| |
Trey Hayworth had a choice. He could jack off to his dog-eared Victoria’s Secret catalogue or rely on his stash of torn out underwear stud ads. The Victoria’s Secret women were soft and curvy, the Calvin Klein men as ripped as gym rats in their groin-hugging briefs.
Both made Trey’s eighteen-year-old cock swell up and harden.
He could have used both to masturbate to of course, but he preferred to save that treat for his last climax. Privacy was precious. He liked to make a full meal of it.
Trey’s father was a pharmaceuticals rep for a drug company. Twice a month he traveled out of town on sales trips. When he was home, he kept too close an eye on his son for Trey to risk breaking his anti-sex edicts. When he was gone, Trey had more leeway. His sort-of pal Kevin Dexter had shown him how to feed fake footage into his dad’s spy cams, which gave him multiple days and nights to revel in freedom.
He could pretend he was normal then. Crawl the mall. Crash a party if he knew of one. He wasn’t popular enough to be invited. The other seniors at Franklin High smelled the freak on him—his indeterminate sexual preference, his home situation, the whole “his mother killed herself last year” thing. Whether they were jocks or nerds, people steered clear of making friends. Trey didn’t fit their boxes. They didn’t know what to make of him. His saving grace was that he was decent looking and owned a car. Waiting tables sixteen hours a week meant he could buy non-lame clothes and keep his rusty Mustang running.
His father believed allowances ruined kids.
But that was fine. Trey was happier not relying on him. Safer too, probably. Trying to please her spouse had led to his mother giving up on everything.
He pushed that thought away. Remembering how his mother had checked out made him feel like he was choking. Determined not to waste his time alone, he scooted beneath the box spring to retrieve his inspiration from its well-concealed hiding place. His cock woke up as he did, twitching like Pavlov’s dog from the familiar feel of his back sliding over the cool floorboards.
The sound of a raised male voice froze him there with the dust bunnies.
Zane Alexander’s father was on a tear tonight.
In some ways, Trey’s next-door neighbor was the opposite of himself. Zane was a golden boy. Captain of the football team. A zillion friends. A Porsche. A girl for each arm and leg if he wanted them. In one important way, however, he and Trey had too much in common.
Trey squirmed out from under his bed and crawled to the windowsill to peek out. His pitch-black hair was long—too long, according to his father. Thus far, he’d avoided his father’s scissors. As a result, he had to shovel it out of his eyes to see. A strip of grass separated the two ramblers, maybe fifteen feet in all. The night was dark and the shades were pulled. The light from a single lamp silhouetted Zane and his father in their living room. Divorced for a couple years from his beauty queen of a wife, Zane’s father had been Franklin’s hometown hero once, a football prodigy like his son. An injury sidelined his career, leaving him to simultaneously hate and need to live through his son—who he liked to pimp out at the sporting goods store he owned. Mr. Alexander was big and beefy but not as tall as Zane. As if he didn’t want to remind his dad of that, Zane’s shoulders were hunched in.
“You forgot?” Mr. Alexander’s drunken voice shouted. “You forgot? You want to tell me how you could be such a stupid shit you couldn’t remember one simple thing!”
Zane’s answer was inaudible. Truthfully, it didn’t matter what he said, no more than it mattered what he’d forgotten. What happened next was inevitable.
His father’s arm uncoiled, his meaty fist smacking Zane in the temple. Trey flinched and gripped the window tighter. Zane didn’t let out a sound. Again came the fist, and again Zane took the blow. If reflex made him jerk away slightly from the swing, experience kept him from blocking it.
Defending himself would be the opposite of helpful.
He’d made the right choice. Mr. Alexander was finished then, his anger a storm that had blown over.
“No sniveling,” he instructed before he left the room. “You take your medicine like a man.”
His son stood there by himself, his chest going up and down, his fists opening and closing with some struggle. Shit, Trey thought, not sure what was happening but concerned. Zane’s body language said he was about to explode. Trey sucked in a breath, wondering if he should call out. Zane and he weren’t friends by any stretch, but maybe something he could say would help.
Before he could decide, Zane turned sharply and headed for the door.
He was out of the house in seconds, striding down their front walk on jerky legs. Probably he wanted to walk his upset off. Trey had done the same lots of times. As he went, a circle of streetlight lit up his chiseled face. Trey winced. The cheek Zane’s father hit was bruising. It made Zane’s expression seem even more set and grim. His eyes were a blue so bright it was electric.
