Tommy

DISCLAIMER: THIS STORY CONTAINS DESCRIPTIONS OF SEX BETWEEN MALES. DO NOT READ ANY FURTHER IF SUCH MATERIAL OFFENDS YOU OR VIOLATES YOUR COMMUNITY STANDARDS. ALSO DO NOT READ ANY FURTHER IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 18.

TOMMY by matthew shakespeare

Part One: The Boy with Green Eyes

I met Tommy during the 2nd week of school last year. I had just begun ninth grade when we first talked to each other. I've lived in the same small town all of my life, and knew all of my classmates well. But, even though I was quite outgoing and well- liked, for some reason I just couldn't really connect with most of the guys in my class. I had several buddies who I kinda hung around, but they weren't die-hard friends, you know, not the kind who would do anything for each other.

Then the second week of school, he showed up at school.

Tommy. About an inch or two shorter than I was, and a little taller than most of the boys in our class. He was a stunningly blonde, strawberry blonde, his hair was longish and it fell teasingly across his forehead, not quite touching his cheekbones, but brushing his dark lashes and threatening to cover his eyes. But they didn't cover his eyes. The hair might attract your attention, but those green eyes are what held it. Nothing could stop those eyes, and when he smiled and flashed them, the girls fell over dead. They were sea green, translucent pools of jade which caught sunlight and held it.

Tommy. He was instantly popular. The girls fawned over him and were suddenly taken with the urge to whisper in excited giggles for the first time about sex and blowjobs and fucking and Tommy, Tommy, always Tommy, day after day and, probably night after night. The guys in our class, though they were jealous and distant at first, put their ill feelings aside soon enough when they found out just how great he was. He was just too FUNNY for his own good. At first you'd almost think he was shy. He never hogged the conversation or was loud and stupid like most of the popular guys. He'd just stand there grinning, and then at an off-beat moment, just suddenly say the funniest thing and everybody would burst out laughing. He had a smooth, quiet voice that didn't carry well, but when he said something, it was worth listening too. That was Tommy.

I met him the first day he started going to school with us. It was during P.E. and he was wearing a pair of black Umbro shorts and an old white t-shirt with the arms cut out. We were about to start running, and everybody was standing around the track waiting on Coach Davis. Tommy was standing alone on the grass stretching his legs. They were smooth, well-muscled, and still had the remains of a dark summer tan. I walked up and we began to talk about what school he had come from and how he liked things at this school, etc. The sun was bright overhead and I could see a faint band of freckles speckled across the bridge of his nose. His face was boyishly cute. We carried on a decent conversation and he smiled agreeably and made a few jokes. His laugh was the laugh of a boy and highly infectious, though as he chuckled his chest strained the white t-shirt and I could see that it was well developed for his age. Even so, I didn't stare, because it was hard to look at anything while you were talking to him, because the eyes held you captive. Later we ran the track side by side. Sweat began to drip down his chest, soaking the t-shirt completely. We stopped to catch our breath and I couldn't help but to notice his nipples were poking through the white cloth. I felt a stirring in my groin and bit my lip as the first frustrated pangs of horniness spread through my groin. I had to do something with all of that pent up energy, so I slapped Tommy solidly on his back and yelled that I was racing him to the end of the track. He passed me almost immediatly, but I didn't mind, because my eyes were glued steadily to his buttocks, which were bouncing deliciously in time with his stride.

TOMMY (m/m) by Matthew Shakespeare

Part Two: Relating the End of Innocence and the Beginning of Summer

Summer began usual enough. We got out of school in May, and already the air had begun to turn nastily hot. By this time, Tommy and I had gone through three years together and he knew me better than anyone else did. He was my best friend, and we were inseparable. The dynamic duo of the ninth grade had raised hell in the tenth. We talked and cut up constantly in class; and, much to the horror of our teachers, we had almost every class in common. We always spent the weekends together. Tommy's mom and dad weren't half as strict as mine, so I'd always tell Mom that I was spending the night at Tommy's house. Then we'd go out with Tommy's brother, Jeffrey, who was eighteen, to parties and such. Or we'd just stay at his house and cut up.

Tommy's mother worked the night shift as a nurse in the local hospital and his dad slept constantly, so the house was pretty much ours Friday or Saturday nights.

Not that I tried anything with Tommy. Sure, I wanted to, but I wasn't about to try anything that would endanger our friendship. Tommy meant more to me than anything. Besides, he was completely straight. We had both gotten our first blowjobs together, thanks to Jeffrey's influence. All three of us were at a party and Jeff managed to get three girls so fucked up on orange juice and vodka they didn't put up any fight.

All three of em had been dying for our dicks anyway. We stood in opposite corners of a bedroom, and though I couldn't see his dick, I could see the look of passion on his face as that slut sucked his cock, and it was enough to make me nut all in my bitch's mouth.

Then he must've cummed too, cause he opened his eyes and grinned at me and pushed the girl off his dick. We quickly fastened our pants and I remember high-fiving him as we left the room. Later, during our sophmore year, he finally found a girl he could put up with for some considerable amount of time, and they went out for seven months. Her name was Karen, and I couldn't wait for them to break up, but that was before I knew what it would do to Tommy. He was completely devastated. He found out that she had gotten drunk and slept with another guy at one of the parties that we were at. With Tommy there at the party, she had screwed another guy. He didn't know till a week later and it completely broke his heart. I tried my best to be there for him, and, gradually he came back into his old self. We stayed out every single weekend and went crazy.

But that was in the past. That was during school, when we saw our friends every day. Now it was summer. Mom and Dad had gone to Atlanta for a nurse's convention at the Marriott for a whole week, which left me housesitting for six days with nothing to do. Tommy's brother Jeff had gone to Florida with some seniors and he told us that there wasn't enough room for us to go. We were so bummed. He had nothing to do at his house with Jeffrey gone, so he told his parents that he was going to spend the week at my house. I thought it was a great idea.

TOMMY (m/m) by Matthew Shakespeare

Part Three: Fishing

"Brett, I think we need to have some fun this week," Tommy said matter-of-factly, walking through the door of my bedroom with a duffel bag slung under his shoulder. "I mean, how often is it that either of our parents are out of town?"

"Try never," I offered.

"Exactly! Which is why we need to take advantage of it and not just sit around with our fingers stuck up our butts all week long."

"Noted," I replied. "And I even suggest we just have our own little private party tonight to kick off such a great week."

Tommy grinned in agreement. "You want me to just set this down here?"

"Throw it in the corner, I guess."

He threw the bag onto my bed and then frowned. "Uh oh."

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Oh shit! How're we going to get any alcohol with J-Boy gone to Florida?"

"How the fuck should I know? You've always gotten the stuff!" I shouted back, chunking his bag into the closet. Then I looked up at the shelves below the closet light. "Hey, I've got three dime bags of stuff up here in the closet drying out. We've always got that."

"Brett, your fucking homegrown shit isn't worth fuck. I just want to get messed up. Drunk off my ass, not fried. Save the damn weed for if we get bored later."

"Are you dissin my weed?" I asked, shoving him squarely on the shoulders.

"Yeah, you mother freakin parsley smoker, I'm sayin your weed isn't worth shit," he spat in my face. I could tell he was fighting off the urge to grin.

I smiled and he started laughing. "I'm gonna kick your ass!" I yelled, jumping onto his shoulders and wrestling him to the bed. Tommy wasn't the skinny little kid he used to be, though, and we struggled savagely for several minutes. Somehow he got one muscled arm wrapped between my legs and the other around my neck.

"Give up, mother fuck?" he asked between gritted teeth.

"Hell no!" I said.

While still keeping my head pinned, he reached with one hand and grabbed my cods. He squeezed. "Do you give up now, mother fuck?"

"Aw, fuck!" I spat. "That's not fair, dick sucker!"

The struggling stopped and he let me go. "Don't ever try to kick my ass again until you become a real man!" he said with a smirk. He flexed his chest and slapped it with one fist. He yawned. It strained the grey 'Sturbridge Athletics' T-shirt and my head started to spin.

I cupped my sore balls through my shorts and tried to hide the hard-on that wrestling with him had given me. "Shut the fuck up," I said weakly. Tommy grinned and threw his arm around my neck. "Let's go get something to eat," he said. "As an offering of peace I'll let suck my dick later tonight."

I smiled wryly at him. He didn't know how bad I wanted to do just that.

Tommy sat with his bare feet dangling off the pier into the water, his blonde hair shining dreamily in the midday sun. The air was bathed in humidity. The sun was smothering, and waves of heat radiated off the old wood of the pier and from the mud along the banks. Mirages of blurry color smudged the landscape.

I head a small splash as Tommy cast his line out further. I sat behind him on the other side of the pier with my pole in the water, hoping for a fish, any fish, to just wiggle my cork a little. We had taken off our shirts a half hour earlier and I glanced behind me now and then to catch tantalizing glimpses of Tommy's tanned back muscles smeared with sweat in the heat of the day. For some reason unbeknownst to me, we had both worn old bluejeans, and Tommy had rolled his up to just below the knee to keep them from getting wet. I didn't care if mine got wet. It was so hot. My dark hair was plastered to my forehead, and the sweat ran in rivulets down my chest and back. It had been Tommy's stupid idea to go fishing.

You might consider where I live to be rural. I consider it the middle of nowhere. Acres and acres of farmland and pasture, and then the little town of Sturbridge ten miles up the road where we went to school. Nothing to do for miles.

We had gotten tired of sitting inside, and it was too hot to play basketball or do anything strenuous, so Tommy suggested we walk down to the pond and fish for awhile. As it turned out all the fish were as far to the bottom as possible, and they weren't biting at all. The surface of the pond where my feet were submerged was easily eighty-five degrees, and fish don't like it when it's eighty-five degrees. To me, eighty-five seemed alot nicer than the temperature where we were sitting, which was more like ninety-eight.

Tommy's baritone words broke the muggy silence. "It's hot as fuck."

"It's fuckin hotter than fuck," I corrected. "And I don't think the fish are too hungry either."

"Want another Sprite?" he asked.

