Date: Mon, 11 Sep 2017 11:03:19 -0400
From: a4f tales <a4ftales@gmail.com>
Subject: Fuckboy

Here's a story taken from my Tumblr, at
talesfromunderthemattress.tumblr.com. You can find this one, and the pic
that inspired it, here:
talesfromunderthemattress.tumblr.com/post/161764894072/

You can also find a whole lot more of my stories here on Nifty - look for
'a4f101' in the Prolific Authors listing.

This story is purely a work of adult erotic fantasy, copyright me 2017. I
own it and all legal rights to it. If you're under the age of majority in
your jurisdiction, please come back when you're of legal age.

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*****

Mickey was at it again. Up to his usual tricks, strutting around like a
beefy little rooster, all muscles and attitude, showing off his body and
tattoos and talking up his most recent tour. He had Michelle pretty much
cornered in the boat. She was new to the circle, a co-worker of Mom's, who
had invited her and her daughter down to the lake place for the party they
usually threw. Single mother, very pretty, but just on the so-called wrong
side of 30, and she seemed to be pretty aware of it. We'd talked a little
bit off and on throughout the day, swapping asshole-ex war stories while we
both caught a buzz, and I'd taken a real liking to her.

And then Mickey had showed up, already shirtless, blasting some kind of
screamy metal bullshit way too loud in his Wrangler with the too-big
wheels, the doors off so he could show off his Corps-honed body. I had to
admit, the little fucker looked better than ever, with his Marine haircut
and his muscles looking pumped and tanned, his board shorts halfway-unlaced
and sitting just so on the shelf of his powerful little ass. It was a hell
of an ass, thick with muscle, deeply indented, a classic wrestler's ass
made even better by whatever routine him and his buddies were doing in the
gym down there at Camp Lejeune. I'd seen the pics on his Instagram - Mickey
and four or five other hard-bodied musclehead Marines, showing off their
strength and their muscles and their attitudes. They looked fine as fuck,
and they knew it. I'd met a couple of them in real life, and they were just
about as insufferable as Mickey was. Sexy and entirely too self-aware.

Anyway, Mickey had shown up with a big cooler, probably full of Coronas and
Monster, a lit smoke dangling from his lip just so, that little smirk of
his curling up the other end as he felt everyone's eyes on him, just the
way he liked it. Already in full strut mode, like he'd been pretty much
continually since his high-school jock days. His biceps were big and
bulging, his tris popping real nicely from the weight of the cooler, and
his pecs looked even thicker, two meaty mounds capped off with ripe little
buds of nips - the kind that beg for close attention.

He did the rounds of the family, hugging Mom, shaking Dad's hand, then
pulling me in for a bro-hug. He was barely done with that and already
surveying the gathering, when his focus locked onto Michelle. He was
hilariously predictable with that shit, his whole body turning toward her
like a bird dog locking onto its target.

"Finally, a new face up in this bitch," he said with a wolfish grin, and
before I could stop him - not that he was listening to me anyway - he was
cracking a beer and strutting his way down to the dock where she sat.

Ever since he'd gotten his first taste of it at 15, Mickey had been like a
pussy machine - though I'd never tell him as much, it'd only just inflate
his ego further. Once he found a target, he could be relentless - charming,
sure, but it was a calculated kind of charm. He was good-looking, had a hot
body, and had transitioned seamlessly from high school athletic success to
the Marine Corps. Women apparently loved all of that, and he knew it, and
he used it to his advantage. I'd seen him work his routine a hundred times,
and there was a focused, almost mechanical aspect to it that was completely
predictable to me. Women could see through it too, of course, if they were
looking for it, but they were usually too dazzled by his smile and his
biceps and his relentless waves of charm. Usually they'd see through it the
morning after, or maybe a few days later, because for all its
calculatedness, Mickey was pretty damn successful at closing the deal and
getting most of those women into bed with him, having his fun, and then
pulling a disappearing act. He was the king of the fuck-and-fade.

My little brother was a fuckboy, I'd come to realize, with a kind of
disappointment. And now he was doing his thing to Michelle, who I'd come to
like quite a lot, and who really did deserve better. Usually I'd leave him
to it, because it generally wasn't my business. And sure, Michelle was a
grown woman who could make her own choices. But I knew the last thing she
needed in her life was a fuckboy, even one as hot as my little
brother. Nobody needs that shit.

I knew other things, too. Like why Mickey was such a relentless
pussy-chasing machine. What was going on in his head that drove him to be
such a fuckboy piece of shit sometimes. Most of all, how to redirect his
attention from Michelle, save her the heartache, calm his ass the fuck
down... and not coincidentally, get something out of this whole deal for
myself, too.