He looked like he might do anything.
Despite suspecting it was a bad idea, Trey swung out of his bedroom window, hung by his hands, and dropped the remaining distance onto the lawn. Because he was no champion athlete, the landing stung.
By the time he’d rounded the house’s corner, Zane had reached the end of their cul-de-sac. Still reluctant to call out, Trey sprinted as stealthily as he could after him. If Zane intended to throw himself off a bridge, Trey was going to stop him.
Mr. Martin’s head jerked up as he dashed past in his half crouch, startled from the engrossing task of watering his boxwoods in his robe and slippers. Trey nodded as if everything were normal. Thankfully, the surprised neighbor didn’t say anything.
God, this was stupid. Zane wasn’t a bully, but—just on principle—he’d beat Trey senseless if he caught him stalking him. The guy was a beast, 6’2” already and solid with muscle. He was quick as well, or he’d never have pulled off playing quarterback. He’d make mincemeat of a sparely built guy like Trey.
Zane didn’t seem to know he was being followed. He didn’t look around as he led Trey out of their suburban neighborhood and along the shoulder of the two-lane blacktop they took to school. Zane’s hands were shoved in the pockets of his dark blue hoodie, his long strong legs apparently tireless. Though Trey ran a couple miles most mornings, he was beginning to get winded.
Then again, his breathlessness might have been arousal. Masochist that he was, he’d had a boy crush on Zane for years. The occasional glimpses he’d caught of his neighbor changing spurred more fantasies than a truckload of underwear models. Trey knew for a fact Zane woke up with morning wood.
As he’d expected, Zane turned in at the high school’s grounds. He headed for the track, which was empty at this hour. The chain link fence that surrounded it wasn’t tall, and Zane vaulted it easily. Empty or not, the track was lit. If Trey wanted to follow his example, no way could he miss being seen.
He hesitated in the darkness. Zane unzipped his hoodie and pulled it off, revealing his monster shoulders under a white T-shirt. He crouched down to stretch his thighs. He was going to run—an activity Trey could conceivably join him in.
His heart drummed behind his ribs as he told himself not to pussy out.
“Hey,” he said like he’d only then walked up and noticed Zane. “You come out here to run?”
Zane turned his head and snorted. His blackening eye confronted Trey, managing to convey sarcasm in spite of swelling up. “Don’t be a tool. I knew you were tailing me since you climbed out of your window.”
Trey hadn’t known his cheeks could blaze quite that hot. A second later, a fierce sexual tingle streaked up his spine. If Zane had known he was there, why hadn’t he stopped him?
“I was worried,” he said as steadily as he could. “I heard you and your father fighting. I didn’t want you to do anything crazy.”
Zane let out a ragged laugh. “I guess Horny Hayworth knows a thing or two about crazy.”
The nickname wasn’t Trey’s favorite. He wasn’t as big a slut as that. He just tried not to waste opportunities. But at least Zane wasn’t saying to take a hike. Trey approached the fence, stopping when he was close enough to grab its top rail. “You want to talk?”
“Fuck. What is there to say?”
“Nothing. Anything. Who cares as long as you know you’re not alone?”
This might have been too touchy-feely. Zane dropped his arms and frowned. Still he didn’t tell Trey to fuck off. “Your dad hits you too?”
Trey pulled up his flannel shirt to expose a fading bruise. It crossed his ribs in a purplish stripe. Maybe it wasn’t appropriate to compare right then, but Trey was aware his six-pack wasn’t as ripped as Zane’s.
“Shit,” Zane said. His fingertips touched the fence as if he’d reach through and stroke the mark. “I never hear him yelling at you.”
“He’s quiet. Likes to tell me I’m going to hell in a ‘rational’ tone. Also he doesn’t drink. He avoids leaving bruises where they might show.”
Zane grimaced at the reminder of his black eye. “I’m going to have to stay home from school until this looks better, and I’m already too behind. I’ll lose my scholarship if I’d don’t keep my grades up. Stupid guidance counselors are starting to give me looks. I know my dad will drag me to some other town if they confront him. This shit is so close to being over. I only have to get through this year.”
Trey wrapped his fingers farther through the fence links. “You could say I did it. My GPA is okay. I’d survive a couple days suspension.”
Zane’s eyes widened. They were close now, not even a foot apart. Trey could smell the sweat on him from his rapid walk. “Won’t your dad go ballistic?”