"Yeah." As he reached into the cooler and handed me a can I couldn't help noticing that, for a sixteen year old, he was so well developed. It was like, he was so much a grown man, yet he was still Tommy. The same dimpling smile, the same eyes, the same playfulness that had bonded us together since ninth grade. But the past year had really changed him. His hands were like paws as he gave me the Sprite. They were big and meaty like my father's and were attached to forearms that were thick and strong, and dusted with soft blonde hair. His shoulders, chest, and biceps were awesome compared to anything in our class. He was sixteen, but could've passed for eighteen. Water and sweat ran down his body in trickling streams, soaking his hair and forming beads on his forehead, running down into his brows and down across his temples and then his cheekbones.

I probably could have smelled him, but the air was too stagnant, too heavy and sweet with the smell of honeysuckle which grew along the banks of the pond. He lifted the drink to his mouth, and his lips were pink and full against the can of Sprite, whose greenish blue color was no match for Tommy's fine jade eyes. A Norse god.

He caught me staring and his eyebrows furrowed in a puzzled look. "What?"

"Nothing," I said nonchalantly. "Nothing."

"Well," he said, taking another gulp from the can. "Enough fucking around in this heat. It's too damn hot. I'm going swimming."

He stood up on the pier and dove headfirst into the muddy water. He shot up to the surface laughing and sputtering. "C'mon, Brett!" he yelled, splashing water towards the pier. "It's great!"

I grinned back and dove in. The water was nice and cool at the bottom, and my chest brushed mud before I decided to come back up. I planted my feet and pushed towards the surface, where Tommy promptly dunked me again. We horsed around for a few minutes, laughing and wrestling like we were still the same kids we had been when we had met two years ago. Boys being boys. It was always like that with him, we'd start acting crazy and I'd momentarily forget, in my fervor to come out on top, just how badly I wanted him. For a brief instant it was just Tommy and me, the two best friends in the world, having fun. The dynamic duo.

I finally snared him with his own move, the infamous Tommy-hold that he had used on me earlier in the day. With Tommy ferociously struggling and attempting to use the water and mud to his advantage and squirm free, I somehow managed to get one arm around his neck in a chokehold and then reached quickly through his legs, past his buttocks, and grabbed his crotch with the other hand. I didn't squeeze though, I couldn't do that. Eventually he gave up, even if I had to dunk him a dozen times before he did. We washed off what mud we could and then collapsed onto the warm grass, leaning on each other for strength and completely out of breath.

"You know, you're a good man for not grabbing my cods like I grabbed yours this morning," he said, his chest still heaving. "You're a good man, Brett. A good man."

I absently picked at a bunch of wildflowers. "Aw, cut it out Tommy, you're making me blush here," I replied, throwing a weed at him. "Are you saying that I'm a real man now? I half drown you, so now you admit I'm a real man? And now I get some respect?"

Tommy looked down at the stump of dandelion weed where it had fallen across one nipple. "Aw, shut up, man. You know you've always had my respect."

He rolled over and we both closed our eyes and just lie there for a while, breathing. A minute of silence. I pretended to be feeling a bit sleepy and apathetic like Tommy seemed to be. To me the silence was hell. I wanted to know what he was thinking.

I spoke to change the subject. "That water sure felt good."

"I told you it felt good. It felt good as fuck," he mumbled.

"It was good, but I wouldn't say it was as good as a fuck," I told him, crossing my hands behind my head and looking at the clouds. They were thick cumulus clouds, and they drifted slowly on some far away breeze that couldn't be felt here.

"Well, it could be good as a fuck, if we had some girls out here. I could use some pussy right about now," he commented, rubbing his crotch through the wet denim. "I'd fuck the hell out of any bitch, right here in this grass, right now."

He never lost that showy machoistic front, even though it was just the two of us. None of the other guys from school were here. No need to be like them, Tom.

He rolled over onto his stomach and closed his eyes, obviously entertaining some vague fantasy. I looked over at him, the jeans were clinging tightly to his wet ass. His buttocks flexed and moved and a smile spread across his face.

I longingly stared at the wet body sprawled out on the grass, and wished more than anything I could step into his daydream. Here and there mud was smeared in small streaks on his jeans, on his smooth skin, tight with adolescent muscle.

Oh, Tommy, if you only knew.

Our bodies were close, our arms almost touching. "Brett?" he said, opening his eyes to look at me.

"Yeah?" I answered, trying to sound drowsy and uninterested. God, his eyes were so beautiful. His face wore that same goofy, sexy grin that had so endeared him to me since the first day we met.

He propped himself up on one elbow, facing me. Then the grin was gone. Suddenly his expression grew serious and I knew that something was wrong. I sat up and lay my chin on my hands and looked up at him. Tommy spoke, the words slow and awkward. "You know, there's been something on my chest for a while now, Brett. I just wanna tell you something. Don't think this is stupid or anything. I just want to say that I'm...I'm...glad that we met, man. Please don't think I'm stupid for saying this, but I'm...glad you're my buddy," he said softly. "I mean, there's not many guys out there who have a friend like you. Somebody they could tell anything to, you know? Somebody who they can trust, and talk to, and hang out with, and just hang with all the time and never get tired of being with em."

I gave him a confused look, but inside my heart was melting. "What do you mean, Tom?"

"I guess what I'm trying to say is...oh, god, guys are only supposed to say this to each other when they're drunk, I mean..."

"What, bro? Go ahead, you can tell me anything."

"What I'm trying to say is...I really love you, man. I mean it. I love you like I do my own brother, but I love you even more, because you're like, the best friend I ever had. Does that sound stupid?"

"No. No, dude. Not at all. I mean, I feel that way about you, too. I've always liked you, man, since the first day you came to our school."

"Yeah, and I always liked you too...I mean, you're always there for me. None of the guys at school are like you, Brett. They're just a lot of...of...nothing, you know? They're so fake. They're always trying to talk the talk and act so big and bad, but you, you're different. You've always acted just like yourself, and you're not afraid to talk to people, you know, really talk and get serious. I can talk to you about things that would just be impossible to talk about with the other guys at school. I can totally be myself around you. I can be myself even more than I can in my own house around my own parents and brother. I...I...just wanted you to know that."

"Oh god, Tommy," I whispered, putting my arms around his shoulders. "You didn't have to tell me all this, man. I mean, I know how much you mean to me, and I've always assumed that I was as much to you. How else could we put up with each other for so long?"

"I dunno, man. I dunno," he whispered, shaking his head. "Geez, we sound like two fucking queers, man. Talking about 'I love you' and shit..."

The corners of his mouth began to twitch and he looked down at the ground. A single tear rolled down his face and fell into the grass. Then the dam broke, and he began to sob, choking on his own tears. His body was shaking as his soul emptied itself with his words. He buried his face into my shoulder as the tears kept coming. "Brett...oh, man...if it hadn't have been for you when I broke up with Karen...oh god, I don't know what I would have done..."

I stroked his hair and patted him solidly on his back and told him he didn't need to cry. Tommy, my pitiful Tommy. He was laying on top of me now, his arms wrapped around my neck and his head against my chest. I loved him. I loved him so much and now I was crying too, because here he was, this guy, my best friend; the one thing that meant the most to me in the whole world; this beautiful sixteen year old green-eyed god who was so much a man, and he was sobbing like a child against my chest.

I wrapped my arms around him and he held me tightly against him. He looked up with tears welling in his beautiful eyes and smeared down his cheeks, and we looked at each other for a long moment and we kissed.

We kissed.

Then he was pulling away, sudden, frantic movements. His brows were furrowed in confusion, his eyes full of panic. His mouth opened but no sound was coming out of it, his chest was heaving with turmoil, conflicting emotions. "N-n-n-n-no!" he finally stuttered. A heart wrenching moan escaped his lips, rising ever louder in intensity until it was like one huge bellowing cry, wrested from the pits of his stomach, from the depths of his soul. "Oh my god," he cried, sobbing in spasms, "What have I done???"

I grabbed his wrists and kept him from running away, and he tried to push me away. His face was twisted in agony and stained with tears. "Tommy!" I yelled, trying to coax reason back into his face. "TOMMY!!!"

I barked the word into his face, and almost flinched. The authority of reason. He felt my pleading gaze on his face and finally looked at me. The guilt began to flow again. "Oh god!!! I'm so sorry Brett! I'm so sorry! Oh god..." Grief and fear strained his voice.

"Shhh, Tommy, it's alright," I said gently, running my hands down his face and arms.

He pushed me away. "Oh, god, Brett, I'm so sorry... I didn't ever mean for you to know...I didn't want you to know, even with all the things I said. I meant it all, but this...oh, god, I didn't mean for you to know about me..."

"Know what?" I asked.

"That I'm...that I...I...that I really DO love you, Brett. I love you in more ways than one. For years now, that's all I ever thought about. Even when Karen came along, she couldn't take my mind off you. And when I found out about her and that other guy...what horrified me was not that she didn't love me; it was that I really didn't care if she didn't love me. All I ever wanted was you. It was always you, Brett, and I could never have you because you were always so...so...straight."

"But you were wrong!" I yelled, a huge smile spreading across my face as I realized the meaning of his confession. "You were so wrong! All of this time...and if I had only known!"

"What??? You mean..."

"Yes!"

He stood there with the most dumbfounded look I've ever seen on a man, and he was just so damned cute, I jumped on him with both arms outspread.

"Oh, god I love you, Tommy!" I said, kissing him with such frenzied aggression that I surprised myself.

He awoke quickly from his stupor and began to kiss me back, opening his lips and shoving his big tongue into my mouth. His kisses were so tender, so full of emotion that I couldn't stop crying. Tommy was shaking in my arms, running his hands frantically all over my body. I felt his warm breath in my mouth and his tongue was so sweet, it was almost unbearable. The feel of his body overwhelmed my senses till I though I would go crazy. I was crazy. There was only one thing I wanted now, and Tommy had already thought of it. He pulled away and began to rip his jeans off.

"Lose the jeans!" he yelled breathlessly. "Take them off! Uh! I want to feel you Brett, I want to feel your body against mine. God, you're so hot. I want to make love to you. I want to fuck your brains out, now, right now. Oh god, yes! Yes!"

