SWEET AND SOUR
by November Tuesday
A night like so many nights before, through high school and college and adult shit apartments, and better adult apartments, of work and getting off work, beer flowing freely, the common denominator of all of them, loosening tongues and sweetening the friendship and buzzing their heads.
And this night, like any other, the bar just down the alley from Sean's apartment, they stumbled back after last call, too drunk to be afraid of taking the alley, Tim reveling in the happy dizzy stagger of his buzz and Friday night and Sean not far behind, they came to this point.
Hours later, still kept awake on the narrow couch, Sean crept into his bedroom. Tim slept there, arm thrown up over his head, bare chest breathing slow, tight body tapering to a thin waist covered by blankets.
Sean stared at Tim for what seemed like a long time, eyes tracing the lush bow shape of Tim's upper lip, the tight economy of chest and arms, fragile crescent of eyelashes until he realized what a cliche he was, smacking of every unrequited schoolboy lust jerkoff story he had ever read.
Still, he indulged himself to look a second more.
He pushed Tim to one side of the bed and crawled in. Punched his pillow into a satisfactory shape and tried to sleep. Listened to the slow rise and fall of Tim's breath, slow and deep. The room was warm in the bluish predawn light, radiator pipes clunking softly down deep in the building.
He was somewhere on that sticky boundary between sleep and waking when he felt the hand on the bare skin of his back. His eyes flew open, shocked. He knew exactly where he was and with whom, the dim sexual charge of that fact not lost to him as he neared sleep, and he didn't understand the hand that just rested there, unmoving, palm and fingertips all just pressed to his skin.
He didn't move for some time, wondering if maybe Tim was asleep and just resting his hand there, or if he was indeed touching him.
Then the hand moved, fingertips gently tracing a swirl on his back, and he fought to contain his breathing as dizzy adrenaline filled his gut, his cock flexed and grew.
It seemed to take minutes, and all his energy, to turn around.
Tim's eyes were on him, intent and gray in the dim pre-morning light. "Hey."
"Tim?" Murphy felt as if he was unable to get in enough air. Hand withdrawn, Tim merely watched him.
"Your skin is so soft. I didn't think it would be."
The blunt words made Sean's heart race and groin pulse and goddamn, Tim was lying there coolly, matter-of-fact, while Sean felt like passing out.
Be conservative, he thought. This is your best friend.
"Is this something you've thought about a lot?"
"No." Well, Tim wasn't giving him much to go on.
Long eons there, in the pause. Tim finally spoke. "Have you thought about me like that?"
Shit. Trick question. Yes. No. Maybe. Bastard. Self absorbed fucker, giving me nothing. Except that touch. Oh, rough wide fingertips.
His nipples were painfully hard. Cock harder.
"Maybe means yes." Cocky, presumptuous motherfucker, presumptuous and totally irresistible.
"No," Sean snapped. "Yes means yes, and maybe means maybe."
Damn. This was quickly turning into a pissing contest, which wasn't what he - or his hard cock - wanted. Cut to the chase.
"Where are you going with this, Timmy?"
"I want to touch you. Don't you want to touch me?"
Murphy's mouth opened, nothing but air coming out.
Finally, "Are you drunk?"
"No. Buzzed. I feel good." When had Tim's eyes become so intense, on him with this singlemindedness?
"And when did you decide this?"
"A few years ago."
Years? And the bastard never made a move? All those nights wasted with my fist?
"Kiss me," Tim said, with his eyes and his pretty bowed lips. Just as Sean was about to exceed his threshold for being turned out.
Oh, Christ. Every wet dream he'd ever had from the fifth grade on.
He just laid there, lips parted, eyes narrowed, frozen.
"Sean." So insistent, brows knitting and narrowing, begging. "Kiss me."
And he totally understood then how Tim got all those women. Bluntness, and unabashed qysensualism, all taken to the extreme, and wrapped into one. And he was totally powerless to resist.