“He might do that anyway. It’s not like he needs a real reason. If I catch shit for fighting, at least I’d know I was helping out . . . someone.”
They both knew he’d avoided calling Zane a friend. Zane gnawed his full lower lip, stirring a longing to suck it that was painful.
“It’d help,” he admitted. “I’m no dumb jock, but I can’t miss more classes and still keep up.”
“So we’ll do it,” Trey said. “We’ll say you called my Mustang a piece of crap, and I got in a lucky shot.”
“A lucky shot . . .” Zane’s tone was amused.
“Wouldn’t work otherwise. Everybody knows you’d take me in a fight.”
Zane’s gaze measured him up and down.
“Maybe,” he said as Trey tensed with self-consciousness. “Maybe not. You’re a fast damn bugger. I’ve seen you running here before.”
Zane had seen him running? Zane had bothered to notice him among the usual morning crowd?
Trey took a second to close his gaping jaw. Zane wasn’t paying attention to his amazement. He crossed his arms, big guns bulging under the sleeves of his white T-shirt. “You should be on the team.”
“Me? Play football? You’ve gotta be kidding.”
“I’m serious. Tony Ciccone blew out his knee last week. Coach would let you try out if I asked him to.”
Only Zane could say this like it was no big deal. “No offense, but I don’t think I’m the team sports type. More to the point, I’m pretty sure I’m not theirs.”
“I have to pay you back somehow. I don’t like being in people’s debt.”
Zane’s bright blue eyes were stubborn . . . and maybe something else.
“You want me on the team,” Trey blurted without thinking.
The faintest wash of color darkened Zane’s cheekbones. “I wouldn’t mind having someone as fast as you to back me up.”
His gaze held Trey’s a bit too determinedly—as if he were resisting a temptation to scope out other parts of him. Trey knew that trick. He’d used it more than once himself. Being attracted to guys and girls wasn’t always convenient. Recognizing the look in Zane set his blood on fire, his prick stiffening so swiftly it hurt.
“Shit,” Trey breathed at the inescapable conclusion. “You’re bisexual like me.”
Zane didn’t try to deny it, though he did heave a sigh. “Don’t tell,” he said, sounding more resigned than anxious. “My life is complicated enough.”
“Sure,” Trey said, disappointed but understanding why. If his quirks hadn’t tended to out themselves, wouldn’t he have tried to pass for one or the other? Sometimes being bi felt the same as believing in Santa Claus. People assumed he was actually gay and trying to pretend. “Look, you mind if I join you on that side of the fence? I feel silly talking through it this way.”
Zane scrubbed his short sandy hair, then waved for him to come on. Trey didn’t vault over as picture-perfectly as Zane, but Zane wasn’t watching anyway. He’d moved to a nearby set of bleachers to sit on the bottom bench. Trey dropped beside him, not too close but not too far. Just because Zane was bi didn’t mean he wanted to do him. A trio of dry brown leaves blew across the track’s asphalt, the skittering sound a counterpoint to his not-quite-normal breathing.
He knew it couldn’t be normal with Zane sitting next to him.
“Sometimes I don’t know who I want to kill more,” Zane said. “Him for hitting me, or my mom for cutting out.”
Trey wasn’t sure what to say to this. Everyone in Franklin knew Zane’s mom had run away to Trenton to live with some greasy guy who sold bargain mattresses. Sometimes his commercials played on late night TV.
Fortunately, Zane didn’t require a comment. “What’s the bruise from?” he asked.
“Belt. My dad caught me watching Baywatch. He’s got issues about sex. No,” he added in response to Zane’s raised eyebrows. “Something happened when he was a kid. Now he’s convinced sex is evil. He’d stop the world from having it if he could.”
“Good luck with that.” Zane leaned forward, forearms braced on his knees. His legs looked sexier in those worn gray sweatpants than most men’s did naked. He turned his head to give Trey a sidelong glance. “I never.”
Trey squinted. “You never?”
“You know: with a guy. I knew I wanted both since I was a kid. I didn’t actually realize that was weird until it was too late.”
Trey prayed he wasn’t giving away how much this confession excited him. “You could try it out with me,” he offered as casually as he was able. “See if it’s worth the trouble. Unless you’d rather not.”
Zane’s stare was not as informative as Trey would have liked.
