This is my first story, and yet I think the hardest thing to write so far has been this header. I’ll say it simply: if you’re reading this and you aren’t supposed to, then just don’t get caught. If I told you not to read it I’d be a hypocrite, because that’s exactly what I’d do in your position, and I can hardly blame you for being curious at the very least. But be warned-this story contains sexual innuendo concerning innocent acts between two boys: myself and Zachary Hanson. None of it actually happened, or indeed ever will, I’m sure, but hey, I can dream can’t I? No slight intended on Mr. Hanson, of course, for whom I have the utmost respect and regard.

-Bastian

Bastian and Hanson: Dreary School-Daze (chapter 25)

I despise the evening news. I despise the morning news, too, for that matter. It’s not that it ain’t informative, because it is, it’s just that it tells you everything you really don’t need to know, or, quite frankly, want to care about. And the way the reporters speak about every little thing as if it’s gonna change your life. Kids who were in drama clubs in school grow up to be terribly melodramatic news reporters when they can’t get a real job. They’re like the scum of the earth, not only because the news they give is so inconsequential, but because of how deluded they must be to believe otherwise and to want to make other people the same way.

For example, who cares if a little kitten was found stuck in a drainage pipe on the south side of some forgotten city, or that the firefighters took three hours to get it out. And no one gives a shit about the cripple who held up a cornerstore because the lights were flashing green in the window and he took it as a sign from God to kill all four people in the store. Tell us about the shit that makes the world go round.

Nope, the only real news sources in the whole world are BBC and NPR, both of which conveniently taking place during breakfast and the morning drive to school. This morning I wasn’t paying too much attention to the morning news, though; my mind was elsewhere. It was nearby, of course. Your mind can never wander too far away from your body. Right now mine was in my hand, which was in Zac’s.

We’d spent the night at the Masterson’s, at the insistence of Taran’s mom. The girls nearly died, the thought of having three lust objects sleeping in the guest room down the hall almost too much for their poor hearts to handle. Jonathan and the little Hansons took it well, just as me and Zac did. There was a little fight over who got to use the bathroom first, which was quickly solved with the revelation of there being another bathroom altogether that the Hansons could use. No doubt it would have to be sterilized before using again-not because they’re dirty, mind you, but because if it wasn’t cleaned, they’d never be able to get the girls out of there. Girls are weird. I could just see them running around with rolls of toilet paper in their hands.

"Taylor touched this! Taylor touched this!" Yeah, great. Ten bucks said the towel wouldn’t make it through the next day. Some people just can’t cope.

"So.......what are we doing today?"

"Hey! Hello! Monday! School!" Zac said sarcastically, pissed at the prospect of having to spend the greater part of the day inside.

There’s a certain loaded silence that six horny boys make when they’re either checking out a lust-object or dreading the unavoidable. The silence isn’t the same, but those are two of the most common scenarios, so they’ll suit for illustrative purposes. I’m sure you all have been in at least one of those, so it shouldn’t be too hard to relate. Anyway, that’s the kind of silence that permeated the Rover.

We got to the hotel again, and got cleaned up (taking showers at the house was WAY too much to handle). Then we split up again (school was cancelled for some reason). Taran went with Tay and Dean to go see some movie while Zac and I stayed behind with Ike. For some reason we didn’t feel like doing much of anything, and we kind of just got to talking.

"Hey Bastian?"

"Yeah?" We were laying on the couch again, the credits for some movie scrolling slowly across the living room.

"You know how sometimes you can see a person, and you wouldn’t have to be gay to know that they’re good looking?"

"Yeah," I said, squeezing him harder.

"No, I mean they’re so good looking that whenever people see them they just have to smile, the kind of people that never have to do anything in life because people are just so happy to be around them."

"Yeah, so?" Where the hell was he going with this?!

"You’re one of them."

"Yeah right."

"No, really."

"No way. I don’t get away with anything!"

"No, really. When I first saw you I couldn’t barely speak, and even Shirley was stunned. That’s it! That’s the word-stunning. It’s like when someone sees you they immediately think of perfect beauty-California beauty like."