I got my chance about an hour later. Dad had taken the boat out, giving
Michelle and her little girl their first tour of the lake. Of course,
Mickey had gone along too, working his charm offensive, flexing his
muscles, telling tall tales about Afghanistan and Marine life and all that
business. Michelle had humored him for awhile, and looked suitably
impressed by his compact, muscled-up body - hell, I knew Mickey better than
anyone, and even so, looking at him was still a real pleasure, especially
when you could tune his mouth out - but by the end of the ride, she was
looking a little worn-down by his onslaught. She almost looked relieved
when Mickey bounded out of the boat as it pulled up to the dock and
announced he was getting something to eat, that fine, thick-muscled butt of
his shifting deliciously in his white board shorts as he walked up the yard
towards the house.

"Wow, your little brother is sure... something," she said to me as I helped
little Stella up onto the dock, then offered my hand to her as well.

"You said it," I said with a sympathetic look. "Don't mind him too much,
he's really a pretty good kid under all the swagger and bullshit."

"Seems like there's plenty of that to work through," she muttered, and we
both laughed. I liked this girl. If I were into women, hell, maybe...

"Let me go have a word with him," I said. "Set him straight."

Well, that wasn't quite the right wording, but anyway, I knew exactly what
Mickey needed, and I made my way up the slope to the house to make sure he
got it.

Everybody else was down at the dock, or on the patio eating, so it was just
him and me inside. The AC was nice, and there was a good spread of food on
the kitchen counter, which Mickey was busily helping himself to, humming a
little tune to himself as he loaded his plate up. He looked up at me with a
quick grin as he popped a deviled egg in his mouth. I picked up a plate
myself and stepped up next to him. I could smell the sweat on his skin, the
faint lingering traces of his bodywash. It was a scent I knew well. My cock
stirred inside my own board shorts a little as my brain flashed rapid-fire
through a few choice reminiscences about Mickey and his jock-stud scent,
and a few other things.

Mickey stiffened up a little and stopped loading up his plate as I stepped
in real close, beside and behind him, and rested my hand on the small of
his back. Right on the fan of fine, sun-bleached blond hairs that led the
way down into the top of his deep ass crack, which was prominently showing
over the top of his shorts. Very few people could get Mickey to shut the
fuck up and be still the way I could. It wasn't just a big-brother command
kind of thing. Once when he was 17 and absolutely full of himself - even
more than he was nowadays, which was saying something - he'd squared up to
me and called me a "stupid faggot" over something trivial. Given I was five
inches taller and had a good solid forty pounds on him at that point - very
solid, because football had been good to me in high school, and taking up
rugby my freshman year at college had done wonders for my beefiness - that
had been a pretty fucking stupid move on his part. I'd corrected his
attitude with a solid left-hook to his impressively muscled wrestler-kid
stomach, and then sat his wheezing ass down on his bed to have a
conversation with him about the difference between being a faggot and being
a little bitch. We'd never had a problem since then, and even if he did get
a little wary around me sometimes still when we were alone together, well,
that was all for the good. Especially at times like this.

"Workin' your game pretty hard out there today, huh little bro?" I said,
rubbing my hand in a small, lazy circle at the base of his spine. I watched
the ample muscles of his back flex and shift, noted the way he arched a
little at my touch. Felt the stillness in him as he waited to see what I'd
do next.

"Just, uh... y'know, getting to know her, is all," he said, his voice
quieter, much less sure of himself.

"Yeah, I know, little bro," I said, widening the circle my big hand was
making in the small of his back. Letting my fingertips graze over the
partly exposed tops of his muscular ass. Seeing the goosebumps prickle on
his thick-muscled upper arms as I did. "I know exactly what you're
doing. Seen it all before. And Michelle has too. Not with you, but with
guys just like you. How'd you think she wound up on her own with a little
girl to raise?"

"Hey man, I wasn't trying to..." Mickey started to protest.

"Shhhh," I said, leaning in a little closer, rubbing his lower back a
little more intently. "Yeah you were. We both know it, Mickey. You were
gonna try and charm her pants off, and hook up with her, and leave her
hanging. Let's be real about it, yeah?"

Mickey's head hung a little, because he knew he could never get one by me.

"Michelle's a good woman," I said, my voice low and deep. "Had a tough
road, but she's making it. She needs somebody who'll stick by her. Be a
father to that sweet little girl of hers. That's not what you're looking
for, is it, little bro?"

Mickey didn't say anything, just hung his head a little lower. He set his
plate down on the counter, and both hands took hold of the edge of the
countertop, his bis and tris bunching up beautifully as he did. A good
sign.

"She's not looking for some fly-by-night fuckboy," I went on. "She needs
more than that. And you... well, you need something different, don't you,
little bro?"

