Lick It Up

“Because… Just NO!”

Peyton’s reply rang out in the small room, defiant, the unwillingness of it causing Braxton to fall silent as Peyton jumped up and rushed into the bathroom, closing the door. Braxton knew what the closed door meant, and he lay back and sighed.

Peyton stood under the shower, shaking with his fear, this push to go further. He had fantasized about it, had even considered going further, doing more, but when faced with the opportunity, he froze. He let the water get hot, and steam fill the bathroom fogging up the mirror and glass. When he finally felt like facing Braxton again, he strolled out with towel wrapped around his waist. He turned away from him, telling himself it was to deny Braxton a view of his body, the front with its masculine aspects, none more so than his cock lying over its sac. But he knew it was because he could not face him, afraid his fear would show.

For the next few days Peyton did not get naked in front of Braxton, nor would he masturbate with him. He closed in on himself, grew more introverted, worse than ever before. Braxton gave him more space, showing up later than usual from practice, hanging out with the guys on the floor, playing video games or watching movies. There was a meet on Saturday, one that was four hours away. Braxton left before daylight and did not return until after midnight. It gave Peyton the whole day to relax, to not fret as he did when Braxton was in the room or expected at any time. He masturbated for the first time since that day, the first time hurried, afraid Braxton would find a way to walk in on him. He knew it was a ridiculous notion, but it did not stop him from jerking off as fast as possible until cum weakly spurted from his cock. He was not aroused enough to have a good release. Anxieties and old demons taking away some of the pleasure. He lay on the bed, naked, cum turning runny until he felt his true self rise out of the funk, he had been in. He felt a renewed arousal, the desires he had pushed down return to him, and with them images of Braxton. Naked, parading around their room. Lying next to him, bodies touching as they masturbated. Then laying still, breathing hard as fingers swirled through pools of cum. Finally, he imagined it. Doing what was asked. He imagined leaning over, and dragging his tongue through Braxton’s cum. He dragged two fingers through his own cum and while imagining taking Braxton’s in his mouth, he stuck those two fingers in it and sucked them clean.

Peyton’s cock responded to his sexual fantasies, rose up hard, flexing over his stomach. He took it in hand and slowly masturbated, building up to the point of release, then making himself wait. He would let his cock lose some of its hardness, then masturbate some more, until rock hard and ready for release. Over and over, he pushed to the brink, only to pull back. It became torturous, this constant teasing of himself. He grew more aroused, got rock hard faster and faster, until he could not hold back any longer. He threw his head back and with eyes closed, felt cum hit him in the face, the neck, then rain down on his chest. The last of his load dribbled out of his cock and he smeared it up and down the still hard shaft. He kept it up, so sensitive to the manipulation, he shivered. But he did not stop. He kept it up, letting his mind flow freely from image to image. Jacking off with Braxton. Jacking off Braxton. Leaning over and licking it up Braxton’s cum. Laying on his back with legs on Braxton’s shoulders and a wet cock touching him there.

Cum rained down on his stomach. The release was almost painful and was a pleasure he had not felt in a long time. This time he was spent, cock quickly deflating in his hand as he lay back and let his body finally rest.

The next morning Peyton woke to see Braxton in his own bed. Braxton was snoring softly as Peyton eased out of the room. He went to the cafeteria for breakfast, then to the library to do a paper that required research. He was more focused than he had been in days, able to get the paper done before leaving the library a little after noon. Strolling back to the dorm, fall giving way to winter as the last of the leaves fell from the trees, he considered his sexuality, and this odd relationship with Braxton. He wondered about it, how Braxton seemed so straight at first but when he considered everything they had done, he saw the truth. Braxton might not be gay, but he was obviously bi-sexual. Each line they crossed, they had taken together, Braxton always willing to go first. Was this next line one he had to cross first? Was it admitting too much for Braxton to do so? Where would this lead if he did what was asked? He sensed the submissive role he was to play. This submitting to Braxton and he felt aroused by it, even with the lingering fear of what it meant.

