Lubrication (m/m)

[rugbycockfan]

I've not released any of my writing for a while, mainly because I'm never entirely satisfied with my stories and they often don't get finished. This one, however, is complete and ready to go (although I'll be posting it up in a series of bite-sized chunks.)

It started out as a good roleplay session I had with a gentleman I sometimes meet in the chatroom, which was getting pretty steamy when he suffered an episode of wankus interruptus and had to log off mid-flow. The fantasy lodged in my brain afterwards, and I decided to write it up, with a few changes (of names and other little details,) embellishments, and a back story. Oh, and an ending, of course.

This little tale is the result. I hope you enjoy.

*********

1.

"So... has he finally finished moving his stuff out?"

I loved my mate Rob's sexy Scottish accent. His line of enquiry, not so much.

He'd bided his time asking me - but I'd known all evening that the question, or something very much like it, would be coming. To say that I disliked talking about my shit of an ex-boyfriend was something of an understatement and, left to my own devices, I'd probably have kept it zipped. Nowadays I'm much better at not bottling stuff up, but back then - fuck, ten years ago already! - it was a different story.

Fortunately, Rob understood the value of talking about my emotions better than I did. He also knew I was a bit of a lightweight. Alcohol loosens my inhibitions and lubricates my tongue faster than it does for your average bloke and, by halfway down my third pint, he guessed I was about ready for a spot of gentle interrogation.

"Yeah. Picked up the last of his clothes and his smelly trainers yesterday. Nice to have a bit of space in the wardrobes again, actually. And I opened the windows and gave the flat a good airing as well: much more pleasant now."

"Good mate, you're well rid of him - and his bad feet. Now, learn your lesson from this experience, Marky-boy," Rob said, putting his pint down, fixing me with a hard stare and adopting his most mock-serious tone, "next time you meet a hot-looking man who turns out to be the male Imelda Marcos *AND* the town's most prolific buyer of Odor-Eaters, just walk away."

I gave out a bitter, hollow laugh. "If the cunt had actually bothered to use the Odor-Eaters a bit more often, then life would've been more pleasant," I conceded, "but his feet weren't half as big a problem as his roving eyes and his wandering hands. Jesus, I still can't believe I was so fucking blind. I reckon almost every time Steve said he was going up to Cambridge to meet his old mates, he was actually meeting some random. Clandestine online hookups probably, or worse. And I'd be amazed if the bloke he's ended up moving in with will find that he's any more inclined towards being faithful to him than I did. In short, he's fucking welcome to him."

"I know you were keen on Steve, mate," Rob said, reaching across the table and placing his hand over mine, as my first clenched and my knuckles whitened, "but you did the right thing, telling him to sling his hook as soon as you found out. It's not as if you two were in an open relationship or nothing. You trusted him and he threw it back in your face."

I shot my mate an angry glare and snapped straight back at him through gritted teeth. "And that was the fucking worst of it. If we'd not been getting along, then he'd met somebody else and decided to call it a day, that... that I could've lived with. But it was all smiles and fun and good times, right up til the day I saw him through the window of the White Lion with his bit on the side."

The memory of that night was still raw. I'd stayed home from work sick that day and, clearly convinced I'd be going nowhere, my then-boyfriend Steve had let his guard slip and met his alternative source of pleasure - by this point referred to in routine discourse as "the Bumboy" (childish, I know, but as if I fucking cared?) - down the pub, rather than making his usual "trip to Cambridge." This being a euphemism, it now transpired, for going straight over to Bumboy's joint for a rough shag, or a trainer-sniffing party, or whatever the Hell the two little shits got up to whilst I was at rugby training, out with my (real, actually existent) mates, or sat in front of the telly. Or, in this instance, when I was meant to be in bed.

Except that I wasn't in bed, because I had begun to feel better and decided that it would be a good idea to go for a walk. It was a lovely late July evening, the sultry heat of the day now yielding to a pleasantly warm and much fresher dusk - and, besides, the fridge was getting empty. Steve's assignation took place at the White Lion: a pretty down-at-heel sort of a boozer, which those of us who weren't big fans of flat beer and sticky carpets avoided like the plague, and which also happened to be on the direct route between the flat and the local Spar shop. Hence how I came to see him and Bumboy, looking very friendly indeed and making doe eyes at one another, quite by chance through those dirty pub windows - whilst on my way back to our home with a two pint bottle of milk, a ready meal and a bunch of bananas.

They were too busy to notice me, and I had too much dignity to go and make a scene in that grubby boozer. Instead, I sat at home and fulminated until Steve finally got back, well after midnight. Strong words were exchanged, the neighbours in all likelihood awoken, and he was told to fuck off in no uncertain terms.

Two weeks later, and I had been through the emotional wringer: stunned, furious, tearful (in private moments alone, of course,) coldly enraged, and now my fury was welling back up again. And, playing under it all like a constant bass hum, the desperate feeling of shame.

"I just feel like a total fucking fool, mate. If I'd not found him out by pure luck then he'd still be screwing around now. And what does that say about me, Rob? What does it say that I... that I cared about him so much?" I closed my eyes for a moment, as my anger segued into pain and I was overcome by a feeling of deflation. As my shoulders sagged and my balled fists relaxed, I felt Rob's fingers closing around my hand, squeezing firmly. And, at that moment, just feeling his touch - and knowing I didn't have to try to process and cope with this on my own - was so reassuring. It was almost as if the strength of his grip flowed from his hand into mine.

 

[rugbycockfan]

2.

"It says," Rob responded, "that you are a good bloke who's been put through a load of shit he don't deserve by someone who doesn't deserve him, and that's all."

"But I was wrong to trust him, wasn't I?"

"Looking back, yes, of course. But just cos we can't see this sort of thing coming 100% of the time it don't mean we've been stupid or that it's our fault. At some time, when we're getting close to people, we have to start trusting them - and trust always comes with the risk of betrayal. If you were setting out on a relationship with someone, and you had a computer or a crystal ball or something that could allow you to be 100% certain they weren't going to let you down, then what would any trust you then had in them mean? Nothing."