I let that hang in the air between us, stroking my hand in that slow circle
on his back, then slowly up and down his spine. Letting it drift down over
the handsome swell of his hard-packed ass in his shorts. Lingering there a
little, before drifting up, all the way up the long indent of his spine, up
between his shoulder blades, then back down to the small of his
back. Savoring the little shiver that motion sent all through him. Mickey
was just like a cat that way.

"Struttin' in here, showin' off that hot little body of yours, bro," I
murmured, so close to him now that barely a couple of inches separated my
lips and his ear. "Lookin' fine as fuck. Lookin' to play. Lookin' to have a
good time."

Mickey finally turned to look at me, his cheeks a little flushed, his eyes
big and blue and deep and shiny. His lips were parted just a little, and I
could hear the subtle, slightly panting rhythm of his breath. I let him see
my appreciative eyes take in the thick swells of his sun-bronzed pecs, the
hard-carved musculature of his stomach... and just below the edge of the
countertop, the steady, unmistakable surge of his cock, starting to tent up
the white nylon of his shorts. Yeah, I could read my little brother like a
book - Mickey was a fuckboy in more ways than one. He knew it, and I knew
it, and here we both were, knowing each other real well.

"Yeah, I don't think you need Michelle," I said, smiling slowly at him,
letting him know I had him. "I think you need something very different,
don't you, little bro?"

I reached down between us for his hand, pried it loose from the countertop,
and brought it across to the big, hard mound in my shorts. It faltered
there for a second, but then I stroked my hand down over the hard mound of
his ass, leaving it there this time, taking hold of his spectacular glute
and giving it a deep, firm squeeze. His hand mirrored mine, opening up to
cup the hardness of my bulge, rubbing it up and down real tentatively at
first, and then with slow, practiced assurance. Wasn't our first time at
the dance. I knew what Mickey needed, and how to get him where I needed him
to be.

"Wanna show me what it is you really need, little bro?" I said, looking him
deep in the eyes, as self-assured and confident as he'd been ten minutes
ago. A long moment passed between us, and then the pink, glistening tip of
his tongue flicked his lower lip as he let out a strangled little
whimper-moan. The sound of pent-up lust, coming up hard and fast from deep
inside him. I ran my hand from his ass, up his spine, to cup the fine blond
bristles at the base of his scalp, and no sooner had my hand touched the
nape of his neck than he was leaning into me, hard, another husky sound
coming from his mouth as his lips parted and fastened to mine.

Mickey was a hungry little fucker, and his kisses with me had always had a
kind of lusty urgency to them that men only ever really have with other
men. I'd seen him making out with girls, and those kisses of his were all
about teasing and control, luring her further in. This, though, was
something entirely different. Hunger. Suppression. Deep-seated desire. The
desire to please. His kiss had surprised the hell out of me the first time,
back when we'd had our little conversation about him calling me a
faggot. He was still rubbing the muscles of his stomach, nodding as he
absorbed the stern talking-to I'd given him after I'd literally taken the
wind out of his sails, and when I'd rubbed his back in a big-brotherly way
and asked him if we were good now, he'd nodded, given me that same deep,
complex look, and then lunged for my mouth with his. A surprise, but a good
one, and I'd gotten over my qualms real damn quick and rolled with it, and
him. Rolled him over on his bed, pressed my bigger body to his, and then
showed him just what being a faggot was all about. In a good way.

Of course, I was a hungry fucker too, and I showed Mickey just how hungry I
was as I yanked him around to face me, then backed him up against the
counter and kissed him right back. The two of us grunted and groped, hands
clutching at muscles, mine especially clasping his five-star ass, growling
approvingly at the way he flexed it up nice and hard for me. There was just
enough of a gap between his low-slung waistband and his flesh to push my
hands down deep inside of his shorts, and I did, thrilling to the feel of
the creamy, steely flesh flexing up hard in my hands, the tickle of the
fine blond hair that dusted his deep crevice. Feeling him up like that made
him quiver in my arms and thrust his crotch against me needily, letting me
feel the steely hardness of his big young Marine cock thrusting up against
my own bulge.

I'd have happily yanked those shorts off of him and taken him to town right
there in the kitchen, but even though we'd have plenty of warning of an
incoming from their footsteps on the wooden stairs up to the deck outside,
I could tell what Mickey needed most of all was a room with a closed door,
and me manhandling him in it.

"Yeah, you're hungry, ain't ya, buddy?" I murmured against his lips as we
kicked the door to the back bedroom closed. Nice and quiet back here, not
much chance of being discovered, but the way he was yanking my tanktop up
to sniff at the thicket of hair between my pecs, inhaling my sweaty scent,
I didn't care if we did this right on the parade ground at Lejeune.