“If you aren’t attracted to me, that’s okay,” he added hastily. “I know I’m not everybody’s type. We can still be, well, maybe not friends exactly but—”
Zane put his hand on Trey’s knee and squeezed. “You’re my type,” he said huskily.
Heat rolled through Trey in searing waves—up his thighs, down his chest—every drop of blood in his body trying to squeeze into his cock. His prick was so hard it was about to bust his jeans. “Really?”
His voice broke, and Zane laughed softly. His fingers squeezed Trey’s knee again. “Really. I’m sorry I treat you like you’re invisible. I’m sorry I didn’t go to your mom’s funeral last year.”
Sanity-stealing lust fought with confusion inside of him. “Why would you? Even if we’re neighbors, we don’t really know each other.”
Zane leaned over and kissed him.
That surprised him. In his experience, guys didn’t always go in for kissing. Trey was glad Zane did. His lips were soft but they pushed firmly, molding over his mouth and urging it open. Trey didn’t resist, a thrill shivering through him as Zane’s warm wet tongue slid in. Hoping he wouldn’t spook him, he cupped Zane’s face. The hold steadied Zane’s lean jaw, allowing Trey to participate with a minimum of good form. Since he had the chance, he took Zane’s sweet lower lip and sucked.
Zane surprised him a second time by moaning.
Trey smiled at the throaty sound, which made Zane draw back an inch. “You’ve got a good mouth,” he said defensively.
Trey snickered. “I’m glad you think so.”
“You’d moan too if you’d never kissed a guy before.”
“Kiss me more and I’ll moan for you.”
Zane gave him a disgusted look.
“Make me m-o-o-an,” Trey teased, sensing he wasn’t really ticked.
Zane laughed in spite of his annoyance, got a grip on Trey’s ears, and went in for the kill. He kissed Trey like actors kissed women in movies—deep and hard and starving. The force he used was overwhelming but kind of great. No one had ever kissed Trey until he went dizzy.
“Crap,” Trey gasped when Zane let him loose for air.
“Moan louder,” Zane ordered, pushing him backward onto the bleacher to take his mouth again.
Trey was already making noises. When Zane settled over him and started grinding their hips together, they definitely turned to moans. Trey drove his hands under Zane’s T-shirt, feeling up his big back muscles and urging him closer. He wanted to grab his ass, but settled for kneading the fans of muscle above it. Zane was doing fine without more encouragement. The ridge of his cock was thick—long too, from the feel of it under his sweatpants. He worked it up and down Trey’s prick like he wasn’t shy at all. His humping was a little awkward, but his enthusiasm felt amazing. Trey absolutely had not expected this lack of inhibition. More than happy to let all the tigers out, he bent one knee up to give Zane more access.
“Shit,” Zane cursed, abruptly jerking his hips away.
Okay, maybe he’d overestimated Zane’s readiness for this.
“Was that too much?” he panted. “Do you not want to feel my cock?”
Zane let out a growling noise. “I love your cock. I’m gonna come if we keep that up.”
“So?”
“So I’m not gonna fucking rush this.” Zane sat up, leaving Trey splayed on the bench. His erection throbbed like a Learjet behind his jeans. Zane looked at the giant hummock and then at him. “Unzip yourself.”
Zane seemed sure, so Trey squeezed the top button free, gingerly dragging the teeth open. He’d never felt like this only from unzipping—as if every nerve was cranked to maximum sensitivity. Once his jean front was spread, Zane took over, digging into his briefs to pull his cock up and out of the stretch cotton.
The first contact of his fingers was electric—and not just for Trey.
“Oh man,” Zane said, hands sliding greedily up the rod. “God, this is so gorgeous.”
Trey wasn’t convinced his prick was gorgeous. He was a good size, but his glans was flattish, his shaft oddly bulgy in the middle. He did pay attention to his grooming. As black as his hair was, his bush bugged him otherwise. Zane seemed to like its manscaped darkness. He combed his fingers through the short curls, then returned to fondling his dick. His thumbs rubbed a dangerously tingling circle around the head.
“Easy,” Trey said shakily. “I’m close to coming too.”
“Sorry.” Zane let go to shove Trey’s shirt to his armpits. Trey would have been disappointed, but then Zane bent to lick his breastbone, a big wet swipe like he wanted to taste his sweat. “Mm,” he said, veering sideways to stroke Trey’s tight left nipple. He latched on and sucked, thrumming it fast and hard with his tongue.
