Fourteen
FOURTEEN
ETHAN
T aylor’s eyes rake over his naked torso from across the room as Ethan strokes his cock with his nondominant hand beneath the thin fabric of his boxers. It is not the aphrodisiac he hoped it would be.
From time to time, Ethan turns on a cam model to get off to. His dick answers to the spontaneity, the banter with the live chat. But he never felt a desire to be an exhibitionist himself.
Now, in the limelight, under Taylor’s smize, he can’t keep his hard-on. Nervousness invades every touch of his hand. Every tug. Every tweak. The loudest sounds in the room are the wall clock ticking, and his own ragged, annoyed breaths.
His mind insists on wandering. Is he doing this well? Is Taylor turned on? He seems to be, but he’s twenty-seven. When Ethan was twenty-seven, a phallic-shaped monument could give him an erection. The slightest breeze against his cock could cause it to stir.
Jesus. This isn’t going to work.
Taylor, in a calm voice, asks, “Is this how you usually do it? In silence?”
He shakes his head. “I usually put on, uh…”
“You can say porn.”
Heat rises to his cheeks. “I was getting there.”
“What kind of porn do you put on?” Taylor asks as his hand moves from the armrest to his crotch where he starts groping himself through his sweatpants. Ethan’s dick jumps at that, making words nearly impossible. “You can tell me. It won’t scandalize me or anything. I’m intimately familiar with almost every Pornhub category.”
“Every one?” he asks, eyebrow raised. “Even ‘virtual reality?’”
“I was exaggerating,” Taylor admits.
“I know. I was stalling.” The back of his neck becomes sweaty. So do his palms. Good for slickness, bad for his composure in this highly new situation.
“Put it on,” Taylor says. “If you want. You don’t need to tell me. I’ll hear it. It’s not for me. It’s for you. Make like I’m not here.”
That’s downright impossible. The sexiest twink— twunk? Doesn’t matter —he’s ever seen is sitting in his living room with a rock-hard dick. Ignoring him would be like ignoring a giraffe in the middle of the highway.
However, he’s here and he’s horny so he tries. He grabs the remote, turns on the Smart TV, and queues up one of his favorite MMF scenes. It’s a sensual one with none of that cheesy acting in the beginning. No story, just sex. That’s how he likes his porn. Light on the talking, heavy on the penetration.
As the scene plays out, despite having watched it a couple dozen times, his cock still gets hard and begs for his hand back. Opening the fly of his boxers, he hauls out his dick and coats it in a layer of lube. The coldness startles him at first, but a few enjoyable strokes warm it up and help him relax into his pleasure.
For a moment, he closes his eyes, channels his breathing. The skin right beneath the underside of his circumcised cock head has always been deliriously sensitive. He teases that spot with the pads of his pointer and middle finger. An unself-conscious moan gets away from him before he remembers he has an audience and has every reason to be self-conscious.
Only, when his gaze pings to Taylor, Taylor’s joggers are around his ankles. And his long, left-curving, uncut cock is on full display. The dick-print he’d seen that first day Taylor arrived had been accurate. Taylor’s got quite the impressive pipe.
Ethan’s dick grows unimaginably harder at the erotic sight gracing his living room. Thinking entirely with his dick, he asks, “Would you like to come watch with me?”
“I’ve got a perfect view already,” Taylor says, then bites his lip.
“You could get a closer one.” His own brazenness surprises him. Need is a cobra in his chest ready to strike.
Taylor stands, steps out of his joggers, and strides toward the couch—completely at home in his nakedness—before sitting where he sat last night. Too far away for Ethan’s liking. “Closer,” Ethan growls.
Where is that coming from? This low, grumbly, resonant sound. It’s definitely not the teddy-bear-with-a-head-cold voice people in his life mock him for. It’s more keyed in. Deeper, somehow.
Taylor acts swiftly, stealing the space between them so he’s right on the next cushion, ass planted on the towel Ethan laid down. Wonderment swirls through Ethan’s chest. Which lucky star should he thank for this wildest-dream scenario?
He’s so entranced in the heat of the moment that he barely registers when Taylor asks for the lube. “May I?” Ethan asks.
After Taylor nods, he squeezes the bottle over the tip of Taylor’s large cock. A shiny, slick coating of lube drizzles down the sides. Taylor’s eyebrows egg him on further, but it’s the words he says next that make him quiver. “You can touch it. Rub it in.”
