Date: Sat, 13 Jun 2020 18:18:43 +0000 From: kleiner.gespenst Subject: Boy on the Run | Part 4 Thanks to readers for their encouragement and input for this continuing story of two friends who met during summer vacation in Mexico. If you enjoy any of the many beautifully written works on Nifty, please consider donating: http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html =============================================================== "Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!" Lawson Abby cackled, as he jumped up and down on Stinson's bed. "Whaaaaaaa..." His big brother mumbled. "Faaauuuuaammmmhh," Brent O'Malley mumbled. The young teenagers, curled together under the covers, bounced with every detonation from the little boy's ebullience. Peeling open his eyes, Stinson grumbled, "Too early, punk-o." "Is not!" The 9-year-old taunted and giggled, jumping all around the mattress in his Obiwan Kenobi briefs. "Get Up! Get up! Get up!" Bounce. Bounce. Bounce. "Stop it. Stop it Stop it." Brent groaned again, burying his head under his pillow and rolled away. Finally, Stinson reached his limit, grabbing his little brother by a bare thigh and a wrist, and pulling him down in the space between between Brent and he. "You're a little pest." Stinson whispered fondly, tickling his brother's bare ribs and making him squeal. "Why are you so loud so early?" Stinson closed his eyes, and pressed his nose against his brother's face. 
 "Why didn't you wake me up when you got home?" "It was almost midnight," Stinson said. Brent and he had to take 3 connecting flights from La Paz to Wilmington, North Carolina, where his parents picked them up, before the boys quietly crept into the bedroom Stinson and Lawson currently shared. "I missed you!" Lawson whined. "I missed you, too, goober. But I was only gone for two months." Stinson held his brother's face between both hands and kissed him on the forehead and nose. "And it's not like I didn't FaceTime you every day." Stinson's planned two-week visit with his grandparents in Mexico became a short residency when he met 13-year-old Brent, staying with his own grandparents in the same retirement community for the summer. The other boy should have been back in Vancouver, but made a detour on the way for Stinson's 14th birthday. The Canadian groggily pulled his head from the covers. Long blond hair veiled his face completely. "Mmmmmppphhh...Time is it?" Smelling coffee and bacon, Stinson only checked his phone to confirm the time. "7:30, dude. The `rents are making breakfast." "Mmmmmmph." Brent muttered, wiping away a curtain of hair and peeling an eye open at the two brothers. "I thought teachers got the summer off." "School starts next week, and they have to do lesson plans and stuff," Stinson replied. "Get up!" Lawson cried. "Keep it down, bro," Stinson groaned, clenching his eyes shut. "It's too early." "Come on you guys!!" "Shhhh!" Stinson hissed. "What's the big deal," he whispered. "Birthday pancakes! We can't start without you!" Stinson rolled his eyes. "So, you don't want to see me, you just want breakfast?" "Yes!" Lawson giggled, pretending that was the only reason. "Hmmph," his brother replied. "OK, but first, shake Brent's hand, like a grown up." The younger boy rolled on his side, smiling at the other 13-year-old. "How-do-you-do," he said with great formality, extending his little hand. "Nice to meet ya, Lawson," Brent replied. As they shook, Stinson wrapped his arm around the Lawson's skinny, naked chest, holding him tight. "Go for the feet, dude. He's super ticklish!" Stinson chuckled. Lawson screamed with laughter when Brent feathered the bottoms of his feet. At the same time, Stinson blew mouth farts on Lawson's neck, and tickled the boy's exposed belly. "STOP!" Lawson hollered."I'm gonna wiz!!" "OK!" Stinson huffed with a smile. "Brent, stop. He really might pee." It had happened more than once. "Speaking of peeing, Stin, I gotta go." "Me, too, Brent." The older boys rolled out from the full-sized bed, and Lawson quickly followed. Morning wood stabbed out from the pubescent boys' groins, barely restrained by their skimpy briefs. Just then, Stinson's sister opened the door. Her long brunette hair fell messily to her shoulders, half-covering her face. "Can you guys keep it the fuck down?" Margie growled. "I'm trying to sleep." Opening her sleep-choked eye a crack, she caught sight of underpants-constricted erections pointing at her, and shook her head with disgust as she closed the door. "Fucking boys," she muttered. "You've got boners!" Lawson sing songed, then wrapped his little fists around their swollen tents. "Boners! Boners! Boners!" "Lawson!" Stinson hissed, slapping away his little brother's hand. "I told you not to do