I paused for a moment, taking on what Rob had said. Logically he was right, which made me feel a lot less stupid and a good deal calmer. I was bloody lucky to have him as a friend. Most of my mates were straight and, whilst they were very accepting of me as a gay man, we inhabited two parallel universes when it came to relationships. Rob, on the other hand, swung both ways and, right from when we first got to know one another at work, it made it so much easier for me to just talk honestly to someone of a similar age (we were both just north of thirty at the time,) and with some shared inclinations, about living with and loving men. I flattered myself to think that I sometimes helped him in the same way, too.

I straightened up in my chair, metaphorically getting up and dusting myself off, and looked across at Rob again. "Thanks mate. That's good of you to say. I guess... I suppose I just beat myself up over not having seen the signs. But I shouldn't keep beating myself up over something that ain't my fault, right?"

Its job done, he relinquished the grip on my hand and reached for his pint. "Got it in one. You've done nothing wrong. It's all his fault. Fuck 'im."

"No fear," I said, finally managing a proper smile for the first time that night, "I'm all done fucking Steve, thank you very much!" We both had a good laugh at that, which made me feel a whole lot better, then I continued.

"I'm young-ish, free and single. I might even have a browse later and see if there's evidence of any new talent in the locality?"

"Fuck no, mate. Give yourself five minutes at least! You don't want to be hitting on a stranger when you're on the rebound. Trust me, I know that all too well..." Rob put the glass to his lips and took a long pull on the intoxicating liquor. I knew exactly what he was going on about.

"Ah. More Candy trouble?"

"Yep. Think I may be joining you in bachelorhood again before too much longer, Mark. And I might well be looking for a man next time I try getting involved with someone."

I chuckled. "That bad, huh?"

"Her: a hen. Me: a bowl of especially delicious bird seed, i.e.: getting pecked constantly. Still, that's what happens when you allow yourself to get fixated on a pair of big tits, before you get to know what someone's actually like. I don't know, perhaps I'd be better off fixating on big cocks in future?"

We both laughed again. I took a sip from what was left of my beer - which wasn't much by that point - and relaxed back a little in my chair.

"Two problems with that mate. First, boobs are obviously more visible than cocks, unless you visit the kind of establishment where men get naked to pull - and those aren't typically the sorts of places where guys go to discover something meaningful. Not that I know anything much about THOSE joints, of course... and besides, secondly there is no proven relationship between having a big member and being good partner material. Steve's quite generously endowed, and look what happened with him."

"Yeah, but what about you?" The comeback was quick and smart, and a mischievous smirk creased his lips. We'd been to the gym together plenty of times, so it's not as if we had any secrets of that nature left to hide...

"Come off it! I ain't that large as you fucking well know. Just a bit above average, that's all."

"I know, I know," he said, beaming, "just enjoy watching you blush, that's all."

"I am NOT blushing," I said, feeling my cheeks growing warm.

"Yeah, sure, whatever."

"Fuck you!"

"You wish mate."

"Oi! Filthy..."

"Can't fool me Marky-boy. I've clocked your laser-vision burning into my arse more than once..." Rob's voice tailed off. He blinked a couple of times. I gave out an embarrassed half-laugh, then silence. My face started to really burn - mainly because I knew he was right. I looked away, suddenly pretending to take an interest in the football match between some blokes in red and some other blokes in blue, playing silently on the TV across the other side of the crowded pub. I fished for a good reply, without success.

Rob got up from his seat. "I, er, just need to go for a piss, mate. Be back in a minute."

"OK," I said, nodding vaguely in his direction but declining to meet his gaze. And still feeling mortified.

I sat watching the match after he left. At some point one of the players in blue scored a cracking goal, and a cheer went up from the one small party of lads who were actually invested in the action. It did nothing to excite me. I could see the screen, but the images failed to fully process. I was too busy thinking about the words that had passed between Rob and I, and the images that they teased and extracted from my mind. Because he had been right. I mean, Rob wasn't exactly the first male friend I'd ever had erotic thoughts about - when you're attracted to big, burly, sporty lads and you then proceed to play for a succession of rugby teams, through school and university and your whole adult life, you can hardly avoid getting SOME interesting ideas - but these guys were almost all straight. Forbidden fruit - and you always had to be careful never to reach out and try to pick it.

That, and they were mates, after all: one couldn't help noticing if they were attractive, but it didn't mean that you actually wanted to get up to any funny business with them.

Except that Rob was different. He liked men, and had always been quite open about the fact - and our past conversations had often walked the tightrope between the merely explicit and the downright flirtatious. All the same, I cringed to think that the fact that he wouldn't take against me for finding him attractive meant that I must've let my guard down. Shit! All those lingering glances at his firm, round arse - and his fat, uncut cock and heavy balls - lasting just a little too long to be mistaken for anything innocent. We were mates, yet I'd perved him: temptation had got the better of me.

 

[laptoper]

Nice, looking forward to seeing the progression

 

[rugbycockfan]

3.

I snapped out of it with a start when I heard Rob pull his chair back and noticed him sitting down in my peripheral vision. I turned. We looked at one another. We both hesitated, then Rob started to speak.

"Mark... it's OK, you know... I hope I didn't..."

"Mate, I fancy the fuck out of you. You know that?" I was at the bottom of that third pint by now, and the Dutch courage was beginning to flow freely in my veins. Looking back, I don't think I even surprised myself with my forthrightness. Once I'd got over the big admission, I seized the initiative and kept on going.

"These whole past three years, almost from the first moment you walked through the door of the office and we just hit it off, I've had a thing for you. If life had been different - you know, what with you being with someone, then me meeting Steve - I can well imagine my having made a pass at you. But it's never been the right time, you've become such a good mate, and I didn't want to fuck up our friendship with... complications..."

With hindsight, I don't know why I was nervous about what Rob might come back with. The undercurrent of sexual tension in our relationship had been there from the outset. But I'd meant what I said: I valued our friendship, so I'd been hesitant to risk ruining it by muddying the waters.

I needn't have worried, of course.

"That's... exactly how I feel about you, Mark." Relieved, I relaxed back into my chair. "You think I've not felt like acting on it in the same way, not held back for the same reasons? And don't think you're the only one of us who's been checking the other out. Shit, when you walked through that door there earlier wearing that outfit. The tight shirt, the shorts - all that juicy beef on display. Got the blood rushing to my knob... It's just that I haven't forgotten to leave my tongue hanging out when I do it, that's all."

"Oh God... have I really been THAT obvious?" I said, groaning.