TOMMY (m/m) by Matthew Shakespeare

Part Four: Tommy Gets It

I had barely pulled my jeans down past my knees when he tackled me. Knocked to the ground flat on my back. I frantically struggled to kick the pants off as his mouth attacked mine with the hell-bent passion of a starving man, raping and seducing me with his tongue, hungrily pressing me to the ground. We were both starving men. I was starving, starving for his body. I wanted it. Bad.

He was still wearing a pair of wet Calvin Klein boxer briefs, and as I ran my hands over the smooth muscles of his lower back I slipped both hands underneath the elastic to feel his buttocks. They were smooth and quivering as we ground our bodies against each other. Our chests rubbed together and his flesh was smooth with hard adolescent muscle. Wet skin against skin. We rubbed each other and prepared to fuck.

My dick was completely rigid underneath the thin wet cotton of my briefs, and as he ground his crotch against mine I could feel the heat and the hardness of his dick. He moved down to suck on my neck. The soft, wet lips were everywhere, sometimes seductive, brushing, teasing; sometimes rough as he nipped the skin with this teeth. He sucked and licked all over my ears, his hot breath sent shivers rushing through my body.

"Tommy," I moaned. I said his name over and over again till it pounded itself in my brain in sync with the grinding of our hips.

He wrapped his arms around me in a powerful bear hug and our legs entwined themselves together. I kissed him like he was kissing me, kissing his beautiful face, his nose, his eyelashes, but always returning to the wetness of his lips and the hot cavern of his mouth. He licked my face playfully and I smiled and kissed him again.

And again. And again and again until I wanted more, more than his mouth and his beautiful green eyes.

I grabbed at the waistband of his underwear and tried to push it down and off. He realized what I was doing and then rolled over to help me. The Calvins came off and I swallowed hard. There was his cock, erect and begging for attention. It was about seven inches and cut to perfection, topping off his sack which was swollen with a set of nuts the size of plums. His pubic hair was a shade darker than the blonde mop on his head, and took that strawberry blonde to its extreme. It was curly and golden, and caught the sun spectacularly while throwing off highlights of copper and red. The golden fleece of an Argonaut's desire and the body of a god.

I reached down to quickly remove my own white Jockeys, but Tommy made a flying leap for me again, so I just reached down and ripped them off. We kissed again, naked and close, but I wanted something more. We rolled over so I was on top.

I wanted his cock. I wanted to make him bust a nut right in my face, spew his thick white Tommy spunk all over me. I broke off our kiss and moved down, pausing momentarily to suck and bite his hard nipples, to run my hands over his sides while I licked the hard rippling flesh of his stomach. It was smooth and hot, but I could feel his dick pressing achingly against my chest. I moved my face down and looked at it, hard and pulsing with precum foaming at its tip.

I wanted it. I wanted to take it in my mouth. To suck it, to whip him into a passionate frenzy and then feel him cum, spew his nuts right into my mouth. I wanted to taste him. To taste Tommyspunk.

He grunted softly as I took the head between my lips and into my mouth.

"Aw fuck!" he moaned. "Brett...yes, blow me, please. Ungh! Yeah...oh, fuck..." He was biting his bottom lip, moaning softly with his eyes closed. He played with my ears and ran his fingers through my hair. I kneaded his butt cheeks with my hands, and felt them clench as I went down on his cock and licked the head.

I reached down with my hand and began to stroke my cock. Our bodies were covered in sweat and my hand slipped up and down its length without difficulty. Tommy was so damned hot. His skin of his dick was soft and it was warm and throbbing in my mouth. I licked around the swollen head and felt his body squirm with pleasure.

"Brett," he moaned, "wait." His eyes opened and he sat up. "I want to blow you too, man. Lemme suck your dick."

He pushed my mouth away long enough to move between my legs so that we were sixty-nining. I felt his breath on my nuts and I flinched. Then I felt his wet mouth on my dick and gasped. Oh, god, I couldn't stand it. It was driving me up the wall. I closed my eyes and saw colors. Flashing lights.

"Fuck..." I groaned hoarsely. "Oh god, Tommy, man... oh fuck..."

He gripped my head with the thick muscles of his thighs and squeezed. "Oh yes," he screamed around my cock, "Fuck, yes!"

I looked at his face, sucking my dick with his eyes closed, his face screwed up in passion. I saw the hollow that formed in his cheeks as he sucked, the bulging of his temples as his jaw moved up and down. Then I closed my eyes as I felt the instinct in him take over and he begin to grind his hips. I did the same, grinding against his face, fucking his hot, wet mouth for all its worth.

He was grunting now, soft gutteral "oh"s and "uh"s as the tempo of our fucking increased. "Brett...oh...oh... I think I'm about to come," he gasped around the thick length of cock. He groaned. "I'm gonna cum...yeah...oh, fuck I'm gonna cum!!!"

I grinned around his big Tommydick, feeling at the same time my own orgasm rush to the surface. I knew his was coming too. I felt the ferocity of his thrusts and felt his muscles tighten, his butt cheeks clench together. I sucked harder and heard him whimper as he pumped his whole load into my mouth. It was sticky and thick, and I swallowed it. As I tasted hot Tommyspunk I lost control and shot my wad all in his mouth. His dick was still twitching and spasming in my mouth, and it spewed giant amounts of cum in huge, sticky wads into my mouth and throat.

I must have cummed forever.

Then after we finished, he threw his arms around me and we hugged each other roughly, like boys. He licked my face playfully and I told him that I loved him. We began to play rough and we wrestled and fucked in the mud by the pond. We sucked dick and jacked each other off everywhere: on the pier, in the water, in the cab of his truck.

It was late afternoon before we were finally tired of fucking each other. I wan't tired of his body, but my all of my cum was in his stomach and on his face. The sun had become red and swollen on the horizon, painting the sky fiery orange. The first of the night breezes had begun to blow. It was cool, and it caressed out naked bodies as we lay in the cool grass by the water, sleeping contentedly. I looked at him lying there with his head on my chest, his breath teasing one nipple. His fair hair was gently ruffled by the breeze, and I smoothed it back out of his eyes. I stroked the back of his neck and his arm tightened around my waist. "I love you, Brett," he said softly without opening his eyes.

"Go back to sleep, Tommy," I whispered. "I love you, too."

TOMMY (m/m) by Matthew Shakespeare

Part Five: Starry Night

Tommy opened his eyes slowly and smiled as memories of what had just happened came back to him in a flood.

"Brett," he breathed, hugging the other boy from where he lay sleeping in Tommy's arms.

The dark headed boy stretched and opened his large brown eyes, mirroring Tommy's own just-had-it smile. Except it wasn't the morning after, the stars were still shining brightly overhead and the sounds of the Southern summer night wafted along the breeze. Though the sun was long gone, the night still wrapped itself in a warm blanket of summer, and this heat made crickets sleepy and hushed their song. Somewhere on the banks of the pond a treefrog chirped, and then paused for a moment and was silent. Tommy could hear the other boy's breathing. If he only listened hard enough, he knew he could hear the beating of his heart.

The only other sound was the whispering of the midnight breeze as it caressed pine branches, softly whispering the beautiful language of inconstant things. The same breeze playfully tousled Brett's sable locks and brushed lightly across their naked bodies.

"Some night, huh?" Brett whispered.

"Yeah... yeah, it is." He was at a total loss for words. The night was so dark, so beautiful. He didn't want to talk.

"I don't... regret... what I've done." Brett closed his eyes and rolled over onto his back. "I mean, you don't have any second thoughts about it, do you? You don't regret that we said all that stuff to each other. All that... stuff."

"No," Tommy answered. "Not at all. I meant everything I said."

"It wasn't just because you were drunk or anything?"

"How could I have been drunk? I was drinking Sprite, Brett."

"Oh. Yeah, it was Sprite. I though we had brought down something else in the cooler. This afternoon... it just didn't seem real."

Tommy rolled over to stare at him sideways. "There are lots of things that can make you drunk. Not just alcohol. You can get a buzz off lots of stuff. Getting fucked up off a roller coaster. Getting really mad at something. Sometimes you're with a girl and she's just so awesome that just looking at her makes you high; kissing her makes you dizzy. You can fall in love and it'll make you so intoxicated that you can't think straight. Love can make you do crazy things. To wake up and realize that you love somebody. That's crazy shit, man."

Brett's eyes were still clenched shut. He was thinking.

"We were acting that way because the truth finally came out. Sometimes the truth can make people do crazy things, too."

"What is the truth, Tommy? Tell me. What's the truth?"

He could feel his jaw trembling. "I told you the truth this afternoon, Brett."

Brett opened his eyes and looked at him. "It's just I don't think what we did was crazy, Tommy. It felt RIGHT to me. I've wanted that for so long and, it was just RIGHT. I'm not saying that I didn't mean everything I said this afternoon. I meant it. I meant it all."

"Then why are you doing this? Why are you questioning me? What I went through this afternoon wasn't easy. I had to face up to it. I meant every word I said because hearing myself actually say those words was hell. It hurt. I mean, dammit Brett! I've tried to kid myself and cover it all up. At times I could actually believe it wasn't true. But whenever you'd sleep over, most of the time I couldn't get to sleep because you were in the bed beside me and I couldn't think about anything else. Then I knew. I'd wake you up because I couldn't go to sleep and we'd lay in bed and talk for hours and hours about everything; football, school, our parents, girls and sex even. We'd always talk until we fell asleep. I always knew the way I felt about you. How can you ask these questions? Brett, how can you say something like that? Did I mean what I said? Oh god, did I mean what I said???" He thought he was about to cry.

Brett lay there in pitiful silence. "I didn't mean it that way, man. I'm just... I'm just too fuckin uncertain about all of this. I don't feel GUILTY about it. It's not guilt. It's just that I've wanted to have this for so long, now that I have it... it scares me. It scares the shit out of me, Tommy. We've been best friends for so long. Now it's different cause we're not the same kind of friends anymore."

