Lick It Up

Peyton stared across the room at the Braxton, naked, cock hard, the right hand sliding up and down its wet length. He slowly unscrambled what Braxton had said. Don’t be a prude. Take off your clothes. Get off…with me. He looked at the vivid blue eyes staring back and mindlessly began to unbutton his shirt.

Braxton smiled as the shirt fell open, and Peyton leaned forward to slip it from his shoulders. He turned on the bed and undid his jeans, breathing hard, telling himself to stop. But he didn’t stop. He undid the button, tugged the zipper down and raised his hips pushing the jeans down. He worked them off, struggling with the left foot. He lay back his boxer briefs obscenely tented. His cock was already hard, pushing up at the thin cotton fabric. The outline of the shaft and flared head were evident, and he ran his hand over it, a teasing stroke to his aroused state.

“Take ‘em off,” Braxton whispered, and as if a command, one Peyton couldn’t deny, he raised his hips once again and tugged the tight boxer briefs down his legs. When he lay back, and his cock lay heavily on his stomach. He took it in hand, and as Braxton had done, he slowly stroked it. For a few minutes he focused on his own self-manipulation. Stroked until his cock flexed in his hand and drooled until his hand was wet, Peyton kept his eyes locked on it, afraid to look over at Braxton.

“Oh,” Peyton groaned as his cock flexed in his hand. He let go and watched it bob up and down over his stomach, then drool on it. Looking over, he saw Braxton stroking cock and watching him. He turned his eyes to Braxton’s cock and stroked in rhythm with him. Together, they stroked wet, slick cocks, until they swelled thicker. Together they came, cocks spurting wads across their chests and stomachs. Together they cried out, primitive, guttural, as bodies shuddered with their release, until both were spent. Then they lay still, breathing hard. Peyton watched Braxton run fingers through cum, smearing it over chest and stomach and he realized he was doing the same.

It was Braxton who brought him back to reality.

“Go on and get cleaned up. I’ll wait,” said Braxton, his tone casual and unconcerned about what they had done.

Another line crossed, Braxton taking Peyton further. No longer did he have to ask Peyton to join him. He merely came in from practice, shed his clothes, watching Peyton do the same until they were on their beds, naked, hard cocks in hand. They masturbated while watching the other, and time and time again, fingers raked through puddles of cum until breathing settled back to normal. Then Peyton would clean up, followed by Braxton.

They continued to dine with some of the guys in the cafeteria or walk into town hitting a burger or pizza joint. They would hole up in one of the other dorm rooms playing video games or watching movies or just bullshitting each other about sex and sports. They appeared as just two of the guys, and no one ever said anything about their door closed more often than before, assuming they were studying, or Braxton was trying to rest up for a meet.

For over a week they masturbated together, getting to where they were almost in sync in their orgasm. One would come, immediately followed by the next. To Peyton, their room smelled like cum all the time. He did not know if the scent was on him, or just lingering in the air of the room. And he became as unabashed about nudity as Braxton, parading around their room in little or no clothing. He knew there was a tease to it, this dare to the other to look. He looked, all the time. And he saw Braxton looking back. He saw the eyes cut his way when he strolled to the window and looked out over the Commons, wondering if those eyes were looking at his round ass. He felt the tug to come out, to admit to his desires. But there was doubt, this lingering feeling it would be one step too far, when Braxton continued to talk of girls in front of the guys, bragging about past conquest. Peyton was aware of the bravado of Braxton’s boast, for it was all in the past; Braxton had not been with a girl in weeks. Could Braxton be more inclined to jack off with him than hook up with a woman? He hoped that was the case, but he wasn’t sure therefore kept his desires to himself, never admitting to anything, even when cum was pooled on his chest and stomach and his eyes were watching Braxton shudder with release.

The day had sucked. An exam in the first class in which he had prepared, then a surprise exam in the second class, one he was not prepared. A storm front moved through earlier than anticipated, leaving him scrambling to his last two classes that were in different buildings on campus. He arrived at each soaked to the bone and sat through the class miserable as water pooled around his feet and dripped from the seat. By the time he got back to the dorm, he was desperate for to get out of his wet clothes and take a hot shower.

Wet clothes piled on the floor, backpack empty and hooked over the back of his chair, Peyton got in the shower as quickly as possible. The water was so hot the small bathroom steamed up, but it relaxed his muscles, took out the weariness of the day. He soaped up, rinsed and soaped up again, just to feel the cleanliness of his skin. Dried off, he came into the room wondering whether to dress or just fall in bed for a nap. The door swung open and he turned to see Braxton come in, wet, looking the way he had felt earlier. He did nothing to hide his nudity as he stood in the middle of the room. He didn’t care who may pass by their room. Let them look, he thought as Braxton tossed down his backpack and began to shed wet clothes.

“Fuck, it’s raining hard,” Braxton uttered as he stripped out of his briefs.

“A hot shower was just the ticket for me,” said Peyton as he went to his bed sitting on the edge of it. He felt his cock stir between his thighs as he looked at the familiar body revealed to him once again. The skin was goose bumped and hair was a mess, but even so, it was a wicked temptation to his desires.