"Well, we are kinda in California you know." Um, what else was I gonna say?

"Hey, quit it."

"Okay, okay. So what is it about me that’s so stunning?" I laughed lightly, not too sure what else to do.

"I dunno. It’s not just one thing. It’s all of you. It’s your hair, the way the blond highlights the brown, the freckles, your eyebrows, your chin, your cheeks, and your eyes. It’s all of it, not just one thing. Lot’s of people have the things, but you’ve got all of them together. You’ve got the looks, the personality, the life, and one cool voice. I wish I had blue eyes and a voice like yours. Mine just sounds skinny."

"You don’t sound skinny. You sound like you. I wish I had brown eyes," I said, trying to get myself out of the limelight.

"You’d look great either way."

"So is that why you like me so much? I’m just another hot bod?" I teased.

"No," he replied emphatically, "well, okay, at first you were, like, a real turn-on. Just being with you gave all of us woodies. Well, okay, not Shirley, but you know how it is with women."

"No, tell me." He elbowed me.

"Quit that. I’m trying to tell you how cute you are and you’re making jokes. You’re not supposed to do that." Okay, so what the hell was I supposed to do?

"You’re not too bad yourself you know."

"I’m nowhere near as good looking as you are. People see me and they see Kansas-boy, with flowing corn-yellow hair and bad teeth. They see plain skin and they think ‘stupid.’"

"You don’t have bad teeth. You’ve got great teeth."

"Yeah, but-"

"But nothing! Look, Zac, you look fucking amazing, okay? You’re so hot whenever I even think of something that might even remotely remind me of you I pop a woody. So what’s the point of this conversation anyway? You don’t have self-esteem problems or anything."

"No," I could feel him blush, "it’s just that when I first saw you I thought there was no way you could be gay. It was like, wow, you were perfect, there’s no way you could be that perfect and gay, too. You look so good it’s easy to think you’ve got everything in the world going for you, that you’re perfect everywhere and not just the way you look."

"Zac, you’re not doing anything good for my ego here."

"As if your ego needs help anyway!" he snorted. "What am I saying, you probably hear this stuff all the time."

"No, I don’t. But why is this so important to you? What does it matter what I look like?"

"Don’t you get it?! You’re too good for me! You’re too good for anyone! You’re just too good to be real! When you just looked good I could still imagine that maybe there was something wrong with you, just maybe."

"Why the hell would you want to do that?!"

"To keep myself from falling in love with you. This is like a dream. Boy is gay. Boy sees the perfect boy. Boy instantly falls in love with boy, but there’s no way the other boy can be gay, too, so boy wants to think there’s something wrong with him so he doesn’t fall in love with him, but he can’t stop himself and we only have a week and-"

"Hey Zac?"

"Yeah?"

"Shut up and kiss me."

"But-"

"Shut up and kiss me Prozac," I said, wishing I had some to give him. I rolled onto my back with him on top of me. He went to roll over to face me while on top of me, but with me helping it didn’t turn out too well, and we both ended up on the floor again, in a writhing mass of giggles. He pinned me under him, and he got this really weird crazy look and this shit-eating grin.

"Okay!" He yelled, and down he dove, kissing me all over my face and neck with wet, slurpy, tickling kisses. Slobbering, he covered my face with welcome dampness until I vaccuumed his mouth to mine, almost sucking him in with my eagerness. His hands were everywhere, but mine were tightly focused on the ample flesh of his beautiful bubble butt. I loved that butt. It was so perfect, so rounded, so smooth, so strong, so good, so ample, so whole, so...perfect. I was so busy trying to mash myself against him by pulling on his ass I never noticed the way he was looking at me.

"Stop for a minute," he said, looking deep in my eyes.

"No," I said, trying to pull his lips back down to mine and to get my breathing under control at the same time, but I was too turned on. I’d been perpetually horny since last night in the tree-house, but we hadn’t done anything because of everyone else around and now I wanted-no, I needed the release. He caved to my demands and pressed his lips to mine. We snaked our tongues around each other, trying to pull ourselves into each other’s mouth. I reached up and undid his ponytail, and his hair fell around my face, shrouding us in secrecy with a soft blanket of golden haze.