I tugged my tanktop up and off, savoring the way his eyes widened at my big
chest, the hair on it, the thickness of my muscles. I wasn't as pumped and
defined as him, but I'd always been bigger, broad through the chest and
shoulders, solid with steely beef. I still played rugby with the gay team
back in Charlotte, and Mickey wasn't the first hungry little musclehead to
want to crawl all over me. But he was the hungriest, and for all the fun
I'd ever had since I'd first fucked around with another dude, he was far
and away my favorite.

I cradled the back of his head as he sucked hungrily on my nips, stifled,
happy little grunts coming from him as he sucked on the sensitive flesh and
flicked the stiff nubs with his eager tongue. I was pulsing a wet spot into
the thin nylon of my board shorts already, and I could've let the hungry
little pup suck on my tits all damn day, but I was supposed to be in charge
here. Mickey needed more from me, and it was my responsibility to give it
to him. So I took firmer hold of the back of his head and tugged it off my
left nip, then pushed his cute little jock-stud face deep into the dark,
sweaty tangle of fur in my pit. That brought an even huskier, longer moan
from him, and he went for it with abandon. Like a pig at a trough, and I
guess that analogy was made for my little brother, as he clutched to the
thickness of my trunk and devoured the funky, tangy salt of my man
sweat. My hand guiding the back of his head to my right pit was really just
a suggestion at this point, but I held him in place while he got his fill,
licking me clean, because I knew that he wanted it that way. Wanted to be
shown what a hungry little man-serving pup he was, deep down inside.

He tasted like sweat when we returned to devouring each other's mouths, and
he damn near sucked my tongue out of my head when I clapped my hands loudly
on the big muscles of his ass and squeezed him, hard.

"Get these fucking shorts off, fuckboy," I growled at him lustily, and if
you'd seen the cocky little stud who'd strutted down the driveway a couple
hours ago, you'd barely be able to reconcile him with the hungry-eyed
little dick monster I'd managed to turn him into. Well, brought out of him,
at least. As far as I knew, he'd always had this inside of him. But I was
always pleased to see his true nature claw its way out and leap on me.

I ran my big hands over his fine flesh as he unlaced his shorts and
wriggled his way out of them. Not a gentle lover's touch - a man's hands
pawing him, a firm, squeezing, appraising grope, sizing up his
muscle-rounded shoulders, the big chunky plates of his pecs, the strong
taper of his lats down to his waist. My hands groped and grasped and slid,
and the more I did it, the more he gave himself up to my manly touch. I
didn't need to tell him to lace his fingers up behind his head, making his
chunky biceps double up - he presented himself to me for inspection. I
thought for the thousandth time that this was probably what had made him
such a champion wrestler, and an even better Marine - yeah, he was cocky,
cocksure, bold and confident, but he really responded to a real man being
in charge of him. Taking him in hand, literally and figuratively, and
bringing out the best in him.

"Look how fucking hard you are, fucker," I growled, looking him deep in the
eyes as I took hold of his cock. It was a great cock, more than seven
girthy inches, thick-veined, cut so seamlessly you'd think he'd been born
that way. He was a leaker, like me, and my palm was slick with his fluids
as I mauled his handsome young piece with my big paw. "Why you so hard,
little bro?"

"Fuckin'... `cos I fuckin'... ah shit..." he panted. I reached behind his
head and took hold of the back of it again, nice and firm, and he flushed
harder and stared up at me almost adoringly.

"Why you so fuckin' hard, little bro?" I said firmly. "Speak up. Say it."

"'Cos you're fuckin' handling me, bro," he half-moaned. "Fuckin'
manhandling me. Treating me like a fuckin' man. Big man,
fuckin'... shit..."

He tapered off, all flush-faced, biting his lip and reduced to moans as I
ran my precum-slicked thumb intently over the helmet of his cock, then all
the way around the underside of it. He was throbbing to beat the band, and
it would've been real easy to get him spurting off, real quickly. But he
had more to give, and so did I. So much more.

All it took was the slightest nudge with my hand and a meaningful look down
at my crotch, all tented up and thoroughly soaking my shorts with my own
pre now, and the hot little blond fucker was dropping to his knees, his
cock arced upright and slapping the thick cobblestoned muscles of his
stomach as he grabbed at the waistband. He undid the knot of my shorts with
practiced ease, and then the *rrrrip* sound of the velcro fly separating
played in stereo with another hungry growl from him as he gazed at the
thickness of my cock, finally free from the sweaty confines of my board
shorts. He had a nice big dick, but I had a bigger one. Not by much, but an
appropriate difference between big and little brother, for sure. Knocking
on the door of eight inches, but in situations like this, my hot muscled-up
kid brother staring at it with hungry awe, it felt like a footlong. I
wrapped my hand around it and stroked it for him, showing him what he'd
done for me, giving him a hint of what I could do for him. A big bead of
precum swelled at the tip, and he literally licked his lips at the sight of
it. I chuckled at the sight of this pussy-chasing little musclepup, such a
cocky alpha-type out there in the world, showing me his true colors. What
he really wanted to be.

