This is a slash fanfic based on the short story `The Mud Below' by Annie Proulx, found in the collection Close Range.

The river glides at her own sweet whim, slow and glittering as the slime-trail of a snail under the suffocating June sun. This was the perfect summer, the one when for once in Diamond's life everything went right.

He's perched on the prow of their baby rowboat, Slayton in the middle to centre the weight. `You don't weigh nothing', he said the first time they put her out on the water, `but if I sit at the other end where I'm aposed to the whole fuckin thing'll flip ass over tits.'

That was when they were ten. That was the first time someone had remarked on Diamond's height without him wanting to chew their tongue off. Somehow it was the way the big blond boy with his big blond cock hanging half out the leg of his fraying shorts said it. Not cruel, or even dismissive. Just matter-of-fact. As if Diamond's littleness were no more strange than his hugeness; as if the two were somehow equals in their freakish disparity. And Diamond wasn't jealous. Because sure, he wanted to be tall, but nobody wanted to be that tall. It was its own kind of exile from the guarded land of normality. Also, the fact he used naughty words excited him, since Mom didn't let him, or be friends with kids who did. He was excited by his size, too. Even then it tugged at Diamond with some kind of gravitational doom, which only worsened as the years grew with the gap between the top of Diamonds head and the dimple on Slayton's chin.

Truth be told, at this point it's kind of a hazard. The boat sits low in the water. Slayton, who now at fifteen is already taller than all their teachers, only has to shift his weight a little for her to tilt and turn in lapping current.

He's as big as an adult already. Fuck knows how big he'll be when he actually is an adult. Diamond knows, because he watches, that Slayton ain't stopped growing yet.

He sits in a wide stance as he tugs on the oars, ploughing their little lean knife of a boat across the river's slippery skin, opening her up behind them, his thick legs spread on either side of Diamond's skinny frame, so he's looking right between them. Looking at that big thing that seems to get bigger every time he sees it. Especially when Slayton notices him looking.

Slayton blushing is a thing of beauty. Diamond glances over his shoulder at the water ahead of them and scratches his belly, rucking his shirt up to his nipples with studied inattention—and out the corner of his eye he sees a tint of strawberry dye sheet over that gold cream and sprinkles dessert bowl of a face, so sweet when he's smiling that shy but hungry smile that Diamond just wants to part his cheeks and let Slayton eat him up.

He plays a kind of a funny game—how long can he peek at Slayton's cock till it starts to tent out the front of his cut-offs.

So far Slayton has only been a passive player, half a spectator, his dick the only part of him that gets involved (every time without fail. Even in the most public, embarrassing situations).

Diamond's not sure whether he's more scared of that changing or disappointed it hasn't already. The midsummer heat and the heat crawling up the inside of him are pretty rapidly making up his mind. Not that anything above his waist really enters into the equation.

God, he just wants Slayton inside him. Is that a weird thing for a guy to want from his best friend? Maybe Diamond would know if he'd ever been normal. If his hands hadn't itched to hold Slayton's cock since they were almost too small to hold the oars.

He twists his ass on the bench seat, as if trying to screw an invisible dildo into his rectum. `I'm so hot', he huffs.

`Take your shirt off', Slayton suggests, too quickly and not at all the casual, offhand suggestion he was aiming for. He said it like Diamond was some chick with a stare-worthy rack to bounce everywhere, not a scrawny teen with a pair of nipples stuck like two wet pebbles amid a bed of undecorative acne.

Slayton already has his off. With that and the lazy wind ruffling his blond mane a little and the humidity weighing it down, sweat shining on his nose and forehead, pecs and biceps swelling as he strains at the oars, Slayton looks like he's modelling for some glossy magazine that moms in drug stores buy as discreet soft porn. His looks are something of which he himself is only just coming into an awareness. But Diamond always knew. Since he first laid his eyes on Slayton he hasn't been able to take them off. Even before he knew what he was looking at, or for.

God bless America and all the bad beautiful boys in it.

He lifts the hem of his shirt. Then he drops it and takes his shorts off.

They're so stiff with sweat and so tight anyway that they come off like sandpaper. Already a size too small but he kept them, keeps all his old clothes, because of the way Slayton's breath hitches when he bends over in front of him.

He's determined though, determined that today is the day. He can't be the only virgin in his class.