Tommy was didn't speak for awhile. He rubbed an eye with his wrist and then crossed his arms across his chest. "It's not going to change, Brett," he told him flatly. "We'll just keep it on the DL. No telling anybody. I wouldn't want it any other way. Would you?"

"No," Brett answered. "You're right, Tom. Nobody needs to know. My world's been shaken enough as it is. I'm surprised that the sky's not falling on my head. He gave a signature Brett smirk. His dark eyes danced. "Okay with you, Chicken Little?"

Tommy smiled back. "Yeah. I agree totally. Not a word. And we have to act the same around each other as we always have. No faggot crap in front of the school." He winced a little at that last sentence. "Sorry Brett," he apologized. "That sounded kinda rough. But that's the way we've got to think about it. That's the way most of the school sees it. That's the way most of the world sees it. We've got a huge charade to put on, and we need to stay in character as best we can. When school starts in another few weeks, it's going to be a full-time job."

Brett nodded. "We should keep screwing around with girls too. That's probably the easiest way to keep away any rumors. Who knows, we could even get some nice three-ways going..."

Tommy smiled mischeiviously. "You're a pervert, Brett."

"Shut the fuck up, geek. It's a good idea."

"I have to admit, bro, it's a very good idea..."

"I know you think it's a good idea, Tommy, because your dick's getting bigger by the second."

"You're sporting a nice hard-on yourself..."

TOMMY (m/m) by Matthew Shakespeare

Part Six: First Party of Fall

The crew cut boy sat quietly on the couch, an island of calm in the loud, mindless ocean of the party. He was wearing a pair of worn khaki pants, cuffed at the bottoms above Timberland hiking boots. He wore his navy Tommy Hilfiger crew shirt with two buttons open at the throat, revealing the collar of a white T-shirt and a cheap silver necklace on black rope string, probably bought for a couple of dollars on a summer vacation trip to Panama City Beach.

He didn't look like he was enjoying himself very much. The boy sighed and ran one hand through his hair. It was jet black and cut close and short. It spiked a little on top as a result of gel and was reminiscent of Simon Rex, the MTV vee-jay. Typical jockish facade, this boy, legs wide apart and expression totally apathetic. Probably strung out on weed. Or maybe just bored.

His observer, another boy, also tall and dark, watched him casually from the corner of the room. He leaned gracefully against a wall and propped one arm on a giant black speaker. Personally, this boy thought it was a great party; a party made even better by the appearance of the crew cut on the couch, who was obviously new to the local social scene. Not surprising really. This was, after all, the Friday before the start of a new school year.

There would probably be quite a few new people hanging around school. With the public schools in Atlanta getting worse and worse, people were moving out to Daviston by the dozens. There, only a few miles beyond the suburbs, life was more or less as it has been for the past fifty years. People raised horses and worked their vegetable gardens on the weekends, and drove to work in Atlanta during weekdays. They still didn't lock their doors at night, or install complicated house or car alarms. In Daviston and its outlaying rural areas, land was still passed down through family lines, and having a daddy with a trusted family name was all you really needed to be respected and trusted. It was the South, as the South had always been and always will be.

The New Kids, as they were referred to at school, were almost always different, speaking in standard American monotones and being born with an inherent lack of honesty or pride. Daviston was the land of football and contact sports, where girls are expected to be pretty and athletic and where boys are shaped by sports and the nature that surrounds them into muscular, arrogant things who are usually tanned to a deep bronze by mid-June, a result of spending half their waking summer hours with their shirts off.

Generally the weak and pasley city emigrants didn't fare very well, but occasionally there was one with a chatty sense of humor and a bit of determined loyalty about them, and these were accepted into the ranks and became true, beloved citizens of Daviston and the South, an acceptable prom date for Jason Jock or Susy Sweet-as-Peach- Pie. Sometimes this happened.

And to Brett Davenport, the hazel eyed, dreamy star pitcher of the Daviston High School baseball team, this boy certainly had potential. Even if he was a real bastard, the girls would have to love him because he was so damned gorgeous.

Brett was trying desperately to hear his voice or pick up on his conversation. The only thing was, from his vantage point across the room, he was being totally deafened by a huge speaker which was blaring 'No Doubt' like it was the gospel of Christ. The speaker went down to a low bass note and he felt his stomach vibrate sickeningly. He decided not to finish his vodka and orange juice after all.

He saw the boy's mouth move as he reluctantly conversed with Jessica Stellers, the class whore, whose pink and puke green vinyl outfit clashed horribly with her red hair. Brett could tell the boy wasn't too impressed, though he continued to listen helplessly as she crossed and uncrossed her legs and made wild gestures with blue chrome fingernails.

Never mind Jessica. Fuck Jessica. That boy... that boy was just TOO nice. No, no, no- forget nice. He was, without a doubt, very, v-e-r-y tasty.

On the couch, he was a cool angel next to all that pink vinyl gaudiness, one of those guys who immediately commands your attention with subtle, liquid movements and dreamy gazes. Over the summer, Brett had worked for three weeks in an electronics store for his aunt's new husband. The store was deserted most of the time, except on weekends, and he had watched a lot of daytime television. His favorite soap was "Days of Our Lives," and he knew now who the crew cut boy looked like. Austin Peck. Carrie's boyfriend on the show. That was it.

Even now, so clearly uncomfortable, the boy fidgeted with the unnerving, careless grace usually reserved for athletes and aristocracy. His mannerisms were so absorbing, so fluid and filled with lazy, reserved strength that they were hypnotizing, like the movements of a panther under a strobe light.

Brett's single-minded absorption wasn't helped by the fact that, besides all of this, the boy was also mind-blowingly cute. A whip-ass fine specimen of a man, he did have to admit.

The mystery boy sat on the battered sofa with his legs spaced wide apart, arms crossed drearily across his chest. The beginnings of a smile played hide-and-seek across his face, disappearing for awhile only to materialize again seconds later in the form of an amused grin or a subtle tweaking in the corner of his sensuous mouth. His eyes were gorgeous. Even from across the room, you could see that they were blue. Like the eyes of Russian royalty or the heavenly cobalt of expensive sapphire. They glanced wearily from Jessica to his bottle of Absolut to a spot on the floor and then back to Jessica again.

'This boy must be saved!' he thought to himself. He didn't know how much longer he could endure watching him fidget under the lavishings of Jessica the Whore.

He had made up his mind to walk over and speak when he felt warm breath on his neck and a sweet, curious voice shouting in his ear to be heard over the sound system. "Whassup Brett..." It was Ashley Jackson, one of his ex-girlfriends and Brett's most trusted female pals. It was almost impossible to make out the words unless he watched her lips. It didn't matter. They could almost read each other's minds anyway, they were so much alike. It had been with real misgivings that Brett had severed their relationship in January of the past year. Ashley was really one of a kind.

He hadn't known she was at the party. He was glad she had showed up.

"Who all are you here with?" she asked, slightly standing on tip-toe so she could yell in his ear. "I saw Matthew, Chase, and Douglas outside."

"Nope," he answered. "It's just me and Jeffrey tonight. We would have come in Tommy's black Splash-"

"He's got a black Splash?" she asked, flipping a mass of blonde curls over one shoulder. "What happened to his other truck?"

"He traded it in earlier this month. Anyway, it was muddy so I came in the Jeep with Jeffrey."

"D-Roj?" Ashley asked. "Where's he at? I haven't seen him... And where's Tom? It's not like him to miss a party. Especially since you're here."

"Tommy's at home. He's sick. He wanted to go, but he was already feeling queasy and he said that he would sure enough be blowing chunks if he had any alcohol. I told him that I'd stay home with him, but he wanted me to go, anyway. First party of fall, y'know. Jeffrey's out back talking to Haley Boswell, I think. They're having 'problems' again."

"Jeez, looks like he'd just dump her mousy little butt and get a real woman. I don't see what he sees in her, anyway. If he treats her like a little girl, it's because she acts like one. She needs to get her ass dumped and get a nice dose of reality."

They walked a nearby bathroom and shut the door so they could talk.

"So I guess you've been running around with Tommy all summer," she chided sweetly. "I assume y'all haven't been TOO bad. I didn't hear of anybody getting arrested, at least."

Brett chuckled. "Nah, we've been good boys. Didn't do anything that you wouldn't want to know about." He forced a smile after that last sentence.

It was always so hard to lie to Ashley. If only she knew exactly WHAT they had done over the summer...

"Well, you'll have to tell me all about it. Sorry I haven't been around to talk to this summer, but you know... With my grandmother nuts in Atlanta, I had to stay there, or she would have been put in a home. That Alzheimer is just eating away at her. I don't know how much longer she can hang on. She's doing a little better now, at least."

"I called you as often as I could, you know," Brett reminded her.

"Yeah," she replied softly. "I know. I talked to Danielle alot too. She kept me up to speed on the gang."

"Good. Maybe I'll come over tomorrow night and we can talk for awhile. There's a lot of stuff that happened. A lot of parties and stuff you missed out on." He grinned. "Some of it will have you rolling on the floor laughing."

Ashley smiled. "Sounds good."

There was a pause.

"So, I haven't seen Tommy any this summer. Or any of the Davis boys, for that matter. He's still the same old devil?" she asked.

Brett smirked. "You actually think that he's gotten BETTER over the summer? If anything, he's gotten five times worse."

"Same old Tommy, huh?"

"Yeah," he answered softly, feeling a knot form in his throat. "Same old Tommy..."

There was another uncomfortable pause.

"He got an ear pierced while we were in Panama City. He got home and his dad about had a heart attack. He told him as long as he was a Davis and lived under his roof, he wasn't going to turn into a punk. Needless to say, I didn't tell MY dad that I got my bellybutton pierced."

"YOU DIDN'T!!!" she gasped, her mouth hanging open.

"Nah. Just kidding. I really didn't," he admitted. "Were you scared?"

"Not really," she said casually. "I could... probably get used to it."

Brett gave her a puzzled look. "You never cease to surprise me."

"Thanks," she replied.

