Date: Tue, 22 Dec 2015 21:07:07 -0800
From: Alex P <alexp336@gmail.com>
Subject: Put Me On All-Fours for Christmas

Put Me On All-Fours for Christmas
by Alex Pendragon (aka alexp336)

Sometimes the holiday spirit moves you, and sometimes it moves you to write
about teenage friends and Christmas exploration. It's been a while since
I've written anything (I'm the author of "On the Poolboy Payroll", "A
Closer Shave", and a couple of other stories) so accept this short as an
apology for absence and - hopefully - the first cautious steps of picking
up the reins again.

As ever, play safe, be nice to strangers, donate to Nifty, don't republish
without permission, and check out my blog: http://
<http://dirtyanon.tumblr.com>dirtyanon.tumblr.com

===================================

** Put Me On All-Fours for Christmas **

"Come on, Matt, quit playing around. I was being serious."

I have to admit, there's something I love about Jayce's "I'm frustrated at
you" face, though I'd never tell him that there are times I'll purposefully
annoy him in the hope of seeing it. This, though, wasn't one of those
times. For once, in fact, I'd been honest about what I wanted.

"Who's playing around? You asked and I answered."

Jayce sighed, clearly exasperated both with me and with the direction the
conversation had taken. I suppose I could see his point, but at the same
time I wasn't going to backtrack - not after I'd built up the courage to
tell him exactly what my dirty little heart desired.

"Look, all I'm asking is what you want for Christmas. I don't think that's
so weird a thing to ask your best friend. Why are you making it weird?"

I thought about that one. Was I making it weird? Jayce had - with typical
straight boy bluntness - asked me point-blank what I wanted from him as a
gift, telling me he had too much going on what with college applications
and his dad's bizarrely long list of chores and everything else that an
eighteen year old guy thinks is tremendously important to think up
something himself.

After he'd pointed out that, left to his own devices, I'd probably get an
aftershave gift set with a beer glass and a bottle of something so noxious
in scent that professional cleaners would think twice about using it in a
toilet, I conceded the moral high ground and thought instead about what I
might want from him.

Rationally - boringly - I should probably have said a gift card or a DVD or
something. Problem is, rational all too often takes a back-seat when Jayce
is around, in exact proportion in fact to when he's wearing a certain
muscle shirt and basketball shorts.

Yes, I'm gay and yes I'm in lust with my straight best friend. I'm a
cliche. A tired, played-out cliche. In my defense, I think you should at
least see Jayce in those shorts before you judge me too harshly.

And so, when I opened my mouth, "a DVD" or "a Starbucks gift card" or
anything else from the mundane, safe list of "things Matt will certainly
use but which will never be confused for something exciting" didn't come
out. Instead, I told him what I really wanted.

Hence the stalemate.

"I just think you're not taking this seriously," Jayce said. He'd stood up
now, pacing in front of the couch as he does whenever he's annoyed or deep
in thought. "I ask you a serious, legitimate question, and you give me this
dumb, not at all serious answer."

I shrugged. "You asked what I wanted for Christmas, it was hardly a
testimonial on the stand."

Jayce stopped still in front of me, staring at me with a look halfway
between confused and outraged. "You told me... but, you told me that..."

I paused, to see if he planned to finish the sentence, but apparently I'd
stumped him.

"I told you that I wanted to eat your ass for Christmas, yes."

I'd never actually seen someone throw their arms up in despair before, but
today was proving to be a first time for many things. Jayce went back to
pacing.

"Look, Matt, you know I'm not... y'know... gay."

I nodded, solemnly. "I know you're not gay, Jayce. We have had the
conversation where you are not gay before. This is a thing of which I am
aware."

He glared at me. "Again, you're not taking this seriously. I'm not gay and
so, no, I'm not going to let another guy put his... his mouth on my butt.
Even if he's my best friend."

Settling back against the cushions, I shrugged. "It's not gay to let
someone eat your ass, Jayce."

Now his look was incredulous. "I'm pretty sure it is, Matty. I'm pretty
sure letting another man do... that.... Well, I'm almost 100-percent certain
that it's not going to be confused for something a straight guy would do."

I mulled on that for a moment. Did my best friend - he of the perfect
physique and drool-worthy bubble butt - have a point? It would undermine my
argument if I concluded that he did, but I owed it to our friendship - nay,
to science itself - to at least consider it.

"I think," I said, eventually, stretching out the words as I figured out my
reply, "that it's only really gay if you're doing the eating. Otherwise,
it's just sensations. And you're not even making eye-contact."