He wrangles the shorts off with a lot of huffing and some hopefully sexy writhing off his hips, and tosses them into the dank bottom of the boat.

Then he's naked and there's nothing between Slayton's dick and his puckered expectant hole except a foot or so of boggy air and a few millimetres of cotton.

It's a queer feeling in more ways than one. He shifts the softness of his naked ass across the plank that acts as a seat. The wood is rough, unvarnished, naked as well, in its own way, but slick and warm and slightly yielding from years of absorbing wet heat and riverwater. A little like a dick, now Diamond thinks of it. Fuck, he wants it bad.

He catches his pinkly-swollen boner between his thighs, then lets it bob up against his belly. It's so hard it feels like its actually trying to scoop its way into his stomach.

He doesn't dare touch it with his hand or the show will be over before it's started.

And now it's Slayton that's looking. The oars rest slack in their rowlocks, Slayton's jaw slack under his open mouth.

`Your turn,' Diamond says softly.

He hasn't actually seen it yet. Not properly. He's seen it out of his pants, soft, when he takes one of his elephantine pisses, and he's seen it hard under them, but he's never seen it out of his pants and hard.

Slayton's cut-offs, strained white and ragged around the trunk-like muscled hugeness of his thighs, come off more easily. He stands up, bends down (the boat tipping alarmingly), and then he sits down again and they're gone and there it. Fucking. Is.

Diamond chokes, as if it was already halfway down his throat.

Godfucking damn. He always knew it was big, but seeing it all out, all hard and exposed like that, from the purple tip, already tacky with pre, to the ruddy tennis ball-sized testicles that make his mouth water even though he knows he'd never fit them in. Not even one at a time.

It's so fucking big that even on Slayton's stupid big body it looks comically, grotesquely massive. And the fucker's still growing.

Fuck, this was either his best idea or his worst, but he's not about to back down now. That dry virgin heat that's been itching at his insides all summer, ever since Slayton came into his growth spurt balls deep (ever since he got his first unasked glimpse of what he's packing) wouldn't let him.

Nor would Slayton, he thinks, watching him halter the drooling beast of his cock in his hand with almost gritted teeth and glare at him under his gilt lashes, and God if that knowledge doesn't flip him ass-side up in the worst way.

They're best friends; they're each others only friends. Diamond was never fool enough to think that meant Slayton wouldn't hurt him.

And Diamond doesn't blame him, either.

Even Slayton, slow Slayton as they called him at school till he got big enough to put the ones who said it in wheelchairs without meaning to, wasn't willing to wait forever. Not even till Diamond's birthday.

The birds and crickets have stopped chirping, even the river itself seems to have halted, holding her breath.

Neither of them says anything. There's just their eyes burning into each other and Diamond's pucker practically eating up the seat and Slayton's cock bobbing and throbbing and dripping. Drip. Drop.

Slayton leans forward, reaches out, and Diamond almost lets out a noise that was sure to be embarrassing. But Slayton's next move is unexpected.

He takes Diamond's bare foot and delicately applies it to the shaft of his prick. Diamond's question catches on his tongue.

They're touching. He's touching Slayton's cock. With his foot yes, but still. He can feel it.

The intimacy of it makes him gasp for air. Seeing was a revelation in itself, but touching, skin-to-skin, is another apocalypse. Even if it's with Diamond's lowest extremity, it's still Slayton's fucking dick. Slayton his has dick on Diamond. One letter away from in him. There's something so vulnerable about it that it makes his hands shake where they're clutching the sides of the boat. Something utterly irreversible. Slayton's all there, all for Diamond to see, and now to touch (soon, he hopes, to taste).

It's his motherfucking dick. Leaving the size of it alone (which Diamond does not intend to), it's the closest they've ever been, and somehow, though Slayton here is at his biggest (the biggest of any male in a ten-mile radius, Diamond would wager good lawn mowing money, including some of the stallions), he's also at his smallest, the most under Diamond's power he's ever been (or ever will be, he somehow knows). In some weird but real sense Diamond is breathing in and brushing against his soul.

It's like standing on burning coals, scorching even amid the heat that engulfs them. He can feel the blood rushing under his sole, pulsing in a steadily quickening rhythm. It's like he's standing tiptoe on Slayton's heart.

Diamond doesn't know if he has skinny feet or what, but there's a point where the meat of Slayton's dick is actually wider than his foot.

