Chapter Eleven
Banks
“I know...” Harper whimpered and squirmed in his own defense. “It was stupid, I know, I just...”
Banks fumed playfully, all the while dragging the waistband down lower so that Harper’s silken head, glossy and slick with desire, glistened in the flickering movie light.
Banks admired it in the B-film’s garish glow, the flashing white light illuminating Harper’s slick, veiny shaft as if it had literally been designed to do so.
Banks was admittedly no expert, not with his limited experience in such matters, obviously, but he’d never in his life seen anything prettier, or sexier, than Harper’s glistening cock.
“Just what, Harper?” he continued to tease, verbally and physically, drifting Harper’s waistband down lower to reveal the entirety of Harper’s full eight inches, to say nothing of his slickly shaven mound, as smooth as a baby’s butt and slippery with more of Harper’s excitement.
“Just thought I’d get randy in the back of the theater and give you a handy while the crowd was too busy watching vampires be virgins to notice? ”
Harper nodded, then shook his head, biting his lower lip even as he stammered out a lame excuse.
“Only in my wildest dreams, Banks,” he grunted as Banks gripped the pulsing tip with his big, greedy hand.
Harper flinched, gritted his teeth and gasped in one guttural motion, whole body shivering as Banks and his velvet fingers scooped up the leaking desire gathered around his silken slit before using it to coat the length of his helpless cock.
“Jesus, you’re moist, Harp,” Banks murmured, no longer teasing but merely intent on pleasuring him, there in the back row of the empty theater, big hand around his surprise lover’s shimmering prick. “I mean, you’re sopping wet, my man.”
“I want this so bad,” Harper confessed, voice as trembling and on edge as his lean, swimmer’s body. “I want you so bad, Banks. I’ve been leaking all day, just thinking of tonight.”
Banks had leaned close, close enough to silence Harper’s protests with his hungry lips if he’d wanted.
But he liked hearing Harper whimper, liked making another man shiver and leak pre-cum from sheer fantasy alone.
Liked it more, he realized, than he ever had teasing and pleasing some high school girl in the back of her father’s Lincoln.
“Tell me, Harper,” Banks teased, nibbling his blushing earlobe even as he stroked his velvet cock with ever-increasing tenderness and deliciously teasing friction. “Tell me how you got so wet tonight, baby.”
Harper wriggled in his seat, the helpless motion drifting the hem of his untucked collar shirt higher, high enough for Banks to see the smooth expanse of his belly, fluttering and flat as he shifted with delight. “It’s embarrassing, Banks.”
“More embarrassing than being caught with no underwear in the middle of a hand job, Harper?”
As if to emphasize it, Banks stroked even slower, prolonging the humming energy that coursed through Harper’s wriggling body.
“I wore underwear tonight, Banks,” Harper gushed, big swimmer’s hands gripping the armrest as Banks continued to tease and tempt his fingers up and down his lover’s shaft, “but you’re so pretty, and you’ve been so open and kind since we reunited at the pep rally, and you looked so good back in the café, the sunlight on your face, your fingers on your cup, and all I’ve done since then is fantasize about those fingers, wrapped around . .. around...”
Banks was matching Harper’s energy, stroking slower, then faster, to the sounds of his voice, following the lilts and the pauses, the gasps and the grunts, never taking his eyes off the velvet sheen of his lover’s cock, swollen and shimmering in the movie’s flickering flames.
Harper stiffened, in more ways than one. “Banks, I... I...”
Banks nodded. “Lift up your shirt, Harper.”
“What? Here? Now? Why?”
“For one, it’s hot. Your stomach is hot, and I want to see your jizz land all over it.”
“Jesus, Banks.”
Banks clung to Harper’s sticky dick, holding it in place, hand midway up the veiny shaft, grinning like one of the vampire hotties on the long-forgotten movie screen. “For another, you don’t want to blast all over it, do you? I mean, we still have to walk out of here at some point, right?”
“I never want to leave this movie theater,” Harper insisted, forcing a guttural chuckle of approval from Banks as he doubled down on pleasuring his new lover, stroking him more erotically, more tenderly, more achingly than ever before.
“Me either, stud, but the movie’s about to end and, from the looks of it, so are you.”
As if to prove it, or perhaps manifest it, Banks smothered Harper’s useless protests with his mouth, literally holding him hostage as he stroked and jerked until he could feel the release pending in his throbbing balls and feel it in the garbled gasps beneath his clenched lips.
He let Harper up for air just as he came, gushing across his chest and heaving belly as Banks milked him to the last drop, feeling the last futile pulses slither from his swollen tip and dance across his fingers, like warm icing across a slice of cake.
As if finishing poor Harper off in more ways than one, he lifted the fingers to his lips and licked them clean, one by one, watching his lover’s eyes widen as he sat there, splayed out on his chair, shirt hiked up above his chest, nipples hard, belly splattered with his own goo, cock growing soft atop the crotch of his yanked down pants.
“Fucking hell,” Harper grunted, finally blinking himself back to life and tugging his shirt down even as he tugged up his pants. “Come here, you big, sexy ass—”
As if on cue, voices silenced Harper in a millisecond.
Not the voices from the movie screen, loud and dramatic and bombastic, but human voices, in real life, a different kind of light spilling in just to the left of the front row as Banks and Harper hastened to sit up straight, like good little schoolboys, just as a gaggle of drunken coeds stumbled in, high heels, miniskirts and tube tops galore.
They hushed each other, giggled loud enough to drown out the movie right above them and stumbled into the front row, smelling of weed and bubble gum and stale beer and cheap perfume and fresh cut grass and the last week of summer, all rolled into one.
If they had noticed Harper and Banks sitting in the back row, stiff as boards and blushing as red as the fake blood from the movie, they hadn’t acknowledged them.
Nor did they when, glancing quickly at each other with an understanding nod, both boys gathered up their discarded snacks, stood awkwardly and stumbled down the stairs, rushing from the theater before any of them could decipher what had been happening only moments earlier.