I felt his hands on my shoulders, pulling on me the same way I was pulling on him. This way we were both pulling on different areas, and we covered more ground. We like it that way. But then his hands slipped down, lightly fingering over my ribs and down to my hips. Then, lifting himself up with one hand, he slipped the other one between us and started unzipping my zipper.

"Zac, what are you-"

‘Hush," he whispered, taking his hand and placing a finger on my lips. We looked deep into each other’s eyes and I felt the room start to spin. We were going farther than we’d ever gone before, and there were people here with us. No matter what, I thought, we couldn’t let them see us. I did’t know why it was so important that we keep our making out so secret, but for some reason it was, and I didn’t want anyone to see us.

"Don’t worry," he said, reading my mind, "Ike left a while ago. He won’t be back any time soon." I gave in, trusting him completely. I closed my eyes halfway, and he leaned in to kiss me again, once more the most seductive sight I’d ever seen. His eyes were fiery slits, and a little smile played on his lips. I needed to feel him, to touch him, to be him. I wanted to know what it would be like to have him in me, in my mouth, what he would taste like. Would he taste like the strawberries I could smell in his hair? Would he taste like the golden sun that his sweat reminded me of? I wanted to know all of these things, and more.

But he beat me to it. By the time I’d come up for air again, my fly was open and the button on my pants undone. My boner stuck up in its tent through the newly-made opening, twitching in time to my heart against the ticklish fabric. It felt so good, like I was somehow freer like that, and I reached around to his front to do the same to him. It was harder, though, because he wasn’t wearing any pants, but only shorts without a zipper or anything. I slid my hands underneath the fabric, running them over his hot flesh, feeling his smooth skin through his underwear, and the muscles tensing and softening underneath. I lifted his shorts up and over his cheeks and slowly pushed them down past his underwear, feeling him slip his hand down the front of his pants to pull it over his own hard-on. It dropped down out of its cage, the tip touching the tip of mine through two layers of cotton.

With this newfound freedom we started kissing again and rubbing each other, the feeling of our hot cocks almost-but-not-quite next to each other like nothing we’d experienced so far. We were getting close, both of us short of breath. I could feel it building in me, the now-familiar warmth starting to rise again (which didn’t take very long back then), when he pulled off of me. I looked up into his flushed face and saw dedication personified staring back at me. It was the first time I ever recognized that look for what it really was-love, penultimate and undying. Forgiving and unconditional. Then he did something I never thought of.

He reached down and flipped my underwear down. My hard-on was totally out now, the air cold against its hotness. Without anything to rub on it, it strained for something, and I had to help it, like a willing accomplice. I pulled him back down on top of me, just to give it something to anchor itself to. But he resisted, only staying down for a few seconds, not enough time to reach any kind of satisfaction. Instead, he reached down and grabbed it, his hand only slightly cool around the shaft. He didn’t squeeze hard, but I felt like I was going to explode any second. I started to hump into the soft ring he made for me, but he pulled his hand off and started running his fingers through my newly-grown hairs just above it.

Now that felt fucking wonderful. I don’t know why, but that sent me into a fuck frenzy that literally obliterated all sentient thought from my world. My breathing went shallow, and I swear my eyes must have rolled up into the back of my head. My hands convulsed on his rear as I tried to force myself up against him while he pushed me down with his hand on my pubes, making me rub and buck even harder.

I felt his hand move to the side, and I moaned pleadingly, but then I felt a breeze across them, running down over my hot cock, cooling it and tickling the little hairs on my balls. I opened my eyes to see him with his head to one side, his hair lying across my arms and my hands now on his shoulders. He was holding me down still, and blowing softly across my stomach at my hard-on. It felt great, better than any great ever before. Then he stopped and just stared at my stiffy.