that!" "Sorry," the boy said, with a guilt-free smile. Grasping his brother by the shoulders, Stinson spun Lawson around, then pulled down the back of his little underpants and slapped him hard on the buttocks. The little boy yipped, and Stinson told him to get dressed, before joining Brent in the hallway bathroom. ======================================================== Pouring sweat, Brent finally caught up with Stinson at the end of a straight away near the University of North Carolina, but that was because his friend had stopped for water, and to let him catch up. The two had been keeping a good pace together, Stinson consciously working well below his optimum performance, and Brent pumping at his peak. The Canadian boy could smoke Stinson on a trail ride, but the triathlete owned him on pavement, even without his new road bike. Near the end of their ride, Stinson asked Brent if he could push a sprint over the 1 mile road before the turn home. The super light bicycle his parents presented him that morning after birthday pancakes rode like a rocket. Braking to a stop on Stinson's old bike, Brent admired the sinewy boy's slender, yet powerful figure. In the soggy August heat, neither boy wore shirts, and their slim torsos poured sweat down to their tight lycra. Brent was used to mountain biking shorts, with padding in the seat. The pair Stinson loaned him were skin tight, and meant for swimming and running as well, and so they had no padding. But Stinson's clung reverentially to his firm, round buttocks, and Brent couldn't wait to get squeeze those delicious buns through stretchy spandex. "This thing's lit!" Stinson exclaimed, grinning widely, and slapping his handle bars. "You hit Warp 10, dude," Brent huffed, slightly out of breath, and wiping his drenched face. "Wish we could keep going another hour, but the `lectrical's about to hit," Stinson replied, pointing at the distant lightning flashes rippling across the thick, low-hanging clouds. "Fuck, it's hotter than Yucatan here." Stinson chuckled. "OK, princess, let's head back." With a smirk and a middle finger extended, Brent told him where he was going to put his royal scepter. The two friends pulled into Stinson's garage just as the sky started wringing itself out. Pulling off their helmets, then walking their bikes to the wall hangers, they passed the newly constructed stairway, covered in a layer of sawdust and drywall grit. "Can't wait 'til this is finished," Stinson sighed. "But it's just my dad and a friend building it. And when school starts, they'll only be able to work on it over the weekends." "So cool your dad is building an addition just for you, dude," Brent replied "My dad has to hire a contractor to change a lightbulb." "Well, teachers in the US don't make a lot of money. So they've figured out how to do a lotta shit." Stinson hung up the bike he'd loaned Brent and turned to admire the lean blond's hairless, chiseled, sweat-gleaming body. His long blond hair was drenched and plastered to his shoulders, framing his cute Canadian face with dripping curtains. "I just wish we had it while you're here." "At least they put in a big bed in the meantime," Brent said, following Stinson through the door into the kitchen. Brent's eyes were locked on Stinson's slender buttocks, rubbing up and down with each step like grapefruits shrink-wrapped in sopping spandex. "Did you and your brother have matching race-car comforters?" Stinson froze, then turned, fighting laughter while faking anger. "They were NOT race cars," he said in a low, growly voice. "They were Jurassic Park, you philistine." Stinson closed the distance, grinning at his sexy friend. Just as he lifted a hand to Brent's slender hip, and leaned toward his cute little face, Margie coughed, and Stinson spun on his heels. Stinson's sister was dressed for her shift at The Gap, bag on her shoulder, with a smirk on her face. "Heading to work. The Campbells are bringing Lawson back from Cub Scouts around 4, and Mom and Dad won't get home 'til 5" she said, turning toward the front door. Grinning at the boys and wagging an eyebrow she added, "Which means you guys have the place all to yourselves this afternoon." Stinson turned beet red as she left. "Later, boys." "Well, that wasn't awkward," Brent said, with a chuckle. "Come here, dude, and have another birthday kiss." The Canadian took Stinson into his damp arms, and their lips fell together with their own gravity. Brent traced fingers around his friend's corded back, and up to his neck. "I like your hair longer, Stinny," Brent said, studying his friend's face like a precious gem, while running both hands through the boy's the sweat-drenched, brunette mop. "Enjoy it while you can, dude,"Stinson replied, then kissed Brent