Entering their room, he saw the bathroom door open and heard the shower. He tossed his backpack down and looked back at the door, smiling at the image of Braxton catching him masturbating and he wondered if Braxton was doing it now. He eased into the bathroom and sat on the toilet seat and watched as Braxton rinsed the shampoo from his hair, face turned up into the spray of water. Braxton turned, inward, facing the wall, then backed to the spray, where he let it hit his head. With eyes still closed, Braxton began to touch himself, to toy with his cock until it stood out rock hard.

Peyton watched, stifling the urge to laugh or make some crude comment. Braxton took himself in hand and began to stroke the full length of his cock. There were moans and guttural sounds, then utterances too low to make out. It did not take long, and Peyton watched Braxton’s cock grow thicker, the head flare out wider and he knew Braxton was close. He heard the increase in Braxton’s mumblings, the desperate tone of them. Then he made out what was being said.

“Peyton…please…suck me…”

Cum shot from Braxton’s cock as Peyton burst out laughing. It was as before, only the roles reversed. For the first time, Braxton was embarrassed by what he was doing. Cum flew in all directions as he jerked around to see Peyton, then turned again to face the wall.

“What the fuck!?” Braxton exclaimed as Peyton stood and moved up close to the glass door.

“That was quite a performance. Was it for me?” said Peyton, then he strolled out of the bathroom leaving Braxton to finish his shower.

Braxton paraded out naked, not even the towel over his shoulder. He went the closet and pulled out the most worn and faded jeans he possessed and sans underwear, put them on. Despite telling himself not to look, Peyton did so, seeing the tanned flesh through a hole in the side. It was a tease; one he could not ignore. Braxton pulled out a muscle shirt, one Peyton knew was two sizes too small. It stretched tight over the chest but still hung loose around the narrow waist. Without sleeves, the long muscular arms were left exposed. Peyton felt a memory sensation of those arms against his own and he looked away before Braxton could catch him staring.

“Have you had lunch?” Braxton asked.

“No, not yet?”

“You want to go to Tiger’s Den for a burger? I’m starving and craving one.”

“Sure,” Peyton replied. He saw the smile, just a brief one before Braxton turned away to pick up wallet, keys, and cell phone.  “Are we going to walk, or take one of our cars?”

“Let’s walk,” Braxton replied.

Peyton slipped his shoes on and followed Braxton out the door, the two acting as if nothing had happened over the last few days.

They talked casually of classes, Braxton’s meet the day before and some of the gossip circulating on their floor as they walked to the restaurant, had burgers that were loaded up, then walked back to the dorm. In their room, there was a moment that neither knew what to expect. That brief moment, when Braxton wondered if Peyton was good, no longer mad about last week and Peyton wondered if Braxton could see his intent for things to get back to normal; normal for the two of them. Peyton closed the door, locking it. This spoke more than words, as Braxton sat on Peyton’s bed waiting. Peyton eased down next to him, both still fully dressed.

“Is this okay?” Braxton asked. A vague question but Peyton knew of what it spoke.

“Yes.”

Braxton made the first move, as usual, but this time it was Peyton’s thigh he was touching. Peyton watched wide-eyed as fingers rubbed his thigh. Then the hand moved on top of it, the weight of it seemingly more than possible and Peyton unconsciously spread his legs.

“Will you do me too?” Braxton asked, his tone questioning in a manner unlike any before.

Peyton did not respond; afraid his voice would come out wrong. Instead he slid his hand across the bed and touched Braxton’s thigh. He mimicked Braxton’s movements, the raking of fingers back and forth until he came to one of the rips and he touched the bare flesh, let his finger linger over it, drawing imaginary circles as he felt the firmness of it. He slipped his index finger under the fabric hearing it rip slightly and he pushed to touch more bare flesh. He did not see Braxton’s hand move to his crotch, but he felt it. Every move. The ticklish nature of fingers grazing lightly over the fabric of jeans and his skin sensing it, this light touch. He exhaled heavily and moved his own hand over the thigh and touched the bulging crotch until he found another hole, one not noticed before. It was down low and through it he felt the loose skin of the sac. Braxton’s legs spread further apart giving him more room.

