Date: Mon, 01 Mar 2004 23:30:12 -0500
From: Writer Boy <writerboy69@hotmail.com>
Subject: boys of summer - part 11

Obligatory warnings and disclaimers:

1) If reading this is in any way illegal where you are or at your age, or
you don't want to read about male/male relationships, go away. You
shouldn't be here.

2) This story isn't based on anyone in particular, alive or dead, so any
resemblance to anybody is unintentional.

Questions and commentary can be sent to "writerboy69@hotmail.com". I enjoy
constructive criticism, praise, and rational discussion. I do not enjoy
flames, and will not tolerate them. Unless I often hear from you and would
recognize your address, please put the story title in the subject, or my
junk mail filter may screen you.

Thanks to everyone who has written so far. To answer a frequent question
from those who are unfamiliar with my other stories, they're called "Brian
and Tommy", "Thieves", "JC's Hitchhiker", "Tangle", and "Rebound", and they
can all be found in the Boybands section, which is a subset of the
Celebrity section of the Nifty archive, for those of you who have not been
there.

***

I hadn't thought I was so tired, and I really wasn't the kind of guy who
came and passed out like men were usually so famous for doing, but somehow,
sprawled out on the bed with Casey, both of us covered with a thin sheen of
sweat, smeared with cum and saliva, when I closed my eyes I dropped right
off to sleep. I hadn't slept well the night before, what with my brain
rerunning everything that had happened against the refrigerator and trying
to figure out what was going on in my head and my heart and my life the
rest of the time, but now, panting, exhausted, watching the sun go down out
the windows and turning the bedroom a gauzy crimson as the slight burned
through the drifting curtains, I felt so relaxed and content. As I lay back
on the bed, naked, spent, with Casey's strong arms wrapped around me and
his mouth gently nuzzling at my neck, kissing lightly while he made little
sighing noises of contentment, I felt extremely safe and comfortable, and
even though I wasn't drowsy I couldn't keep my eyes open.

I didn't have any dreams, nightmares or wet dreams or anything else. It was
like no time at all passed between when I closed my eyes and when I opened
them again.

It wasn't just that I felt safe. Who wouldn't, alone in a bedroom with a
man who was basically just a pile of warm muscles? It wasn't fair to think
of Casey that way, though.  He wasn't just a hot guy, or a good fuck, or
whatever else it was that I was supposed to be thinking. He was kind. He
knew I was afraid to take what I wanted, to do the kinds of things I
thought about, so he gave himself to me. He'd surrendered completely,
guiding me a little, but allowing me to do whatever I wanted, to touch his
body wherever and however I chose. He'd trusted me, even though he barely
knew me, and because of that, I now felt totally at ease with him. I wasn't
afraid of the things I wanted, or of what my family would think, or of
anything else that had kept me tossing and turning all night.

Instead, I felt like this was exactly where I was supposed to be.

The room was darker when I opened my eyes, the sun finally gone down behind
the horizon. I stretched, catlike, squinting and yawning, taking a second
to remember where I was and why I was naked without even a blanket on top
of me. There was one light in the room, a small lamp on top of the dresser,
and as I looked toward its glow I saw Casey, half inside the cone of light
and half in shadow, folded up on the chair his jacket had been sitting on
earlier. I didn't know how he'd gotten out of bed without waking me, since
I had drifted off with him draped over me and our legs entwined, but here
he was now, turned sideways in the chair, his back against the arm and his
legs folded up, bent, shielding his penis and balls from my view. Mine, on
the other hand, was just hanging right out there, dangling between my legs,
and I blushed, feeling it wash over my entire body.

"Don't, please," he said as I reached for a pillow, wanting to cover
myself, and I paused.

His dark eyes twinkled in the light from the lamp, glistening beneath a
fall of his hair, the strands hanging like stripes down his face, their
shadows amplified by the bulb that was almost directly over his
shoulder. He reached up to push his hair back, and as soon as he did a lock
fell forward, defiantly, back down over his forehead. I let my eyes drift
over him, taking in his folded body in profile, the dark hair peeking out
from under his arms, the smooth legs that made me think of animals, of
flanks, folded and full of strength, waiting to send him kicking across a
field or through a stream like some sort of wild thing. He seemed almost
leonine, with the mane of hair and the muscles and the way every movement
was graceful and precise. At the same time, he was soft, like a cat, his
skin smooth and warm, and, of course, there was the way he used his tongue.