Slayton starts to rub his foot up and down it, bucking his butt up off the seat to help his orgasm along; he's just so horny he can't keep himself from humping on Diamond like a frisky dog, even if it's only his foot he's fucking.

A bit of friction; Diamond drums his toes over the head; Slayton bites his lip, and then squirts through them, and all up Diamond's shin.

`You are so gross', Diamond says, scrunching up his nose.

Slayton rumbles out a sigh and grins. He wipes a fat oozy pearl on Diamond's heel.

Then he leans forward again, prick sputtering white into the space between them. `Get on your back `fore I make you.'

`Aye, aye, cap'n', Diamomd murmurs, barely audible from the shallowness of his breath, and shimmies down. He's rendered speechless by the husky urgency of Slayton's voice, by how much of his thigh is eaten up by Slayton's hand. There's icy-hot shivers all over his body and whatever misgivings he had about that much cock in that little Diamond are drowning in a flood of feverish want.

Slayton manhandles him about so his leg is up by his head, and he sticks out his tongue to lick off a curl of Slayton's cock-shavings.

Slayton pulls it down again. They're doing it missionary-style. It seems appropriate for their first time. This is, after all, a deflowering.

Slayton drapes his legs over the sides of the boat so his toes are trailing in the water. The little bit of cool sensation makes him lurch inside like he's about to fire his pistol before the race is even started. His dick is fucking vibrating. Who knows if it'll be a sprint or a marathon. But Diamond will be surprised (and grieved) if his big-balled boy has only one load left in him.

Slayton uses his palms to tilt up Diamond's butt and his thumbs to spread the narrow crevice with its two rounded fleshy flaps that from this angle isn't too far off a pair of pussy lips.

And there it is.

Diamond can feel Slayton's heavy gaze like a prick already boring through it. The touch of his eyes is just as tangible on his cunt as the lazy summer breeze fluttering its moist tongue over it. His pink winking cherry is ripe for the plucking, and Slayton's manhood looks stiff enough to scoop him out a new hole. He's so wet and hard and ready and Diamond's so wet and soft and ready, he just has to bend his knees and pop it in.

Slayton hawks, a crude, ugly sound, and spits once on Diamond's hole, the sloppy wet practically sizzling on his steaming flesh; more of an insult, or a claiming, than a preparation.

There's no way he can really prepare for this anyway. He's just going to have to take it.

He turns his head so he can get the sweat-salted cotton of his shorts between his teeth.

Words have no part of in what follows. They know each other too well and want each other too much to need them.

Slayton leans in, big hand heart-breakingly gentle on his forehead. `Easy, cowboy. Ride easy, darlin. I'll try so it don't hurt too long.' Even before he's done saying it he jams his hips forward and stabs it in.

The first thing is pain.

Pain so bad he's trying to swallow his own throat, mouth gaping in a soundless whine. Cock so huge, in Diamond's mind it's not inside him but all around him, swallowing him up like Jonah's whale.

He read once that a whale's dick is taller than a man. Right now it feels like Slayton's dick alone is taller than Diamond.

But it is going inside him.

Even before it gets into his asshole proper he can feel it buckling in his asscheeks, carving a wide dimpled space for all that heavy shaft to furrow. The head alone is as big as Diamond's two balls squeezed together. With his eyes closed, it feels like an honest-to-fuck baseball bat someone's trying to shove up inside him, fat end first.

It's impossible. But it also doesn't stop.

Slayton lets Diamond's ring snap tight just under the flare of his head, like an elastic band, only it's made of Diamond's body and it was never made to snap that way. He rests in Diamond for a moment. `You all right?'

`Yes. Don't stop', Diamond says, letting the words slide out between clenched teeth, biting back the other noises that try to follow them. `Keep going. Just, whatever happens, don't stop. Just gotta get over it.'

Slayton obeys.

He could die like this, Diamond thinks, sweating and crying like crazy as his hole tears open and about a hundred inches swell out his gut in one grunting remorseless thrust.

His cock has wilted so fast he'd worry it was broke, if his whole fucking hole hadn't just been broken in beyond repair. His prick lies soft like a piece of rope on his belly, the only part of him not weeping.

`You all right, Shorty?' Slayton asks again.

`Don't fucking ask me that. Just fucking—fuck me.' He's not going to die. He's concentrating everything on the twin, incompatible and impossible tasks of taking Slayton's cock and not dying.