Trey gasped, hips thrusting helplessly upward as unexpectedly strong sensations zinged from his nipple to the knob of his cock.
“Do you like that?” Zane broke free to ask. “Girls usually seem to.”
Trey barely had breath to laugh. How many times had he imagined having someone compare exactly these notes with him? This was going so much better than he’d dared fantasize. Saying yes with his body, he dug his fingers into Zane’s hair, the way he’d dreamed of for fricking forever. Zane rotated his neck with pleasure as Trey massaged his scalp.
“That feels good,” he said. “You really make me feel things when you touch me.”
“You do too,” Trey panted. “I guess we’ve got chemistry.”
Zane rolled his eyes—no hearts and flowers for him—but his lips were smiling.
“Do the nipple thing again,” Trey suggested. “I felt that all the way down my dick.”
“Will you do it to me later?”
The hint of shyness in Zane’s voice got to him even more than his oral skill.
“I’ll do anything you let me,” Trey promised hoarsely. “Any damn thing you can dream up.”
Flashing a brilliant grin, Zane bent back to his chest.
He made Trey squirm and himself chuckle with enjoyment. “I’m going for this,” he warned, beginning to move his kisses down Trey’s abs.
“Uh,” Trey said. Muscles in his stomach jumped from the swirly Zane’s tongue drew around his navel. Zane couldn’t mean he was going to blow him. That wasn’t how beginners wet their toes. Then again, maybe Zane didn’t care. He caught Trey’s cock again, driving the sweaty heel of his palm up its underside, pushing the length into his stomach. The stroke felt amazing, especially when the edge of his hand compressed the tip.
It felt even better when Zane’s tongue followed the same path.
“Zane,” Trey said, his voice strangled. “We can just give each other hand jobs. You don’t have to go this far your first time.”
Zane licked the killing spot underneath the rim, where his foreskin would have attached if he hadn’t been circumcised. “I want to. Just let me know if I screw it up.”
He tucked his fingers under the shaft, tipping it back toward him. As if he knew it would make his mouth slide better, he wet his lips. Trey hitched up on one elbow so he could watch. Despite his intention to memorize every lick, his eyes nearly closed with bliss the moment Zane’s sexy mouth closed on him. He had just the head in there, cradled between his tongue and his hard palate. His hand fisted Trey’s root—good thing, considering how badly Trey wanted to pinball to his tonsils. When he was able to drag up his eyelids, Zane was staring at him, his mouth stretched open by Trey’s cock. That visual set Trey’s heart thumping harder. He wrapped his hand over the one that was straightening him.
“Keep your hold here,” he rasped. “And maybe push the skin down. I like the feel of getting sucked when my dick is tight.”
Zane’s eyes widened, his breath speeding up. Maybe the idea that other people’s mouths had been where his was turned him on. His grip grew stronger, stretching the surface of Trey’s cock better than he could himself.
Trey arched his neck and groaned. “Jesus, Zane, that’s perfect.”
It wasn’t half as perfect as when Zane slid his hot mouth down him.
Both men and women had given Trey blowjobs. He’d never failed to enjoy them, but this was an ecstasy of a different order. Zane blew him like it was a Hail Mary play he’d been visualizing. His tongue knew just where to go, his full lips forming the ideal ring for suction. Trey’s nuts drew up so quickly he had to squeeze pretty hard through his jeans to pull the right one down. He’d learned the tactic helped him hold off if he felt too close to coming. When Zane saw him do it, he grabbed the other half of his sac himself.
Trey writhed like a fricking eel. Zane’s pressure wasn’t gentle, but Trey enjoyed an edge of pain. The entire center of his body—from his diaphragm to his thighs—sizzled with fireworks. Zane sucked him slower and wetter, his magic mouth drawing easily up and down. Trey groaned, his head rolling back and forth on the peeling paint of the bleacher bench. His left hand dug hard into Zane’s hair, his right clawed around his own balls. Zane hummed around his dick like he loved every inch of it.
“Pull off,” Trey warned, though he didn’t truly want him to. “I haven’t jacked myself in a week. I never come a damn teaspoonful.”
Zane made a sound around his mouthful that sounded like nuh-uh. In case Trey had any doubts about his meaning, he shook his head from side to side.
The motion felt better than Trey was prepared for. It twisted Zane’s tongue and lips around him like the stripes on a barber’s pole.