"Hi," I said, not covering up.

I wanted to. I wasn't the same kind of person he was, didn't have the same
kind of body.  I was long, and thin, and even though my hair was growing
back in for the summer I was, for the most part, practically hairless. I
had muscles, but not like his, not the bulging hard curves and thick
sinews. If he was a lion, I was a dolphin, smooth and sleek and
streamlined. Even though I was pretty comfortable showing my body, under
the right circumstances anyway, like competing in a meet in front of
hundreds of people wearing a little tiny suit that left nothing to the
imagination, in other circumstances I was pretty shy.  I could feel my
chest blushing, and maybe even my arms, redness flooding down from my face
and my neck, but he'd asked me not to cover up, not to reach for that
pillow, so I didn't.

"Hi," he answered, smiling.

Casey's smiles weren't like mine, or Sam's, or anyone else's that I knew.
Sam grinned, full out, with all his teeth hanging out like Carly Simon or
Mr. Ed, all pearly whites and lips peeled back, reckless abandon
telegraphed by mouth. My smile, on the other hand, was less exuberant. I
flashed teeth, but not all of them, not at once. I didn't grin like a jack
o' lantern. I was happy, but I was still reserved. Sam was wide open, I was
halfway there, and Casey? He never showed teeth. I'd seen him smile like me
maybe three or four times, only when he was very amused and very
comfortable. He'd never done it when someone else was around, not once
during the party or either of the times Sam had been with us, but he had
done it when it was just him and me. The rest of the time it was a thin,
curling at the corners of the lips, no teeth sort of affair. He was happy,
or amused, or even just content, but his smile was guarded. There was
something there, something I didn't know among all the other things, but
for a second it was something I was afraid of. He was so strong, so
confident, and I couldn't imagine what was capable of hurting him, of
leaving him unwilling or unable to let down that wall. What did he think
was going to happen, and what had happened before?

"Why can't I cover up?" I asked.

I propped my head up with my hand, bending my arm and digging my elbow into
the bed. I wanted to put my eyes on the same level as his, turn them in the
same direction, so that I could see him better. I wanted to get a read for
what he was feeling, what he was thinking. I felt lost for a second,
adrift. While I was content to lay on this bed and stare at him all night,
letting him stare at me, at the same time I didn't know what we were
supposed to do now. I was right back where I'd been last night, confused
and uncertain, unsure of what he and I were supposed to say to each other,
what we were supposed to do, where we went from here, and I needed to see
him, to feel like he was here with me.  He'd guided me today, picked me up
when I'd floundered, and I needed to feel like he was still doing that,
like he knew, in some way, where we were going, even if it was just a
general direction.

"Because you're beautiful like that," he answered simply, and I wanted to
melt into the bed.

No one had ever talked to me that way. I'd had girls tell me I was hot. Sam
told me I was good looking. My mom said I was a catch, but beautiful? Guys
didn't use words like that.  Hell, no one used words like that when they
talked about me. I felt my blush get even stronger, right when it had
started to fade. I was soft right now, which seemed completely out of place
to me since it was the first time I'd ever been around him without getting
stiff. What we were doing now, even though we were both naked and I was
lying on a bed that still smelled faintly of our sweat and our sex, didn't
feel sexual.  That simmering tension between us all the other times we got
anywhere near each other, that crackling feeling of anticipation and
possibility that I felt this afternoon when I walked through his door,
wasn't here right now. Instead there was just a warm feeling of
togetherness. I'd heard of afterglow, but could it really last for hours?

What time was it, anyway?

"You have no idea how you really look, do you?" he asked, shifting in the
chair a little. I could see the side of his torso, the abs crunched, the
ladder of his ribs, one nipple in profile as his arms rested on top of his
knees. "I tell you you're beautiful, and you blush, but I was watching you
sleep, Nate. I've been watching you for hours, listening to you breath,
watching your chest rise and fall, looking at your body and your face and
your skin. You're so smooth, it makes me want to touch you. It makes me
want to run my hands all over you. I can't believe you haven't done
anything like this before, haven't given yourself to anyone, because I
can't believe people look at you and keep themselves from touching you. I
can't believe that anyone could listen to you, to the way you talk and the
things you say and that giggle of yours, the one you make half under your
breath like you don't even know you're doing it, and not want to be with
you, and you act like it's a surprise."

"Casey, I'm not," I began, thinking of what he'd just said. I didn't really
come up with anything, blushing again. "Jesus."