Slayton pauses. Then he says, something like resignation in his voice, `All right.'

And he doesn't. He doesn't ask again.

He settles his bulk across Diamond's, puts one hand on his shoulder, pressing him hard into the hull of the boat, the other on his hip, stopping him from squirming away.

Keeping him still for what's to come.

Slayton lunges forward, over and inside Diamond's body.

There's a pop, a squelch, maybe even a crack.

And—well, that's all the rest of it in. It happened in the blink of a red, oozing eye, the thread of Diamond's fate snapping like the wall of his colon.

It seems to punch something vital right up and out through his panting mouth. For all he knew it was his stomach.

Holy dogfuck, that's big. He can't even tell where inside him it ends. If it even does.

He expects Slayton to pause there a moment, or a millennia. Which is the approximate time it would take him to adjust to the molten core of steel somebody has replaced his innards with.

Slayton doesn't pause. He drags Diamond's ass up till it's flush with his crotch and starts to lay into him; more precisely, lays his turgid cock in and out of his stinging hole, several swollen inches at a time.

Minutes pass before Diamond realises that what Slayton's doing to him is fucking. It has little enough in common with anything he'd associated with the act, as it appeared in health classes or the pages of girlie mags. In books they call it making love.

Slayton is like a boulder rolling over him. A horny sentient boulder that wants to stick its granite cock up his butt.

Steady and slow he's not. Gentle, he could never be. It's like a dam breaking, but it breaks over and over, slamming shockwaves into Diamond's core. Slayton's fingers are digging into his buttocks like he's trying to tear chunks out of his outside, too. Every time his prick jabs up Diamond's head knocks against the spine of the boat. There's probably splinters in his taint. It hurts. But it all hurts, and it's all to the good. This is the sacrifice Diamond is making on the altar of eternity. This is making love. And Diamond, hazy with the hurt, knows sure as he knows he'll never make the NBA, that if he doesn't get it now he won't get it ever.

Diamond takes and takes and takes it and fucking takes it till there's nothing left inside him that isn't Slayton's cock. He's sore, but he's not scared. He's in agony, but he's not angry. He knows it has to be this way. It would never have happened otherwise. The harder it hurts, the sooner he gets over it, the sooner his ass is broken open into a cunt, the sooner it's all over, the better. That's the one thing he holds onto. He bites his shirt and doesn't scream. Half-pint he may be, but nobody ever called him a pussy.

Slayton turns Diamond's face up and keeps kissing him so he doesn't have breath to feel the hurt. There's sweaty gold in Diamond's eyes. Slayton's biceps flex around his torso, like he could crunch his ribcage if he really tried, or even without meaning to. The feeling is safety and terror at once. Diamond is being destroyed but no one else can touch him. Slayton's hips snap up with such untamed inhuman power, Diamond would be out of the boat and halfway to the riverbottom if it weren't for the prow at his head.

Their bodies are rubbing across each other like two bits of wood someone's using to start a fire, and Diamond's glad he can't see between them. He doesn't want to see what that dick looks like nosing around his internal organs. He has a strong stomach, but there are limits to what a man can take. Or at least see himself taking.

Slayton doesn't stop and Diamond doesn't ask him too and knows he wouldn't even if he did and knows, for all his agony and tears, that he wouldn't have it any other way. When somebody's this crazy about you, that's not just something you bargain with or try to put off. A freak like Slayton happens once an æon and right now he's happening inside Diamond's ass. And even through the tears, Diamond's grateful.

 

Maybe it's just that all the nerve endings have been stripped off by the ceaseless raw fuck of Slayton's organ-grinding shaft, but after a time the agony fades. Less world-ending pain than a tight intensity around the ring of his hole and, deeper in, a feeling less of pain than of profound discomfort and wrongness, a displacement of something vital and dispossession of something irreplaceable. But all of it is right. No matter what it feels, this is as right as Diamond has ever been with this world that was built too big for him. And Slayton biggest of all.

Just when Diamond's shrivelled prick is plumpening with the first tingles of what might conceivably be pleasure, Slayton drops his boulderweight on top of him and comes.

`You—', he begins, then stutters to a stop. `Just—fuckin you.'

Diamond strokes his back and sucks soft kisses into every part of Slayton he can reach, which is his shoulder and part of his chest and the dip at the bottom of his neck. He knows. They don't need to say fuck about it. They've done it. He endured the pain for true love's sake. By the baptism of blood and seed they have been joined into one flesh. Now nothing can ever keep them apart.