"Aye, pretty much. Though I take it as a tribute to the extent of your lust for me that you've become so bad at hiding it. I'm sure you enjoy looking at hot lads from time to time and I'm equally sure you're usually a lot more discreet, because you're not covered in bruises. I'm exactly the same, it's just that my tastes mean I can enjoy twice as much eye candy as most other people. Not," he said, leaning forward and lowering his voice, "that I can REALLY see anybody other than you right now..."

I leant forward myself, so our elbows were both propped on the table. We looked deep into each others' eyes, our faces mere inches apart. I contemplated my next move. I really fucking wanted that man; if that had gone on for another few seconds, I think I'd have forgotten where we were and I'd have moved in for a kiss... but then, a second loud cheer, as the men in blue put another goal in the back of the net, sealing the match. I was reminded that we were in a boozer in a not particularly large, or cosmopolitan, southern English town, and not a Soho bar bedecked in rainbow flags. Even today, not nearly everyone's ready to see two men making out - and things certainly weren't any better a decade back.

"I'm going to buy us another drink Rob. And then... I'm going to tell you all the wicked thoughts I've ever had about you. It's as well it isn't that late, I'm going to need a while."

"Then get your sexy arse moving mate. I'm looking forward to this." Rob had such a wicked grin on his face. I'm sure I was doing the same thing, though it was only after I'd weaved my way through the standing punters and reached the bar that reality really hit home. I stood waiting, leaning forward on the bar. Wearing my favourite Gloucester rugby shirt, bare forearms resting on the cool, smooth stainless steel top, waiting patiently for my turn for attention from the overworked bar staff - and thinking.

I'd told Rob I was attracted to him. He'd reciprocated.

I was single. He was... well, as good as.

I knew I was up for it. I reckoned he was as well. If things kept heading in this direction...

I could feel my cock getting uncomfortable, hardening fast, pushing against the restraint provided by my briefs. Bulging out, stretching the soft, red cotton, only prevented from attaining its full, rigid length by the strong elastic of the waistband that cruelly constrained by manhood. I closed my eyes and all I could see was myself and Rob, in my bedroom. Holding each other in a powerful embrace. Kissing long and hard. Breaking away to pull my shirt over my head, then starting to undo the buttons down the front of his shirt as his fingers ran down my bare ribs, alighting upon my hips and gripping them tight. Rubbing his swollen cock hard against mine, so close to the moment when our bare dicks and ball sacs would touch, exchanging warmth and clear, tacky juices. Just a few layers of cloth to be removed, my erection desperate to be let free. I undid the last button of his shirt, revelling in the feel of his skin, his chest heaving gently as his breathing quickened in time with mine. Body heat blooming, pulses quickening, arousal building. Rob yanked his shirt off, as I reached down for his belt and began to undo the buckle...

I was so lost in homoerotic reverie that I'm not sure I would've noticed if it was my turn to order drinks. Actually, I'm not sure I would've noticed if a bomb had gone off in the street outside. I scarcely noticed someone from the crowd rubbing up close against my backside, jutting out a little as I leant against the bar.

I certainly noticed when whoever it was grabbed my crotch through the fabric of my shorts, a hand slipping down over my turgid cock bulge, the fingers then coming to rest on my balls, cupping and gently squeezing them.

I felt hot breath on my neck, my ear.

"Outside mate. Now. Want you."

 

[1314219]

I've not released any of my writing for a while, mainly because I'm never entirely satisfied with my stories and they often don't get finished. This one, however, is complete and ready to go (although I'll be posting it up in a series of bite-sized chunks.)

It started out as a good roleplay session I had with a gentleman I sometimes meet in the chatroom, which was getting pretty steamy when he suffered an episode of wankus interruptus and had to log off mid-flow. The fantasy lodged in my brain afterwards, and I decided to write it up, with a few changes (of names and other little details,) embellishments, and a back story. Oh, and an ending, of course.

This little tale is the result. I hope you enjoy.

Wanktus interruptus. LOVE IT. I also like Phallus Erectus.
*********

1.

"So... has he finally finished moving his stuff out?"

I loved my mate Rob's sexy Scottish accent. His line of enquiry, not so much.

He'd bided his time asking me - but I'd known all evening that the question, or something very much like it, would be coming. To say that I disliked talking about my shit of an ex-boyfriend was something of an understatement and, left to my own devices, I'd probably have kept it zipped. Nowadays I'm much better at not bottling stuff up, but back then - fuck, ten years ago already! - it was a different story.

Fortunately, Rob understood the value of talking about my emotions better than I did. He also knew I was a bit of a lightweight. Alcohol loosens my inhibitions and lubricates my tongue faster than it does for your average bloke and, by halfway down my third pint, he guessed I was about ready for a spot of gentle interrogation.

"Yeah. Picked up the last of his clothes and his smelly trainers yesterday. Nice to have a bit of space in the wardrobes again, actually. And I opened the windows and gave the flat a good airing as well: much more pleasant now."

"Good mate, you're well rid of him - and his bad feet. Now, learn your lesson from this experience, Marky-boy," Rob said, putting his pint down, fixing me with a hard stare and adopting his most mock-serious tone, "next time you meet a hot-looking man who turns out to be the male Imelda Marcos *AND* the town's most prolific buyer of Odor-Eaters, just walk away."

I gave out a bitter, hollow laugh. "If the cunt had actually bothered to use the Odor-Eaters a bit more often, then life would've been more pleasant," I conceded, "but his feet weren't half as big a problem as his roving eyes and his wandering hands. Jesus, I still can't believe I was so fucking blind. I reckon almost every time Steve said he was going up to Cambridge to meet his old mates, he was actually meeting some random. Clandestine online hookups probably, or worse. And I'd be amazed if the bloke he's ended up moving in with will find that he's any more inclined towards being faithful to him than I did. In short, he's fucking welcome to him."

"I know you were keen on Steve, mate," Rob said, reaching across the table and placing his hand over mine, as my first clenched and my knuckles whitened, "but you did the right thing, telling him to sling his hook as soon as you found out. It's not as if you two were in an open relationship or nothing. You trusted him and he threw it back in your face."

I shot my mate an angry glare and snapped straight back at him through gritted teeth. "And that was the fucking worst of it. If we'd not been getting along, then he'd met somebody else and decided to call it a day, that... that I could've lived with. But it was all smiles and fun and good times, right up til the day I saw him through the window of the White Lion with his bit on the side."