"Is it too much?" he asked. I wondered why he was still in a chair when I
was over here.  Granted, we'd already done this, but I was starting to
feel, looking at him, like I might be ready to do something again. "I
didn't mean to embarrass you. I've just been thinking about it while I've
been watching you. You look so calm when you're sleeping, so peaceful. It's
the same look you had on your face when I saw you in the pool. It's like
you're completely shut down, drawn into yourself, and I was wondering what
it was like to be in there with you. What do you think about when you're in
the pool?"

"When I'm doing it right?" I asked, and he shrugged. I don't think he knew
what I meant, but that was ok. "Nothing. When I'm doing it right it's just
me, and the water. If I'm in my zone, nothing else exists, nobody can touch
me and nobody can bother me.  All I have is breathing and kicking and
keeping the pace, and that's all I need."

Casey nodded, looking thoughtful. He was still watching me, but I didn't
think he was really seeing me. His eyes seemed to have turned inward, fixed
at a point somewhere near my knees, not moving.

"I know what that's like," he said quietly. "I remember how that felt."

"You swam?" I asked, surprised. He was pretty built for a swimmer, almost
too large, and I'd never seen him in the pool. I was also pretty intrigued
to hear him mention his past. At this point I wanted to know anything I
could about him, because I was still so fixated on him, so infatuated with
him, that I had to know where he came from and how he got here. I was like
a mouse following crumbs, waiting eagerly for him to toss me the next one.

"No, baseball," he answered, his voice still low. When he spoke to me this
quietly the other time his voice had been husky, sexual, but now it was
just soft and hollow sounding, like he didn't even realize he was
speaking. I saw his face start to tighten, and wondered what he was
feeling. It looked painful, and I wanted to reach out to him but was afraid
of breaking the spell. Unfortunately he broke it himself, shaking his head
as if to clear it. "Do you want a shower?"

"Huh?" I blurted. "Where did that come from?"

"A shower," he repeated, his voice rising back to its normal tone. He was
looking at my face again, his eyes with me. "I don't know about you, but I
have a scaly patch of dried up cum on my stomach, and it feels kind of
itchy. You think you might want to wash my back?"

He smirked playfully when he asked that, and I realized that whatever
little trip to the past he had just taken was over. Before I could answer,
he unfolded himself from the chair, standing in front of me, and my brain
froze and melted at the same time. He was right there, his body, and it
dazzled me as much as it had earlier, the first time I saw it.  The half
light from the lamp just emphasized his curves, casting shadows through his
abs and under his pecs, throwing him into an almost two dimensional relief
of tanned skin and dark patches. His hair hung forward over half of his
face, but I wasn't looking at that, anyway. My eyes were fixed on his
crotch, my mouth going dry. I'd seen it earlier, hard, but now I was seeing
it soft for the first time, and I couldn't get over how big it was. It hung
down heavily over his balls, dropping toward the floor over his balls,
longer and thicker than mine.

Was I supposed to feel insecure? I mean, I was no slouch. I'd seen the
other guys on my teams in the locker room, and knew that I was pretty much
average as far as things went down there. I was bigger than some guys,
smaller than others, but basically thought I was pretty much OK. Casey, on
the other hand, was big. I'd noticed it earlier, but somehow it never
occurred to me that he would be like that soft, too. Even though he was
shorter than me, he was wider, more muscular, and this seemed like another
muscle, too, a warm, thick one that I found myself wanting to reach out and
touch. He looked like a statue in that weird lighting, a picture of the
perfect man as he stood there unselfconsciously, arms at his sides. He saw
me looking, and held out his hand.

"Wash my back, and I'll wash yours," he said, and I could hear the smile in
his voice. I took his hand, feeling him grip me tightly, his arm flexing a
little as he started to pull me up. I almost sprang out of bed, my eyes
fixed on his, my heart thumping already like it was my first time all over
again. The only thing I was thinking was that, wow, I totally mustn't have
sucked, because he wanted to do it again! He took my other hand and pressed
it to his cock, and I gasped. He filled my hand, warmly pressing against
it, the spongy head brushing my fingertips, the shaft starting to twitch a
little.  He was getting hard! In my hand! It was all I could do not to
cheer out loud, and he leaned forward to kiss my, softly, on the lips, just
for a second as I was too stunned by what was in my hand to move. His face
slid across mine, stubbled cheek scraping my smooth one, as he whispered in
my ear. "Knowing you want me makes me so hot. Come to the shower with me?"