Slayton takes his hand and traces a ring around his finger. His cock's still swelling and pumping at a steady pace, rivers of milk-honey irrigating the inward parts of Diamond Felts. It must be a minute before it stops. Diamond never thought he could hold so much love inside him.

 

The river bears the boat downstream at her own placid pace, the oars in their rowlocks slowing them some, keeping them from drifting too far, too fast. After a little while, in which Diamond almost dozes off, they do it again. This time it feels good.

The first thing he knows is the mingled relief and disappointment when Slayton withdraws his cock. He paws the mess between Diamond's legs and then strokes his own pudgy half-softened length, varnishing prickwood with silvery spittle and the leakage from Diamond's pussified boyhole, getting it good and stiff again, then jamming it back in, chafing it on the rubbery walls of Diamond's guts.

He's half standing, now, and he holds one of Diamond's legs up and has his other hand splayed possessively over Diamond's belly and plump cock, keeping him right where he wants as he breaks him the fuck open for a second time, smashing his hips into his ass so hard and fast they smart like they do from a real good belt spanking, the kind Diamond's dad no longer gives him.

He fucks like he's hammering in a nail, which he is, actually, a little nail of nerve endings a few inches up Diamond's ass that seems to tap right into the part of him that all the pleasure comes from. Slayton hammers it over and over at this new angle, not even meaning to, simply relentless in the pursuit of whatever he's trying to dig up in Diamond's belly with the long shovelling thrusts of his cock.

Diamond's cock stands straight up so he has to look around it to see Slayton's face. When he comes, he squirts sticky grey dye into his own hair.

 

The rest of the afternoon passes like that. There's no rapids to worry about, and from here the river only runs down into the town of Redship proper. For now, there's high green hedges on either side like curtains, with yellow drooping willows as the tassels at their border and a benignant blue sky like a canopy. The whole world is their marriage bed. They're both still naked and Slayton's still inside him, twitching now and then; even coming a little when they ride up a bump in the flow.

Around one bend, however, there's something new. Diamond squints over Slayton's shoulder. The fuck-happy heat inside him turns suddenly chill. There's no mistaking it. There's a frost-bearded man in a ratty old hat sitting in a camp chair on the bank, fishing.

Diamond tenses up, which makes Slayton swear into his shoulder and thrust up a little.

`Slayton, stop, for God's sake. There's a fucking guy there.'

`What fuckin guy?', Slayton grumbles into Diamond's hair. He's half-asleep now, moving slowly in and out of Diamond's ass on a stubborn autopilot, his exertions with both oar and prick having finally caught him up.

`On the bank, up ahead. He's fishing. Slayton, he'll see. Just take your fuckin cock out my ass.'

`He can eat my fucking hole. I ain't takin my dick out of you. God himself couldn't make me if He came down and grabbed me by the nuts.'

Diamond shoves at Slayton's shoulder, but that only makes him growl and deliberately thrust up harder.

`At least stop fucking me', Diamond whispers, almost in tears. `Please. Just fucking hold it in, you asshole.' Will the man see? Will he say something? Diamond doesn't have a wisp of an idea what to do if he does. He wishes Slayton would pull out of him or at least try to make it a little less obvious that he has a foot of hard teen meat lodged in Diamond's guts.

He holds his breath, clenched so cunt-tight around Slayton that for the first time it's the bigger boy's turn to whimper a little. Diamond doesn't hear him and barely feels him. The river's lethargic pace seems sadistic. It feels like they're sitting motionless on the water.

They pass by without comment. The man's face is half covered by the floppy brim of his hat. Maybe he's asleep or maybe he's seen it all before. Hell, maybe this is what all fishing buddies do.

Diamond relaxes around Slayton's cock and bus breath whistles through his nose.

There's a thrill of wonder now they've gotten away with it. Maybe it wouldn't matter if they floated right on into town, he thinks, and imagines just that. Imagines all the banks clustered with ogling eyes while Slayton ploughs him in that desperate, orgasm-or-death way of his, putting on a show. Part of him even gets excited at the thought. Like a cork, or a genie out of the bottle, now Diamond's virginity has been bloodily but willingly raped out of him, there's no filling the gaping hole of need that starts between his ass cheeks but runs all the way up to his heart.