"Yeah, you want this dick, little bro?" I said, stroking it slowly for him,
glazing my shaft with my precum. He looked up at me with those appealing
baby blues of his, the fuckboy predator's gaze replaced with a supplicant's
plea.

"Yeah, I want your dick," he said, the edge of the moan in his voice.

"Fucking convince me," I said, reaching down to take his square,
cleanshaven jaw in my grasp.

Mickey ran his hands up and down the thick muscles of my thighs, the hair
on them darker than his, the muscles brawnier, less gym-cut, all power and
beef.

"I want to suck your fucking cock, bro," he said, a determined thrust to
his jaw. "All the way down. Like you showed me how to do. Suck your fucking
cum out of these big fuckin' balls of yours..."

His voice tapered off as he leaned in to nuzzle his handsome face at my
big, heavy sac, first his nose inhaling the muskiness of them, then his
lips kissing, caressing them, making them churn even harder. He kissed each
one in turn, then licked them slowly, before sitting back on his heels and
looking up at me with that near-adoration again. Slowly he leaned in again,
this time to my left knee, and licked and kissed his way up my inner thigh,
all the way up to the sweaty intersection of my groin. He inhaled my
manscent deeply, then repeated the action on my right leg. At the end, he
reached up to take my cock in his hand and give it a slow, respectful
stroke.

"Can I, bro?" he said in a voice that took me right back to the
surprisingly respectful, deferential teenager I'd basically fucked out into
the open when he was 17. "Can I show you?"

"Yeah," I growled, running my fingers through his military haircut,
thrilling to the way he angled his head to butt it against my stroking
palm, like a cat. "Yeah, go ahead and show me, little brother."

He moaned and practically dove for it, his mouth already open, but I
grabbed a handful of his short hair and stopped him, mid-lunge. He let out
a strangled little grunt of disappointment, but went silent when I pursed
my lips, eyes locked on his, and dropped a thick wad of my spit down onto
the throbbing head of my cock. Then I released his hair and nodded, and
stood back, arms folded, to let him go to work.

"Aw fuck," I grunted as Mickey opened wide and took me to the root in one
long, lunging, hungry gulp. He buried his nose in the sweaty tangle of my
bush, huffing and gulping, my length soaking in his warm, thick spit as he
inhaled my scent and my taste, and then backed up the full length of me
again, a little slower, savoring each inch of my hardness. A thick strand
of spit connected my cockhead and his lips when he settled back, taking
hold of my spit-slicked shaft, his eyes gazing at it as he pumped his fist
up and down.

"Fuck," he muttered thickly, and then he was opening wide and going after
me again. This time, he took the head and the top couple of inches in his
mouth, lashing it with his tongue, scooping up my precum and his spit as
his lips sealed around the circumference and inched their way down. He
worked on the top third of me, giving it his all, and that was a lot to
give. But then he gave more, slurping and swallowing his way slowly back
down as I tangled my fingers in his hair again and guided him on down. He
hadn't been all that great at this when he'd first started - I'd been only
his second, apart from one of his linebacker buddies at summer football
camp his junior year of high school, he'd confessed in the afterglow of our
first session - but he'd always had the taste for it, deep down. And just
like with wrestling holds and how to fire an SAW, he'd taken to instruction
well. Taken to a man instructing him, eager to prove himself, and proud of
his skill development.

Mickey's hands were all over my body as he worked, stroking and worshipping
my thighs, my ass, my torso, feeling my muscle and beef and fur. Feeling my
manliness with covetous hands, and savoring it all like he was savoring the
thickness of my cock and the precum flowing freely from it. I stroked his
fine head and uttered soft curses and curt, grunted words of encouragement,
telling him he was a good boy, that he was making his man feel good. He
soaked it all up and worked even harder, and soon had me right on the brink
of feeding him a very healthy load. But we both knew this was just a
waystation. This ride wasn't over yet, not by a long shot.

The next time he came up off my cock, more of those spit strands connecting
his lips to my dick, I put my hand on his forehead to stop him from diving
back in. He looked up obediently, and all it took was my hand tugging on
the underside of his chin to get him scrambling upright, up real close to
me, his cock throbbing like hot steel against my thigh as I reached around
to grab hold of his ass, squeezing it deeply. He arched his back and pushed
it deeper into my palms as he gazed up at me, his lips all shiny, streams
of his spit still streaking the sides of his mouth and his jawline. I bent
in and fed him my tongue, a thick, probing, lusty mankiss, whimpers running
through his muscled body as he pushed his ass back into my grasp and kissed
me back, thick forearms wrapping around my neck as he let me have my way
with him.