“It will be for me too,” Braxton replied, going into the bathroom. The door was left open and soon steam could be seen rising from under the head of the door opening. Peyton watched it as he lay back, feeling his nakedness and a desire for Braxton that was overwhelming. The shower shut off and Braxton came out, toweling dry his hair. A few water droplets trickled down his chest and stomach, Peyton’s eyes watching each one’s snaking path down smooth flesh.

“Feel better?” asked Peyton. It was a simple question but the first time he had taken such a concerned tone with him. This desire to know Braxton’s feelings.

Braxton tossed the towel over his chair and moved next to Peyton’s bed. Peyton looked up at the naked body, watched the cock stir with the beginning of arousal.

“What?” Peyton asked.

“Slide over.”

“What?!”

“Slide over. Let’s get off. Afterward we can go get something to eat. I’m starving.”

Braxton took away the sense of intimacy, gave it a casual feel. They were just two guys who were going to masturbate then go grab a bite to eat. Simple as that. Peyton felt the opening presented to him, and he slid over, knowing the truth of it. This was another line he was crossing.

Braxton lay next to him, their bodies touching along arms and legs. Braxton started first, toying with his cock until it was erect then stroking it slowly. Peyton watched, mimicking Braxton’s movements until his own was just as hard. The contact between them increased, first Braxton, then Peyton shifting closer. They were undulating hips and feeling the other do the same.

“Peyton, do me…jack me off,” Braxton whispered.

“No,” Peyton replied, feeling like it was a test, one in which he feared failure. To take another guy’s cock was an admittance he wasn’t prepared to do.

“Come on, just jack me a little. I want to feel the touch of someone else.”

Peyton heard the pleading tone. He recognized it for he wished for the same. But he did not want to be first, the one to cross the line.

“You jack my dick and I’ll do yours,” Peyton uttered, trying to sound bold, tossing down a gauntlet, daring Braxton to go first.

Peyton watched Braxton reach over with his left hand, right still stroking cock, and push Peyton’s hand away. Braxton used both hands, stroking their cocks and Peyton for just a minute, lay back with eyes closed, and savored the feel of another guy touching him.

“Come on, you said you’d jack me if I did you,” Braxton whispered.

Peyton opened his eyes so he could watch himself take Braxton in hand and he could watch the reaction he elicited. He reached over, hand shaking, and took the offered cock. His fingers didn’t close around it as he let it fill his hand. Soon he was stroking Braxton in the same rhythm he felt on his own cock. Faster and faster, hands a blur, as they pushed each other to the edge.

It was too much for Peyton. The feel of Braxton’s body against him with its undulating movements, the grunts and moans that echoed his own and the feel of Braxton’s hand on his cock. He arced his back, closed his eyes and felt the rain of cum on his chest, then stomach. He shuddered with his release, unable to control himself. Then Braxton was shuddering too, hips shoving upward, over and over, thrusting cock through his fist. He felt Braxton’s cock flex with each ejaculation. He opened his eyes to watch the cum spurt from the flared head and spatter Braxton in the face, the neck, down the chest, then dribble out pooling on the stomach. Then they ran fingers through the other’s cum smearing it over smooth flesh.

“Come on, let’s get cleaned up,” said Braxton climbing to his feet, then offering a hand to Peyton.

“I can wait until you’re done,” Peyton replied.

“Don’t be a pussy, come on.”

It was a taunt, one that elicited the response Braxton wanted. Peyton took the offered hand and let Braxton help him up. He followed him to the bathroom and soon they were crowded into the small shower, watching each other wash cum from their bodies. It was another line crossed, one Peyton felt no regrets, not this time. It was the intimacy of the moment. Even Braxton seemed to acknowledge it with the way he moved slowly, gently rubbing soapy hands over his own body while watching Peyton do the same. They bumped each other, rubbed bodies together as they traded places to allow the other under the spray of water.

Thus, began this new ritual where they ‘helped’ each other out, Braxton’s term for it, one that seemed innocent. But Peyton knew better. They lay on one bed or the other closer and closer, touched each other more and more. The rub of fingers along arms, over chest and stomachs or during orgasm, a face pushed against a shoulder, and once, Braxton lightly biting Peyton. They pumped out cum nearly every day, once Peyton waking to find Braxton in his bed stroking his morning erection, and without any encouragement, he quickly doing the same for him.

The next Sunday, the two of them still breathing heavily, cocks still hard with cum pooled on chests and stomachs, Braxton pushed Peyton to go further.

“Lick it up.”

“What? Hell no, I’m not eating your cum,” Peyton replied, sitting up, intent of getting out of Braxton’s bed. A hand grabbed his wrist, keeping him from standing.

“Please? Just try it once. Let me watch you lick it up.”

“No. I’m not going to do that?”

“Why not?”

Why not, indeed? Does Peyton give in and lick up Braxton’s cum, or does he stay defiant, making him wait? What does it take for Braxton to get Peyton to do it?

Watch for the next Chapter to find out.