on his pert, freckled nose. "It's going Saturday morning, before the barbecue." "For your birthday party? Don't want to catch shit from your friends?" Stinson snorted. "Please. My hair used to be as long as Lawson's. I just don't like dealing with it when I'm training." Brent buried his face in Stinson's jaw-length locks, streaming around him like eel grass in the sea. "It smells wonderful," he whispered. Brent savored every ingredient of Stinson's fresh, athletic fragrance, and began sucking and licking salty perspiration from his friend's neck, up to his ear, and gently nibbled the lobe. Stinson shivered, squeezed the Canadian to him, then kissed his way back to Brent's lips. Their wet torsos sealed and squelched, and their pubescent cocks swelled with rigid passion at awkward angles. They both took a second to readjust, and their poles ground comfortably together like stacked timber. In Mexico, Stinson gave Brent one of his Speedos so they could swim laps together in the afternoon, and the Canadian immediately took to the tight, binding constriction of slick lycra around his loins. The triathlon shorts he wore now gripped him with a satisfying, skin-tight reassurance that let him feel Stinson's adolescence throb against him with anxious need. Their kissing and caressing grew more urgent. "Let's get upstairs, Stinny," Brent huffed. "Fuck that, Brent," Stinson growled. "I need you now." Gently pressing his friend down onto the cool tile floor, Stinson spread Brent's legs, then knelt between the boy's slim, ropey thighs. As he leaned down, resting his hands on either side of his friend's chest, Brent welcomed him with his knees cocked up, feet to the floor, and hands running through Stinson's sweaty mop. Stinson lowered his loins to Brent's, his weight propelling his dark prow to dock with its brother. Turgid teen tents, tightly bound with slippery, smooth, sweat-soaked spandex, throbbed togethe, and Stinson's hips pumped into Brent's. The contours of each other's cocks were committed to memory from daily trysts that summer, and neither needed fingers nor eyes to know the details of every pleasing sensation from Stinson's steady thrusting. "Oooh, fuck, Stinny, that feels so good!" Brent kneaded his friend's muscular globes with both hands, pulling Stinson into him, driving their penises together with steadily escalating fury. They'd spent the previous day traveling, and that night were too exhausted to even quietly masturbate each other in Stinson's shared room. With two days of adolescent ardor bottled up, the boys needed release. "You're so hot! Uhhh...So hard Brent!" "Gaaah! Fuck my dick, Stinny!" The rain outside was torrential, and the windows shook from a thunderclap, but neither boy noticed. Stinson's whole back arched as he slammed like a metronome. Fresh torrents of sweat streamed down, dribbling onto Brent, but it couldn't cool the friction rising from boy wood rubbing through thin, stretchy fabric. Stinson slid his arms under Brent's back, to clutch his shoulder's from behind. With a firm grip, he pulled himself harder into his friend's loins. "Yes! Yes! Yes!" Brent cried. His heels dug into floor tiles and pumped up to meet Stinson's downstrokes. His small scrotum tightened, and he groaned. "Gonna cum, Stinny!" Grinding his teeth, and clenching his eyes shut, Brent cried out, White fire burst from his dick, and outward in numbing waves through his body. His hips bucked again and again, as his tiny ejaculate bubbled into his jet black second skin. It felt like he was pouring himself inside out through his little love hose. Brent slumped back, temporarily spent, and Stinson pumped harder, trying to catch up. Brent stopped him, partially because his boyhood was now so tender. But also because he wanted to catch Stinson's seed in his mouth. "Get up here, dude," Brent gasped, still catching his breath, patting his chest. In a flash, Stinson's bent knees rested on either side of Brent's head, and he rested his weight with his hands well beyond. The Canadian took only a moment to rub Stinson's hardness through its snug, lycra wrapper, then peeled the front down. Hooking the waistband under Stinson's smooth scrotum with one hand, while holding the boy's five inches near its lightly haired base. Rubbing an index finger up and down a thin skin seam dividing the boy bag into two hemispheres, then gently caressing each testicle, Brent took Stinson's enraged, drooling circumcised head between his pursed lips. Fluttering his tongue around Stinson's glans, he savored the thin syrup oozing from the boy's nozzle. "OOOohhhhhh Dude," Stinson moaned. "Suck me, Brent!" Knowing his friends was pitching over the edge, Brent sealed his lips around Stinson's circumcision scar, and slid him