"Hungry little fuckboy, ain't ya," I said when we came up for air, my voice
deep and growly, but a certain playfulness to it too. He blushed, but
nodded. He knew who he was. Knew he could be himself with me.

"Yessir," he said quietly, flexing his glutes in my palms, letting me know
exactly what it was he wanted more than anything else. As if there was any
doubt about that. As if I didn't know him better than he knew himself,
sometimes.

"You want more, kid?" I said. He nodded, and I shook my head warningly at
him. He knew how this went.

"Yeah, I want more," he said, blushing hard.

"Tell me," I murmured, my lips buzzing his. "Tell your man what you want."

"I... I want you to fuck me, sir," he half-whispered, like he was ashamed
of himself. I guess part of him was, and I guess that was what was so hot
about all this for him. Even after several years of this lusty friction
between us, the countless times he'd swallowed my tongue and my cock, my
spit and my cum, all the lusty fucks I'd thrown him, it still itched inside
of him, under his hard-muscled, hard-charging Marine surface. The
pussy-loving alpha bro he was out in the world, stretched tight over the
hungry, needful, subby dick-craving little fuckbeast he was at his core. It
itched, and it bothered him, but he couldn't deny who he was any more than
I could. And I was here to scratch that itch like nobody else could.

"Who do you want to fuck you, kid?" I murmured, halfway between speaking
and kissing him. Teasing him, as my strong hands spread his thick glutes
and my fingers danced up and down the insides of his cheeks.

"You, bro," he said. "My big brother. Fuck me like a man does, dude."

"Fuck you like the man you are, huh little bro?"

He nodded, cheeks flushed with color, and god I loved him like this. Putty
in my hands. All mine, for this long moment. Me and my kid brother, all the
external bullshit cast aside, showing each other who we truly were, and
loving it. Loving each other, in some ways - just showing it differently
than most. I let the hard-edged, hard-man facade slip for a moment as I fed
him my tongue in a long, deep kiss. A moment of respite for him and me
both. He whimpered a little and responded, and for a minute or two, our
bodies came together like lovers do, and it was sweet as fuck.

Just a moment, though, and I cut it off sooner than he was ready for. I
clapped my big rugby player's hands on his chunky-muscled ass hard enough
to sting a little, making him grunt with surprise, and took advantage of
his momentary shock to spin him around and shove him towards the bed. He
nearly tripped on his feet as he careened towards it, then his knees hit
the side of the mattress and he flopped down hard, making the bed creak and
thud into the wall as he sprawled out across it. The way his spectacular
ass jiggled a little as he landed just fueled the fire in my loins, and I
let out an audible growl of lust before I went after him. He looked over
his shoulder almost apprehensively, seeing me approach, my dick big and
hard and still shiny with his spit, and very ready to get back inside
him. But it was too late now - his ass was literally mine, and he knew
it. All he could do was get ready for it, and hold on tight.

In contrast to the rest of him, Mickey's ass was creamy and pale, with a
livid red spot on each cheek where I'd just smacked it. The way he'd
sprawled on the bed made the thick, beautifully developed muscle flex into
deep-dimpled mounds, his cleft spread wide and inviting, lined with blond
fur, the tight pinkness of his pucker like a lure. I dropped to my knees on
the rug beside the bed, grabbed hold of his hips and dragged his ass
closer, savoring the feel of those muscles flexing as I literally licked my
lips in anticipation. Sometimes I'd kiss those cheeks of his, run my hands
and my lips and my tongue over them, really appreciating the fineness of
his ass, but that was more of a second-round thing. Right now, I was
hungry, and it had been a little while since I'd had the pleasure of having
him, so I dove on in without any preamble.

Mickey moaned at the sensation of my stubbled jaw as I nuzzled at him,
burying my face in his depths with a lusty growl, inhaling his sweaty musk
before swabbing his little bud with my big, wet tongue. His ass was
literally mouthwatering, and I laid a thick layer of spit up and down his
salty furrow, my big hands spreading him wide open so I could get my agile
tongue up inside of him and get down to business.

"Aw fuck bro," he moaned, and the way he pushed his ass back against my
munching face made my cock throb doubletime. I growled in reply, growled up
into his depths, as I started to ream him out with my tongue. His taste was
sharp-edged and musky, but clean beneath that, and I nearly chuckled with
amusement at the thought that he'd probably cleaned himself out real good
before coming down here. Knowing I'd be here. Knowing what kind of
opportunities might arise between us. Good boy. I'd trained him well.