Jayce stopped dead in his pacing. Stared at me. "Eye-contact?"

Nodding, I sat forward. Gestured at his crotch. "Sure. If I was blowing
you, you could look right down and see me. I could look up and see you. We
could make awkward eye-contact when I had your dick in my mouth."

He put his face in his hands, as if it was that very eye-contact that he
was worried might happen now. I stole the opportunity to look at his biceps
as they flexed neatly in the process; at how his buzzcut blond hair caught
the light as he dipped his head.

Jayce was the blond-haired, blue-eyed, all-American boy next door. He was
also quite literally the boy next door - to me, that is. When my parents
had dragged us halfway across the country, I'd found myself not only
figuring out that the feelings I was increasingly having left me more
interested in guys than girls, but that I was mere feet from the perfect
target for my suddenly accelerating sexuality to fixate upon.

That we became friends - him, the athletic, honest,
what-you-see-is-what-you-get posterboy from an Abercrombie campaign, and
me, the cynical, smart-talking but all the same perplexed by life and all
its complexities queer kid - might have started out from the convenience of
proximity, but ended up after five years as the sort of authentic
relationship that only blood-feuds, religion, or going to war can spoil.

Well, that and the overwhelming urge to eat your best friend's perfect ass,
perhaps.

Don't get me wrong. Jayce knew that I was attracted to him. In typical,
too-nice fashion, he didn't even give me the teasing I probably deserved
for it - I was, retrospect made all too clear for comfort, blatant in my
ogling and lusting - but instead treated each dropped-hint and
mildly-sleazy comment with a sort of apologetic understanding that both
shamed me and turned me on all the more.

He was impossible and perfect and the ideal foil for my burgeoning, teenage
affections to latch onto safely, and it was therefore a surprise only to
the two of us that, at eighteen, I was hopelessly smitten and, invariably,
painfully hard.

"Eye-contact," he said, despairingly, voice muffled by his hands.

"Look," I told him, trying to inject my tone with the sort of
matter-of-factness that you might encounter when discussing changing your
cellphone data plan, or arguing about the merits of brining. "I think you'd
enjoy it. People generally enjoy it. You said you liked it when Lucy played
down there, no?"

That was a low blow, even I could see it. Yes, Jayce had told me once what
his ex-girlfriend enjoyed doing while they were having sex over the summer,
and yes it had on occasion involved a sly finger sneaking between the
muscled, perfect orbs of his ass which I was almost positive Lucy had never
fully appreciated.

"A finger!" Jayce insisted, blushing a little. "It was a finger. And, like,
it happened once, maybe twice at most. Man, I knew I shouldn't have told
you."

I raised my hands, placatory. "You told me because you knew I'd understand.
And it was at least four times, if I'm remembering correctly."

I was. I'd jerked off on countless nights, thinking about those four times
and Jayce shuddering with pleasure. True, in the fantasy it was my hand he
was writhing on, not that of some swimteam skank (who was actually a fairly
nice person, but there's no room for sympathy in these matters).

"Fine, four times. But a finger, not a tongue!"

It was time for science.

"Listen, after the spine or whatever, the ass has the most nerve endings,"
I told him. I wasn't entirely sure that was correct, but saying it with
confidence seemed the next best thing to accuracy. "If you liked the
finger, you'll go absolutely batshit crazy for the tongue. It doesn't make
you gay, it makes you human. And you know I won't tell anyone about it."

Jayce looked at me. There was still that element of "who are you, strange
alien wearing my best friend's skin" to it, but was I imagining a softening
there, too?

I pushed on, emboldened by the lack of an outright refusal. "Worst case
scenario, you hate it. We stop, it never gets mentioned again. But what if
you find out you love it, Jayce? What if you suddenly realize that you can
do this with girls, and all of a sudden you have this whole new exciting
thing in your life? If you ask me, that's you getting the Christmas
present, not me."

In my defense, all of that was stuff that I believed to be true. What I'd
conveniently left out, mind, was my own horny part in it. How the idea of
holding apart Jayce's meaty cheeks and burying my face in-between was
driving me wild, and how I wanted to feel his muscles melt as I worked him
over slowly but surely.

"I just..." he started, but I didn't let him finish.

"Some people cum just from having their ass played with. Without even
touching themselves, I mean."

Jayce stared at me. "Hands-free?" he asked, eventually. I nodded in reply.