“Fuck,” he cursed. His left hand tightened on Zane’s head, but Zane resisted that urging too. He stuck to his slow pace, letting his tongue caress Trey’s underside tenderly. The sweetness of it killed him. Zane was into this. Maybe Zane was actually into him.
“That’s good,” Trey forced his vocal chords to push out. “God, Zane, that’s really nice.”
Zane pulled up him until the head popped out. His seductive lips shone with saliva. “I want it,” he said, his pupils liquid black in the blazing blue of his eyes. “I want you to shoot down my throat.”
The expression on his face made Trey’s penis throb violently. Zane pushed down again before he could think what to say. His hand had slid behind Zane’s neck when the football star pulled up. Now he forced himself to stop fighting, telling his body to relax and roll with Zane’s motions. He caressed Zane the way Zane’s tongue caressed him. Everywhere he could, Trey rubbed gently against him: inner thighs brushing ribs, fingers massaging nape. Zane uttered a little noise, like he loved the kindness and like it hurt him at the same time. Maybe the jock would be embarrassed after, but Trey didn’t care. His eyes stung with feeling, his heart clenched enough to ache. The edge of the gargantuan orgasm he was riding wasn’t as big as his emotions.
If he missed out on this moment, he knew he’d kick himself.
“Do me,” he crooned, the words completely different ones in his head. “Do me, Zane. Make me come for you like you want.”
Zane groaned and took him deeper, his wetness and his suction increasing. Trey’s climax gathered, his cock twisting tight with its last warning. Zane must have felt the shaft contorting inside his mouth. His cheeks pulled close, soft, his hand releasing Trey’s trapped testicle. Heat rushed outward from the freed spot. Trey gasped as his ejaculation shot from him.
It felt like a flood to him, but Zane didn’t seem to mind. He sucked right through the contractions, his tongue doing things that kept Trey’s climax as sharp as it could get. When it ended, Trey didn’t recognize his own sigh. It was low and melodic, like he was singing his pleasure, like every muscle had released a tension he hadn’t known it held. His legs lost their grip on Zane, the soles of his running shoes slapping the compacted dirt beneath the bleacher bench.
The sound seemed to wake Zane from his sucking. He let Trey’s cock slip free, the thing so exhausted he couldn’t even mind. With a casualness Trey found reassuring, he wiped his mouth on his T-shirt’s sleeve. Then, clearly not disgusted, he turned his head to rest on Trey’s sweat-streaked stomach.
“Shit,” he murmured, lungs going up and down. “That was hot.”
He lifted a second later, one arm reaching between his own legs to tug himself comfortable. Trey’s eyebrows shot upward. “You didn’t come?”
Zane looked at him and grinned. “I did. The second your big hot dick slid into my mouth. I just got hard again.”
Trey was happier with this answer than he knew how to say. “You are a crazy mother. How’d you know to suck me so well?”
“It was good?”
“It was incredible. I can’t believe that was your first time.”
Zane hunched his shoulders, the gesture both mischievous and bashful. “I’m a big reader.”
“Come on.”
“Okay, maybe I watch a lot of porn. And sometimes I practice on a dildo when I jack off.” Zane hid his face against Trey’s stomach to laugh silently.
Trey couldn’t remember ever being so entertained. “Your practice paid off.” He gave in to the temptation to stroke his sandy locks. Zane used some sort of product to spike his hair, but it was still silky.
For half a minute, Zane lay still under his petting. Then he sighed and sat up. He looked down at Trey, flushed from sex but not speaking. His powerful thighs V’d around the bench, his hard-on sticking up nice and prominent in his sweatpants. Trey scratched his stomach, searching for the best approach to get a crack at it.
“I’m not as good at oral sex as you,” he tried, “but I surely do like it.”
Grinning, Zane slid his hands down his own torso, skirting his erection to cup and hike his balls. The lift pushed his junk forward. “I bet whatever you did would feel good to me.”
Mesmerized, Trey watched his erection wagging behind the cloth. “If I did suck you, I’d get hard again.”
“If you got hard again, you’d have to teach me some other way to play.”
Trey had never been accused of having a poker face. Easily reading his approval, Zane dug into his sweatpants. His championship hands emerged with both his cock and balls. Trey licked his lips at the tasty sight. Zane’s family jewels were as sizable as the rest of him. Even better, the big flushed head was sticky from having come. His own goodies began stirring between his legs.
“You’re getting hard right now,” Zane whispered.