all the way in, partially into his throat. Sucking hard, he pulled back again, letting his hot, wet tongue swab Stinson's underside, while his thumb and index finger formed a ring to stroke in time his his lips. Stinson's balls were set to burst, and the tight waistband from his shorts dug into his perineum, agitating his prostate. Stinson's high-pitched moans were like a train whistle signaling the thunderous flames billowing in his pubescence. At the same time, the kitchen lit up from lightening, and the windows shook again. As the first jet of slightly salty boy juice hit the back of his throat, Brent hungrily swallowed, and used his full fist to help him milk the next three bursts from his shuddering friend, while greedily suckling Stinson's knob. When his cock finally pulsed drily, Stinson was curved around Brent's head, hugging him into his loins. Slowly, he unfurled himself, and stood up to pull his shorts back in place. Another lightning strike lit up the kitchen, and the house's power went out. Getting up to join Stinson, Brent thought about a passionate night they'd spent in Yucatan during a tropical rain storm. "Are you actually Thor?" Brent asked, rubbing the flat of his hand across Stinson's softening bulge. "Is this your mighty hammer?" he giggled. "Sure felt like lightning coming out of my dick," Stinson replied, leaning in to kiss his friend on the lips. The weather grew louder. "We have to wait for the storm to pass before we can shower, Brent. "What can we do to kill an hour or two?" Looking at the kitchen counter, Stinson spied a bottle of olive oil. "Wanna wrestle?" ============================================================== "OK, you win, little dude," Brent told Lawson, chuckling. Stinson's 9-year-old brother had him pinned, sitting on the older boy's bare chest, while locking down Brent's wrists over the 13-year-old's head. When Lawson had jumped him on the walk back from the public restrooms through the sand dunes, Brent only made a show of fight back, letting the younger boy "win." And as Lawson leaned over him, giggling, it was more than obvious that a tiny dagger was stabbing through the kid's board shorts, into Brent's chest. Lawson released Brent's hands, but didn't get up. Wriggling back onto the older boy's tummy, Lawson gripped both of the Canadian's nipples, and squeezed them. "Vroom! Vroom!" Lawson squealed with laughter, twisting the dime-sized throttles. "Hey quit it!" Brent cried out, but that only egged Lawson on, and it was starting to hurt. With little internal debate, Brent slid his hand up the younger boy's swim suit leg hole, until he filled his fingers with an immature erection and a barely developed scrotum. Lawson shrieked in surprise with the gentle squeeze to his junk. Immediately letting go, the little boy batted at Brent's hand in futility. The Canadian laughed and used his whole body to role the boy onto his back. "Say you quit," Brent said, squeezing the boy some more. Growing as hard as the younger boy, he was glad for the briefs he wore under his board shorts, to conceal accidental erections. "No!" The mischievous 9-year-old quickly retaliated, sliding a hand into Brent's swim suit, fumbling around, then clutching the older boy's hardness. "You've got a boner!" Lawson squealed with laughter. "What do you think think this is, idiot?" Brent replied with exasperation, fondling the boy meaningfully. "Let go of mine, and I'll let go of your's." "OK," Lawson replied, with a note of disappointment. "One. Two. Three!" Brent's hand pulled away, but Lawson gave the older boy one last, lingering squeeze, before letting go, giggling his head off. Helping the 9-year-old up, Brent was glad they'd chosen to climb the dunes back to the barbecue area, rather than the public path. He and Stinson's little brother had become fast friends, and Lawson shadowed the older boys everywhere. On the second night of his stay, he'd been curled around Stinson when he awoke in the middle of the night, finding the younger boy spooned around him from behind. Reaching back, he gently caressed the boy's hip through his undies, and realized there was a hardness pressing into bottom. Stinson told him the next day that he frequently found his brother in his bed after a bad dream. But then it happened every night, and Brent had even woken up once to find the 9-year-old's hand in his briefs. At some point, Stinson would have to initiate his brother into the mysteries of the penis. Fortunately, just about everything fascinated the younger boy, and their wrestling match was soon forgotten. By the time they got back to the barbecue area at the beach, the sun was low, and the air thick with the smell of roasting food. The Abbys asked Brent to give Stinson and his friends