His dick was like a hot iron across my palm. I knew it wasn't really that
warm, but it felt like it was burning my fingers, and it was growing. The
shaft was getting hard, thick, the head sliding up my hand, the whole thing
jumping in time to his heartbeat.  Unconsciously I massaged it, helping it
along, fascinated with the way the skin seemed so loose, sliding back and
forth, and then got tighter as it slid upward in my grip. My fingertips
were resting on his balls now as his shaft curved upward against my wrist,
and I slid my hand forward, cupping them. He let out a soft sigh as his
hips slid forward, rolling toward me, pushing them into my hand, and I
rolled them in my grip for a moment. They felt so heavy, and his sack was
so soft, like silk. I let them slide out of my hand and brought it up his
shaft, wrapping my fingers around it, unable to touch my thumb and
forefinger together at the thickest part, and his hips surged forward
again, sliding himself through my grip.

"Yeah, shower," I said, in roughly the same tone that a dying man might
say, "Yeah, oasis," in the middle of the desert. He burst out laughing, and
I blinked at him in surprise.

"You're so cute," he said, his chest flexing with genuine mirth as he
turned, pulling his cock out of my grip, and led me by the other hand down
the hall to the bathroom.

I followed without comment, if only because now I could watch his ass. It
looked so hard, like rocks, the cheeks getting these little dimples in them
as he walked. It was so smooth, and I wondered if it would be as warm as
the rest of him, the same feeling of velvet over stone that his chest and
his arms had when you ran your fingers down them, and I could see my hand
on it now. I could see my tan hand, not as dark as his brown, almost bronze
tan, sliding over his milky white butt, feeling it, touching it, running my
fingers over the tan line again like I had at his hip, running them lower.
What would he do? Would he welcome it, sighing and closing his eyes like he
had earlier?  Would he let me touch wherever I wanted to, wherever I needed
to? And what would I do?  Where would I touch him? My mind froze up at the
thought, seizing, like when you shift gears and miss and just end up
grinding the clutch.

The idea of sliding my hand lower, of touching him, touching him there, it
was.

Well.

It was gay. Gay. GAY! A voice in my head screamed it suddenly, the words
huge and fiery, booming across my mind like a thunderclap across the
plains. I was thinking about doing that with another man, with Casey, and I
knew it was wrong. I knew it!  And I'd done it anyway! I'd come over here
to talk and instead I had done it again!  We'd talked for like five
minutes, and then I'd been all over him. Last night he'd been all over me,
but today, Jesus, today I couldn't deny it. I'd even said it. I'd told him
I wanted it, and then he'd let me. What about everything I thought about?
What about my parents and my family and all the things I could and couldn't
be, the things I wanted and the things I was supposed to want and the
difference between them?

"Nate?" Casey asked, turning back at the bathroom door. I couldn't breathe.
I felt dizzy, felt like the walls were closing in. My chest was tight, so
damn tight. I needed to get out, needed to get away, but he had such a grip
on my hand. I couldn't pull away, couldn't get away, couldn't get loose
from him, and I needed to, needed to get out, needed to get back to my
house, back to myself. I didn't know who this person was, this Nate who did
things like this, this Nate who was upstairs in a hallway naked with a boy
he hardly knew and who had that boy's, had his, his cum.

"Nate," Casey said again, stepping toward me, his other hand on my
shoulder.  I looked up, and he was right there, his eyes so close to me. I
heard a wheezing noise in my ears, a pant, and realized it was my own
breathing, thready and reedy and not at all like my own, sounding like Sam
at the finish line when he run a marathon. I needed to move, but my body
was shaking, and suddenly I felt Casey's arms around me, and he was folding
my head down onto his shoulder. My body was shaking, my knees trembling,
all of me almost shivering, and I couldn't make it stop. I felt Casey's
hair brushing my shoulders, and then his stubbled cheek was sliding against
mine as he whispered into my ear. "It's ok to be afraid, Nate. I know this
is new, and you're scared, and I can see it in your face.  You're
panicking, and you want to get out, but it's ok, Nate. I'm here. I've got
you."