Faces inches apart, distance narrowing, Tim's lips and tongue on Sean's, gentle as air. So slowly, exploring foreign texture and shape, roughness of a man. Tim was unashamedly exploratory, as if committing every strange nuance to memory, recording it for posterity. Sean rode a surge of high pride, knowing he was the first.
They parted, gazes swooping in myopically to gauge the other's reaction, then kissed again. Tongues tangling. Sean's fingers rose to trace the line of Tim's arm, a butterfly of flattery rising in his chest as he felt goosebumps there. It fueled him, made him kiss harder, Tim responded, putting weight and need behind his kiss.
When Tim's hand lit on his nipple, pinching, gave a sharp little cry, breaking the kiss. They stared at each other. Blinking. Long seconds, one, two. Then, Tim was on him, stumbling to press them skin to skin; Sean was on his back and prone underneath, still shocked, still reeling as Tim's hand, hard this time, dragged his fingers down his side. Tim nipped his lip and he responded by writhing underneath, hands rising up to cup the hot skin of his nape, pulling down and kissing hard. He forced his tongue, tasting alcohol, vague and citrus, not entirely unpleasant.
They turned rough, Tim's fingers pulling into a pinching fist in his hair, cock pressed to cock, hard and unbearably not pressing hard enough, rapidly becoming two animals trying to claw into the other. Murphy's nails stung a red welt down Tim's back, ending in a rough fist on his ass, that holy grail of adolescent wet dreams and a few more recent than he cared to admit, flesh so hard and soft and warm.
Oh, and payoff was Tim tossing his head back into a sweet pained moan. Yeah, oh fuck yeah, this is gratifying, turn the tables, take back my power, initiate this virgin. Tim was pressing hot kisses into his neck, and Sean was biting, suckling, keeping unsteady, off his toes. Tim thrust hard, cock on cock, and two layers of underwear with unbearable friction, like rug burn, and so necessary.
Sean looked at him, puzzled. Surely he wasn't going right there. Not like him to cut to the chase when he could wallow in foreplay. But Sean was weak and dazed and ready to be lead, and he rolled over on his stomach.
He waited, breathe in, breathe out, eyes closed and waiting. Then, on the nape of his neck, a tender kiss and unbearable gentleness, and he nearly screamed, biting back inexplicable tears, soothed by trailing fingers, kisses trailing, fingers leisurely chasing the furrow of his spine. Down, until fingers curled into the hem of his boxers and pulled down, kissing the rising slope of ass, pulling back to linger in the small of his back.
"What are you doing?"
"I just want to touch you here," he whispered, fingers demonstratively skimming over his back. He relaxed into the bed's warm gravity as Tim's fingers grazed him, head to toe, over his underwear, down one leg, even down the bottom of one bare foot to the toe, then lazily up -
Too much. He flipped over, slammed Tim hard into the mattress, seeing shock in his eyes before they narrowed, tightened into lust, kissing hard, hardness of bone and teeth veiled by the warm press of his lips, and hooked a finger into Tim's briefs, freeing the perfect, pulsating cock, oh, so fat, thick piece of cock, veins curling in relief on its surface. Gently, barely touching, but everywhere at once. The harsh egress of breath followed Tim's moan. Control, and Murphy shoved him back onto the bed with his free hand.
Sean's eyes narrowed with a rare hardness as his hand circled Tim. "You ever been touched like this by a man before?"
Tim exhaled "no," the word catching on his breath.
"You wanted this?" Muscles of his forearm quickening.
"For how long?"
"Tim was shaking, distracted, muscles of his eyes thrumming and quickening with energy. "Forever. Oh, I've wanted to fuck you for years."
Sean was hard, so fucking insanely hard, and not missing a beat in time as he stroked.
"At work, wanted to pin you to the control tower and fuck you there in front of everyone, in the locker room, everyone watching" His head thrashed left and right but his eye stayed on Sean's hard face. "Wanted to take you home, drunk some night, staggering up the stairs."
Sean bit his lip, eyes flinty intense. "When was the first time?"
"When?" Relentless. Tim was huffing and wiggling, pushing his cock up in the ministering fist.