The memory of that night was still raw. I'd stayed home from work sick that day and, clearly convinced I'd be going nowhere, my then-boyfriend Steve had let his guard slip and met his alternative source of pleasure - by this point referred to in routine discourse as "the Bumboy" (childish, I know, but as if I fucking cared?) - down the pub, rather than making his usual "trip to Cambridge." This being a euphemism, it now transpired, for going straight over to Bumboy's joint for a rough shag, or a trainer-sniffing party, or whatever the Hell the two little shits got up to whilst I was at rugby training, out with my (real, actually existent) mates, or sat in front of the telly. Or, in this instance, when I was meant to be in bed.

Except that I wasn't in bed, because I had begun to feel better and decided that it would be a good idea to go for a walk. It was a lovely late July evening, the sultry heat of the day now yielding to a pleasantly warm and much fresher dusk - and, besides, the fridge was getting empty. Steve's assignation took place at the White Lion: a pretty down-at-heel sort of a boozer, which those of us who weren't big fans of flat beer and sticky carpets avoided like the plague, and which also happened to be on the direct route between the flat and the local Spar shop. Hence how I came to see him and Bumboy, looking very friendly indeed and making doe eyes at one another, quite by chance through those dirty pub windows - whilst on my way back to our home with a two pint bottle of milk, a ready meal and a bunch of bananas.

They were too busy to notice me, and I had too much dignity to go and make a scene in that grubby boozer. Instead, I sat at home and fulminated until Steve finally got back, well after midnight. Strong words were exchanged, the neighbours in all likelihood awoken, and he was told to fuck off in no uncertain terms.

Two weeks later, and I had been through the emotional wringer: stunned, furious, tearful (in private moments alone, of course,) coldly enraged, and now my fury was welling back up again. And, playing under it all like a constant bass hum, the desperate feeling of shame.

"I just feel like a total fucking fool, mate. If I'd not found him out by pure luck then he'd still be screwing around now. And what does that say about me, Rob? What does it say that I... that I cared about him so much?" I closed my eyes for a moment, as my anger segued into pain and I was overcome by a feeling of deflation. As my shoulders sagged and my balled fists relaxed, I felt Rob's fingers closing around my hand, squeezing firmly. And, at that moment, just feeling his touch - and knowing I didn't have to try to process and cope with this on my own - was so reassuring. It was almost as if the strength of his grip flowed from his hand into mine.

 

[rugbycockfan]

4.

I heard the urgency in Rob's voice. Immediately he let go and moved away. It took me a moment to catch my breath, then I turned, working my way between the standing drinkers, watching him disappear through the door and onto the street. I pursued single-mindedly. I had no idea if anyone else had just witnessed how he had approached me - and I didn't care. The thought never even occurred to me.

I shoved the heavy front door of the pub open and stepped, hurriedly, out into the night. It was probably between nine and half-past, the Sun had already slipped below the horizon, but its afterglow still shone low in the Western sky - pale yellow, then turquoise, and finally cobalt, ascending into the heavens: night would soon fall. And there was Rob, a few yards down the street, waiting for me by the corner of the pub. Features visible only in pale relief, his head and shoulders making a silhouette against the fading embers of dusk. He disappeared behind the gable wall, and I followed.

As soon as I reached the corner, his hand grabbed my upper arm and pulled me to him. His back was to the wall; instinctively I wheeled around and nearly collided with him, our bodies almost crashing together - and then he wrapped his other arm around my waist and pulled me to him, closing the distance, expressing his desire through the power of his grip, the way he quite literally manhandled me. I responded, pressing into him, letting him feel my weight. We shared our first, fierce kiss, our stubble abrading each other's lips, which soon parted to allow our tongues to clash, then wrap around each other, and slip freely into each other's mouths. The taste of those pints of bitter lingered and mingled - along with the sound of muffled, bass groans. A song of male pleasure rising from our throats, only to reverberate and expire in the echo chamber created by our sealed mouths.

Both of his arms now locked securely around my waist, bonding me to him, whilst I braced one hand against the rough, rendered wall of the pub and slid the other up and under his loose shirt, running my fingers up and down his flank, feeling his ribs and his warm, bare skin beneath my fingertips - all the while continuing to suck and probe each other's mouths. Three years of pent-up passion first found its release through that kiss. At that instant, I felt like I never wanted it to end.

It was a moment of catharsis as well as of pleasure. I wasn't stupid: after the time we'd spent together, I couldn't just forget about Steve. But I also felt ready to let him go. I'd kept up my end of the bargain throughout our relationship: I wasn't the one who had cheated. Now he'd let me down, I wasn't going to let that stop me from living my life. I wanted Rob. A lot. I was going to enjoy him.

At length, he relaxed his hold on me and I pulled slightly away, breaking our connection. We looked really closely into each other's eyes, now bottomless pools in the near darkness. Breathing hard, both wanting so much more. "Come on," he rasped, "this way!" He led and I followed, down the narrow, dead-end alleyway along the side of the building, past the bins, and to a hidden place around another corner, screened by a wall and by overhanging trees. I guessed this must've led to the pub's back entrance, used only for deliveries perhaps? There were no lights here: it was nearly pitch-black already, with little more than the feeble glow of the darkening sky and the first of the stars overhead to illuminate us. I looked behind us; we were out of sight of the road. No-one who didn't choose to follow would see anything that happened here.

It was obvious that we both wanted sex. I'm a pretty cautious, reserved kind of bloke: I love sex, just in the proper, private place, that's all. I was never the sort to get up to stuff in pub toilets, let alone outdoors - except that the combination of the booze and my long-suppressed feelings for Rob were overwhelming my inhibitions. I could see just enough to take hold of him, pushing him hard against the wall, perhaps using more force than was wise. I was barely in control of myself, feeling the adrenaline pumping, like a fucking animal ready to mate. Fortunately the rough handling didn't appear to have done Rob any harm. If anything, it seemed to be making him enjoy this even more.

"Can't wait. Need you now."

"Same here Marky-boy. So fucking glad I know about this place."

I started fumbling for Rob's shirt buttons. I soon lost patience, grabbing the front from both sides and tearing, hard. The buttons were all pulled from their holes or ripped clean off, and I planted both hands on his chest. Smooth, almost bare, skin, warm and sensitive. Ribcage rising and falling with his fast, shallow respiration. Feeling the arousal spread through his body as he responded to my touch.