Even though Ethan’s hand is shaking, he grips Taylor’s shaft. The first firm touch is enough for a moan to flee from Taylor’s mouth.
“Too much?” Ethan asks.
“Not at all.”
Ethan stops what he’s doing to himself and focuses on Taylor. The up and the down. The torment and retreat. It’s an art form he’s perfected with his own cock. But cocks are like snowflakes, yeah? No two are the same. That means no two explode with the same tried-and-true tricks. And Taylor’s uncut, unlike Ethan, which poses its own enticing challenges.
“Tell me what you like,” Ethan says firmly, needing some coaching to ensure he’s doing his best work.
“That,” Taylor says in response to his medium-tight slow stroke. “I like that.”
After several moments of Taylor lounging back, arms loose at his sides in ecstasy, he perks up. Perhaps too close to the inevitable. “Can I have a turn?”
Ethan swallows hard, yet nods. He can’t recall the last time another man touched his cock, which only reifies how badly he needs this.
Surprisingly, Taylor slips off the couch and onto his knees, maneuvering himself between Ethan’s legs and the coffee table. Ethan might just bust hands-free from this drool--inducing sight. This beautiful, floppy-haired stud is peering up at him with these lustful brown eyes that contain hidden worlds.
Taylor’s talented. There’s no question about it. The moment he locks his grip around Ethan’s shaft, Ethan is gone for him. His own left hand could never compete with the expert pull of Taylor’s satiny fist. The corded muscles braided up Taylor’s forearm bulge with the work of it, but the expression on Taylor’s face makes it seem like he’s made for this job.
For a minute, Taylor breaks the intense eye contact. His gaze wanders south to Ethan’s cock, “It’s so pretty,” Taylor whispers, sounding mesmerized. Dickmatized.
Taylor pulls his hand away so they can both look, really look. It’s maybe six and a half inches (he hasn’t broken out the measuring tape since college) and above average in thickness. That second part became apparent after a few spoiled hookups over the stretch being too much for his receptive partner. Whatever its misgivings, his cock has always provided him pleasure, and for that he’s been grateful. But, pretty? That seems extreme.
Yet the glimmer in Taylor’s eyes makes his cock tremor, makes him appreciate his member anew. He even appreciates Taylor more as his head rears closer to Ethan’s crotch. Creating scale. “Can I taste it?”
Ethan’s chest hiccups at the request. “There’s lube all over it. I’m not sure you’ll want—”
“I don’t care,” Taylor says. The directness and ineffable hunger are what push him to agree.
Kissing Taylor’s mouth was enchanting. Now to have those same supple lips suctioned around his dick is like being transported to a fantasy realm. His fingers, laced together, find lodging on the top of his head where he almost expects a crown because Taylor’s making him feel like a fucking king.
Taylor picks up the pace as he scratches his trimmed nails down the insides of Ethan’s sensitive thighs. The tickle is nothing compared to the pressure building inside his cock, the tightness he feels in his heavy balls. There’s a slapping just out of sight. Taylor must be stroking himself in sync.
Not once do Ethan’s eyes jump from Taylor—brushing his bangs out of his eyes as his mouth continues to move—to the screen where the porn is still looping. He may never watch porn again. He could get off on the memory of this moment for a million and one years if he had to.
He feels wanted. He feels cared for. He feels…so close to unloading.
“I’m right there,” he says in the growl he’s growing to like.
“Come for me,” Taylor says, removing his mouth but not his hand, which takes over the same exact rhythm, pressure…
Sounds Ethan has never heard or made before rip out of his mouth as his whole body shudders. A shower of cum rains up his torso at a distance and power he hasn’t experienced in a long time. He doesn’t live inside this too long, though, because whimpers break out beneath him. Fuck if he’s going to miss Taylor reaching orgasm.
He resurfaces quickly enough to lean forward, place an encouraging hand on Taylor’s shoulder, and growl out, “Let it out, Taylor. Let it go.”
And he does. It’s a similarly impressive shot that nearly clears his right shoulder. Taylor’s face softens from ecstasy. A lazy, easy smile takes the place of an openmouthed pant.
Ethan pauses the porn, laying a blanket of silence across the room. He doesn’t even possess enough energy to shimmy the towel out from under him to clean up.
“I could fall asleep right here,” Ethan says on the most luxurious exhale.
“I thought you said that couch was unforgiving,” Taylor says playfully. “Or was that just a convenient excuse?”
Ethan’s heart beats out a new message: I want more of this.