They can do this every day, if they want to, and Diamond knows they both do. And there's so many places they can fuck.

Diamond's glad their first time was in balmy daylight, under open sky with the slow wet Redship wind on his balls, defiant of the crinklecock Christ sitting fuckless in his desert Heaven. Diamond has his holiest wound between his thighs, and he's going to make damn sure it never heals. He makes a pact with himself then, himself and Slayton's irrepressible social menace of a schlong, that they're never ever ever ever going to do it indoors, come hail or lightning.

Slayton makes one of those odd sex noises that by now are almost as intelligible to Diamond as his own, and sort of tightens up against him, lancing in whatever scant millimetres of prick were no longer jammed up inside Diamond's boy-gooch.

`You coming again?'

He feels Slayton nod against his hair.

`I love you', Diamond says. He wants to, at least once.

Slayton slips two fingers into his hole alongside his cock to pinch at his prostate and gnaws a hickey into his neck. With fingers that eloquent, Diamond thinks, straining up against the bigger boy as he slicks both their bellies with jizz for at least the third time, who even needs words?

 

The sun drops a little, stops pissing wet heat right on them, though Diamond is shielded from the worst of it by his own Insatiable Hulk. He strokes Slayton's shoulders and back thankfully, wondering if he put on sunscreen (he never does) and if he'll need Diamond to massage aloe vera goop into his skin (he wonders what it would be like to use that stuff as lube, if it'd be cold inside his shitter). The wind rises with the cooling of the day and the light dims all around but not in Diamond.

He feels sleepy and sore and happier than he can remember being in forever. He doesn't care where the river takes them, so long as Slayton's with him all the way.

For the moment, in that summer afternoon, in that slow-rocking boat on that lazy river, everything is perfect.

 

Until Slayton tries to stand up.

Slayton's cock is so big and Diamond is so small that instead of pulling his dick out he kind of pulls Diamond along with him.

You stuck in there?' Diamond mumbles scratchily.

`Looks like it.'

`Cuz you're too fuckin big, that's why.'

Slayton flashes out a glittering white grin, both cocky and still excited by the potency of his own outsized manhood.

Diamond wriggles back down on his shaft again and yawns. `Guess I'll just hafta go home with ya. You can hide me under your T-shirt. There's room.'

He winces against the burn as Slayton's sticky sceptre tugs against the muscle of his ring, tenderised into lax submission by the pounding blows of his meat-mallet. But it sends the tingles up his dick and makes him feel weirdly proud as well. My boy's got the biggest, hardest dick in all a Redship.

`Come on. Wanna fuck you standing. My fuckin knees hurt.'

Slayton doesn't wait for a reply, or even cooperation, from Diamond, just twists him round on his dick without pulling out, which is a sensation Diamond doesn't have words for.

For a moment Diamond is seeing the world the right way up for the first time in hours.

Just for a moment. Slayton sinks fully into him with a sigh; their balls touch.

Then there's a shout and the floor becomes vertical and Slayton is colliding with his back and Diamond's face is colliding with the water, and the whole fucking thing goes over.

When, after a few panicked moments, he flounders out from under the boat and emerges on the surface, there's something behind him. And in him.

For a split-second he thinks some kind of mutant fish has latched onto his ass.

Then he feels hands on his hips, and realises, incredulous, that they're still joined, that Slayton is still trying to fuck him as they flail through the (thankfully shallow) water.

`I swear to God, if I drown with your dick in my ass.'

Slayton gasps out between splurts of water, `Can't—think—of a—better way to go.'

Diamond slaps incensed waves at him till Slayton, laughing, hauls him into the damp grass and mud on the bank. He football-tackles him into the earth with his huge randy bulk, somehow so much weightier on land, and fucks two more twitches out of his overspent cock with his knees rolled up to his ears and reeds tickling his taint. Diamond cusses in his ear the whole time, beating his heels on the statuesque mounds of Slayton's ass, hammering the seed out of his cock and deep into Diamond's heart.

 

`What happened to you', his mother says when Diamond opens the door and stands dripping and shivering on the porch. It was evening by then, the sun a half-moon sliver on the horizon, and the walk back home had been a long and chilly one.

`We were just on the river. But the boat kind of capsized.'

`What were you doing?'

Diamond bends down to prop his wet shoes in a sunny spot agains the wall, puts his lips to the little hole in the wood that kind of looks like the slit in Slayton's cockhead, and says in the softest of murmurs, `He was fucking me.'