 Almost in unison, they leaned back, resting on the other hand, as they continued their manipulation. Peyton felt the tug at his jeans, the waistband loosening, then the tug at the zipper and he looked over and watched his jeans spread open then Braxton’s fingers rub over the tented-out briefs. He moaned as they traced his cock, even the flared head. Without forethought, he slipped a finger into the rip, digging into the loose sac, feeling the nuts move around, then he pulled at the fabric, ripping it once, then twice. He tore his eyes away from Braxton’s fingers toying with his cock and saw one nut roll out into the open, then the other. He rubbed the loose skin; felt the nuts shift around within. The sac tightened with his manipulation.

“Tug on ‘em,” Braxton whispered.

Peyton encircled the tightening sac with forefinger and thumb and tugged, pulling it even tighter, making Braxton moan louder.

“Harder; tug harder,” Braxton uttered.

Peyton thought the tone to be a pleading, Braxton begging him to do it. He tugged harder until the sac turned red and Braxton shuddered, spreading legs further apart.

“Fuck,” Braxton grunted.

Peyton wanted more, frustrated by the jeans being in his way, and for a brief moment he considered ripping them until he got to what he wanted.

“Fuck this; get naked,” Braxton exclaimed as he pulled his hand from Peyton’s cock and lay back undoing his jeans.

Peyton followed suit, leaning back, and pushing everything down his legs, then working his legs free. He kicked the jeans across the floor and began to undo the buttons of his shirt, eventually tossing it across the room too. By then, Braxton was naked too, turning on his bed to lay down. He moved next to him and considered how it felt more illicit than before.

Hands took ahold of cocks, stroked them until wet, then stroked faster. Braxton’s left leg came over Peyton’s, dropping down between them. They shifted closer, arms touching, then hips, feeling them undulate in that primitive manner. Sexual in intent. The need for the release and when done to its fullest, the penetration. Peyton considered it, wanted to go that far, if only he could not think of those fears to cross that ultimate of lines. Far too soon, Braxton thickened in his grasp, then flexed with each ejaculation as cum roped thickly up the chest to the chin. Peyton watched as Braxton’s cock spurt each wad, then he shuddered with his own release. He felt the warm thick cum rain down on his chest and stomach until he was spent and pushing Braxton’s hand from his overly sensitive cock. They lay panting, looking the other’s torso. The pools of cum, the heaving stomachs and the shiny skin they knew to be firm and smooth to the touch.

Peyton watched Braxton’s cum pool together and trickle over the sides. He could smell it, this intoxicating scent of Braxton. He remembered the request, then the tone of it he had not considered before. Lick it up? It had been a question, not a demand. A plea for Peyton to take them to the next level. Braxton moved to sit up, and he pushed him back down and moved over him. He looked Braxton in the eye, seeing the vivid blue: clear waters, clear skies, precious stone. Did Braxton see in his own eyes his most secret desires? Did Braxton see his intent? He leaned down and dragged his tongue through the largest puddle, licking it up.

Braxton shivered beneath his tongue.

“Fuck…fuck…” Braxton uttered, and Peyton heard the tone, almost like a whimper.

Peyton dragged his tongue from puddle to puddle until he had cleaned it all up. Braxton’s chest and stomach glistened wetly when he sat up. He felt an urge to kiss Braxton, to lean toward his slightly parted lips and press his against them, but he knew that was one line he dared not cross.

A knock on the door, the handle jiggled up and down.

“Hey guys, you want to go shoot some pool?” Jack called out through the door.

Braxton looked at Peyton, who shrugged his shoulders.

“Yeah, we’ll meet you at the elevator in ten,” Braxton called out. Climbing to his feet, he held out his hand, like the time before. “We need to hurry, so let’s shower together.”

Another line crossed, so where does it lead? Will there be an immediate escalation of their sexual explorations of each other, or will one of them push back, slowing things down? 

Watch for the next chapter to find out.