a 30-minute heads up for dinner. Brent ran into most of the of the birthday boy's buddies from school and Little League climbing over the rocky point separating the swimming and barbecue area from a stretch of deserted wetlands. While Brent stopped to chat with the last of the crew leaving the fishing strand, Stinson was sorting his rod and tackle with Baxter, a fellow triathlete. Both boys, lean from training, had a tough time keeping their board shorts over their slender hips. For that reason, a good two inches of Stinson's black Speedos stretched across his muscular pelvic "V." Out of similar modesty, Baxter's wore snug gray Hanes underwear so he didn't have to keep pulling up his Volcoms. The boys were laughing about their terrible luck. The only fish the group pulled in was a stingray. "That's what girls call my cock, Abby," Baxter boasted. "They call it `The Stinger." "Because it's as small as a bee?" Stinson smirked. "Will it kill you the first time you use it?" Baxter laughed, and punched his friend in the arm. "You've tasted the honey dude. You love it." Before Stinson could reply with something about rotten mayonnaise, the other boy caught site of Brent climbing over the rocks at the bend, and waved him toward them. With his arm lifted, Stinson could see that the shirtless boy's arm pit, which at the beginning of summer had the first few strands of hair, was now baby smooth. Like most serious triathletes, Baxter started to shave his arms and legs the moment any downy peach fuzz appeared. For a middle schooler in junior events, though, it was more about the culture than any appreciable performance difference. "Brent's pretty cool," Baxter said. "He's funny as fuck." Turning toward Stinson, he smiled slyly at his friend. "Good choice for you, dude." Stinson sputtered. "What'dya mean?" "Oh come on. It's kind of obvious," the 13-year-old said, in a cracking voice that had definitely gone down an octave over the summer. He'd also grown a couple of inches, and looked down, directly into Stinson's eyes, whiled grinning at Stinson's discomfort. "Well, Brent and me, we're really good friends. I mean, we're like really close. I mean..." Stinson was tongue tied, trying to explain a deeper friendship than he'd ever had before, and his face grew bright red. "Yeah, yeah," Baxter said. "I'm sure you're even closer with his dick in your mouth," the lean boy joked, rhythmically moving a fist toward his mouth, while simultaneously poking his cheek with his tongue. "Asshole!" Stinson laughed, though flummoxed. He'd been exploring sex and relieving Baxter's adolescent build-ups for a couple of years, but was still uncomfortable with discussing his homosexuality with anyone. "Yeah, we...uh...you know. I really like him a lot. But just don't tell the guys, OK?" "You don't think they've figured it out?" Baxter laughed, but gently. "Dude, everyone knows you're gay. And this hottie just happens to take a slight detour 3000 miles out of his way going to Canada?" "Wait - how does everyone know...uh, that I like dudes?" Stinson was felt crushed with 1000 atmospheres of embarrassment. "Well, gosh, let's see?" Baxter replied in a sarcastic tone. "The way you check everyone out in the locker room could be a clue. Maybe the hard-ons when we wrestle is another. But wait," he said, stroking his chin with dramatic thought, "I really think it's that you're always ready to give a guy a handy." Epiphanies of self-awareness could make you laugh or cry. Fortunately, Baxter let him off the hook with a quick grab of his junk, making Stinson squeal and double over, before retaliating in kind. "Come on Abby. Let's get that tiny shrimp back in the water!" Baxter said, then ran into the surf. Stinson raced after his buddy, tackling him in the softly rolling waves. The two rolled around, laughing like 13-year-olds worldwide, stuffing sand into each other's board shorts, and rubbing it into each other's hair. Laughing and gasping for breath, the two boys floated side by side, rocked by gentle swells, and gazing up at clouds growing pink and orange. "No one cares you're gay," Baxter said. "No one who matters, anyway." "How far have you gotten with Kaley?" Stinson asked, referring to the girl of Baxter's worship. "She's history," Baxter replied nonchalantly, to Stinson's surprise. Whenever he'd stroked his friend's throbbing pubsecence, it'd been her name Baxter sighed . "She got so pissed about a dick pick I sent her, she showed it to her big sister." "Darlene? Did she get some guys to kick your ass?" The older girl, a smoking hot 16-year-old, had a dedicated following at her high school. "No! She called me to hook up!" "NFW!" Just then, Brent shrieked a war cry and dove into the waves, swimming under water until