"We've kinda been on a wild streak this summer, I'll admit," he said, looking at the ceramic tile to avoid giving away anything else beyond the meaning of his words. Ashley could read his eyes like a book. If anyone ever found out about them, it would probably be Ashley. "I just barely talked him out of getting his hair whacked off into a crew cut. Then he wanted to bleach the blonde out of it and make it whiter. Like some freak from Green Day. If I hadn't been there to talk him out of it, he would probably be a total mess to look at."

"Tommy?" she asked skeptically. "A mess? I don't think Tommy could be a mess no matter what he did to himself. Tommy's one of those guys who was just born with it."

"What's 'it'?" he asked, humoring her a little.

She thought for awhile. "I dunno, exactly. Like sex appeal or something? It's something more than that though. It's like, you see him sometimes, and he just looks so... so... well, dammit, you just want to run over and fuck him!"

Brett raised his eyebrows in surprise. He could relate.

"Face it, Brett," she said, "Tommy's just drop-ass fine. I've told you this before. Don't look so surprised. And like I said, a crewcut wouldn't look bad on him. It's already short on the back and sides. And his eyes are gorgeous, anyway."

Brett poked out his bottom lip. "I stand corrected."

"Oh, don't do the pouty face!" she said. "It's not like you couldn't hold your own up against him any day, my little dark-eyed beauty."

"Okay," he replied. "But let's talk about something else for awhile."

"Okay."

"Who's that New Boy out there?"

"What New Boy?" she asked sweetly, her gray eyes wide with exaggerated innocence.

"You're lying, Ashley. I can tell these things, you know. You know exactly which boy I'm talking about. The one on the couch, talking to Jessica Let-Me-Sit-On- Your-Face. You obviously know something about him, or at least you noticed him. You were probably standing behind my back watching HIM before you even saw me standing there. Am I right?"

To Brett's surprise, she didn't answer.

"Ashley?"

"Yes. I know who he is."

Brett was confused by her guilty tone. "Well, who is he?"

There was silence for a few seconds.

"Brett, don't be mad at me when I tell you this. Please, please don't be upset," she begged. "That boy out there... he's from Atlanta. Oh Brett, I should have told you this earlier. Brett, I-I... I met him in 'Lanta this summer. We talked, we did some stuff... He's my boyfriend."

Brett sat there stunned. "Your... boyfriend???"

"Your not upset about this are you? I mean, I still care for you as a friend, Brett, your one of my best friends, but we've been broke up since January. I-I- saw you staring at him and I thought that somehow you had found out, Danielle probably... I didn't know. I thought you may have been hurt, so I dragged you in here to tell you. You aren't upset by it are you?"

It figured that Ashley would find the finest boy in Atlanta and bring him home with her.

He gave a slight, crooked smile. "Nah. I'm sure he's great, Ash.

I'm not mad. Why should I be? I bet he's a great guy. Maybe he can give you what I just couldn't give you, in the end."

"Oh thank you, Brett!" she exclaimed, giving him a first rate hug.

Her soft breasts pressed against his chest, and he felt a slight stirring in his groin. Maybe he was a bit jealous, after all. He squeezed her tighter. "I'm so glad that you're cool with this," she said in his ear. "It means everything to me. I just know you're going to love him. C'mon and I'll introduce you."

Brett offered the weak smile again as she opened the door and the noise of the party blasted them again with full force. "I can't wait..."

He couldn't stay in Daviston forever. The boy would have to go back to Atlanta sooner or later. It was a whole hour's drive from Daviston to Atlanta city limits. Sixty minutes of time that would be the only barrier between the two of them. It would make anything but weekend visits impossible. Those sixty minutes were the key to winning back Ashley's heart.

He and Tommy were an undercover item, sure. But it was Tommy's idea that they should continue to date girls for appearance's sake. As for appearances, there was nobody in the school who Brett would like to appear with more than Ashley Jackson.

But first things first. First Brett had to deal with Crew Cut.

TOMMY by Matthew Shakespeare

Part Seven: Romeo

Flashing lights. Everywhere.

Brett winced as the Party washed over him in a flood of sound and vibration. Black lights in the corner and on the ceiling cast an eerie, moon-like glow on the room's contents, sharply punctuated by bursts from the strobe light.

Then there was that smell, reeking of garlic, that pizza always seems to emit when you're too nauseous to eat it.

Ashley had him by the arm now, weaving her way through the clusters of people that had begun to form. It was almost 9:00. It could have been 2:00 in the morning for all Brett cared. He wanted to go home. Go to Tommy's house.

But no, here he was at a crappy party without Tommy, and being towed across the room to meet Ashley's boyfriend. Did he even believe it yet? Ashley? A boyfriend?

The crew cut boy smiled as Ashley walked over.

"Hey babey," he drawled. "Been wondering where you were."

Smooth operator, this one. This was making Brett sicker than the pizza.

"Jason, I want you to meet Brett," she said, beaming. She smiled with every ounce of sweetness in her body. Like she was enjoying this.

Brett instinctively stuck out his hand.

"Hey, Brett," the boy said, smiling. He had to admit, the boy could smile. Probably a dentist's son. Made him sick. Brett smiled in return, turning up the voltage as high as it would go and tightening the corners of his mouth to deepen his dimples as deep as they would go. The other boy smiled wider and squeezed his hand firmly.

Damn it. Crew cut had dimples, too. Ashley loved dimples.

Brett broke the handshake. "So what do you think of Daviston so far?"

"Daviston?" he repeated. "Daviston's great. I mean, the school, the people..." He grinned sweetly. "Ashley." She blushed and sat down on his knee with both arms around his neck. "I really think I'm going to like it here."

Brett froze. His eyes flew open. "Pardon?"

Ashley was looking sheepishly at the floor.

"You're staying here?" Brett repeated. Couldn't be true.

"Ashely didn't tell you?"

Ashley broke in. "Jason's moving here to Daviston. His father's opening a firm here. They bought the Old Davis house on the Carolina Road."

FUCK FUCK FUCK!!! This couldn't be happening.

"Your dad's a lawyer?"

Ashley nodded emphatically. "Yeah," Jason answered.

Just then Jessica the Slut walked over. "Here, Jason," she whined, poking out her bottom lip. "Here's a screwdriver for the new kid on the block." She winked. Brett didn't think that Ashley saw it, but Jason sure as hell did, and he shifted uncomfortably on the couch. Jessica walked off.

Ashley exploded once she was out of ear-shot. "Who the hell does she think she is, Marilyn Monroe reincarnate??? Did you not hear that? 'Here's a widdle scwew dwivuh foh my new kid on duh bwock... Oh, by the way, I also want to fuck you, Jason,' " she imitated, throwing her blond hair around in a fit of outrage. "Did you tell her you were my boyfriend?"

"Yes, Ash, I told her that when she walked up and asked who I was," he explained, stroking the back of her neck. "Besides, I doubt Marilyn Monroe would be reincarnated as a fashion victim."

Ashley smiled prettily as he grabbed her hand. Brett wanted to be sick, but he was still too confused.

"Wait! The Davises sold that house???" Brett asked. This was an entirely valid question. Not a subject-changing sentence born of lack of anything else to say. "How did he manage to wrestle the House away from the family?"

Ashley spoke. "Jason's mother was a Davis before she married. She's originally from Daviston. She moved to Atlanta and married his dad while she was at law school. Actually, Jason knows Tommy."

"We're third cousins," Jason said.

Ashley again: "You know they've been fighting about how they're all going to split the inheritences. Jason's father offered to buy the house altogether. That makes things a lot less complicated, and the House still stays in the family."

Brett was still stunned. House? Lawyer? Tommy? Cousins?

A voice called out from across the room. "Ashley! Ashleeeeee!" A pretty girl with curly caramel brown tresses and dark skin waved from the doorway. Danielle D'Orseille. Hard last name to spell, but usually just drawled out as "Dorsuh" when spoken.

"What's UP, girl???" Ashley squealed.

"C'mere! Guess who just showed up!" the other girl shouted.

Ashely looked at the two guys. "You two just sit here and get drunk and I'll be back in a sec." With a swish of blonde hair and CK perfume, she was gone.

Brett sat there speechless.

Thankfully crew cut spoke. "So, Brett. Ashley's told me alot about you this summer."

"Really? How much do you know?"

Crew cut laughed. It was the roguish chuckle of a small boy. "Not a whole lot. Y'all went out for a couple of months. She says you hang out with my cousin alot. That you've been pretty good friends for a few years now. I used to visit Daviston a lot when I was younger. Your face kinda looks familiar, but I can't say for sure. I'm real 'thused about moving here, getting away from Atlanta and all that. And of course Ashley. She's the icing on the cake. I mean, who knew last May that things would work out like this? Pretty weird, huh?"

Brett could see the Davis in this boy, now that he had a chance to look at him up close. His mannerisms were like Tommy's in their thoughtless, effortless execution. His baritone voice carried through the air easily and was understood even over the speaker system. It was definately the voice of a Davis, words casual and innocent, but somehow carrying a weight of importance behind them. Softly spoken words that were always listened to, never dismissed, never ever ridiculed.

His features were also vaguely familiar. His lips were like Tommy's lips, pink and full, with the bottom lip larger so that any neutral expression on the part of Jason made it seem as if he was pouting. Deja-vu. His gaze was relaxed, and carried ponderous weight and sensitivity behind it. If his eyes met yours, you were awed, not by their smoky cobalt depths, but by the way his gaze seemed to read you like a book. And their jawlines were the same, angular and strong, the temples and jawbone flexing sensuously as he chewed a wad of Fruit-a-burst.

Jason was definately a different guy though. He wasn't as much beefcake as Tommy. He could play football, Brett thought, but if so, he was definately a running back or quarterback. He was tall, but his build was slighter, more on par with Brett's own. Oh, he was well-cut, no doubt about it; Brett could tell by the muscle in his forearms and biceps, the tightness by which the Hilfiger shirt was stretched across his upper chest, the muscles in his neck. But he wasn't a careless animal like Tommy was, he was gentler, his sexual drive more subtle.

Tommy was an Adonis. Jason was a Romeo.

