Lick It Up

You want to watch?”

The question lingered in the air as Peyton sat frozen in place. He considered how some of the other guys would respond. Defiantly turning and daring Braxton to do it. He could picture it, this bravado between guys. The problem would be his own reaction. He knew it would make him hard. But he didn’t want Braxton to think he had the better of him. He wanted to be like other guys. Uncaring, willing to see if Braxton dared do it. He turned slowly, swiveling the chair around and looked at the naked body lying prone only a few feet away.

“Well, go on. Do it,” Peyton replied, making his voice sound like he was taunting Braxton, not encouraging him. But he wanted too.

Braxton slowly stroked his thickening cock. It grew longer in his hand until a few inches was always visible around his fist. As he stroked, he would look over to make sure Peyton was still watching. And Peyton never disappointed. Eyes glued to the stroking hand, he watched; every fucking stroke until the cock glistened wetly.

Nothing was said, the room silent for a long time until Braxton increased his pace and the familiar sound of wet cock being stroked broke it. Peyton adjusted hardening cock within his jeans as he fought with his own urges, those desires he struggled daily to conceal from Braxton. He had to do something, make some comment to camouflage his growing arousal.

“Hurry up, I’ve got another assignment to do,” said Peyton, trying to sound defiant. But the tone was wrong, no real conviction to it, and Braxton looked over smiling.

“You want to see me come?”

“That’s…why your masturbating, isn’t it?”

“Yeah…” Braxton moaned, laying back, watching Peyton as he began to shudder, then jerk with ejaculation after ejaculation, thick wads of cum spattering chest and stomach.

Peyton grew wide eyed at the amount of cum and how it rained down on Braxton’s torso. He looked at the pools of it, how some ran together, others trickle over the side. Then he watched Braxton run his fingers through it, smearing it over his chest and stomach. Braxton held up two runny fingers.

“You want it?” Braxton asked in a mischievous tone.

“Fuck off,” Peyton uttered, spinning around, and moving up to his desk where he could hide from Braxton the tugging at the crotch of his jeans trying desperately to get his erection into a comfortable position.

Braxton went into the bathroom and soon the sound of the shower running came through the door. Peyton leaned back, frantic for relief, unzipped his jeans and fished out his cock. He stroked it with a frenetic pace, for he did not want Braxton to catch him. He slid under his desk and felt the head bump the bottom of the drawer. It was painful but it brought him a wicked pleasure and he continued to push upward until he was spraying the bottom of the drawer with cum. He leaned forward and let the rest land on the floor until he was finally spent.

The shower shut off and Peyton quickly got his half hard cock back into his jeans while worrying the added scent of his cum would be noticeable to Braxton. He held his slimy hand under the desk, using his left to turn the page as Braxton came out, naked with the towel tossed over the right shoulder. He didn’t look around as he heard Braxton stirring behind him, hoping it was to dress.

When Braxton grew quiet, Peyton looked around to see him napping. He pushed back to slide out from under his desk, feeling his foot slip a couple of times in cum. Grabbing up clean clothes, he slipped into the bathroom to clean up.

Peyton would find life in that small dorm room became more intense. Almost unbearable the way Braxton kept the atmosphere charged with sex. If Peyton had the door open to the corridor, he would come in and close it. He kept the room closed to the others while he stripped off his clothes, going around in boxers, or skin-tight briefs, or far too often nothing at all. He began to masturbate openly, sometimes in the afternoon, most often at night where Peyton lay in the darkened room and watched the silhouette of a hand stroking hard cock.

Peyton never found the words to complain, to tell Braxton to stop. He couldn’t do it, not with this growing need to see it. He wanted to watch as much as Braxton wanted him to. But for days, Peyton was careful, never letting Braxton catch him masturbating in response. He fought his primitive urges to do it at the same time as Braxton. Especially at night when the dark shadows of the room might conceal him.

One Saturday afternoon, Braxton at swim practice, Peyton closed the door and went to the window. He told himself it was just to look out, see what was going on down in the Commons, but he really wanted to make sure Braxton wasn’t strolling back from the Aquatic Center. He stripped off his clothes and went into the bathroom, pulling the door closed just in case. He got the shower going, and once water ran warm, eased underneath the spray. He soaped up his body, then toyed with his cock, getting it hard. He slowly stroked it, feeling the increase of his arousal. He leaned his forehead against the tile wall and watched his hand stroke himself. He tried not to do it, but he imagined the hand belonged to Braxton, a simple reach around to help him out. He stroked faster, feeling his cock become rock hard. He pushed down aiming it straight out thinking of Braxton, down on knees about to take him in the mouth. He spun around slowly, resting shoulders against the tile while pushing out with his hips. He stroked slowly, keeping his arousal at a fevered pitch, right at the edge, almost to the point of no return.