`What?'

Diamond giggles and says, louder, `Nothing, Momma. Just wrestling a bit, I guess, I don't know.'

He ran all the way home in just his shirt, his shorts tied around his neck so he could breathe in the stink where Slayton had loaded them up with a final parting shot, worked up from the deepest depths of his balls, and then soaked them through with his piss, though Diamond had definitely not asked for that. He ran clapping his own joyous ovation with the dewy cheeks of his ass, sprinkling the fields and country roads of Redship with his boyfriend's unborn young. A few people saw him, but nobody said anything, not anything that he stopped to hear. He ran so fast and never felt tired till he stopped. He felt like he was flying. He only put his shorts on again when he got to their letterbox, scraping partly-dry piss-stained fabric up his thighs to cover the pink hand-shaped bruises, to hold in the runny white that is still seeping out from where Slayton raped him raw, all these miles later. Before he went inside he stuck the little plastic flag thing on the letterbox up his hole and came through the slit. He'll go back later to clean it up, but for now he's revelling in the ecstatic newborn freedom that pulses through his veins like an orgasm, the Pandora's Box of pleasure Slayton unlocked when he punched him in the hole with his dick.

Upstairs, he stands naked in front of his bedroom mirror and looks at the boy who is no longer a virgin, as of five hours ago. And fucking Christ in a can, but his body knows it. He aches so good. He reaches behind him, between his still damp cheeks (he dried himself everywhere but there. He refuses to clear out Slayton's little swimmers while his body can still keep them warm and snug inside him). When he touches the bloom of his first rose, it sparks something sharp and shivery, like splinters of light penetrating every pore, like an invisible tree growing up from his ass, branching all through his bones.

`Holy shit, I got fucked.'

He walks over to the window, each step still sparking a few of the cold delectable shivers. Outside Billy Jones is dozing in the yard, tail curled in the last patch of sun their side of the fence

`Billy Jones! I got fucked in the ass.' He pitches it just loud enough for the dog, but no one inside, to hear. Billy Jones slowly lifts his shaggy head and looks at Diamond like he doesn't know what the small human's talking about but he's happy for him anyway. It's in the tone of voice, Dad said. Probably thinks he's about to get a walk or a treat. Diamond'll take him for one after supper. If his ass don't hurt too much to walk.

Downstairs Diamond can't help squirming a little. He almost wants to ask for a cushion, like Grandma does when she comes to stay with them. But he took Slayton's cock down to the root. He can take this tiny pain. In fact, he savours it. It's like an afterfuck, reminding his cunt who owns it, and he'll nurture it all through the night, till he can get his boy's dick in him again.

 

They're part way through dinner when the phone rings in the hall. Diamond's up off his feet by the second trill, for once before his mother can ask him.

`I'll get it!' he calls behind him, too late, already through the door. Even if it's not Slayton he'll hang up and call him anyway.

But when he picks up, it's Slayton who answers.

`Hi.'

`Hi.' After all that's happened, Diamond finds himself going shy, unable to say more.

`My mom says I have to say sorry for getting you wet', Slayton answers in a dull monotone.

Diamond snickers. `That's okay. I liked it when you got me wet.'

A rustle of static, then Slayton says, `Yeah.'

Slayton, taciturn at the best of times, became practically monosyllabic over the phone.

Diamond let's the silence stretch a moment, like a line of babyslop from the swollen head of a prick, then tries again. `So, today was fun, right. We should do it again, soon. Real soon.' What happened on the river had been real, he reminds himself. He can taste the sting if he tenses his sluthole.

Just a lot of static and heavy breathing. Diamond wonders if he's touching himself right now.

`You jerking off to me?'

`Yeah.'

`Big weirdo. Fuck.'

His hand creeps down toward his own quickening rod. A hasty look over his shoulder to make sure the door to the dining room's closed, then a swift tug on his cock. He pulls it through the fly of his cargo pants and commences wringing out the fasted load he's ever blown. He knows he doesn't have much time.

No sound but the slap-slap of skin on skin and two harmonising choruses of very heavy breathing. If he closes his eyes, and squeezes his cunt tight, Slayton's right there behind him, slippery steel inside him, still giving it to him right in the hallway of his parents' home.