Trey loved how awed he sounded but didn’t grab for him straight away. He had a couple issues he wanted to get clear first. He sat up too, hoping this would help him think. His cock bounced higher as their knees bumped. Ignoring it, he gripped the stretch of bench between them. Zane looked at him questioningly.
“I need to know,” Trey said. “Is tonight the only time we’ll do this? ’Cause if it is, I’m not letting you go till dawn.”
Zane dropped his hold on his cock, his fingers wrapping next to Trey’s. He hesitated. “I don’t want it to be. You just shouldn’t expect me to, you know, ask you to go to prom.”
“No,” Trey agreed, though the reckless freak in him would have liked if Zane wanted that. “What I’m asking is if you want to fool around again—in private.”
Zane’s hands covered Trey’s, squeezing them on the bench. “Yes, I really do want that.”
Trey had to smile at his seriousness. “Good. I really want it too.”
“So . . . it’ll be our secret?” Zane’s fingers stroked the dips between Trey’s knuckles—as if he thought Trey needed bribing to keep quiet. Trey couldn’t let this pass without teasing.
“Yup,” he said. “We’ll call it the bad boys club.”
Trey knew Zane would think this was stupid. “We’re not calling it that,” he huffed.
“I think we are,” Trey contradicted, prepared to do some bribery of his own. Amusingly, neither of their cocks was bored by the conversation. Both were sticking up and bouncing. He reached for Zane’s, wrapping it in his hand and pulling toward the head. As susceptible as a virgin, Zane shuddered and closed his eyes. When Trey squeezed his fingers tighter around the rim, Zane’s breath sighed out pleasurably. Deciding he had the jock where he wanted, he switched hands and pulled again. To his surprise, the pressure revealed that Zane was uncut. Trey was able to stretch his foreskin at least an inch higher. A shiver of titillation rolled down his vertebrae. He’d never had a guy with a hood before.
With some effort, he dragged his focus back on topic. “You know why we’re calling it the bad boys club?”
Eyes still closed, Zane shook his head tightly. His expression was enraptured, but even rapture could be improved. Trey licked his palm, slicking it good and wet for his next caress. This time Zane squeaked as it tugged up him. Given his reaction, Trey couldn’t doubt his was the first male hand to pleasure Zane’s equipment.
“Why?” Zane gasped, rolling his hips higher.
“We’re calling it the bad boys club so this can be our secret handshake.”
In spite of his distraction, this tickled Zane’s fancy. He laughed and his eyes flew open. “You’re crazy.”
“Crazy for you.” Trey wagged his brows to make this a joke as well.
Since he hadn’t minded it before, Trey smacked a kiss on Zane’s mouth. Then he bent to the part of Zane they both wanted him swallowing. Zane’s cock was oven-hot, his skin as smooth as satin. Trey’s tongue did a happy dance over him.
“God,” Zane moaned, the volume of the cry exciting. His pelvis jerked, shoving half of him inward.
Trey took him eagerly. He discovered this was extra good when you had a thing for the other person, when you weren’t just sucking a cock but a cock you’d been dying for. Trey wanted to devour Zane, to pull on him with his mouth until he popped like a champagne cork. His tongue went crazy along his shaft, his hands searching out the sweetest places in the vicinity. His thumbs dug between Zane’s balls, pushing through to where his cock rooted. Trey loved having his perineum rubbed. Luckily, this wasn’t just a hot zone for him. Zane punched his groin upward.
He groaned Trey’s name, hands urging his head closer.
“Please,” he gasped, totally thrilling him. Trey sucked him harder, and Zane let out a wail.
He came like Trey had, in a burst so big it couldn’t be contained, tremor after tremor milked out by his suckling. His final sigh echoed Trey’s, his fingers combing Trey’s hair over him.
Trey pulled gently up him, leaving one last kiss on the warm wet crown. As if it had been waiting for the salute, his cock sagged downward immediately afterward.
“Wow.” Zane’s breathing was ragged. “You’re better at that than you gave yourself credit for.”
His hand was on Trey’s shoulder, gripping it like he was a teammate who’d scored a goal. Trey wanted to hug him but decided not to push. He didn’t know what Zane was feeling—apart from more relaxed.
“So,” he said carefully. “You want to try this again tomorrow?”
Zane flashed the devilish grin that made all sorts of hearts flutter. “Screw tomorrow. Tonight isn’t over yet.”