He decided that Jason was an alright guy. Just because he was going out with Ashley didn't give Brett a reason to hate him. If Brett was from Atlanta, and he saw Ashley walking down the street, he'd probably go up and talk to her too. Besides, crew cut wouldn't be with Ashley for long, not after Brett turned up the heat. He'd be nice to the boy for now.

The City showed in the way he spoke, rapidly, his accent less definite, swinging wildly from that of a cracker to a Californian monotone. "So, is this what Davistons call a party?"

Brett scoffed. "Well, I will admit, this one sucks pretty bad. It seems like nobody's here. I mean, first party of fall. Hello? Who wouldn't be here?"

"Well maybe they just didn't hear about it. Things will probably pick up once school's open."

Brett thought it was a lousy hypothesis, but he didn't say so. "I guess you're right." He perked up. "Next weekend there's going to be a big one. Over at one of my friend's place. Chase Durham. He's got a huge cabin up on the lake, and it's still warm enough to go swimming. It's a tradition. We do it every year."

"Sounds good."

"Yeah, it's great. Their place is huge. It's got five bedrooms and a swimming pool, even though it's on the lake. There's a humongous porch that runs from the side of the house all the way out to the water and turns into a boat house. Chase's dad bought him a brand new Ski Nautique last year. There are three Sea Doos, too. Everybody has a blast. It's the second party of fall, but more like the last party of summer. We get up about ten and ride down to the lake with just our swim suits. Everybody gets fried off their asses and everybody's horsing around in the water. It's the absolute shit, man."

"Mad," Jason agreed.

"Then by about one or two o' clock we've all got the munchies so we go back up to the cabin and eat lunch. Then everybody leaves to go home and get ready for the party. We all show back up at around nine o'clock. Most everybody that can just spends the night. We had five or six of these things this past summer, but we either swam duing the day or just had a party at night. We never do both in one day until we're back in school. And then..."

"Can't wait, man. You'll have to introduce me to this Chase guy. Hell, I don't know anybody around here," Jason grunted.

"I dunno, looks like you were getting to know Jessica pretty well..."

Jason rolled his eyes. "Oh god, I didn't think I was ever going to get away from her. I sent her off to get a drink and then y'all showed up. I couldn't have been happier to see my girlfriend's ex-boyfriend."

"I'll bet," Brett replied. "You'd think that she got laid all the time, what with her being such a slut. But really, the good guys around here won't touch her.

We all stopped fucking her after eighth grade, when we found out just how nasty she was."

Jason laughed. "Really? You were all fucking her in the eighth grade?"

"Absolutely! I think we would have fucked her sooner, but our dicks just weren't big enough yet!"

Jason's boyish laugh was getting infectious now. Brett was cracking up just thinking about it. "Yeah, Jase, okay, check it out, we all fucked her all at one time. Like, gang banged her, but it wasn't rape, because she asked us to do it."

"All at one time? You're lyin, man!"

"No, I swear. It was five of us, all spending the night over at Tommy's house. It was his birthday, I think, which means it was the last weekend in July. It was me, Tommy, Matthew and Chase Durham, they're cousins, and Will Farlough. You'll met em all later, but don't tell em I told you this. Anyway, we're camping out in the backyard, right? just us guys, all in this tent. And of course we're talking about pussy, because that's all thirteen year-old's think about. When who do we hear outside the tent? Jessica the Whore. We didn't know she was such a slut then, all we knew was she was a great girl with nice tits who'd let you French kiss her when you played spin the bottle, and who'd rub her hands all over your crotch when you played 'seven minutes in heaven.' "

Jason was smiling so Brett continued. "So anyway, she lived right across the road from Tommy, and saw our camp fire and decided to come over to see if she could get some dick. I mean, with five 13 year old studs like us all in one place, what 'ho'e could resist? She beats on the tent door and says, 'Let me in,' so we let her in. She asks us what we were talking about and we kind of blushed, but Tommy, never the shy one, says, 'Well, you know, Jessica, we were just talking about eatin fat puss and how fuckin good it tastes.' "

Jason was laughing again. "Sounds like Tommy."

"Yeah. Well, we all cracked up because we couldn't believe he had said something like that to a girl. But she didn't say anything, but just smiled and asked us if we had ever tasted a girl's cunt and we admitted that we hadn't. I guess Chase's rocks were about to explode in his pants, because he just point out blank asked her if he could eat her out."

"What'd she say?"

"She said 'sure.' What did you think she would say. I should add at this point that Tommy's parents were not at home, they were gone to Atlanta and were going to see the late movie and probably wouldn't be home till 12:30 or 1:00. Chase asked her if she wanted to go outside behind the house or in the house, but she said that she wanted him to eat her out there, in the tent, so all of us could watch."

"Aw, man!"

"Yeah, it was crazy. She wasn't drunk or anything. She pulled off her pants, spread her legs, and told Chase to lick. I think he nutted all in his pants. Hell, we were all about to."

"What happened next?" Jason asked, still grinning.

"We all five lost our virginity at one time."

Jason was silent for a moment. "Whoa."

"Whoa is right," Brett answered. "But that's Jessica for you. I think it was a kind of bonding experience for us all or some shit. All shooting our wads in there one after the other. We've all been best friends ever since. Tommy was the last one in. He was the one that made her cum, if you want to know. Which you probably don't.

I'm just warning you about Jessica. She's not right, man. If you're moving here, you'll probably hear the story several times. Everybody in the school knows about it."

"I bet that bitch is loose as all fuck," Jason offered. "Now."

"You don't know HOW loose! She came to school one day bragging that she could take a whole fist."

Jason shook his head. Then he grinned. He balled his hands together into two fists and began to jab in an upward motion. "Look, Brett. Fingering Jessica."

Brett laughed. "No, no, wait-" He mimicked Jason's gestures, then flattened his fists out and began to clap his hands. "C'mon in here with me, Jason!" he shouted, laughing so hard he could barely talk. "C'mon and clap. I'm still not hitting sides. Do you feel that, Jessica."

Jason was shaking with laughter. "I see why she needs five guys."

They sat together for a few minutes. "Oh man," Brett said, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. Jason was so easy to talk to and joke around with. It was like they had known each other for years. Jason reminded him so much of Tommy, he was even beginning to like the guy.

Until he spoke again. "I feel kinda weird asking you this, man, but you're pretty cool about things like this. Did you ever hit it alot? With Ashley I mean."

Brett didn't say anything. He felt his cheeks flush as his laughter and good spirits began to turn to anger. Had he hit it alot with Ashley? What kind of creep was this? It didn't matter if he had hit it or not with Ashley. He had, of course, but that wasn't the point. He loved Ashley.

"Brett? Did I say something wrong? Are you buggin?"

"I don't think I'm the one you need to be asking that. All of that's in the past, and it's between Ashley and me. I don't know exactly who you are, Jason, or what the prevailing 'attitude' is in Atlanta. But here in Daviston it's different.

There are certain girls you can fool around with once or twice and then drop like a used rubber. Then there are the other girls. Ashley is one of these girls. It's okay to fool around with them if you're their boyfriend and you really care for her. But to ask if she's easy? I can't answer that question. Hell no, she's not a slut, if that's what you're asking."

Brett felt his temper boil higher and higher, the pressure building. "Ashley's one of my best girl friends and its the same with all of the other guys. She's like my SISTER, man. If any of the other guys heard you say that, do you know what they'd do?"

Brett snorted viciously. "You'd think twice about ever LOOKING at another girl in our school. But I'm a nice guy. I kinda like you, Jase, so I'm giving you a little break here. Help me out. You're not just using her for her cunt, are you? Are you???"

Crew cut had his jaw clenched together stubbornly. "I didn't mean it like that."

"Oh, shut the fuck up!!!" Brett yelled, jumping out of his chair and stabbing the air with two fingers. "You.. you," he was breathing hard now, knew he was about to lose it. "You so much as lay a hand on her, you little motherfucking cuntlicker, and I'm gonna KICK YOUR ASS in front of the whole school and send your limp dick back to the City in a box!"

He stopped as he turned to walk off. Those two condeming fingers were pointed at Jason again, who was still sitting tight-lipped on the couch. "Don't fuck with me, motherfucker! Don't you touch Ashley! Cross me and the Davenports and you'll be whacking yourself off every Friday night for the rest of your life!"

And with that he turned and stormed out of the room.

Ashley saw Brett as he walked out the door. His strides long and determined and his face was set in an arrogant snarl. Looked mad. Extremely so. His light hazel eyes were on fire.

"Brett!" she called as he brushed by her shoulder. "Brett, what's wrong?"

He barely paused on his way out. "Nothing. I'm just peachy."

"Are you going home?"

"No. But we have to talk. Call Tommy's line as soon as you get home. We have to talk." Then he walked out.

Huh. Something had made him mad.

Oh God.

It must have something to do with Jason. She never should have left them alone. Damn it, Danielle. She walked swiftly across the house to the living room.

Jason was standing in front of the couch downing a screwdriver in huge, greedy gulps. He looked at her with cat eyes, his narrowed gaze probing and cool.

"What was wrong with Brett?" she demanded.

"I think- something must've made him sick. He said he didn't feel too hot."

"Well he sure did LOOK hot," she asserted. "He looked pissed off at the world."

"What did he tell you?" he asked. "Is he going home?"

"No," she answered. "To Tommy's house. Why?"

"I dunno. He was just acting kinda strange, like he was tripping out on something. I was just wondering..."

"Well, he was kinda red in the face. But Brett... it's not like him to trip out on anything but a little weed now and then. Maybe he's getting sick from that bug that Tommy had. Anyway, I'm going to call him as soon as I get home. I'll check on him then."

Jason looked uncomfortable. "I was planning to stay kind of late, babey. There's a lot of people that I haven't even talked to yet."

"Okay. Whatever, Jase. I guess I can call him from the car phone in an hour or so."

Jason swallowed hard. "Whatever, Ash. So he was going to Tommy's house? Why is he going there when Tommy wasn't even at the party tonight? And you said Tommy's sick anyway..."

"Oh, they stay at each other's houses twenty-four/ seven. It's always been like that." She noticed his eyes were narrowed in concentration on something, his expression thoughtful and curious.

