It was getting late. Harry and John had been drinking and talking – putting the world to rights – and were now both sitting on one of the sofas in John's sitting room – the easier to pass the dope pipe between them. A silence falls – not a difficult one – they are never stuck for words these two. Pleasantly pissed and mildly stoned. Harry leans back into the corner of the sofa with his hands behind his head, sliding his bum forward and his legs further apart.
"Feels nice," he says, slightly moving his knees in and out. John isn't quite sure as to what he's talking about exactly, but he recognises the movement. It comes at that point of stoned relaxation when the dope has arrived somewhere in the area of the groin and you become aware of your cock for the first time in a little while and the thought makes the cost begin to fill – not quite to the point of getting a hard-on – but enough to make you feel that one isn't very far away and that it wouldn't take much...
John says "So, have you given any more thoughts as to whether we should make your fantasy a one last time reality or leave it as a fantasy – for all time?"
"And which fantasy might that be?," says Harry grinning.
"The one," says John, "where Harry gets a lesson in how to suck cock and wanks John off before John brings the attention of his mouth and fingers to Harry's cock and then wanks him to an earth-shattering climax."
"Steady," say Harry, but too late, for his cock has heard and he can feel it growing inexorably to a serious hard-on. He twitches his knees in and out.
"Dunno," he says as John's hand arrives on the inside of his thigh, "there are one or two things I might have problems with, but," he adds, as John's hand moves up and down the inside of his thigh, "if you keep on doing what your doing, then we might," he continues as John's hand arrives at the top of his thigh, "have no choice in the matter."
"Shame," says John dropping to his knees on the floor between Harry's legs, "but I guess we could just take it a step at a time and see," he goes on, slowly unbuckling Harry's belt, "what happens. You don't have to be perfect."
Harry's breath quickens as John unbuttons his jeans and slowly slides the zip down. He lifts his hips slightly as John pulls off the jeans to reveal Harry's hard, elegant, long cock straining at the white cotton of his Y-fronts. With fingertips and back of forefingers, John brushes his way up Harry's thighs to eventually hook his fingers inside the briefs and gently stroke Harry's balls. He pulls at the briefs, easing them down slightly so that the balls drop out either side. He repeats the course taken by his fingers with his mouth – dry kissing his way from knee to groin – and repeat the action with his tongue-tip and then the flat of his tongue, wet with saliva; digging the tongue deep into the corners of Harry's groin, licking his balls, catching them gently between his lips, massaging them with his tongue-tip until they take on a wet slippery life of their own. Sliding his fingers and then his hands into Harry's briefs at the top of his thighs, he gently strokes Harry's cock, pulling the briefs down an inch further, allowing his cock to stretch skywards inside the briefs, but refusing to release it, wanking it gently inside the tent of white cotton. Retreating the way he has come, John stops and looks at the expression of pleasure on Harry's face.
Harry opens his eyes and say "Don't stop."
John grins and says "Sorry, that was just a taster. You've got work to do before you get any more of that."
Rising to his feet, he crosses the room and returns with a bottle of poppers. He unscrews the top, releasing the sweet, sickly smell, and puts the bottle to one side. With a grin, he slowly unbuttons his jeans, dropping them to the floor, Harry watching from under his eyelashes. John's cock makes a hard outline in his briefs; a glimpse of the swollen head trying to escape from the leg of the Y-fronts. John eases the cotton back over the head of his cock; slides back the foreskin and, wetting his fingers, slips them gently over the hard velvet head. Eyes half-closed he gives a little moan, then eases his aching cock back into his briefs. He arranges himself and Harry on the sofa, their backs against either end, each with one leg up against the back of the sofa – the other foot on the floor, legs spread wide, groin touching groin.
"Now," says John, "fingers only at first and do your worst."
John shuts his eyes with pleasure as Harry's long fingers stroke their way up the inside of his thighs and caress and squeeze the hardness of his cock through the cotton, fingers stealing their way inside his briefs; teasing, touching, stroking it to a glorious aching rod of iron. John returns the favour, then, reaching inside the Y-fronts, eases Harry's cock out of the leg of the briefs to expose the whole of its elegant length. Harry moans as John wets his fingers and slides them smoothly over the purple, slippery head, easing the foreskin back all the way; wet finger-tips teasing the ridge of the cock; wet forefingers gliding down the long hard shaft; making a wet fist of his hand, gently wanking Harry's cock to a gloriously aching hard-on.
"O.K.," he says, "your turn with the wet fingers." – and Harry takes up the challenge, easing John's cock out of the leg of his briefs, wanking it slowly, and then, slipping wet fingertips over the swollen purple cock-head; tentatively at first, but with growing assurance as he watches the helplessly ecstatic pleasure on John's face that his long, wet, sensitive fingers bring.
"Well done," says John opening his eyes, and, by way of thanks, hands the bottle of poppers to Harry who inhales deeply feeling the rush of pure sensation, the increase of heart rate, the blood speeding round his body to his groin, pumping his already swollen cock to the very essence of hardness. John takes both cocks in one hand, wanking them together ever so gently, rubbing his wet thumb and forefinger over and under and between the swollen heads.
"Nice," says Harry.
"Yup," says John, "but there's a lesson to be learned." And taking Harry's hand he starts to nuzzle his little finger with his lips. "So," he says, "let's say that this is a clit belonging to the woman you desire most. The trick is to keep your teeth out of the way and your mouth wet. Not," he adds, "that I know much about clits, but I do know cocks and, in this instance, I think that size is probably the only difference."
Gently, slowly, and with the slightest of suction, he pulls at Harry's finger-end with his mouth, flickering the tip of his tongue across the end, eventually drawing the whole finger into his mouth, massaging it with the warm, wet flat of his tongue, slowly raising the level of suction and pumping his mouth up and down the length of the finger.
"Now," he say, "you do the same thing – on your own finger – reproduce the sensation that I've just given you. A small tip," he adds, "is to imagine that you're an old man without his false teeth – gross I know, but give it just a touch of that – don't go overboard with the idea, otherwise you'll lose the sensitivity of your lips." And Harry does so while by way of encouragement, John gently, slightly pulls and strokes Harry's cock.