surfacing beside the two other boys. "What's up, fishermen? Tired of playing with your poles?" "Bax here was just lying his ass off about hooking up with the Betty Supreme in high school." "Y'all, it's fucking true!" Baxter rolled to stand in the chest high water, and put his hand over his heart. "Darlene Harris is going into 11th grade. There's no way she'd be seen with an 8th grader." "Well, we are keeping it on the DL," Baxter admitted sheepishly. "But she loves The Stinger!" "Liar" Stinson sputtered in disbelief. "Swear to God. I think she likes younger dudes," he continued. "Which is fine by me." Baxter continued with a long, graphic description of his first sex with a girl. Stinson and Brent, alternately fascinated and disgusted, laughed and congratulated the lucky boy. "We fuck a couple of times a week," Baxter continued. "Also, she's a little kinky. She likes my smooth arms and legs, and playing with my butt." "It's not like you really need to shave them, Stinson replied, sarcastically. "Bite me, Stin," Baxter snickered. "When you get your big boy hair we'll talk. Anyway, I don't have to shave anymore. Darlene waxes my arms and legs...and every where else." "Whaaat?!" Stinson and Brent bellowed in unison. With a smug grin, Baxter nodded. "That's right, boys." Reaching down below the water, boy undid his board shorts, then hooked his undies beneath his nuts. Then he pulled the other boys close. "Check it out, y'all." "Can't see a thing," Stinson complained, and Brent agreed. "Give it a feel," Baxter said slyly. "Come on, Abby. Not the first time you've handled `The Stinger.'" "Stop calling it that," Stinson replied, "Or the next time I see it, I'll spray it with Raid." The Canadian looked curiously at the other two. He knew Baxter had been one of Stinson's jerk-off buddies, and obviously, Stinson told the other boy about his friendship with Brent. Stinson shrugged at him with a resigned smirk and reached down to Baxter's loins, and felt his friend's cock partially engorged. Tracing his fingers down and around, his fingers skated on baby-smooth skin. Just two months before, Baxter had been proud of his thick brown bush. "Come on. You too, Brent. See what a hot babe can do to a guy's dick." Stinson laughed loudly. "Dude, it's not Darlene's hand that's got you harder than a Louisville slugger." "And twice as big," Baxter said, laughing as well. In reality, his rigid, circumcised adolescence was a slender 5 inches, and it beat against Stinson's wrist while he filled his hand with the boy's low-hanging scrotum, now smooth as soap. "Whoa! Brent, check it out. It's kinda cool." Brent's fingers joined Stinson's, tracing around the contours of Baxter's pounding erection. Neither of them had yet grown a single hair on their sacks, so his much bigger, wrinkled hairless scrotum felt like more a curiosity than a reason for nostalgia. "Cool, huh?" Baxter fished for a complement. "Darlene doesn't have to pick pubes out of her teeth. "Yeah, sweet," Brent said, with deliberately fake enthusiasm, gently fluting along Baxter's hardness. "Feel's like you should be in kindergarten." Stinson, laughed, while Baxter retorted with a sarcastic "Hardy har. Tug on it and this baby will get your hand pregnant." By now, they were rubbing and squeezing Baxter's bits with more than curiosity, and their own cocks were straining for release. Stinson swiveled his head around to make sure that stretch of shore was vacant, then stroked his friend from tip to base with teasing determination. "That feels so good, y'all," Baxter sighed, and slid both hands down the other boy's torsos. Wasting little time, he undid their board shorts, and found their turgid boy poles. Rubbing Brent's through his snug little briefs, and Stinson's through his skin-tight Speedo, Baxter smiled. "Oh fuck, this is great," he continued, slipping his hands inside their final layers, cupping both scrotums for rhythmic squeezes. His fingers fingers slid up along Brent's smaller cock, and his fingers explored the boy's foreskin. "Uncut, huh? Cool," he muttered, then stroked the other boys' stalks a little faster. "Hey Baxter," Brent said quietly. "It's Stinson's birthday party. Maybe we should be doing him?" Baxter nodded with resignation. "You're right dude." All three took a moment to pull their swim wear down their thighs, letting their adolescent trouser fish swim freely in the warm Atlantic. "I haven't played with another guy's dick for a while," Baxter said to Brent. Do you mind if...?" Brent smiled, pushed away his vague feeling of jealousy. He knew he'd have Stinson's dick for himself later. And for some reason, Baxter's drawling boasts and affability tamped down his uneasiness. "Go for it, dude." Brent held Stinson's tight, dolphin-slippery