"All the time, you say?"

"Just about. Why? Does it seem strange to you? You've just got to see the two of them together to understand. They're inseperable."

"Huh," he muttered. She was saying something else, something about Danielle's friend Courtney, blah, blah, blah... Her voice faded into the background of his thoughts. He was staring vaguely off into the distance, towards the door through which Brett had departed. He rubbed his face thoughtfully and bit his bottom lip.

Jason interrupted her didactic monologue. "Inseperable," he breathed.

Ashley cocked her head. "What'd you say?"

Jason shrugged. "Nothing, Ash. Nothing. Let's go get something to drink. I'm thirsty."

I know this part didn't have any sex in it, and as an erotic story it really ought to, but trust me, it's all getting there. With this story I'm trying to accomplish what most "suck-and- fuck" stories don't, and that's the concept of PLOT. So bear with me through the parts that don't have a lot of muscle and sweat and moaning. What started out as a simple suck-and-fuck has evolved into something much bigger. These characters have become very real and dimensional, and it seems that with bisexual characters, there's the possibility of not only love triangles, but larger geometric relationships such as love octagons as well! I think that if this story ever gets finished, you'll all be pleasantly surprised.

The preceding parts have been previously posted to this newsgroup and will be reposted within the next few weeks. However, if you missed everything that's happened in Parts 1 thru 6, everything else is going to pretty much suck and isn't going to make alot of sense. The first four parts can be found archived on the Nifty archives on the web. Once again, keep the suggestions and constructive criticism coming.

Matt

4 Jan 1997

TOMMY (m/m) by matthew shakespeare

Part Eight: After the Quake, Plus a Few Aftershocks

Brett slammed the door of the Pathfinder wearily and walked up the Davis Street town house. Tommy's house, Brett thought.

Though lacking the imposing, whitewashed facade of the Davis House on Carolina Road, it was nonetheless quite impressive. Four slender brick columns lined the front portico, reaching up to the roof of the second floor and brushing past the upstairs veranda. There was another, smaller veranda on the other side of the house, and from it you could look across the valley on a clear night and see Daviston's single traffic light. Two chimneys, one from the living room fireplace and one from the study's, framed the roof like two book-ends.

Brett could see that the living room light was on, so maybe Tommy was up. His parents were surely asleep by this time of night, which was good. Brett knew he was technically an uninvited guest, and no doubt Mr. and Mrs. Davis would be surprised to find Brett at their breakfast table the following morning, but they probably wouldn't care. They were used to it by now.

He wished that the J-Boy would hurry up and get home. He explained things to Jeffrey as he left, and Tommy's older brother had told him not to worry, he would catch a ride with Haley Durham or her brother Chase. He was drunk anyway, and Brett didn't want to drive back to town with Jeff behind the wheel of the Pathfinder.

Right now he just wanted to see Tommy, and tell him about everything that had happened. It had been the most mind-racking hour that he had ever spent at a party anywhere. Please be awake, he prayed.

He slipped off his shoes at the door and walked silently through the front foyer. To his relief and delight, Tommy was awake, laying on the couch watching the 1968 Zeffrelli version of "Romeo and Juliet" on the VCR. He looked rather chipper for this time of night, and Brett guessed that he must have just had a 24 hour bug or something. He sure didn't look sick. The blonde boy looked up.

"Anon, good Benvolio!" he said as Brett walked into the room. He was dressed in a pair of plaid boxer shorts and a his favorite "Daviston Athletics" white T-shirt. He noticed Brett's weary expression. "Why lookest thou so downcast? What havoc hath been wreaked upon this night's revelries that thou return'st so early from the Capulet's ball?"

Brett smiled despite himself. Tommy might have the potential to be a Calvin Klein underwear model, but his chances for a job as a Shakespearean actor were hopeless. He grinned wryly at the the blonde boy's dancing green eyes and sat down on the couch, picking up Tommy's feet and throwing them in his lap.

"While feasting at the ball did I see a gentleman of Verona, whom I took to be Romeo. Turns out he's actually Tybalt, and he is indeed a Prince of Cats.

Also turns out he's the boyfriend of my fair Juliet."

Tommy frowned and sat up, wrapping his arms around his legs and resting his chin on his knees. "Ashley?" he asked, the Edwardian accent forgotten.

"Yeah. I want to tell you about it, but let's go down to your room first. I'm really tired and Ashley's supposed to call your line when she gets home."

He got up and turned the TV and VCR off, pulling his boxers from where they had become wedged between his buttocks. What a night, Brett thought. My girlfriend's found someone new, my world's falling apart, and yet the familiar sight of Tommy scratching his butt still makes me horny as hell.

They walked downstairs to the basement, to Tommy's room. Actually the basement was Tommy's room, as the second floor was Jeffrey's. The basement had been converted to Tommy's bedroom when he was fifteen and decided he would much rather live under the ground than have to spend every waking hour of the day with Jeffrey. It was a wise decision. As his parents hardly ever came down to the basement except during a tornado warning, the whole floor was Tommy's to do as he pleased.

He had more privacy than anyone Brett knew.

The stairway emptied into the "living room" as Tommy called it. There was a microwave and small fridge in the corner as you entered, and a table cluttered with school work and papers as well as a computer. In the center of the room was an old sofa upholstered in vinyl leather, and in front of it sat the TV, a medium sized Magnovox that only picked up two stations and looked like it had puked out a dozen Sega games that were strewn in a semicircle around it.

The walls were plastered with numerous posters of Lamborghinis and Mustangs as well as several large breasted women in bathing suits, including SIX of Jenny McCarthy and a Tyra Banks calendar over the desk. Beside it was another calendar, showing various Confederate men in gray uniforms and labelled "Lee and His Generals."

On the far side was a pool table, the piece of furniture which nurtured his secret ambition to become a world famous pool shark and move to Las Vegas so he could own a pet tiger. An antique oak wardrobe sat beside it, a massive affair which housed his extensive collection of designer clothes. Nautica, Calvin Klein, Polo-Ralph Lauren, J. Crew, and of course, his favorite, Tommy Hilfiger, were all hung neatly on hangers inside. The other stuff: socks, T-shirts, and boxers were all strewn haphazardly on the floor.

To the left of the stairway was a short cul-de-sac which split off into two rooms. One was the bathroom, with its large, enclosed shower and mirrored panelling, and the other was the "study." This was actually a converted storage closet big enough to fit a horse in, the walls of which were lined with bookshelves. You could find everything in there, from the Hardy Boys and "James and the Giant Peach" to John Grisham, Anne Rice, and William Shakespeare.

The actual bedroom was on the far side of the room, around and behind the pool table. This room was the only one with a window, a 2' x 5' piece of glass that showed the tips of grass blades in the summer. But the entire room was taken up by the Bed, a massive, king-sized piece of oak retrieved from the Davis House on Carolina Street that was now being used as a water bed.

Brett wondered how they had gotten it into the room. It must be able to be taken apart. That was the only explanations. It seemed more likely that the room had been built around the bed, it fit so snugly against the walls. The bed was sturdy, though. This had been proven numerous times over the past few years, and by countless other times it had been put to good use by Tommy's forefathers, for a hundred years before it was ever moved to his downstairs apartment. No doubt almost half of the female population of Daviston High School knew that bed very well.

Of course, the real tests had been the ones given it in the last few months, when the two of them had used the bed for their own purposes...

But Brett, of course, was thinking none of these thoughts about the room or the decor at the moment; he had been down here a thousand times and nothing had ever changed.

All he wanted now was to drink a cold glass of Tommy's favorite Strawberry Kiwi Kool-Aid and tell him all about the party and Ashley and Crew Cut, and then crawl into bed with him and go to sleep.

To hell with it all. Tell Tommy about it all and then forget it. That crew cut boy was Tommy's cousin, and there was nothing like a family brawl to disgrace a person to death. Sparks would fly in the Davis family when they found out who was trying to buy the House on Carolina Road, and then they'd see if that snobby Atlanta lawyer would get it. There's no way it would happen. They were jerks, probably, crew cut and his rich daddy. Made him mad as hell.

So Brett began spilling the story out to his boyfriend, slowly at first, and then listening helplessly as the words came out faster and faster. He was mad as a hornet.

Tommy was concerned, but chuckled as Brett's face turned redder and redder until he was almost yelling. "Calm down, Brett. It's just a fling. They won't be together long, especially if Ashley finds out that you still want to go out with her. And I'm cool with that, as long as you don't forget who your real lover is."

Brett didn't say anything. Tommy knew how it worked. He wouldn't protest to Brett and Ashley going out. Ashley was just a girl, and Tommy knew exactly how he felt. They had talked about the matter extensively in the past few months.

Tommy continued to reassure him, though. "She'll come running back, Brett, and no doubt my blue-eyed cousin will be fleeing to Atlanta once he finds out that nobody here likes him. He can be a brat sometimes. He's as arrogant as they come, too, and I think he'll have a hard time adjusting to Daviston."

Brett was silent. He stripped down to his boxers and Tommy pulled off his shirt. Brett was more than a little confused. He knew himself to the most prideful and conceited boy in the class. He also knew that he was a regular virtuoso as far as bratness was concerned. At an early age his mother had deemed him a regular child prodigy at the art of getting "whatever he damned pleased."

They crashed on the water bed and pulled the covers around themselves. Tommy put his arm around Brett's shoulders and they entwined their legs together. Could Ashley see the same qualities in Jason as she saw in him? Were he and this boy from Atlanta that much alike? These questions were nagging at his brain, but he said nothing. Tommy was dozing off beside him. He would just not think of such things right now. He was tired.

Brett pulled the covers around him tighter, floating in the warmth given off by the blonde boy's tight body. He loved the smell of Tommy's bed, the warm scent of his cologne and the smell of his skin in the bed beside him. The water gently rocked underneath him, lulling him quickly to sleep.

That's right. He wouldn't think of such things right now. They were all too complicated. Ashley loved him! He knew it. He would get Ashley back. All Brett had to figure out was how. But he would think of these things tomorrow. After all, he thought as he drifted off to sleep, tomorrow is another day.