I love to eat ass. I have a nice long, thick tongue, and I have a certain
rep for it. Hell, I don't mind eating pussy, for that matter - at least, I
didn't back in college. It was always kind of a fun challenge, and I got
pretty good at making a girl cum that way, when the opportunity presented
itself. My fraternity brothers got a real kick out of that, the big
unapologetic gay dude who didn't mind going down on a girl and showing her
a good time. I got a bit of a kick out of it too, especially if one of
those fraternity brothers happened to be nearby when I came up out of a
girl's pussy, my face all glazed with her juices, and was willing to help
me get off once I'd softened her up a little for him. More of them were
willing to lend a helping hand, or mouth, than you might think.

But much as I love to eat ass - and Mickey's especially - this wasn't so
much about that, not now at least. This was just about prepping him for the
big show, and as I licked my horny little brother's ex-wrestler ass open, I
was stroking my superhard cock to get it nice and wet for him too. From the
feel of it, it was going to be a big show indeed, especially for him. I
licked him until my tongue was starting to strain from the exertion, and
then I hawked a couple of thick wads of spit onto his pretty, blond
fur-trimmed hole, and probed them inside of him with a couple of long,
thick fingers. That had him bucking and moaning, his chunky cock drooling
onto the bedspread, especially when I curled my fingers inside of him to
stroke his prostate, and then he really went into full bitch mode.

"No lube, kid," I growled in his ear as I draped myself over his
sweat-glowing muscles, slow-fisting more precum out of my copious reserves
to help ease the way, letting him feel the steely, sticky press of my big
unit against the back of his thigh, the hard curve of his glute. "Think you
can handle it?"

"Fuck yeah I can handle it," he growled, turning his head to look at me
with eyes that were half-hazy, half-fiery. He pushed his face into mine and
kissed me, hard and hungry, and hunched his stellar ass back against my
straining cock. "I'm a fucking man, bro. You're a fucking man. Let's just
fuckin' fuck, dude."

"Yeah, like men do, huh kid?" I grunted, thumping my hard length against
his cleft, making him press it back against me, making me leak even more.

"Fuck yeah," he panted against my lips. "Fuck me like a man, big
bro. Please."

That's all I needed to hear. I hocked more spit onto his pulsing hole,
another couple wads into my palm to slick my cocklength up with, and then I
pushed it up inside of him. Not brutally, because I was no sadist, but with
determination. His hands clutched the bedspread into sweaty bunches, his
back writhing as he gasped at the intrusion, and just as his hole opened up
to take me and he started to yell, I clapped my spit-sticky hand over his
mouth to quiet him and thrust my way up inside.

Fuck, there's nothing like that feeling. I rarely got to fuck without a
rubber anymore, and I never had rubbered up with Mickey, and it felt just
as intense and amazing as it had the first time I'd nailed him. He was all
tight and hot and stretchy inside, full of warmth and pulsing closeness,
wrapping himself around the big length of my brother cock as I pushed it up
into him. He'd told me once I was the only one who did this to him, but I
wouldn't mind if he was his entire battallion's bitch. I had half a mind to
tell him to go get his ass fucked by one or more of his studly Marine
buddies, and report back to me in full detail. Maybe even with video
evidence. Yeah. Now that I thought about it, I was going to tell him to do
just that. Do it for me. For his man. That thought made my lips curl into a
smirk as I reached the end of my cock inside of him, and I leaned in to
lick up the side of his thick, sweaty neck to his ear.

"Yeah, you got it all, little bro," I growled. "Guess you really are a
fuckboy now, huh kid?"

He just whimpered at that and butted his forehead against mine, leaning
into me as he pushed his ass back against me as best he could, and I set to
work. I slid my big arms around his sweating, writhing torso, clutching him
tight as I fucked his musclekid ass, picking up speed like an old steam
train, giving him exactly what he'd always needed. I switched up the pace,
giving him hard, fast, aggressive power thrusts, then dialed it back to
slower, deeper, longer fuckstrokes as I nuzzled his neck and whispered my
control into his ear. I licked up the sweat flowing down his traps and fed
it to him in tangy, sloppy kisses as the bed creaked and shook beneath us,
and when my hand worked its way down his sweaty, heaving, musclebound torso
to his cock, found it just as hard and wet and pulsating in my grasp as it
always was. I enjoyed getting fucked nearly as much as I liked fucking, but
Mickey loved getting nailed, and it was crazy hot to bitch him out like
this. Giving the cocky little pussy-chasing, musclebound Marine fucker what
he truly needed, and what I wanted.

"I... I'm gonna... ah fuck bro, you're gonna make me..." he moaned a little
while later, because as good as this was, it was too good to last.

"I'm gonna make you what, fuckboy?" I growled in his ear, all hard and
lusty.