scrotum with his fingertips, gently rolling each testicle, while Baxter held the boy's shaft with three fingers. Using workmanlike precision, Baxter grinned at his friend, who started to moan with the attention of two boys on his sex works. Hetero sex hadn't improved Baxter's techniques, which showed none of the novelty or invention Brent and Stinson brought to each other's dicks. But what he lacked in creativity he made up for with tireless enthusiasm. Stinson's hands travelled to the other boys' groins, clasping them identically, and stroking with the same rhythm brought to his diamond hardness. He was losing himself in his friends' hands, like he was melting into the warm ocean. Closing his eyes, Stinson's breath grew deeper. Just then, he felt Brent's other hand squeezing his muscular little buttocks, before the boy's finger began to worm in a downward spiral, slowly opening Stinson's tight little starfish. Almost simultaneously, Brent's lips gently sealed around a nipple, and his tongue flicked across the pleasure button. Stinson moaned, and his eyes closed, while Baxter's eyes grew wide. He loved sucking Darlene's boobs, and he'd never before thought of a boy's breast as anything but useless decoration. Eagerly, he dove down onto Stinson's other nipple, teasing it the way Darlene had taught him, and Stinson couldn't help but groan loudly. The stroking grew faster, the sucking harder, and Brent's finger gently breached Stinson's gates. Burrowing into his friend's warm, wet passage, Brent pressed Stinson's special place, while still gently squeezing his nuts. Dragging his lips up from Stinson's chest to his throat, Brent's mouth nestled against his friend's. Gently biting the boy's lower lip, Brent pulled another moan from the boy, and a gasp of awe from Baxter. Leaving Stinson's slightly purpled nipple, Baxter grit his teeth, pounding his friend furiously in the water like a grouper tearing at a bait fish. He'd never seen boys kissing before, and no matter how much he loved girls, Brent and Stinson's boy-on-boy loving made his balls convulse. "That's so fucking hot!" Baxter groaned. He couldn't hold back the tidal force ripping through his belly, and an unstoppable tsunami roared from his balls into the Atlantic. Crying out incoherently, white sparks blurring his vision, he could only hold onto Stinson's steely boyhood like a lifeline. Hips thrashing like a fighting marlin, he gasped through 6 bursts from his boy cannon, then collapsed for a moment onto Stinson's shoulder. "Fuck!" Baxter heaved. "I wish I had my phone to record you guys." With surprised expressions staring back him, Baxter quickly added, "To show Darlene. I bet I could make her cum all night if she saw you dudes going at it." Brent smirked, and didn't believe that lie for a minute. But at the same time, he wanted to show off his feelings for Stinson freely, if only for an audience of one. Stinson was feeling the same, no longer self-conscious He shrugged with a coy smile and turned to face his best friend. His now free hands glided along the beautiful contours of Brent's face, and through his dripping mass of blond hair. Gently pulling from Stinson's tender nuts and rectum, Brent slid his hands to either side of his friend's head, pulling their foreheads and noses together. Sighing with closed eyes, both boys took in a quiet moment of salty air, the rhythmic surf, and and the inexpressible joy of skin-to-skin contact. As their throbbing submarine boyhoods pressed together in solidarity, the boys almost forgot about their audience. "Dinner's happening soon. Wanna go somewhere, first?" Brent whispered. "Oh come on, guys," Baxter interrupted. "Don't mind me." Before Brent and Stinson could reply, their cocks were were gripped in Baxter's iron fists. Stinson groaned, half in pleasure and half in dismay. Brent was more direct. "OK, dude," he said, "Just don't speak." Baxter's replied with silent, urgent pumps, relishing the feel of boy roots in his hands, almost reliving the first time he'd masturbated with friends in 5th grade. He was sure he was straight, but there was something so sexy about the slender triathlete and slim hockey boy's slippery passion. He didn't bother figuring it out, because he just wanted to see their faces crumple with climax. With urgent fists stroking them in a gradually mounting furor, Brent and Stinson's pursed little smiles were coronas of their hearts, and drew together with gravity of binary stars. Hot desire flared between their lips with each breath, along the fluid, dancing slipstreams of their tongues. Filling their lungs with sea air and each other's steamy breath, the boys braced one another by the shoulders. Soon, their hips were thrusting, stampeding toward each other, then