"You been here before?"

"By chance, last year. Girl wanted somewhere private to snog, stumbled round here, perfect. Went home for more fun afterwards."

I put an end to his story by pressing my lips to his, prying and forcing his mouth open with my tongue and shoving it in as far as it would go. I didn't want to hear any more about this girl, or anyone else. They were history. In the present, Rob was all mine. When I want a man, I don't fucking share.

I withdrew my tongue and started working my way down his body with my mouth, painting a line down his chin, over his Adam's apple, and down as far as his pecs, where I paused to give service to his nipples. I took each into my mouth in turn, alternately sucking them and flicking at them with the tip of my tongue. My intentions were both to arouse the now-hardening nubs, and to tantalise him with the expectation of where my oral explorations would eventually lead. It seemed to be working. I had him groaning again, and this time the sounds could escape his parted lips and drift away on the cooling, late evening air.

I resumed my inevitable downward journey, my knees now flexing until they made contact with the weathered, broken tarmac that carpeted the ground. Loose chippings dug into my flesh, pressing hard into the skin, threatening to break through and send thin streams of my hot, fevered blood trickling into the earth. I barely noticed, and I didn't care anyway. I'd shed blood just to move a ball a few yards up a pitch; I would give pints to have Rob. I felt his hands come to rest on my head, fingers running through my short hair, grabbing handfuls and pulling me into him as I shoved my tongue into his navel, running the tip round and round in circles and kissing him.

His skin tasted clean, and was growing hot to the touch. I felt the same heat radiating from my core as I reached for his belt. We both listened to the light clinking as I undid the buckle - then, very slowly, I popped open the button, and slid down the zip of his jeans... I reached within, and he gasped as my hand met his hard cock. No underwear, the dirty little fucker! I circled my fingers around the shaft, tightening my grip and then wanking him gently for just a couple of strokes. Appreciating the firmness, the pumped veins, the ample girth. This was going to feel so good!

 

[laptoper]

So good. Looking forward to more

 

[rugbycockfan]

5.

I let him go, first grabbing his jeans and yanking the denim straight down, baring his body completely from waist to knee. Rob was nearly naked now, and I wanted to feel and to worship every inch of him. My hands moved down and around, fingers digging into the firm muscle of his backside, kneading the flesh, claiming his fucking hot arse as mine at long last. And then, finally, I let my tongue slip from his navel - ringing wet, a thin stream of saliva still trickling down his midriff - and locked onto my ultimate target.

I stuck out my tongue, flicking the very tip of his cock like a serpent tasting the air - and then engulfed the whole head, swiftly, hungrily, sealing my lips tight behind the ridge as I probed his end more thoroughly with my tongue. He was stiffly erect, his foreskin drawn tight over the glans, unsheathing the very end and exposing his slit to my eager tongue. I slid up and down, moistening him, tasting for the briefest moment the acrid residue of his piss as I washed it away, before licking all around the bell-end. Getting him good and wet, seeking to coax forth the sticky precum that I wanted to feel on my tongue, slipping, sliding, trickling down my fucking throat. There was nothing in my world now except his body, giving him everything I had to give, and getting everything that he had to give in return.

I slid my lips slowly down his shaft, taking my time, keeping up the pressure. Inch after inch, taking it all in, breathing deep through my nose - til I had nearly the whole length in me, the head pushing against the back of my throat, forcing me to resist my gag reflex. I was salivating freely now, but not a drop was spilt: I bathed Rob's cock, getting him good and wet and slippery, before I began to suck relentlessly. Working my mouth up and down, from one end of the shaft to the other, never letting the head loose, lips stroking back and forth over every blood vessel that made a ridge in the tautened skin. Pleasuring his manhood, worshipping it, gripping his arse with all the strength in my hands to keep him in place. Determined to drink my fill of him.

I'm a great cocksucker, even if I do say so myself. Experienced, skillful, determined. I resisted my urge to gag, the growing ache in my jaws, the sharp stones scraping away at my knees - all to pleasure my man, feel that thick, gorgeous meat in my mouth, and to hear that noise. The gasping, the groaning, the panting. The filthy language. The brute ecstasy at the moment when he cries out, his dick pulsates, and I feel and taste his spurting orgasm. Rob had a hold of my hair again now, holding my head for dear life. I felt his glutes flex in my grip as he began to thrust, rocking his hips forward to meet each downward movement as I swallowed his length. Our bodies moving in unison, my willing mouth getting fucked.

"Holy shit pal!" I heard Rob force the curse out, those seductive Scots tones lowered to a guttural bass uttered between heavy breaths. He ceased the rhythmic pumping of my throat, letting loose his hold on my hair even as I continued to suck. "Gonna cum... too soon... please Mark... stop... fucking stop..."

I was so into the groove that it took a few moments to actually listen to what he was saying, but when I finally got the hint I slid my lips slowly up his length one final time, this time all the way, releasing him. A rope of tacky precum clung to my lower lip, connecting us momentarily, before I felt it break and fall down my chin. I looked up at my friend - or was he my lover now? - and, even in the near-total darkness, I could almost have sworn that I could see the expression of lust in his face. I could certainly hear it in his voice.

"Want you inside me, mate. Want you to fuck me, good and hard."

A fresh rush of blood coursed into my dick, straining desperately against my underwear. As the desire to drain my balls succeeded that to empty his, I ran my hands down his legs and pushed his trousers the rest of the way down, bunching them around his ankles, before getting to my feet. I took his hand in mine, pressing it to my groin, guiding it firmly up and down my bulge through the crotch of my shorts. Feeling Rob's hand grope my hard dick.

"This what you want Rob?"

"You know it is Marky-boy. Been wanting it since fuck knows when."

Next, I took hold of my shirt, pulled it over my head and clean off, feeling it cling to me where I was starting to sweat up. Dumping it carelessly on the ground, I kissed him again, firm and rough, my chin smearing him with the last traces of his own juice, as his hands wandered across my torso. I've never been one of these ripped types - I'm an amateur sportsman who likes his beer, not a bodybuilder - but I was in decent shape: firm arms, broad-shouldered, no six-pack but not much of a spare tyre, either. Rob certainly seemed to be enjoying running the rule over me, his fingers roving across my chest and stomach, over and through the coarse hair.