"Zac.." I said apprehensively. I felt great, but I was still a little nervous about doing this. I’d dreamt about it, of course, but I never thought I’d actually be doing it, or rather, have it done to me. Even still, though, I wanted it more than anything else in the world, but I didn’t want to take it from him. For some reason it was really important that he make that decision himself, without any intervention from my part.

"It’s perfect," he whispered in awe. I looked down at my cock, looking just the same as always, sticking up over my shirt. I was still wearing my shirt, and for some reason that didn’t seem right, so I let up on his shoulders and pulled it off, and then his. There, now we were both laying on the floor in our underwear, me with mine flipped down and my pants open, and he with his shorts bunched up around his knees. I don’t know why we didn’t take our pants off, but somehow it just slipped our minds. Can’t imagine why.

He teased me for a little longer, blowing on it and around it, running his fingers up and down it, watching it respond to him. I closed my eyes, savouring the feelings like a rutting beast. My breath ran ragged again, and I could feel the explosion building in me. Then, just when I thought I couldn’t take any more, he stopped. Two seconds later I felt an awesome warmth close around the tip of my cock, hot and moist and soft, like warm water with an almost-solid form. I could feel it slowly sliding up the length of my shaft, and by the time he was halfway down it I couldn’t keep myself from humping the rest of it into his mouth. He was a little startled, but he sucked it in and kept it there, the tip of my cock just barely teasing the back of his throat and his lips trying to wrap themselves around and over my nuts.

I couldn’t hold it anymore. I’d been close to the edge for nearly five minutes, and I wasn’t going to let him keep me from what I so badly needed anymore. I erupted into his mouth, trying to push in and pull out at the same time. He pulled his head back a little, choking and coughing, but keeping every little drop in. I felt his tongue running up and down my shaft, bathing it and coaxing from it all that I had to give. My dick tingled for a long minute after the last drop left it, and then he laid his head down on my stomach, my loose dick tightly held in his mouth. He let out a huge breath through his nose, tickling my balls again and making me giggle.

I rested my hand on his head, running my fingers through his hair while he suckled my softening cock like a newborn babe. That eventually became one of our little after-suck rituals. Well, that and falling asleep. For some reason we’re too tired to move after we get done having ‘fun.’ We never stop sucking right after we come, but instead keep going, lightly, until we’ve come down from whatever high we’re on when we have sex. Any other way and it’s too cut and dry, we found out; too business-like. This way it’s more like an act of real love because it continues, even after the fireworks have gone off. It’s like when you wake up in the morning and it’s a perfect morning and your alarm clock hasn’t gone off yet but you’re still perfectly awake and refreshed. We were bathing in that feeling, and we wanted it to last forever.

Eventually, though, he let up and I put my arms under his, pulling him up to me so I could kiss him again. I planted one right on his lips, to thank him for that wonderful sensation, that gift of himself that he’d made to me. No one had ever done something like that for me before, and it was more precious than any gift I’d ever gotten before.

That’s something I’d like to talk about, too. When you suck someone, you don’t do it because you need to feel their hot cock in your mouth. You do it because it makes you feel good to make them feel good. You give them the gift of your body, the ultimate gift you can give, and without any expectation of something in return. Zac taught me that, and it’s one of the lessons I’ve been proud to learn.

And now I wanted to do the same thing for him. It only felt right. You know, take a little, give a little. I reached down to pull his underwear down, but he stopped me.

"Zac, I-"

"Shhh," he whispered, once again laying a finger on my lips. "It’s okay. Don’t say anything at all." He put his head on my chest and laid his hand over my now-cold cock to keep it warm, prefectly content to fall asleep with his shorts bunched up around his knees and my hands in his underwear, softly gripping his so-smooth flesh. I fell asleep a few minutes later, a tear of gratitude for the love I now felt slowly drying on my cheek.

If you like this story, you can ring me at hookypoochy@excite.com.  If you don't like it, it’s not my fault. But you can still ring me up and tell me why it disagreed with you. If you’re interested in the whole thing, it can be found at http://members.tripod.com/hegone under "Dominick".