retreating again and again again, through the wet leathery friction churning their nut cream by the nozzle. "Gonna...cum!" Brent heaved, his lips now resting to the side of Stinson's face. "Me too!" Stinson, gasped, gripping his friend tightly with both hands "DO IT!" Baxter urged them, through gritting teeth, immediately regretting his outburst. But the other two barely registered his muttering, as they plowed Baxter's hands, losing themselves in the fire building in their tummies and legs. At almost the same time, their pubescent pipe bombs burst. Brent squealed and Stinson groaned incoherently, feeling their faces meld together, while their young cocks shuddered again and again. Their hips gradually stopped thrusting, and Baxter gently milked every last bit of thin seed from them. He didn't know why he loved holding their softening cocks, nor why he felt envy when Brent and Stinson's lips met for a tender kiss. Nor did he even want to know why he was hard as steel once again, but he'd work it out with Darlene. Releasing Brent and Stinson, Baxter pulled his swim wear back into place. Someone was signaling the group from the point, to return to the barbecue area. "Guys, that was so fucking lit," Baxter said quietly, while the other two pulled their swim suits back in place. "If you ever want to, uh, maybe video something, I'd love to, uh, watch it with Darlene." Say something twice, and it's more than idle chatter. Brent said nothing, while Stinson gave a non-committal, "Yeah, maybe." Baxter grinned at them. "Just us, I swear." Before the boys could answer Baxter added, "Hey Stin, I wanna swim to the point. Is it ok if y'all bring in my gear?" He had to get rid of his aching boner, and there was no time to rub another one out. Painted in dwindling orange light, the boy's glistened with dripping opals. "Thanks for another birthday present," Stinson said, as he and Brent dried off. "Even if it was all sorts of weird." "Yeah. Didn't really see that coming," the Canadian replied. "Cause he's like TOTALLY straight, eh?" Both boys giggled, then Bren asked guardedly, "You're not thinking of shooting us, are you?" "For him? Fuck no," Stinson replied with a chuckle. "But for you, always." Bent grinned. They'd already shot half a gig of themselves together, which would never see any other eyes. Answering Brent's unspoken question, Stinson reassured his best friend there wouldn't be a repeat with Baxter. With towels tied around their waists, arms draped across each other shoulders, and carrying the fishing poles in their free hands, they strolled back to the party. ============================================================== Stinson woke to waves shuddering against him, and chaotic breath swirled against across chest, under Brent's fan of long, blond hair. Curled against his side, Brent's body was shaking, and at first Stinson thought his friend was having a nightmare. A stifled sob and a tear trickling onto his chest told him otherwise. Prying his arm from in between Brent's naked back and his little brother's bare chest, Stinson gently stroked his friend through his mane of hair, and kissed the top of his head. He didn't need to ask why is best friend was upset. His own heart was breaking, and his eyes welled up. Another night together before Brent would fly home to Vancouver, a continent away. "I'm sorry, Stin," the boy whispered with a sniffle. "Didn't mean to wake you." He'd never seen the always cheerful, mischievous hockey player even sad before, and the fragile, tear-choked voice burst his own dam. For a few minutes he silently cried and shook like never before. He didn't want to go a day without his closest friend, and couldn't manage the thought of losing Brent to someone else. By the time his storm passed, Brent was stroking his bare tummy. "We'll make it, Stinson Abby," Brent whispered in a clearer voice. "I swear we'll make it." His voice shook as he quietly replied. "We'll figure it out Brent." The Canadian kissed him lightly on the lips, wiped the tears from Stinson's face, then lay his head once again on his friend's chest. Brent slid his hand between Stinson's sinewy thighs, lightly cupping the boy through his snug undies. Resting his hand on Stinson's crotch merely for comfort, he felt an involuntary stirring within the steamy, warm pouch, but didn't encourage anything more. Even if he wanted to conjure the Carolina Pantie Snake, Lawson was spooned comatose around his back, with his little arm draped over Brent's hip. Ears filling with Stinson's slowing breath, Brent closed his eyes again, and drifted off to a troubled sleep. ==================================================================== To be continued... 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