Our lips parted and I locked one hand on his shoulder, pulling at him, urging him to turn around. He took the hint, and I shoved him firmly against the wall. The wall, the ground, the men, the sex: rough and hard all over. I dropped to my knees again, hooked my thumbs in his crack, spread him wide and dived straight in, eating that seductive, masculine backside. I'd drilled into it so often before with my gaze; now, I lapped at it ferociously with my tongue, running the tip up and down through the sparse hairs that lined the crevice, making him cool and wet before settling over the hole itself and giving him a good rimming. He pushed down to meet me, moaning as I salivated over his arsehole and shoved the tip of my tongue hard against it, enjoying his arse one way and getting it ready for the next.

I revelled in eating him out as he made his deep, coarse, filthy noises. Grunting like a pig, or telling me how good it felt - every other word a curse - egging me on. It was only when he began to implore me, to beg me over and over, to fuck him in that oh-so-sexy Scots accent that I finally got back up, my heart hammering, a trickle of hot blood running almost unnoticed down my shin from where the dirty, rutted path had extracted its price. I fumbled about in the pockets of my cargos for my "emergency kit": they were sometimes giving away freebie packs of condoms and lube in the bars when I went for a night on the town in London and, thank God, I'd never given up the old habit of carrying one with me "just in case." I found the box, got the lube out and started working it into Rob, hearing him moan loudly as I smeared the cool gel over his already wet arsehole, and then put my fingers - first one, then two - up inside him, opening him up, crooking the digits and slathering the lube over the tender, vulnerable lining. I wanted him well ready for my cock. I wanted this to feel so good - for both of us.

 

[hornygeordie]

Fucking hot story, dripping here

 

[rugbycockfan]

Fucking hot story, dripping here

I am pleased to hear of your enjoyment. The notion that my words make other men erect is highly arousing for me. Thanks to your appreciation I am also now hard and leaking like a tap, so you've done the same to me

 

[1314219]

I am pleased to hear of your enjoyment. The notion that my words make other men erect is highly arousing for me. Thanks to your appreciation I am also now hard and leaking like a tap, so you've done the same to me

I could help you with that.

 

[rugbycockfan]

I could help you with that.

Oh you bad, bad man! ;-)

 

[1314219]

Oh you bad, bad man! ;-)

Caught me!

 

[rugbycockfan]

6.

I unbuttoned and unzipped my shorts, and slipped them easily down over my thick, hairy legs til they dropped down round my ankles. My desperate cock was bulging out and deforming my briefs, denied its freedom by the strength of the waistband, the material half-soaked with sticky mess where I'd been leaking like a fucking tap. I pulled my underwear right down, over my knees, so that it also fell onto my shorts, my cock straightening out near-instantly - almost as if it were spring-loaded. The relief of just getting it out of my kecks was huge, and I couldn't help but give it a good feel: running my hand briskly a few times up and down the full seven inches, the shaft - gently curving upwards - at last reaching full hardness, smearing precum over the wide, cut, engorged head.

I put on the condom and turned my attention back to Rob, placing one hand on his shoulder, taking my cock in hand with the other and guiding it home. I'm a little taller than Rob, and I needed to flex my knees and spend a few moments to align with his wetness, but when I did, I didn't hesitate.

We moaned in unison as I penetrated him.

My head opened his ring and, once I was in there, I gently eased the rest of my length into his body. I'd not fucked a bi bloke before, and I guess somewhere in the back of my mind I was worried that, even though we'd talked a whole lot about sex and Rob had told me he'd bottomed before, he might be inexperienced and would struggle. But I needn't have. As I sank myself right the way in, the sounds coming from deep down in his throat betrayed nothing but pleasure. I reached round to feel his dick, but he'd already got things well in hand, so I grasped his other shoulder securely and started to fuck.

It was properly dark by now and the air was growing cool, but I was beginning to sweat freely nonetheless as I took him in long, smooth strokes. My dick felt so good sliding in and out of his heat that I was sure I wouldn't last that long, but I did my best to hold something back and not to tip over the edge before he was ready. The pair of us were both grunting, sweating, getting well verbal. I loved hearing the sounds of me and Rob swearing, our ragged breaths, and the noises our bodies made as we fucked, all blending together.

Listening to the wet and sticky vibe coming from his well-lubed arsehole as I boned him, and then the repeated loud slap of my body against his as I lost control and could no longer resist driving myself harder and faster into him, was heaven. Ain't nothing better than when two big lads get right down to business - bringing all your power to bear on him, feeling him respond in kind. He pushed his arse down, eager to meet my thrusts, willing me to screw him hard with his gestures as well as his words. If we'd been back at mine right now, the noise of us two going at it - combined with the loud creaking of the floorboards - would probably have left the downstairs neighbours resorting to earplugs. Or dialling 999 and reporting a murder in progress to the police.

I could feel my chest, pits, bollocks all getting damp, the sweat slicking the hair. The first beads started to appear on my forehead, rolling down my face and dripping onto Rob's wrecked shirt as I closed the gap between us, sensing that we were very close and wanting to hold him tight as we found our release.

"Shit, Mark! You're big... Gonna leave me... fucking gaping..."

"Such a hot arse... wish I could keep going... getting close... getting fucking close, Rob..."

"Then give it me... right up the arse... come on, pal... oh shit... FUCK!!!"

Rob was first over the edge, bellowing hard and loud as he began to shoot his load against the wall. I guess we were making such a racket by this point that any passers-by there might have been in the street would surely have been able to hear something. But right then our whole world consisted of two near-naked blokes rutting like absolute animals, in the dark, wanting each other so bad that nothing else mattered. I began piston-fucking him as fast as I could, feeling my balls tighten right up against my body - the undercarriage raising, ready for take-off - and then the pressure building and building, deep between my legs...

"Rob, mate... coming... fucking take it mate!"

