11. The Perfect Moment #6
” .. morning,” I said, stretching, coming out of the reverie.
” ‘.. morning, yourself,” he replied. “Not going to ask how you slept. But how did you sleep?”
“Fuck you,” I smirked.
“Yup, did that,” he shot back, likewise smirking.
I had to get to the bathroom. I swung my feet to the floor, standing up. Awkwardly. And groaned. Every muscle in my body was protesting.
He was laughing.
“You bugger,” I said.
“Bugger? Me?” He was still smirking.
“With number one – you’re okay,” he said. “Number two – not so sure about that yet!”
“Like that, eh?” I said.
I flushed, washed my hands, and checked myself in the mirror. Puffy. Bleary eyed. Sleep deprived. ‘Unh. Rugged.’
‘So,’ feeling my beard, examining it, one side, then the other, ‘this is what you look like when you’ve been fucked,’ I said to myself, ‘Bum-fucked. By your best friend. And you spending the night bum-fucking him.’
Then, lifting my chin, feeling my beard under it, ‘Like you’ve been dragged through the proverbial knot hole, backward,’ I told myself.
And with a kind of smug grin I could not suppress, “Not bad,” I said, winking to my reflection, “Considering.”
He was laying on the bed. I attempted to sit down beside him. Not easy. He had his head propped on one elbow, checking me out, smirking. I managed to stretch out full length.
He had his hand on my belly, finger circling my navel. I took his hand, and with it idly rubbed my belly.
“So?” he asked.
“So? What?” I asked.
“The question.”
“The question?”
“The question. ‘Do you still like me in the morning’?”
“You gotta be kidding,” I said, snorting, remembering him hot and exploding inside me, our arms holding us together, our legs tangled in the bedsheets.
His hand was still on my belly.
“Well?”
“Well, what?
“Do you still like me in the morning?”
“Fuck you,” I retorted, grinning.
“No,” he insisted, “You cool?”
I looked at him, straight on. “I’m cool,” I said. And added, the realization of what I was saying sweeping through me as I said it, “Never more cool about anything in my life.”
He sucked in a breath. It was a powerful hit.
Then, absorbing it, he replied, simply, looking at me straight on, “Ditto,”
We neither of us were saying anything more, just looking at each other, taking in what we were looking at.
He broke the impasse. “Okay, mate,’ he asked, “coffee?”
Then a pause, “.. Or?”
“Or what .. mate?” I responded.
“Or hair of dog.”
“Meaning?” I asked.
“Hair of dog. Move over.” Then he flipped, and had my dick in his mouth.
“Mmmmm,” I couldn’t say anything else. Again it was like I was going to explode, every cell jangling.
I was soft but coming up hard as he sucked, hard, his head working me up and down.
‘Oh, oh, oh, oh,” was the only sound I could make, Then, finally, I was able to say, “Let me.” I flipped, head for toe, and went down on him, 69.
And I heard and felt him saying “Mmmmm.”
“Mmmmm.” Over and over again, “Mmmmm.” He was humming as he sucked me.
The vibrations from the sound were crazy and driving me crazier.
I reciprocated, “Mmmmm,” driving him into a frenzy, eating me, gobbling my knob.
And I did the same, eating his, gobbling his knob, setting up a spiral that had me, him, soaring off into some distant dimension, our hips pumping, driving our dicks deeper and deeper into our mouths, until setting off spasms of gagging, we had to back off.
I grabbed his, and he grabbed mine, each of us pumping.
Now my lips around his head, his around mine, sucking, pumping.
Past the point of no return. Then exploding, him into my mouth, me into his.
I held it, working it with my tongue, flipping to meet his lips, him opening his lips, mingling what I had in my mouth with what he had in his, savouring it, playing with it, swallowing it, a little at a time.
“Pheew”, I heard him when our mouths finally parted.
“Hair of dog,” I said. I could taste him, again like almonds, ever so lightly caustic, etched in the back of my throat.
“Hair Of Dog,” he said, emphatically.
“Let the genie out of the bottle,” I began to say. He finished he sentence, “… and there sure ain’t no putting him back!”
“What the hell are we doing?” I asked, in the daylight a moment of reality settling in.