I couldn't speak, couldn't answer him, but I stood, pressed against him,
feeling how strong he was, how firm, like a rock that I could break
against. He was right. I was scared, but being here with him, having him
hold me like this, it wasn't just about sex. It wasn't just about the two
of us rubbing against each other until we released, wasn't just rutting or
whatever else you wanted to call it. There was something else here, and I
needed that. It was why I'd come over. I needed to know that this was ok,
like he said. I needed to hear that from someone, especially now that I'd
crossed some line inside myself, stepped over into a country I'd promised
myself my whole life I wouldn't explore. I was trembling still, gasping,
trying to let it all out, and Casey just held on, running his hands in
circles over my back.

"Come on," he said, leading me the rest of the way into the bathroom.

He leaned forward and kissed my forehead as he pressed me against the wall,
almost depositing me there. The heat that had brought us into the bathroom,
the heat that had been simmering again in the bedroom, was gone. Instead
there was comfort, and as the sound of the water sifting into the tub
filled the bathroom I felt very safe again. I didn't know if all the
bathrooms in the house were like this, but this one had a large, old
fashioned clawfoot tub, more than roomy enough for two people to stand in,
refinished at some point by the Beckers or their interior designer. Casey,
still holding my hand, pulled me inside and turned me toward the shower,
and I sighed, leaning forward, letting the hot water wash over me.

It was exactly the right thing to do, exactly the way to get me over my
fear and back to where we had been. Water was my element, my home, more so
than anything else.  Whatever was wrong, anytime, anything, it all went
away when I fell into the pool, when I let the water cascade over me. This
wasn't the same, but it was close, and I sighed as I felt his hands start
to slide over my back, rubbing a bar of soap across my shoulder blades. His
hands were firm, but careful, gliding over me, and trapped between them and
the steaming spray I felt myself relaxing again, my heart slowing down, my
world returning to normal.

Or, you know, as normal as it could be with me in the shower with my
newfound male lover.

"Why aren't you afraid?" I asked suddenly, finally getting a thought out.
Damn it. As many times as I told myself not to blurt the first thing that
popped into my head when I was with him, because it was probably going to
be stupid, I just didn't seem to have a filter. I needed a muzzle that
would keep my stupid thoughts from falling out. "Why doesn't any of this
bother you?"

"I've had longer to get used to it," he said simply. He was massaging my
neck now, kneading it, and I rolled my head back, groaning.

"That's all?" I asked, and I didn't even wait for him to answer. "That
can't be all. That can't be it. You think I can just wait, just wait
longer, and it all goes away? That I'll just, I don't know, grow into it?
That time is just going to make it all better?"

"I didn't mean it like that," he said quickly, stepping back, his hands
dropping off of me.  I spun in the shower, almost losing my footing. I
needed to see his face, needed to see how he could just say this and make
it sound so easy. Oh, yeah, you're scared now. Oh, yeah, you don't know who
you are now, but give it a couple years and everything will be fine. How
dare he? That wasn't what he was doing, I saw as I faced him. His face was
tight and sad again, and I realized I wasn't the only one who needed
comfort. I wrapped my arms around him, and at first he just stood, as if
confused, but then, hesitantly, his hands settled onto my back again, and
we stood in silence, supporting each other, until I had to turn stupid and
speak again.

"What happened to you?" I asked quietly, and his body went rigid, as if my
words had stabbed him. He pulled back, strong enough to easily break my
grip, even though I wasn't doing much to fight him.

"I don't want to talk about it," he said firmly, his jaw clicking as he bit
off the words, his eyes locked onto mine for a minute, hard and flat and
completely unreadable.  His jaw was set, his face made of stone, and for
the first time I wondered if maybe he wasn't the best person to help me
after all.

"I'm sorry," I said, holding up my hands, and he stared at me for a minute,
his eyebrows scrunched together, his hair slicked back and wet. He looked
raw, bare, and I felt my mind go blank as I tried to imagine what could
strip through his confidence like that.  What had someone done to him to
leave these kinds of open wounds? Nobody had ever hurt me in any meaningful
way, had ever damaged me, but parts of him were barely scabbed over,
cracking open with the slightest nudge. Who was he? Where had he come from?
And how long had he been like this?

"It's all right," he said finally, his head twitching a little as if he was
actually, physically shaking something off. His shoulders dropped, his arms
loosening and his body relaxing.  "I didn't mean to snap at you."

"No, no, it's totally my fault," I said quickly. "I mean, I should have
realized you didn't really like to talk about yourself, or you would have
by now, and still I just keep asking the same dumb questions over and
over. Really, I should have just left well enough alone, and if you wanted
to share, you would have shared, and I really should be minding my own
business and not trying to dig it out of you, and."