I leant my full weight against him and rocked my hips forward, burying myself to the hilt, and stayed there as wad after wad shot forth, emptying my cum tank into the latex and leaving me weak at the knees. I'm not sure if that was quite the best orgasm I've ever had, but it was certainly somewhere near the top of the table. About the only thing that would've made it better is if I wasn't wearing the rubber - yet, even in my lust, I had more sense than to do that. 'Perhaps one day?' I let myself think for just a moment, as I slipped my hands down and reached around Rob, my palms slick with his sweat and mine as I ran them up and down his body, sending one as low as his crotch. Taking his large, furry testicles in hand, rolling them in my palm, caressing them gently and imagining how much more seed they might yet be made to deliver tonight - if he were willing. I stayed right up inside him, lingering long after the last waves of my climax had passed. Not quite ready to let go of his body, to uncouple from him. We stood there, catching our breath as we descended from the heights. He reached a hand round to lazily touch my backside, as I planted a line of kisses on his neck.

At length, I pulled out and chucked the used condom in some dark corner. Yeah, I know: if I'd been a good boy I'd've binned it nicely, but that's just one more thing - along with tearing my mate's clothes, having sex so loud it could be heard from space, ending up a hot, sweaty, sticky mess, and the small matter of doing it basically in public - that I couldn't have given a flying fuck about that night.

We started to get dressed.

"Rob, mate... Why didn't we ever do this before?!"

"You said it yourself earlier Marky-boy: small matter of your boyfriend. Besides, alfresco shagging's a bit adventurous for your tastes. Surprised you got that carried away: thought I'd be lucky to land a crafty snog before we got back to yours."

"All your fault for leading me astray you dirty fucker! Anyway, I suppose I shouldn't say this after you've been such a bad, bad man, BUT... do you still want to come round mine?"

Well, reader - what do you think happened next?

THE END - for now...

**************

I'm currently working on a much longer story, but that'll probably take me a wee while to complete. In the meantime, thank you for your attention

 

[hornygeordie]

Ohhhh you tease.....we must have more instalments of Rob and Mark!

 

[rugbycockfan]

Ohhhh you tease.....we must have more instalments of Rob and Mark!

This may depend on whether the specific gentleman role-playmate who inspired this piece reappears in the chatroom for more fun. In the meantime, I have another little piece of work about athletic men in progress. Stay tuned...

 

[Jason]

A very good story. Thanks for posting it.

 

[Campisi]

3.

I snapped out of it with a start when I heard Rob pull his chair back and noticed him sitting down in my peripheral vision. I turned. We looked at one another. We both hesitated, then Rob started to speak.

"Mark... it's OK, you know... I hope I didn't..."

"Mate, I fancy the fuck out of you. You know that?" I was at the bottom of that third pint by now, and the Dutch courage was beginning to flow freely in my veins. Looking back, I don't think I even surprised myself with my forthrightness. Once I'd got over the big admission, I seized the initiative and kept on going.

"These whole past three years, almost from the first moment you walked through the door of the office and we just hit it off, I've had a thing for you. If life had been different - you know, what with you being with someone, then me meeting Steve - I can well imagine my having made a pass at you. But it's never been the right time, you've become such a good mate, and I didn't want to fuck up our friendship with... complications..."

With hindsight, I don't know why I was nervous about what Rob might come back with. The undercurrent of sexual tension in our relationship had been there from the outset. But I'd meant what I said: I valued our friendship, so I'd been hesitant to risk ruining it by muddying the waters.

I needn't have worried, of course.

"That's... exactly how I feel about you, Mark." Relieved, I relaxed back into my chair. "You think I've not felt like acting on it in the same way, not held back for the same reasons? And don't think you're the only one of us who's been checking the other out. Shit, when you walked through that door there earlier wearing that outfit. The tight shirt, the shorts - all that juicy beef on display. Got the blood rushing to my knob... It's just that I haven't forgotten to leave my tongue hanging out when I do it, that's all."

"Oh God... have I really been THAT obvious?" I said, groaning.

"Aye, pretty much. Though I take it as a tribute to the extent of your lust for me that you've become so bad at hiding it. I'm sure you enjoy looking at hot lads from time to time and I'm equally sure you're usually a lot more discreet, because you're not covered in bruises. I'm exactly the same, it's just that my tastes mean I can enjoy twice as much eye candy as most other people. Not," he said, leaning forward and lowering his voice, "that I can REALLY see anybody other than you right now..."

I leant forward myself, so our elbows were both propped on the table. We looked deep into each others' eyes, our faces mere inches apart. I contemplated my next move. I really fucking wanted that man; if that had gone on for another few seconds, I think I'd have forgotten where we were and I'd have moved in for a kiss... but then, a second loud cheer, as the men in blue put another goal in the back of the net, sealing the match. I was reminded that we were in a boozer in a not particularly large, or cosmopolitan, southern English town, and not a Soho bar bedecked in rainbow flags. Even today, not nearly everyone's ready to see two men making out - and things certainly weren't any better a decade back.

"I'm going to buy us another drink Rob. And then... I'm going to tell you all the wicked thoughts I've ever had about you. It's as well it isn't that late, I'm going to need a while."

"Then get your sexy arse moving mate. I'm looking forward to this." Rob had such a wicked grin on his face. I'm sure I was doing the same thing, though it was only after I'd weaved my way through the standing punters and reached the bar that reality really hit home. I stood waiting, leaning forward on the bar. Wearing my favourite Gloucester rugby shirt, bare forearms resting on the cool, smooth stainless steel top, waiting patiently for my turn for attention from the overworked bar staff - and thinking.

I'd told Rob I was attracted to him. He'd reciprocated.

I was single. He was... well, as good as.

I knew I was up for it. I reckoned he was as well. If things kept heading in this direction...

I could feel my cock getting uncomfortable, hardening fast, pushing against the restraint provided by my briefs. Bulging out, stretching the soft, red cotton, only prevented from attaining its full, rigid length by the strong elastic of the waistband that cruelly constrained by manhood. I closed my eyes and all I could see was myself and Rob, in my bedroom. Holding each other in a powerful embrace. Kissing long and hard. Breaking away to pull my shirt over my head, then starting to undo the buttons down the front of his shirt as his fingers ran down my bare ribs, alighting upon my hips and gripping them tight. Rubbing his swollen cock hard against mine, so close to the moment when our bare dicks and ball sacs would touch, exchanging warmth and clear, tacky juices. Just a few layers of cloth to be removed, my erection desperate to be let free. I undid the last button of his shirt, revelling in the feel of his skin, his chest heaving gently as his breathing quickened in time with mine. Body heat blooming, pulses quickening, arousal building. Rob yanked his shirt off, as I reached down for his belt and began to undo the buckle...