"College - oh, fuck! - I had a dream and woke up hard. I knew about you and that fag you took home You didn't think I did - oh, Christ, god - but I did, and I was jealous - unhhh! - jealous! Because I wanted to be the one fucking you"
No more. Sean worked Tim so fast he felt the burn of fatigue flare through his arm. And even as Tim screamed, humped up, and blew his load into the air above Sean's clenching fist, Sean kissed him, tangled in the tongue so desperate to couple a kiss with this first sensation.
Tim McManus was always either self absorbed or intently focused on something to the point of obsession. No middle ground. For long seconds he breathed harshly, eyes lolling back in his head, closed to the world. Then, Tim sat up, eyes on Sean's with that same gray inhuman intensity, and said "I wanna do that for you."
Sean exhaled in surreal bliss and he motioned toward his cock with one open hand. I'm yours, take me at will. Sitting on the edge of the bed, toes curling into the gray carpet, Tim's hands were on him, fumbling for that first exotic touch of another cock, pulling down the faded boxers as if he were opening a present.
Sean watched from above, entire body tense, head to toe. Tim's hand was so warm, rough, sliding over him without preamble. He touched just like he kissed for the first time, learning similarities and differences, marveling in the pool of fluid at the head, fingering the single underside vein, the partial foreskin, the foreign nuts tight in their sack.
Tim opened his mouth, and Sean exhaled noisily, waiting. Unable to tear his eyes away. Tim's tongue was like a million tongues, flicking over the wet head and down under the rim, while Sean watched, dazed, thinking that this was Tim, his Tim, who was sucking his cock like a fuckin' lollipop, and thinking Jesus Christ, this is the ultimate score. It was only the shock of thinking this that kept him from going over the edge before Tim's lips hit pubes, and he moaned, smooth and throaty slick sound as he was enveloped, nipped inadvertently on the rim, and as the slow waves of suction hit him he rose in one smooth crescendo, moan and cum and shaking hips, oh, so tight, so wet, right into Tim's mouth.
He watched, just to see the swallow and Tim licking him off of that bow-lip. Then fell bonelessly onto his bed and stared at the ceiling, the thin sunlight creeping in around the curtains, listening to Tim in the bathroom. Running water, in the sink, sound of a hard stream of piss hitting water. What now? Scuttling out the door, freaking quietly out, never talking about this again? Sean tried hard to breathe, to not care.
He opened his eyes, and Tim was there, staring at Sean, taking in his novel male body.
"I want you to fuck me," Tim said.
Sean could not have been more shocked. I'm dreaming, he thought for one surreal second, wondering if he could remember how.
"Are you serious?"
Wide eyed, he crawled to the top of the bed. Shakily pulled a tube of lubricant from the nightstand drawer, propped a pillow beneath his head. Tim's eyes watched him, gray and intent.
"Come here," Sean said. Tim complied, moving fluidly when Sean pushed him to a straddling position.
Tim complied, moving upward on his knees, straddling Sean's upper abdomen. He stroked Tim's semi-hard cock, smelling evidence of their earlier play, musky, wonderful, watched the muscles of Tim's stomach contract as he stroked his silky cock.
"You have an amazing cock." He said, surprising himself.
"Thanks. You do amazing things to it."
Sean squeezed a dollop of lube into his hand, cupped it as he stroked. Tim didn't take his eyes off of it, watched as Sean covered his fingers and pressed them at the entrance. Rubbed tiny circles over the perineum, lazy figure eights around the asshole, more lube, then dipping in, feeling the instant tightening and slow uncoil of relaxation. Tim's eyes were on him the whole time, the whole situation tightly, unbearably intimate. He pressed in, to the second knuckle, watching the changes in Tim's breathing, taking it slow, but Tim was rushed and steeling himself with a breath sank slowly down onto Murphy's finger.
Then both were still, but for the flutter of relaxing muscles. So tight. Sean's cock was red, pulsing and oozing and so ready. He scissored his fingers, wiggled up there, curled up against that hard nut of pleasure and fluttered there. Tim shuddered visibly, random sounds generated by the hitching of his breath.