If my wholesome, level-headed friend had one kink - however mild it was -
it would be a hands-free climax. He'd seen it once in porn (of course), a
guy sitting back after getting what Jayce had described to me as a long,
long blowjob, and then suddenly he was just shooting, hands by his sides.
Jayce thought it looked incredible; I'd filed away that detail for
potential exploitation in the future.

"It's just..." he said, the conflict clear on his face. I shook my head,
talked over him.

"Think of it this way. You get to be the awesome best-friend giving a
present only he can give, and you maybe get the bonus of doing something
you've never been able to do before. Win-win, right?"

He was thinking; I recognized the slight frown.

"And nobody finds out?"

Bingo.

A lot of people think that, when you're fishing, once you've got the fish
on the hook and you feel that jerk in the line, you're all done. Reel `em
in and there's your dinner on the river bank. In reality, that jiggle is
just the start of it; if you're too fast with the handle, the fish will get
flighty and stands a good chance of slipping free. Too slow, though, and
you're giving your dinner time to get loose and escape. You have to get the
pacing just right, otherwise you're going to go hungry.

At least, that's what I expect is true. I've never been fishing myself.

Still, I was holding my breath as I reeled Jayce in. Told him that no, it
would be our little secret, and that if he really wanted it would be a
topic of conversation that was off the table between even just the two of
us.

"Fuck..." he exhaled, eventually, and I knew dinner was served.

My parents weren't home - I wish I could take credit for engineering that
useful scenario, but they were just more involved in work than being
domestic - but, while the thought of having Jayce spreadeagled on the
living room rug was appealing, I suspected he would feel more comfortable
upstairs, suitably out of the way in my room.

We'd been in there together hundreds of times before, of course. Thousands,
probably. And yet there was a palpable difference in the feeling now;
something about the knowledge of what we were about to do weighing on both
of us. I knew I had to keep the mood light, jovial, but to my surprise
Jayce was doing an even better job of it than I was.

He pulled off his shirt, pecs flexing in the process. Suddenly I felt very
self-conscious about my own far-more-average physique.

"I don't know where..." he started. I nodded at the bed, mute for the moment.
Jayce sat on the edge, hands gripping the comforter either side of his
heavily muscled thighs. Stared at me where I stood across the room by the
closed door, watching him in return.

I raised my hand, twirled a finger in the air as if to say "turn around."
My best friend gave me a look, as if one final consideration as to whether
or not this was the right thing to do, but just as I was about to speak -
whether to coerce or to tell him to forget the whole thing, I'm not sure
which - he got up, turning and kneeling on the bed with his back to me.

I drank in the sight like a man shipwrecked and parched. Broad shoulders,
tapering down sharply to a narrow waist. Shorts low on his hips, the
waistband of his Calvins visible above, and the fabric clinging eagerly to
his ass.

"Dude..." Jayce said, softly, when I'd shown no sign of moving. I took the
five, six steps over to the edge of the bed. Mattress firm against my
kneecaps.

My fingertip trailed lightly down, from the jut of his shoulder blade and
through the gully of his spine. Half expecting him to flinch forward at my
touch, but instead left to watch as his head tipped forward - chin almost
on his chest - and his arms lolled at his sides. There was a small patch of
hair just at the base of his spine, so blonde it was practically invisible
to the eye but soft against my finger.

"Lean forward," I told him, struggling to recognize my own voice, a
half-octave lower and thick with lust and nervous energy. Jayce shifted his
body, holding his torso up on his outstretched hands. Head still tucked
down tight, as if by looking up he might inadvertently catch my eye and
somehow make what we were doing suddenly real.

In another world, at another time, I'd have paced myself. Peeled down first
his shorts and, after giving his boxer-brief clad form sufficient worship
with eyes and hands and imagination, moved on to strip him down to bare
flesh. The knowledge that Jayce could opt-out, overwhelmed, at any moment
was the mental equivalent of the fast-forward button.

Carefully I eased both shorts and underwear down, tugging the clinging
elastic over the firm jut of his cheeks. Exposing skin a paler, milkier
white than the rest of him; the part that doesn't get to tan when he's
running on the field, or splashing in the pool. Creamy and taut, and
utterly breathtaking.

"Matt..." he started, a tone I knew I couldn't hear in his voice,
communicated even with just one word.

"Shhh," I told him, letting the back of my fingers brush against his ass as
though I was calming an animal.

Obediently, he lifted one knee and then the other as I tugged the shorts
free. My breath caught in my throat as I feasted on the sight ahead of me:
muscular torso, picture-perfect ass, and his balls visible between his
spread thighs.

No time to pause, though; no time for mental photoshoots for later use.
Just the here-and-now.

