Shooting Matt

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Randy relaxes, a little, and he and Matt continue to explore their desires.

I hope you enjoy. Constructive criticism is always appreciated.

Thanks once again to LarryInSeattle for help with editing. I was definitely

not

an English Major. Duh.

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For the first time in my life I woke up with a hard cock pressed against my back. It's a surprisingly pleasant experience. I refuse to let my mind turn toward the fact that my son, sleeping across the hall, knows that I am sleeping with a man. A man, who happens to be his own age, as well as his friend.

I snuggle closer to Matt. He murmurs something, his breath tickling my neck, before returning to sleep. I shift my hips and his cock nestles in the crack of my ass. That feels even better.

The night had been the definition of anticlimactic. Liam's proximity made it nearly impossible for me to imagine doing more than sleeping with Matt. He seemed to sense that. He laid down beside me, close enough to trail his fingers over my arm but not actually embracing me. Nearly impossible is not the same thing as impossible. His touch, the knowledge that his glorious body, nude, was lying inches away from mine, overcame my anxiety, to an extent. I rolled to face him. When I did, he moved to lie against my chest.

"I can't help it. This feels so strange to me, lying here naked in bed with you," I confessed. I lay a hand on his waist, just above his hip. "I've never done this before."

"No way," Matt whispered against my chest.

"Not sex," I explained. "This, lying in bed with another man. That's new to me. When Mary Beth and I fooled around with threesomes, the guy always left. No one spent the night with us. Since then it's been random glory hole hookups. On occasion, I might go back to a guy's place or his hotel room. I never brought anyone home, not even after Liam left for college. So, this is new to me."

"Well, I guess we're sorta in the same boat then," Matt whispered. "I have slept in another dude's bed but never with someone I expected, or hoped, to come back to. I slept there because I was tired, that's all."

We hadn't talked anymore after that. He kissed me. That was also relatively new to me. It'd been a long time since I'd really kissed another man. I had forgotten how different it was from kissing a woman. He'd lain back down, his forehead against my chest, and, poof, went right to sleep.

I must have done the same because that's the last thing I remember before waking up to feel his cock pressed against my back. I don't want to wake him but I want to see him, need to see him. Part of me is convinced it won't be Matt when I roll over. That I'll have had a weird dream and wake to discover it's some dude I brought home from the old-school porn shop over on 8

th

. It's a silly fear but suddenly I have to know, have to prove to myself I'm not asleep or deluded.

I am neither. My turning doesn't wake Matt. Without my body to support him he rolls onto his back. His breathing is deep but he doesn't snore. His lips (how had I missed how full they are) are slightly parted. His hair is a mess. He's always worn it long. I was always surprised by that. It struck me as a pain in the ass to get all that hair under a swim cap. His hair would be brown if he wasn't in the pool so much. I wonder if he ever pulls it back into a ponytail or a bun.

With the AC at 80, it's too hot for a blanket. As far as that goes, it's too hot for a sheet, at least for Matt. His half of the sheet is bunched up between us. I make the most of the opportunity to look at his body. The way his head is turned, I can see the artery in his neck pulse. The skin bulges just enough to cast a faint shadow on his neck. I watch it, his pulse. I imagine I can hear his heart beat, that I can hear the swooshing sound his blood makes as it surges through his body.

The pulse is only visible just above the line of his neck muscle but my eyes move upward, following the blood I cannot see. It rushes through his brain, beneath the mop of tangled hair. What's going on in there? His blood is busy feeding his brain oxygen. What's he doing with it? Is he dreaming? About what?

My eyes sweep downward, lingering on his lips. I want to kiss the indentation in his upper lip. Come on, Mr. English Major, where's that vocabulary you're so proud of? Indentation? It has a name. I tell myself to fuck off. The name is irrelevant. What is relevant is how much I want to kiss him there. Philtrum! That's the word. Yuck. I want to kiss his philtrum? Fuck vocabulary.

He hasn't shaved, for a couple of days at least, but the whiskers on his cheeks are sparse. The stubble on his chest is equally so. I see a small patch, diamond-shaped, right in the middle of his chest, but that's all. His nipples are small but the dark circles, the areolas, around the nipples are not. He's tanned but the areolas are darker.