He took a moment, then replied, slowly, thoughtfully, “Well, for me, after how many years knowing you, I’d say I’m really just getting to know my best bud.” He took my hand and held it to his chest. “You?”
I felt his hand on my chest. I looked down at it. “Goes for me,” I said, and he squeezed my hand.
“In a Biblical manner of speaking,” he said, his eyes twinkling with his joke.
“In a Biblical manner of speaking, yes,” I said, returning his line in kind.
“Cool?” he asked.
“I’m cool,” I replied.
Then needing air, we shook free of each other.
We started to say something, both of us at the same time.
“You.” he said, “What were you going to say?”
“I was going to say you are beautiful,” I said. And added, “And I just don’t say that to everybody.”
He blinked. He started to say something. Then didn’t.
“Whaat?” I said.
“I was just going to say the same thing about you.”
There was a long pause while we looked into each others’ eyes.
Again, straight on. Rock steady, no hint of ‘us having gone too far.’ Outgoing, fun-loving, sincere, surefooted.
As before, it was a continuing, friend-with-friend, man-with-man moment.
And more. It was like two strong arms, clasping.
‘Here’s somebody I could trust with my life,’ I was thinking, ‘Here’s somebody I could trust with the rest of my life.
’ One wonderful human being. I could only hope he was seeing the same in me.
And then, suddenly, his arms were around me, and mine were around him, his mouth, my mouth pressed together, tongues probing deep, his body, mine, pressed firmly together, thighs, bellies, chests.
And then, just as suddenly, we were holding each other even closer, grasping each other tighter, his body, my body, heaving with wave after wave of sobs threatening to break through, struggling to keep them in check, on the verge, but hanging on not to lose it all together.
The convulsions subsided, and, looking at me, he reached up, and with his thumb, smoothed out tears that had overflowed onto my cheeks.
And I likewise reached up to his face and thumbed the tears that were flowing onto his cheeks.
Then quickly his lips locked on mine, holding firm, his body again tight to mine, mine to his.
And then we separated.
Then, wiping at his eyes, he said, simply, “Man, you sure got to me.”
“And you sure got to me,” I said, pinching my face, squeezing my cheeks, choking off a further outburst.
“You’re okay?” he asked.
“I’m okay,” I replied, “You?”
“I’m okay, yes,” he said.
We broke, and then he asked, almost with a smirk, “So, mate – you figure maybe we could make it as BFWBs?
My turn to blink. Before I could recover, he continued, “No need to answer right now. Just something to think about.” He was smirking.
Then he patted my ass. “Okay. Breakfast. Or have you had your protein for this morning?”
“Smartass,” I shot back.
“Smarting ass, you mean,” he retorted, grinning.
I decided against going for a comeback. All I could do was shake my head. Grinning.
“Okay, okay, to the matter at hand – and no double entendre – room service, or do you want to go down?” He looked at the clock radio on the bedside table. “Room service is off. Brunch?”
“You want?” I asked. “Coffee and whatever is good enough for me.”
“Okay,” he said, “I am heading into the bathroom, then I am going out and getting us some brekkie. I’ll bring you back something.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I said.
A quick shower and shave and he was out the door, and, my turn, I was off the bed and into the bathroom.
Towelled dry, shaved, I was not yet dressed when he came back. Take-out coffee and breakfast sandwiches from the coffee shop. And a silly look on his face.
“What?” I asked.
“We really gotta be back tomorrow?” he asked.
“No,” I replied, “not really, I guess. Why? What are you thinking?”
“Well, it’s an okay room,” he said, “thinking maybe if we could see if it was available for another night .. ” He paused.
“And?” I asked.
“And, ” he replied, “I stopped by the gift shop and got us a tube of lube.” He pulled it from his pocket and dropped it on the bed.
‘A tube-a-lube.’ It rhymed in my head. “You think that will be enough?” I shot back.
“That’s why I bought two,” he replied, and dropped a second on the bed. “And that’s all they had.”
“Holy fuck,” I shook my head, “We’re sure not in Kansas now.”
“Nope,” he said, “we’re sure as fuck are not in Kansas now!”
He picked up the phone, negotiated the second night, then walked to the door, opened it, hung the ‘Privacy Please’ tag on the knob, closed it and flipped the slide-lock.