"You're gonna make me CUM!" he hollered before I could clamp my hand over
his mouth, his voice going from husky moan to full-throated yell on that
last word, and no sooner had he said it than his cock was pulsating in my
hand, thick and sticky and suddenly extra-slick, and then he was spurting
into my clasping fist. Overflowing it, hot thick jets blasting free,
shooting up the length of his torso and raining down on the bedspread
beneath him as he shook and moaned and pulsated all around me.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," I growled, because the combination of his sweat on
my tongue, his cum painting my fist, and the tight, rhythmic clutch of his
chute around my dick ran headlong into the knowledge that I was fucking the
daylights out of my stud kid brother with my family and their friends a
hundred feet away outside. And so I let my load uncoil inside of me, fire
along the thrusting, throbbing length of my big brother cock, and blast up
into his clutching depths. I grunted and panted, holding his body tight to
mine as I bit down on his shoulder and released my sperm inside of him.

We stayed locked together afterwards, my bigger body covering his like a
sweaty blanket, his head craned around so we could kiss. This time, the
kissing was slower, deeper, more intimate. More connected. More about need
than want. More about us as brothers, not the intense dynamic that had
brought us here, sweaty and sticky and drained. When my cock finally
softened enough to slide free of him with a wet, lewd slurp, he moaned a
little, and then even more when I slid down to lick the traces of my
overflowing cum from his slowly closing hole. The salty musk of his sweat
and the mineral tang of my cum were heavy on my tongue, and he grunted
appreciatively as he pulled me up, mouth open to receive the flow of it,
drizzled down from my mouth into his before I chased it with my tongue. I
let him lick it all from my mouth, cleaning me up, before I rolled onto my
back and pulled him on top of me to swap it lazily back and forth in a
slow, thick kiss.

I was amazed nobody had come inside the house while we were doing our
thing, and even more amazed that we'd only been gone a half-hour. Mickey
stood in front of the mirror over the dresser and surveyed the faint
impression my teeth had left on the thick muscle of his shoulder when I'd
cum inside him.

"Fuck, dude," he said with a frown as I stepped up next to him.

"You complaining, kid?" I said, my hand rubbing the small of his back,
watching the little shiver as his body reacted in that way I knew so
well. His eyes met mine in the mirror, saw the edge that still remained in
them. Just because we'd cum, didn't mean this was over. It never really
was.

"Not really," he said with a little blush, getting the message. "But people
might see it."

"Be grateful I didn't give you a hickey then, fuckboy," I growled, leaning
in to lick the bite mark lewdly with my tongue, then taking hold of his
chin and turning his face to mine so I could kiss him, hard and sloppy and
assertive. I felt him melt a little in my one-armed embrace as he kissed me
back.

"Guess you'll just have to put a shirt on until it fades," I said when we
separated again, smacking his beautiful bare ass, following that with a
slow, soothing rub for good measure. I had to laugh at the look of
disappointment that glanced across his face at the suggestion.

"Michelle's already seen your body, kid, or most of it anyway," I said,
wrapping my arm back around him and meeting his blushing gaze in the
mirror. "She doesn't need to see any more of it, and you don't need to try
and push the issue with her, do you, Mickey?"

He shook his head, and I could see he meant it.

"So you're going to be a perfect gentleman to her, right?" I said. He
nodded, and again, I knew he meant it.

"Good boy," I said, cupping his ass, giving it a loving squeeze, kissing
the side of his neck. My hand came up his side and thumbed his nipple,
making it stiffen, making him moan and press back into me a little
more. "You can be a fuckboy with me, kid. But the way I tell you to be,
right?"

"Yessir," he said, standing up a little straighter, pushing his
thick-muscled chest out. Meaning it.

"Then come over to my place tonight after the party, and I'll treat you
like the fuckboy you want to be, kid," I growled in his ear. "If you behave
yourself."

"I will, bro," he said. Eyes deep on mine in the mirror. "I will... sir."

"Attaboy," I said, stroking up and down his muscle-ridged flank, planting
another slow kiss on his trap. "Now put your shorts back on, and let's go
back out there so you can show me what a gentleman you can be."

Mickey grinned and snapped off a playful salute. He retrieved a T-shirt
from his Jeep to cover up the mark I'd put on his skin, and true to his
word, he was the perfect gentlemen all afternoon. Actually conversed with
Michelle, played with Stella, helped Dad with the grill. I was proud of him
again. All he needed was motivation from the right man, and he'd do the
right thing.

Later that night, back at my condo in Charlotte, I rewarded him with the
slower, deeper, tender fuck he craved from me. The fuck I liked giving him
best. By the time that sexy, powerful ass of his swayed its way out my door
the next morning, thoroughly and repeatedly fucked in all the ways he liked
it to be, we'd both demonstrated that being a fuckboy could be a very good
thing - so long as you did it the right way.