I lean closer and, quietly, inhale. The scent from his pit is stronger, more vibrant than yesterday, but it most definitely is not a stink. The hair, stubble, is thicker there. I wonder if he'd be willing to let it grow out over the summer. I nearly bust my nut just imaging burying my face in his hairy pit after a long day of working and sweating. I'm forced to bite back a moan of frustration and desire.

Hair is sprouting around his navel, mostly at the bottom. I can see a faint line heading south. The stubble is fairer here than on his chest or beneath his arms. It flares into his pubic hair, also stubble.

He's hard, of course. What twenty-year old doesn't wake up with a boner? I still do but I've noticed it's not the blue steel boner capable of hammering nails of my youth. My mood sours. Youth. Age. Matt stirs. His head rolls to the near shoulder. He smacks his lips. His right leg pulls up and brushes mine. Such small movements but they suffice. I grab the sourness in my head, scrunch it into a ball and toss it over my shoulder and turn my attention back to this naked god in my bed.

It takes another effort of will to not stare at his cock. My eyes pass over his balls, just as heavy and luscious as I recall, to his legs. I scan the outline of his quads. The right leg is bent slightly. I can see the muscle heads of his lower leg.

I smile. The hair on the top of his big toe is longer than the hair on his chest, above his cock, or beneath his arms. Hobbit jokes spring to mind. I better not say anything to him about that. Maybe if he'd shaved his toes, he would've taken the gold instead of the silver.

I'm unable to tease myself any longer. I stare at his cock. I try to memorize it. From this angle, I mostly see the underside of his shaft. He's cut, as am I. My son is not. That might have been the last thing his mother and I completely agreed on.

I follow the pale collar around the shaft. My eyes trace the serpiginous thin line that runs down the shaft to join the thicker line that divides his ball sack. I follow the flare of his crown, around the head, to where it curves toward his piss slit.

I raise up a little for a better look. His slit looks wet. It is. I clearly see a crystal clear drop of silver striving to escape his cock.

The sight is too much. I lean over to take his cock in my mouth.

His left hand covers his cock.

"No way, dude," a voice above me whispers. "It's my turn."

I turn and look at Matt. His eyes are open.

"How long have you been awake?"

"Since you moved and left my dick hanging out in the cold," he tells me, his mouth pulled down in a faux pout. "It was all nice and warm and toasty, pressed against your ass and then, bam, no warning, you roll away." He smiles. "To be totally fair, the way you were fucking me with your eyes, made up for it."

He sits up.

"Lay down on your back," he orders.

I do as he asks.

"Close your eyes."

I close my eyes.

***

The light in the room is too dim for me to see his silhouette on the back of my eyelids. The shifting of the mattress is the only clue I have as to where he is and what he is doing.

"My turn," he whispers. I feel one of his knees against my hip. I crack open one eye and confirm he is sitting cross-legged by my left side.

"Are you peeking?"

"No," I lie and close my eye.

"Good. I let you look at me uninterrupted. Now it's my turn."

"How did you know I was looking at you if you weren't peeking yourself?"

"Subtlety, dude. Subtlety." The bed shifts and his lips touch mine. "Now, shut the fuck up."

I nod. My body is tingling, partly from the feel of his lips on mine, but largely because he's sitting here beside me. I'm in so much trouble I tell myself but can't seem to work up the energy, or the desire, to do anything about.

Matt's fingertip touches my forehead, dead center. It strokes lightly toward my hairline.

"What are you thinking? I saw your forehead start to get all tense."

I sigh. I try to let my body sink deeper into the mattress. "I was thinking I was in deep shit; the way I was enjoying having you here."

"Mm," he hums. "Maybe you should try breathing out of your eyeballs, do some of that yoga shit Liam was talking about."

I start to tell him I'll try but he lays the finger across my lips. I'm not sure how one breathes out of one's eyeballs, so I concentrate on trying to imagine where Matt's eyes are looking.

His finger touches my left earlobe.

"You use to wear an earring," he murmurs in the same tone I used to use to get Liam to go to sleep when he was little. I don't answer. I don't tell him I had two earrings in that ear and one in the other.

His finger moves the hair over my left temple. "A scar. Tell me later about how you got it." His finger trails back and forth over my forehead. "Much better," he whispers.

I focus on keeping a picture of him, naked, cross-legged, hard-on pressed against his belly as he explores my body. I shift perspective, imagining myself sitting behind him, looking over his shoulder. I try to see myself as he is seeing me.