Casey's fingers, gently pressed against my lips, stilled yet another of my
streams of babble. His eyes found mine again, a dark and shrouded deep blue
under his high forehead, but he wasn't angry.

"Nate, I promise you, someday, but I can't talk about it now, ok? I know
you mean well, but today is supposed to be about you, not me," he said, and
I nodded. I wasn't completely satisfied, but for now when he said "someday"
I would believe him. "Now, I believe the arrangement we had was that you'd
wash my back if I washed yours?"

I nodded again, and he pressed the soap into my hand, turning around and
presenting his wide shoulders to me. Oh, this was the best distraction
ever, and I intended to fully revel in it. Faster than you could say "horny
teenager" I had moved from washing his back to just feeling it up, running
my hands over and over him, sliding along through the soap. I let them
drift up, rubbing his shoulders, feeling his round cannonballs, gripping
his biceps, feeling myself get hard again. I touched his neck, feeling the
cords, and ran my hands up and down his spine as he groaned and sighed. He
pushed back against me, the muscular fans of his back burning against my
palms, and I moved in closer. I needed to feel him, needed to feel myself
pressed against him, and he wanted it, too.

"Touch me," he commanded, pressing against me, his back against my hard
nipples, my stomach against his spine, my cock, oh, wow, Jesus, my cock
rubbing against his ass, rubbing right against the crack of his ass and it
was so hard against me, so hard and slick and tight. He lifted his arms,
his palms hitting the wall with a wet smacking sound, and I raked my hands
down his sides, feeling his abs, grabbing his nipples and twisting them as
he yelped and tossed his head back, throwing it onto my shoulder. His eyes
were squeezed closed, and I continued grinding my cock against him,
pressing, pushing, wanting to be close to him, to feel him rubbing against
me, that friction, God.

"Casey," I moaned, feeling him, touching all that muscle, that hot skin,
feeling it jump and shift, feeling him throw himself against me as I
crushed him against the wall. This is what I'd imagined earlier, just
rubbing myself against him, grinding and writhing and panting and moaning,
the shower filled with sighs and yelping noises and the continuously
splashing water.

"Yeah," he panted, his voice husky again. He let out a bellow as my hand
slid down his belly, slid over the bumbs of his abs and down that pointing
dark trail to wrap my fingers around him again. His hips jerked, pushing
himself into my hand, and then whipsawed backwards so that my cock slid
through his crack, the head rubbing the small of his back.  The shower
pounded down on me, starting to go cold, but I was beyond caring.  I was
hotter than I'd ever been in my life, on fire, tensed up, feeling my body
draw into itself, every nerve focused on one thing, one thing, just getting
to the end, getting us both there.  Casey must have been close, too,
because I felt his cock swelling and pulsing in my hand.

"Do it, Nate," he grunted, his voice taking on that sexy growling tone that
should have made me cum all by itself. "Rub that big fat cock against
me. Do it, just like that, so fucking good. You're so hot, so fucking hot,
and so hard. You like that? You like jerking my cock?"

Do pigs like rolling in shit? I thought I blurted stupid questions.

"Yeah, you like that," he answered himself. It was just as well, since all
I could do was groan in time to my thrusts, my hand moving over him with a
loud slapping sound.  "Yeah, so close, so Goddamn close. Fuck, Nate, fuck!"

He let out a yell, freezing, all of his muscles locking up as he turned to
granite under me and his cock exploded against the back wall of the
shower. I felt the pulse through my hand, felt it throb up the fat tube of
his cock before it spewed out all over the wall.  Feeling all his muscles
tense up, all that glorious male topography firm up and flex under me,
listening to him growl and yelp and talk dirty in that voice, God, that
voice.

Jesus.

I shot all over his back, collapsing against him as he held me up, spurt
after spurt jetting onto his skin even though I'd cum just a few hours
earlier. Both of us were panting, and we hurriedly rinsed off as the shower
frosted over, every drop of hot water gone, driving us into the bathroom
and then, after toweling off, back down the hall to his bedroom.  Kissing
the whole way, our tongues dueling in each other's mouths, hands sliding
over shoulders and backs and chests, we collapsed onto the bed, lying
against each other. I hadn't slept well last night, but now, spooned
against him, I let my eyes drift closed.

I didn't give a second thought to the fact that Sam would be home from the
video store sometime after midnight, and that I wouldn't be there.

***

To be continued.