Scooped another dollop of lube, grabbed Tim's hand, smearing it on the palm, then took Tim's hand with his own and wrapped it around his own burning cock. Eyes intense, silent, yet comprehending.
Sean's hand fell to his stomach. Tim took over, stroking slow, reaching down for more lube, smearing its coldness over Sean's hot cock. Sean bit his lip and breathed. "You sure you wanna do this?"
Tim's eyes were on him, face earnest. "Yes."
Sean closed his eyes, moaned, warning himself not to go there, to wonder if Tim could be down that lane of emotion as well. He realized that the stroking had stopped, and Tim was rocking on him, the slick crevice of his ass over his cock, looking for that place without resistance. Tim stared quietly into space as he learned the new sensation.
"Slow." Tim ignored him. That was Tim when he had his mind set on something. Short sighted, stubborn, and sexy as hell. He pressed down, savoring impossible pressure of camel-passing-though-a-needle, giving away to the burning pleasure of acommodation. Sliding down, slow, eyes widening at the unbearable fullness, moan of pain torn from his lips as he waited, stuck, impaled, breathing slow.
Sean lay and hoped he could last. Felt the muscle tighten deliciously and relax again. A second orgasm, but god help him he'd lose it quick. Oooh, tight, Tim's ass clenched his cockhead in tight muscle. Cold air on his shaft taunting him, aching him, he was dying to thrust those final inches into heaven. Slowly, slowly, Tim moved again, lips pressed into an O of pleasure-pain. A pinched whimper rose from Sean's lips.
Sean's eyes were closed, mouth open with breathing fast and labored, and he was lost without depth or dimension, riding a warm zen cloud of joy until, to his surprise, Tim was down to the hilt, groin pressed to groin.
There was an eternity of bobbing up and down, slow ebb and flow of sensation, tightening and dilating, until Tim was crying out. "Tag," he gasped, and rolled, Sean quickly pinned him and rolled on top.
"You ready?" He whispered into Tim's ear.
Tim moaned wordlessly.
"You ready for me? To fuck ya good?"
"Yes." A hiss this time.
He thrust in hard, ass clenching tight with the force of it, reading Tim's face. "Yeah?" he asked?
"Yeah," he breathed in acquiescence. Sean rode the brutal joyous rush of dominance, fucking hard, so alive, pure man and fucking so amazing.
Impaled on his cock, Tim was starting to writhe and wriggle around it. So tight, as Tim's cock thickened and floundered between their bellies.
"Whaddya think of the dark side?" Murph asked.
Smile flitted over Tim's features, whole head shook by brutal thrusts, and he whispered "I fucking love it."
Then Sean was stuporous, fucking, whole mind wallowing in sensation, pleasure and agony, in and out, and it could have been seconds, or it could have been forever. Waves and waves of joy, culminating, nearing, coming. Then blinded by the unbidden words on his tongue. I love you I love you I love you going through his head. What?
But he was coming, thrusting hard and coming and he landed, cock in tight to the hilt, muscles in his ass vibrating with orgasm, pressing in just a second further, deeper.
Lips found Tim's, kissing, insistent, stupid. Groping, grasping, desperate, pulling at straws. Nipping at Tim's pretty lips a frustrated animal.
What the fuck am I thinking?
Suddenly he needed pain, atonement. He rolled over, spread. "Tim."
Tim slathered his cock, pressed it in without preamble. Pain, clenching clamping pain until his eyes watered and he had an excuse. Tim went right to slamming, forgetting niceties. Laid still like a dead thing, came, nevertheless, into his sheets, laid there still as he heard running water, distant, Tim showering him away.
He rolled over onto his aching ass. Nightstand clock says it's already noon. Mere hours, and everything changed.
Dreaded formalities. He beats Tim to them.
"That was amazing." A kiss without tongue. "I'll call you."
He makes no attempt to stop Tim as he walks out the door. Finally alone, he rolls back over, lets the pain envelope him, blindsided, wondering how he has been knocked to the mat, so quick.