He touches my cheek. "You have dimples when you smile. I can see them, even though you aren't smiling." His finger touches the far side of my chin and he turns my face towards him. His finger touches my right cheek. "Here's the other one. Cool. They're right there, hiding, waiting for the right moment. You should smile more, Randy. That's what I think, dude."

He touches the bridge of my nose, draws it down to the tip. There's a lump just below the bridge. "Boxing?" he muses. I remain silent.

The finger tracing my lips drives me insane. I manage to hold still, other than a shiver.

When he reaches my chest, the other fingers join in. He runs them lightly through the hair. The room is so quiet I can hear the faint crisp crinkling sound. He ignores my nipples. I'm both relieved and disappointed. He returns to the single fingertip technique. He traces the outline of my delts, pecs and biceps. He turns my arm over, rubs his finger over the numb place around the scar on my wrist. The skin of the scar is bereft at missing the feel of his finger.

"Another scar," he whispers. "Another story."

He picks up my hand, rubs a finger over the calluses on the palm. "Working hands."

The bed shifts. His knee leaves my side. When he speaks, the voice comes from the foot of the bed. I will myself to not tense up. I don't like having the bottoms of my feet touched but for him, I'll try. He traces the back of each toe and draws a finger over the side of the arch but that's as close as he comes to touching the bottom of my feet.

"Does it make me a total fucking freak that I want to kiss the top of your foot?" It must be a rhetorical question because he does just that without waiting for an answer.

He kisses up the shin of my left leg, his touch so soft I'm not sure if I truly feel it. "Scar," he whispers and kisses the scar on the top of my left knee cap. He licks the length of the scar and I shiver. The bed shifts. He kisses my right knee and then down my shin. The last kiss is on the top of my right big toe.

There is another tilt and roll in the mattress. His finger begins to trace the muscles of my thighs, this time followed by the soft brushing of his lips. When his cheek brushes against my balls I moan, I can't help it. My cock stands, twitching, over my belly, too far away to hope for a casual touch. He works his fingertips and teasing lips down my right leg.

The world tilts again and I can no longer feel the touch of his skin; I feel his warm breath. I thought my nipples were already awake and paying attention. I was mistaken. He puffs his breath across my left nipple. It tightens, so does the right. My nipples have never been so hard that they ache like this. His breath caresses the right side of my chest. The head of his cock, the very wet head of his cock, touches the side of my arm. I want so desperately to pull my arm up, grab his cock and push him back onto the bed.

I don't. I'm too fascinated by the sensations he draws from my body.

The touch of his tongue on my right nipple surprises me. My back arches. I have to grip the sheets to keep from throwing my arms around him. His tongue circles my nipple than leaves. I'm ready when his tongue touches the left.

The bed creaks as he moves yet again. He's moving faster now. I take that as a sign that his own excitement is becoming difficult to control. It makes it easier to control my own.

Warm breath dances up the underside of my cock. Muscles I have no name for contract and I feel my cock try to stand straight up from my body. I beg him, silently, to take my cock in his mouth or in his hand. No luck; he's immune to mind control. His breath wafts over the head of my cock and I shiver.

Oh, I sigh silently when he touches me. I damn near sob with relief. His fingers squeeze the head of my cock, then that maddening fingertip presses against my piss slit. He rubs the evidence of my excitement around the ridge of my cock head.

A part of me takes pride in the fact his touch alone hasn't made me cum. I've no doubt, if I were to suddenly inhabit the body of my twenty-year old self, I'd be spewing all over my belly and chest at his touch. I force myself to take slow breaths as the fingertip circles my crown.

Sweet Jesus! His tongue. It has to be his tongue, more pliant, wetter. It's hard to control my breathing. I'm so close. It's possible Matt realizes this, or maybe it's my dumb luck, but his tongue leaves my cock.

It's a relief when his mouth falls over my cock. The sensation is no longer concentrated around the rim of my cockhead. I'm not implying his mouth on my cock doesn't feel fantastic, simply that it's a less intense sensation.

The hot ring of his mouth slides halfway down my cock and stops. A hand wraps around the base. He begins to bob his mouth over my cock. I'm in heaven. It would be better if he brought his lips back up over the crown but now is not the time for a critique. It is my fervent hope they'll be plenty of time for me to teach by example.