Diamond jerks faster, yanking on his prong till it burns. He's come more times today than he usually does in a week (and as a teenage boy, that's not a few), but shit, he has to be fast. His parents are still in the dining room, waiting for their son to stop having a phone fuck with his best friend.

Ironically, this thought only helps him along. He fleetingly wonders where Slayton's standing, how shameless he's being (don't they have their phone in the living room?) before his climax is spiralling up his dick, widening his pisshole for what he can just feel will be a monster load.

He stands on his tiptoes, as if lifted by the rocketing force of his ejaculation, and his ass-slit puckers up its tender abused walls so tight he bites his lip to keep from screaming. Only then does the problem occur to him of where exactly he's going to deposit the nutwad he's so frantically brewing out of his balls. He really, really doesn't wanna try getting come out of his mother's carpet.

He frantically searches about for something he can safely spray his spunk into and finds absolutely nothing.

Finally he looks down and notices a drawer in the little table the phone sits on. He vaguely recalls that they're for people to keep address books in. The drawer opens about half an inch and sticks. He tugs it harder and it stays stuck. His prick is twitching agonisingly in the air, held back from the brink, and he can't keep his hand from falling back on his shaft.

No. He can't. The drawer. He gives his sack a punishing squeeze to reign himself in and hauls on the handle of the drawer as hard as he dares, trying not to tip the whole thing into the floor.

Just as he's resigned himself to giving the wall a new coat of white paint, the drawer opens with a jerk and a rattle and a bang and so do the floodgates of Diamond's orgasm.

`Diamond', Slayton groans in his ear. He doesn't say any more, but Diamond knows that deepest of deep breaths is him blasting his fucking load. He has that sound stencilled on his eardrums, just like he has the taste and scent and girth of Slayton's cock inscribed on the boypink of his bowels.

`Diamond!.' His mother's voice from the dining room. `Who is it? What's taking you so long?'

`Just coming, Momma!' he calls back, his voice cracking but for once he doesn't care.

`Fuckkkk!' he whisper-hisses into the wall. His knees are weak, but he has just enough energy to aim the head of his dick at the two-inch or so gap that's all the drawer would give him. Volley after volley after wet white volley fires in. About ten or so, probably, if he was counting.

He doesn't have time to recover. He hauls in a whooping breath, and considers the drawerful of come.

Considers it for about two seconds, then shuts it. It slides back in so easy, the cuntfucker.

He's never seen anyone else open it—probably it's been stuck forever. But just in case he'll come back later to wipe it out as best he can. Till then, just like the letterbox he likes the idea of the proof of his love lying there, sticky and warm, congealing till it becomes part of the woodwork.

Slayton's already hung up. It figures. No fond farewells from this roughneck, rough-riding boy. They'll see each other soon enough anyway. Diamond will make sure of that—tomorrow and every other day this summer he's going to spend working out how many ways and places he can get Slayton's cock in him. His love-tunnel twinges at the thought but he squeezes it bleeding-tight to quiet it. It hurts like hell, but it needs to learn its place. And Slayton's bone-breaker of a dick is going to teach it just what it's for.

He bestows a kiss on the phone's mouth and earpiece (ignoring his mother's perennial warnings against the germs that lurk there), tucks the dewy head of his prick into his waistband (Slayton taught him that trick, though for him, being so big, it doesn't really work, just makes it more obvious, or at best makes it look like he has a tumour on his belly) and returns to take his seat the table.

His father casts a benignly curious glance his way. His mother frowns at him. She always gets that look when she senses that Diamond's having too much fun.

`Who was it?'

`Slayton.'

`What'd he want?'

`Just to say sorry for getting me wet.'

His mother harrumphs. She never approved of Slayton or his folks, though it's been years since she gave up trying to keep them apart. Slayton scares adults in a way Diamond never knew a kid could.

And he should. He fucking should, Diamond thinks, stabbing his knife savagely at a pork chop.

She never knew the half of it, and know what she knows of what they are to each other wouldn't cover a quarter. Diamond's anger fades, imagining the look on his face if he told her.

`Make sure after dinner you do your homework. Can't be spending every afternoon down at the river.'

`I know, Momma.'

Dad winks at him and Diamond grins back, ecstatic rush like a waterfall pounding over his head. He wants to spend every day of his life on the river from now on.

`I mean it, Shorty.'

`Aw, let em have their fun, Kaylee. They won't be boys forever.'