I was so lost in homoerotic reverie that I'm not sure I would've noticed if it was my turn to order drinks. Actually, I'm not sure I would've noticed if a bomb had gone off in the street outside. I scarcely noticed someone from the crowd rubbing up close against my backside, jutting out a little as I leant against the bar.

I certainly noticed when whoever it was grabbed my crotch through the fabric of my shorts, a hand slipping down over my turgid cock bulge, the fingers then coming to rest on my balls, cupping and gently squeezing them.

I felt hot breath on my neck, my ear.

"Outside mate. Now. Want you."

Hot read man!

 

[Campisi]

6.

I unbuttoned and unzipped my shorts, and slipped them easily down over my thick, hairy legs til they dropped down round my ankles. My desperate cock was bulging out and deforming my briefs, denied its freedom by the strength of the waistband, the material half-soaked with sticky mess where I'd been leaking like a fucking tap. I pulled my underwear right down, over my knees, so that it also fell onto my shorts, my cock straightening out near-instantly - almost as if it were spring-loaded. The relief of just getting it out of my kecks was huge, and I couldn't help but give it a good feel: running my hand briskly a few times up and down the full seven inches, the shaft - gently curving upwards - at last reaching full hardness, smearing precum over the wide, cut, engorged head.

I put on the condom and turned my attention back to Rob, placing one hand on his shoulder, taking my cock in hand with the other and guiding it home. I'm a little taller than Rob, and I needed to flex my knees and spend a few moments to align with his wetness, but when I did, I didn't hesitate.

We moaned in unison as I penetrated him.

My head opened his ring and, once I was in there, I gently eased the rest of my length into his body. I'd not fucked a bi bloke before, and I guess somewhere in the back of my mind I was worried that, even though we'd talked a whole lot about sex and Rob had told me he'd bottomed before, he might be inexperienced and would struggle. But I needn't have. As I sank myself right the way in, the sounds coming from deep down in his throat betrayed nothing but pleasure. I reached round to feel his dick, but he'd already got things well in hand, so I grasped his other shoulder securely and started to fuck.

It was properly dark by now and the air was growing cool, but I was beginning to sweat freely nonetheless as I took him in long, smooth strokes. My dick felt so good sliding in and out of his heat that I was sure I wouldn't last that long, but I did my best to hold something back and not to tip over the edge before he was ready. The pair of us were both grunting, sweating, getting well verbal. I loved hearing the sounds of me and Rob swearing, our ragged breaths, and the noises our bodies made as we fucked, all blending together.

Listening to the wet and sticky vibe coming from his well-lubed arsehole as I boned him, and then the repeated loud slap of my body against his as I lost control and could no longer resist driving myself harder and faster into him, was heaven. Ain't nothing better than when two big lads get right down to business - bringing all your power to bear on him, feeling him respond in kind. He pushed his arse down, eager to meet my thrusts, willing me to screw him hard with his gestures as well as his words. If we'd been back at mine right now, the noise of us two going at it - combined with the loud creaking of the floorboards - would probably have left the downstairs neighbours resorting to earplugs. Or dialling 999 and reporting a murder in progress to the police.

I could feel my chest, pits, bollocks all getting damp, the sweat slicking the hair. The first beads started to appear on my forehead, rolling down my face and dripping onto Rob's wrecked shirt as I closed the gap between us, sensing that we were very close and wanting to hold him tight as we found our release.

"Shit, Mark! You're big... Gonna leave me... fucking gaping..."

"Such a hot arse... wish I could keep going... getting close... getting fucking close, Rob..."

"Then give it me... right up the arse... come on, pal... oh shit... FUCK!!!"

Rob was first over the edge, bellowing hard and loud as he began to shoot his load against the wall. I guess we were making such a racket by this point that any passers-by there might have been in the street would surely have been able to hear something. But right then our whole world consisted of two near-naked blokes rutting like absolute animals, in the dark, wanting each other so bad that nothing else mattered. I began piston-fucking him as fast as I could, feeling my balls tighten right up against my body - the undercarriage raising, ready for take-off - and then the pressure building and building, deep between my legs...

"Rob, mate... coming... fucking take it mate!"

I leant my full weight against him and rocked my hips forward, burying myself to the hilt, and stayed there as wad after wad shot forth, emptying my cum tank into the latex and leaving me weak at the knees. I'm not sure if that was quite the best orgasm I've ever had, but it was certainly somewhere near the top of the table. About the only thing that would've made it better is if I wasn't wearing the rubber - yet, even in my lust, I had more sense than to do that. 'Perhaps one day?' I let myself think for just a moment, as I slipped my hands down and reached around Rob, my palms slick with his sweat and mine as I ran them up and down his body, sending one as low as his crotch. Taking his large, furry testicles in hand, rolling them in my palm, caressing them gently and imagining how much more seed they might yet be made to deliver tonight - if he were willing. I stayed right up inside him, lingering long after the last waves of my climax had passed. Not quite ready to let go of his body, to uncouple from him. We stood there, catching our breath as we descended from the heights. He reached a hand round to lazily touch my backside, as I planted a line of kisses on his neck.

At length, I pulled out and chucked the used condom in some dark corner. Yeah, I know: if I'd been a good boy I'd've binned it nicely, but that's just one more thing - along with tearing my mate's clothes, having sex so loud it could be heard from space, ending up a hot, sweaty, sticky mess, and the small matter of doing it basically in public - that I couldn't have given a flying fuck about that night.

We started to get dressed.

"Rob, mate... Why didn't we ever do this before?!"

"You said it yourself earlier Marky-boy: small matter of your boyfriend. Besides, alfresco shagging's a bit adventurous for your tastes. Surprised you got that carried away: thought I'd be lucky to land a crafty snog before we got back to yours."

"All your fault for leading me astray you dirty fucker! Anyway, I suppose I shouldn't say this after you've been such a bad, bad man, BUT... do you still want to come round mine?"

Well, reader - what do you think happened next?

THE END - for now...

**************

I'm currently working on a much longer story, but that'll probably take me a wee while to complete. In the meantime, thank you for your attention

What an awesome sexy read! Loved it look forward to more Mark and Rob action instalments

 

[RobertHunter30]

Damn!!! This was a great story - and oddly I lived kind of the same thing in my life - the only difference is - we still have not had sex despite the sexual tension that exists between us.