He slowly works his mouth lower. I feel him tense. I don't hear anything but I'm worried he nearly gagged. I don't want that. I don't open my eyes but I do raise my right hand and touch his forehead, urging his head upward ever so slightly. He takes the hint. He doesn't appear to be bothered by my touch, so I leave my hand there.

I run my fingers into his hair but very softly, remembering the tangles I'd seen earlier. With my other hand, I stroke the back of his thigh and the side of his ass. His pace quickens. Other than my hands, I hold my body still.

I hadn't cum the night before. I hadn't felt like jerking off. Last night we just kissed a few times and went to sleep. I hold on to my orgasm. I tighten the muscles behind my cock, bottling it up. Matt had pumped what felt like a gallon of cum down my throat. I want to match him. Hell, I want to best him. Score one for the old dude, something like that, I suppose.

I do my utmost not to convey how close I am. I keep a rein on my breathing. I don't let my hips begin to thrash. I continue the soft stroking of his leg and hair. Somehow, he knows anyway.

He pulls back. Only the tip of my cock is in his mouth. His tongue presses against my slit. His hand strokes my cock just below the head.

At first, I fear I've failed. The first shot feels like nothing, it feels like it barely makes it out of my cock. But then, wham. I feel my cock swell. I have the disturbing sense that if one were to film my ejaculation in slow motion it would look like an anaconda regurgitating a capybara. It's a disgusting image but accurate. I feel like a lime is being forced out of my cock.

Matt pulls his hand up to his lips, trapping my cock in his mouth, sealing his lips. My hips and back jerk and the fingers in his hair tighten, holding his head in place, though he gives no indication of wanting to move it.

The aftershocks begin to settle. He lowers his mouth over my cock and sucks as he pulls away. He takes my hand from his hair and puts it over his throat. I feel him swallow. The hand that has been rubbing his leg goes to his back. I pull him down on top of me.

Both my hands clutch at his face. I pull him to me. His lips are just as soft as ever but wetter. Our tongues meet.

I've never enjoyed, really enjoyed, the taste of my own cum before that moment.

***

"Did I do okay?" he whispers some unknown time later. I've been running my fingers through his hair, untangling it. I realize I want to wash his hair for him, then brush it out. He'll sit between my legs, arms draped over the top of my thighs. He'll be a step below me, head back, and I'll be brushing his hair. I'll wrap it up. I hate man buns but not on him. I pick up an ebony hair stick; the head is carved in the shape of a ram's head. The image is so strong it takes me a moment to shake free.

"Okay? Are you kidding?" I cup the back of his neck. "You?"

"Me what?"

"Are you okay?"

He tilts his head back to look at me, frowning. "Why wouldn't I be?"

I shrug. "I don't know. Just asking."

"I'm fan-fucking-tastic, dude. Never better," he replies as he scoots down a little to fit his shoulder under my arm. His breath tickles the hair on my chest.

He lays an arm over my chest and his fingers begin to pluck at the hair around my right nipple.

"I love your nipples," he whispers. "Mine are goofy looking."

"You're a dork. Your nipples are fine."

"I thought about getting them pierced but, one, my coach would shit a brick and, two, I'm afraid it would hurt too much."

"Then don't. Easy enough."

"Would you come with me?"

"Of course, if that's what you really want to do but, I have to say, you don't sound convinced."

"You ever consider getting a piercing? Besides your ear, I mean."

"I had both ears pierced. You missed a scar," I tease.

"You were distracting me with your dick."

"Ah, well, that's understandable then." His hand is brushing through the hair on my belly. My cock lies, soft and dripping on my left thigh. I will his hand to work its way lower but, as earlier, I fail. A Jedi you are not, Yoda tells me silently.

"No, bud. I've never considered getting a piercing. I've got nothing against them. In fact, some of them are pretty hot but I've never considered it myself."

"What would you get?"

"Uh, I don't know. Nipples seems to be the most common. Nipples, I guess."

"What about your cock? Would you ever get your cock pierced?"

I involuntarily cringe, bringing my knees up slightly. My cock rolls toward my belly. "I don't think so." I shrug, as best one can lying down with another's head on one's chest. "Some of them are hot but not the giant ones. Too much."

His hand wraps around my cock, he rubs a finger over the head. "I sucked a dude off once that had a Prince Albert. It was sort of intense. I'm not sure why. I mean, so what, the dude put a ring of steel in his dick. Why does that make it hotter to suck?"