he is now, braced on his hands and knees, only with some dude behind him to pound his hole - is doing nothing to soften my dick. In fact I've given up on resisting the urge to rub it against him as he grinds down on me. 

The smooth fabric of his briefs is already sticky with my precum, clinging to the head of my cock. I don't know if he can feel it. 

I know the question I want to ask. Suddenly, clearly. As though the rasp of swollen skin across glistening cotton unlocked it. 

"Which things feel the best?" I ask Xander. 

He's staring at me, and grinning, and for a moment his body is still and so is mine underneath him. As though my question inspired by friction has somehow been powerful enough to pause it, too. 

"I can tell you," Xander says, "or I can show you."

It's a question that has two answers, and yet my nod is enough to tell him which I want. 

He crawls up me, lithe and promising; catlike and mesmerizing. Sitting up, his thighs are spread wide across my shoulders. The bright white of his briefs a swollen interruption as I stare up the ridged contours of his stomach. Heat from him stronger now, a physicality almost. 

Another slight shift forward, and then Xander's crotch is pressing into my face. 

He's being gentle with it, almost teasing. Giving me, I think, an out if I want it; not just thrusting himself at my mouth. So it's my choice, then, when I part my lips and shape them around the rigid thickness of his election as it strains against the taut fabric. My choice to breathe in the scent of him, intermingled with the taste of my own pre that I lick from the cotton with increasing eagerness. 

And it's my sense of satisfaction, my thrill of it, when I hear him grunt in pleasure at the inexpert but increasingly eager way I'm pushing my face into his groin. 

Xander is leaning back - the movement doing fascinating things to the contours of his chest, as he towers above me - and I feel the reason a moment later. His fingers swirling around the head of my cock, even straying down my shaft to corkscrew a loose but pleasurable fist. Dipping further, until I feel those slick digits pushing their way down below my balls and to my ass. 

It's familiar and still new. As, too, is the way I instinctively spread my legs, then lift them too. Splaying myself so that his fingertips quickly find their way to circling my hole. 

I feel him push inside, thick enough I know he's giving me two at once now. Skipping the easy level my body would usually demand, Xander's handiwork in the kitchen to thank for that, as I hissed at the thick intrusion. The sounds muffled, but still loud enough that I hear his chuckle of amusement. 

I don't know what the end-game is, here. My goal for all this. Because I can't escape the feeling that the stakes have changed; that this isn't just my buddy Xander helping me figure something out any more. That wouldn't have his dick pressing into my cheek, or my hips bucking to meet the rhythmic push of his digging fingers. 

And it wouldn't have my hands reaching up, over his thighs, to tug awkwardly but, eventually, effectively enough at his briefs to free his hardness. 

His cock is jutting out almost horizontal to his body, thick across my vision. So close, almost, that I struggle to focus on it properly. My hand doesn't need that, though; can skip sight altogether if required, though the lighting in my bedroom is plenty to see my fingers wrapping around Xander's shaft.  

He fills my grip, hot and smooth. Skin soft, but no mistaking his excitement, nor the way his hips instinctively push himself through my fist. Beyond that, Xander's eyes are staring down at me. Inky holes, almost intimidating in their gaze; his lips parted as he watches me stroke him. 

I still don't know what I'm doing, what I want from this, but if there's one thing my body is familiar with - and in the familiar confines of my room, at that - it's jerking off. So, while the cock I'm jacking may be different, the motion itself takes little thought. 

He's telegraphing what he likes, what feels particularly good, by the way he's pushing himself through my fingers. Briefs pulled taut across his thighs, movement hampered, but he's still able to ease his hips forward and fuck my hand when I get the angles, the tightness, the friction just right. And that means I can focus on the feeling of him tugging at my ass, hooking them inside me so that I have to raise my hips and grunt at the sensation of stretching, and then pull his cock down toward my lips. 

The musky smell is stronger when I brush the underside of Xander's shaft across my mouth. He's sitting too far forward, straddling my chest too high, for my lips to line up properly with his tip, but I don't let that stop my tongue from slipping out. Exploring the smooth curve of him from underneath, tangling with my fingers as I continue stroking. 

"Fuck, you look so hot like that," he murmurs, and I can feel just how much he means that by the way he swells a little more in my hand. Shiver myself, as a weird sense of pride and pleasure floods through me, hearing his words. Xander's so hot, so fit and sexy, he's got a fucking amazing girlfriend and could probably have any girl, or guy, he wanted. And yet this incredible dude is happy for it to be me who's lapping inexpertly at his dick right now. 

It makes me want to please him. No, more than that... it makes me want to make him proud. 

"Another," I grunt at him. The demand may be muffled by his erection, but the way I twist my hips up to meet his fingers leaves little doubt what I want, here. An assumption that proves reasonable, when I feel that wild stretching as he eases another digit inside me. 

The feel of it is enough to distract me for a moment, my stroking hand stilled as I try to get used to the three fingers pushing into me until Xander's knuckles are brushing my ass. Attention brought back by the needy twitches of his hips on top of me, the motions making me giggle at his desperation for my friction. 

It's not that I don't think Xander enjoys the shit we're doing together. Just that, well, I'm so used to thinking of myself as the one being pleasured, the one who is experimenting and figuring out all this new stuff about his body and the way he can feel. Like he's a tutor and I'm the hungry student; it's a pleasant, unexpected surprise to find he's just as eager in return. Like it's more equitable, somehow, and the thought of that makes me feel bolder in turn. 

"I want to suck you," I tell him. The words sounding foreign, incomprehensible almost, coming from my lips. And yet right now, all I want is to feel the thick, swollen head of his dick push into my mouth and as deep as I can take it. 

He's shifting atop me. No words, but they're hardly necessary to make his feelings about my comment clear. Hand never leaving my ass, my legs spreading further apart as he tugs and stretches me, delving for that incredible spot of maximum sensitivity deep inside. Only now I can pull his cock down, too, bringing the full tip within reach of my tongue. 

Xander stares at me, unblinking, as he pushes into my mouth. 

It's just the head, but it's enough, to begin with anyway. Because that's all that's required to flood my tongue with the taste of him, sweet and potent as his cock drools and I do my absolute best to make him feel as good as he's made me feel. 

Novice that I am, it does seem like Xander is enjoying what I'm doing. At least, if the way his hips are leaning into me, feeding another inch or so of his shaft between my lips and sending his tip grinding across my tongue, and the way he's finger-fucking me faster are anything to go by. 

"Shit, your lips look so good around my dick." The words almost a gasp, Xander's chest rippling as he twists from my suction. A day ago - fuck, even an hour ago - I would've said you were out of your mind if you'd suggested I might be not only sucking a guy's dick but desperately hungry to make it feel right for him. Now, it's only some lingering awareness of my own inexperience which is stopping me from trying to impale my throat.

Just as much as I want more, though, so does Xander. And his assessment of my limits may well be a different matter.

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This is the eighth part of an ongoing story - thanks for all the great feedback so far! You can find more of my writing at www.alexpendragon.com - appreciate you reading!