Leaning down, I ran my finger down the crack of his ass, feeling Jayce
flinch and shudder as I gently passed over his hole. Did it again, and
another time, all the while my face getting closer until the warmth of his
body was a clear sensation against my own skin. Wondered if he could feel
my breath against him, then blew gently where my fingers were sliding,
watching as the pale hairs bent in response.

"Just... just do it, okay," he said, voice muffled where his mouth met my
sheets. I could hear the embarrassment and the longing together in his
tone.

No time for second-thoughts. A hand, gentle, on each palm-filling cheek,
and then the slow rasp of my tongue against his skin. Jayce's back arched,
a gasp escaping, uncontrollable, from his buried face.

Emboldened, my own cock raging in its hardness and trapped in the folds of
my jeans, I played my tongue across him again, pulling now to open him up
more to me. Only moments before I realized he was pushing back in response,
his soft whimpers a dull second to his body's urgency in communicating the
intensity of his reaction.

No time for gloating, either. Pushing forward, I met his thrusts with my
sharpened tongue, the pointed tip insistent where it grazed him. Jayce's
hips were twisting now, his whole ass turning and jerking as he
unconsciously pressed himself against me in the way that would maximize his
pleasure.

"Oh, fuck..." I heard, and then his hands were fighting mine for firm grasp
of his ass, holding himself apart even wider than I'd dared myself, until
my whole face was up against him. Skin slick from my tongue and the scent
of his testosterone musk filling my nose.

Grip liberated, I risked one hand between his legs, finding a hardness
there that more than filled my palm. No complaint from Jayce, though, only
a pumping of his rear that simultaneously moved his ass across my mouth
while pistoning his erection into my fist.

I slipped my head lower, tracing the swollen ridge of his taint before
progressing wetly down the underside of his shaft. Tongue swarming around
the head of his cock, greasy with his precum, as Jayce shuddered from the
waves of sensation.

"Please," he groaned, and half-reluctantly I made my way back up his inches
and refocused my attentions on the tightness of his hole. My fingertips
pulling at the yielding muscle while I soaked it with spit, suddenly
determined to get a finger inside and knowing that Jayce wouldn't stop me.

Sure enough, only a deep sigh from the very bottom of his lungs as my index
finger eased into him, my mouth still eager and insistent. Hooking down to
where I knew the hardened nub of his prostate should be, then grazing it
rhythmically to a chorus of Jayce's moans.

Part of me wanted to pull out my own cock, jerk it frantically as I sated
myself between my best friend's cheeks, but I didn't dare risk the
distraction. Could only focus on how his muscled body was reacting to my
unflinching attentions, a second finger pressing home alongside the first
now. Knowing from his movements, his shallow breathing that the end was in
sight.

"Fuck, Matt..." Jayce gasped, as I drove my tongue in alongside my digits,
then felt the clamp of his muscle against my hand as his body spasmed and
he came, hard, in wet waves against the bed. "Fuck, fuck..."

That moment of transition, where your hands keep moving as the last of the
orgasm ebbs and flows and eases. As you gradually still in response.
Jayce's fingers laced behind his head, clamped tight there as if he was
caught between praying and cowering. The muscles in his back broadening and
contracting with his breaths.

I sat back, suddenly intensely aware of my dick and the growing wet spot in
my jeans. It felt like only a few firm strokes across the tip would, even
through the denim, tip me over the edge with just as much force as had
wracked Jayce.

But I resisted, and waited for the reaction I knew must be coming.

Eventually, he sat up on his knees. That perfect back flushed and blotchy.
Cleared his throat, then looked over his shoulder at me.

There was that eye-contact. Suddenly embarrassed myself, I looked down,
just in time to see a final strand of cum trail from his softening cock
between his thighs to my bedsheets.

"That was..." he started, paused. I looked back up, met Jayce's gaze -
knowing and amazed and something else there too which I could only guess at
- and nodded in reply.

"I told you."

Jayce smiled, turning forward at the same time so that I only caught the
vaguest hint of the spreading expression.

"Happy Christmas, Matt."

==========================================

Short, sweet, and sticky. Want more? I have two published ebooks, Jock
Auction (www.amazon.com/Jock-Auction-Alex-Pendragon-ebook/dp/B00SUS9ZEG/)
and The Hitchhiker (
www.amazon.com/Hitchhiker-Alex-Pendragon-ebook/dp/B00W5S9Y1G/) which make
for excellent holiday reading...

Enjoy whatever festivities you get up to, Christmas or otherwise!

-A