Eyes closed, Peyton pumped his hips through his fist, and he imagined it was Braxton’s mouth. He grew more aroused and moaned despite his previous fear of being overheard. He moaned with every push through his fist. Then he uttered aloud, “Oh Braxton…suck me.”

“You pervert,” Braxton uttered.

Peyton staggered to his feet as cum spattered the glass. Braxton was sitting on the toilet, hair wet, wearing just baggy gym shorts, watching him masturbate. He turned to face the wall as his cock flexed in his hand, feeling a heat well up in his face worse than any fever. He was so embarrassed he couldn’t think straight. Facing the wall, his cock finally spent, all he could hear was Braxton laughing.

After rinsing the soap off, Peyton shut off the water, and he slid the glass door open. He grew defiant, standing naked before Braxton, who seemed in no hurry to leave the bathroom.

“Hand me my towel,” Peyton uttered, pointing at the towel now laying over the back of the toilet, instead on the seat.

Braxton reached around for it, then held it out. Peyton saw the smirk, the look of satisfaction at catching him masturbating.

“Nice cock, by the way. I bet the girls would really like it; if you were willing,” said Braxton.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Peyton asked in a fiery tone.

“Nothing,” Braxton replied, getting to his feet, and going back into their room, leaving the door wide open.

Peyton saw the score. Braxton had set the tone, this lack of discretion, where nudity was to be the norm. He dried off and with a defiance that would surface often over the coming days, tossed it over his shoulder and strolled out to get dressed in front of Braxton.

But despite his defiant façade, Peyton felt his defenses weaken. For the next few days, Braxton seemed to attack them with some sly comment, or some gesture. But it was the masturbating that did it. Braxton was doing it more often, and never during the middle of night. It was always during the afternoon, or first thing in the morning before getting up to dress for classes, or late evening before they turned out the lights. The dorm would be quiet by then, as everyone was settling down and Peyton would hear it, a wet hand on cock. He became so accustomed to it he didn’t know when he began to watch without concealing his longing. It didn’t take long and he found himself watching every time, transfixed by the hand on cock, the way it moved up and down, or swirled around the sensitive head making Braxton moan at the self-manipulation.  

By the next Thursday night, Peyton was a wreck. Braxton wasn’t gone enough, and he felt aroused all the time. His cock ached for release, even in classes where he would squirm in his seat begging it to go down. That afternoon, Braxton had a longer practice session than usual, as they prepared for a big meet on Saturday. He strolled in around four, wearing jeans, shirt, and a light jacket. The temperature had dropped the night before, forcing Braxton to put on more clothes than usual. Peyton was on his bed, sitting sideways with his back against the wall. He was reading for pleasure, a story with homoerotic undertones he could not fell to notice. He was so absorbed with the story he didn’t hear Braxton walk into their room until movement caught his eye. He looked up to see him starting to undress. A quick glance to his left and he saw their door closed, knowing it was locked too. He knew. Braxton wouldn’t stop removing clothing until ever garment was tossed on the floor. He watched the muscular body come into view, holding his breath as he did every time.

“Fuck, I’m so goddamn horny,” Braxton uttered as he fell back on his bed and didn’t hesitate to start the familiar manipulation.

Peyton watched as Braxton grew hard, fully erect, and stroked slowly, building up his arousal. Peyton knew the routine, this ritual of self-gratification. Braxton would go slow, painfully slow, stroking his cock until his hand and cock were wet. Then he would grow more animated, more vocal, as he stroked faster and faster until reaching the moment of ejaculation. Peyton tugged on his own cock as he watched, unaware of how openly he had become in doing so. He pushed hardening cock into a different position as Braxton held his hand steady and fucked upward through it, moaning whorishly.

“Peyton, why don’t you do it too?” Braxton asked.

“What?” Peyton replied, not comprehending what Braxton was saying, capturing only the last few words.

“…you do it too.”

“Come on, we’ve seen each other do it. Don’t be such a fucking prude. Take off your clothes and get off with me.”

Does Peyton lower his guard and jack off with Braxton? That is the question. You know where this leads, but how does Braxton get Peyton to that point. Is this the next step?

Come back tomorrow, for the next Chapter of Lick It Up.