They fell sound asleep, Ashley's call forgotten.

Jeffrey came in late, around three o'clock. What a night! he thought happily as he stumbled in through the front door and removed his shoes. Whoops, gotta be quiet, he reminded himself.

Just think! He got back together with Haley and fucked her twice all in the same night! This was almost too good to be true. He wasn't really sure why he had apologized to her. He was really kind of tired of Haley. She could be such an airhead sometimes. But she had looked fine as hell in that tight, silky skirt thing.

He wondered if the two guys were up. Probably not. Almost 3:00 in the morning. His brother could be such a retard sometimes. Imagine, missing the first party of fall. "Leave me alone, Jeff, I'm sick," he had moaned.

And then there was Brett. He could be weird sometimes, too. God, he had left the party like two hours early. He was curious as to what happened, but he hadn't stopped Brett to ask. Just threw him the keys. He knew that he was going to get up in Haley that night anyway.

What weirdos. They could have gotten some fat puss too, what with those four fine-ass who'es walking around the whole place just looking for some action. Who had they left with? That new guy, Ashley's new boyfriend.

Ha ha! What a player. There was no way in hell he was going to get away with it, because everybody in that place saw those that girl leave with him. Ashley should have never ran off with Danielle anyway and left that guy alone. And completely drunk too.

Well, Ashley had told him to give Brett a message. "Tell Brett I will call him tomorrow morning about ten, and if he isn't home I'll leave a message on his machine."

That's what she had said. Told him specifilly. He meant specifinly. Spa- Pacifically? Oh hell, he was still buzzing off that last joint. It was so fat.

Specifically. That was it. Had told him specifically.

He opened the door to the basement and almost tripped down the stairs, fumbling for the light switch so he could see. Couldn't see a damn thing.

The door was unlocked at the foot of the stairs, and he smiled drunkenly as he stepped into Tommy's "boudoir." Nice room. His brother had good decorating tastes. Jenny McCarthy and General Lee stared down at him from their positions on the opposite wall, one stare sexy and inviting, the other one reminiscent of his father.

He walked over towards the bedroom, sturdying himself on the pool table.

"Brett," he whipered, tapping lightly on the door. No answer.

He reached for the knob and the door swung open easily. He whispered urgently. "Brett, wake up, Ashley said she'd..."

Holy mother of Christ, they were naked!

He lay on top of the sheets on his stomach, his bare ass in plain view. His brother was asleep laying on his back, one arm cradling Brett's neck, his semi-hard dick and balls... oh hell, his DICK and BALLS... the dudes were naked. In bed together!

What the fuck...???

TOMMY (m/m) by matthew shakespeare

Part Nine: Breakfast

Hangover. Oh HELL...

Jeffrey Davis woke up with his head impaled on a stake, every beat of his heart wreaking pain on his whole body. His brain felt like wad of dough being kneaded over and over and over again.

"Beer after liquor, makes you sicker; liquor after beer, have nothing to fear..." He gritted his teeth as the familiar chant sing-songed through his mind.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck. "Ughhhhhh..." he moaned out loud.

Sunlight streamed in through the window at the foot of the bed, washing over him in a harsh flood. Dammit, it was like needles in his eyeballs. He sat up slowly, covering his eyes with the back of his hand, and began to walk towards the door in painful, clumsy steps.

He needed some of his famous hangover coffee, with a lot of honey mixed in it. Yeah. And something to eat, too. Tomato juice worked well, Allen Farquhar had said. Maybe he'd try that.

It wasn't until he was seated in the breakfast room, sunglasses on his face and tomato juice in hand, that a fuzzy memory came buzzing to the surface.

Tommy?

Tommy!!!

He dropped his spoonful of Frosted Flakes and almost cried out as the glass of tomato juice went crashing to the floor. What the hell was going on, anyway?

Was the whole world fucked up? There was no way...

The red stain continued to seep across the linoleum floor, creeping over its ivory surface like thick, red oil...

"Where's Jeffrey?" Brett inquired, "Hope he got home alright."

Tommy shrugged. "Haven't seen him. Probably still asleep."

They were seated together in the breakfast room two hours after Jeffrey had finished mopping up his spilled breakfast, lazily slurping down Froot Loops and Apple Jacks. Both wore only their boxers and T-shirts, even though it was almost 11:00. Brett sat with his face propped up with one set of knuckles, while Tommy studied the back of an Fruit Loops box, his expression hilariously serious.

"What's so interesting?" Brett asked him.

"Nuthin. It's just a maze. I'm trying to help Toucan Sam find the Froot Loops."

"Can't he just follow his nose?"

"I dunno. He must have a cold or something."

The brunette boy chuckled, but Tommy continued to stare at the box, totally absorbed in the maze.

"Work it backwards," Brett offered.

"No, that's cheating, man. "

"Who cares? Besides, why can't Toucan Sam just fly over the maze? He's a bird."

"Why do you ask so many stupid questions?" Tommy muttered.

Brett kicked him under the table. "You're a geek, man."

"Shut up." Tommy made no move to kick him back.

Brett went reluctantly back to his Apple Jacks, somewhat annoyed.

A foot brushed against his own.

Brett looked up slowly from his breakfast, wiping the milk off his lips.

Tommy's playful green eyes peered over the top of the cereal box. He stared, pokerfaced, munching casually on his cereal.

Brett sensed something was amuck, but went back to slurping his milk spoonful by spoonful.

Tommy's foot brushed against his again, and Brett felt chillbumps rise on the back of his neck and arms. The touch came again, completely intentional this time. Tommy rubbed his foot roughly against Brett's right one, then up his leg and around one ankle.

Brett's dick sprang instantly to attention, pitching a tent in his boxers.

He looked up at Tommy, who still held the box in front of his face, though his eyebrows were raised high with surprise. Or, perhaps, with question.

Brett grinned. He moved his own foot, his actions more obviously persistent than Tommy's playful teasing. He felt Tommy's other leg join in the action.

Brett scooted his chair further under the table till their knees were touching. Now both Tommy's feet were stroking his, and it was driving the hazel eyed boy nuts.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Tommy asked coolly around a mouthful of Froot Loops.

Their knees were rubbing now, and Brett reached down into his boxers to adjust his cock. "You started it," he replied, his breathing becoming heavier.

"You started it... you... freakin... cocksucker..."

"Cum guzzler," the blonde boy retorted.

"Butt-fucker," Brett jabbed back.

"Slut."

"Cum queen."

"Virgin."

Brett burst out laughing. "Now you KNOW that's not true."

Tommy dropped the cereal box on the table. He bit his bottom lip and his eyes were glazed over with lust. "Let's go to my room."

Jeffrey paced tirelessly across his bedroom floor. He didn't know what was happening. His own little brother? Queer?

And Brett too??? What was going on? They had been friends forever. Had this been going on the whole time? All those times when Brett had slept over...

Were they always queer? Had they just gotten drunk? There had to be a reasonable explanation.

He couldn't think of any, though.

All those times when the three of them had went out together. They had gone to parties, to clubs in Atlanta, everywhere together, especially when the goofys were too young to drive. They had gotten drunk together night after night and never did Jeffrey ever suspect a thing.

They had even watched each other fuck! Like the time when he, Tommy, and Brett were took turns with the same girl. That night in Atlanta. They had fucked girls! They couldn't be gay.

Jeffrey wanted to say something, he wanted to ask them himself. But what would they say? Would Brett blow up in his face? What could they possibly say?

Hell, Tommy was the damn QUARTERBACK of the football team! The most well-like boy in Daviston? Queer??? And Brett, he was one of the guys.

Loved weed and baseball and girls. Dammit, he loved GIRLS! Brett had always been the Mac of the group, his charm and easy-going drawl winning over the girls with as much success as Tommy's own stout good-looks. That boy LIVED for women. And Ashley? Did Ashley have any clue? They had gone out for months; she had fucked him even.

It wasn't possible.

But he had seen them in the bed together. They weren't just in the same bed together, they were IN the SAME BED! TOGETHER!!! It was enough to make him dizzy, make his hangover come back.

Well, there was no choice. He'd have to talk to them. He couldn't just walk around with it bottled up inside him, trying to act like he didn't know. He had seen what he had seen, and he would just tell Tommy what he had seen and see what the boy had to say for himself. God forbid it was for real. God forbid their daddy find out.

Maybe it was just a phase or something. Maybe they had just gotten really drunk and horny and just had to get off. Hell, even he had imagined what it would be like to do that. With another guy, like one of his best friends. The closest he'd ever come to that was the girl that he had fucked in Panama City with Nathan Farquhar there with him, each of them in a different hole. God, that had been fucking amazing. It wasn't the idea of two guys that he couldn't stand, but... TOMMY and BRETT???

It was too fucked up to be true. Well, he'd find out the truth.

He'd go and talk to them, both of them. Right now.

TOMMY (m/m) by matt shakespeare

Part Ten: Jeffrey's Dilemma

Jeff walked briskly down the sloping staircase, afraid to pause anywhere for even a second, lest he change his mind. He had to talk to Tommy and Brett. He flung open the basement door and plunged down the steps. He was beginning to sweat a little, and he had a sick feeling in his stomach. Gonna puke, he thought.

As he opened the door at the base of the stairs and walked into Tommy's room, the memory of what he had seen the night before came flooding back to him.

He heard the shower running in the bathroom.

Nobody else was in the room. Which meant they were both in the bathroom. Aw, fuck! No way they were in the damn shower together? Probably fucking in the shower together. Why did everything have to be so difficult? He decided to just sit outside the bathroom on the couch and wait on them.

Ten minutes passed. Best not to just barge in on them. Wait, they'll be out in a few minutes.

Another five minutes. No moaning noises. No thumping sounds in the shower.

It was a good sign.

Five more minutes. Okay, screw both of them. Nobody takes that long to take a shower. They were fucking each other's brains out, surely. Imagine. Both of those guys, in the shower whacking off together or some shit. His kid brother and Brett Davenport. The two coolest guys in school. He could just see his little bro with soap in his hands, lathering it all over Brett's body. His soapy hands running over Brett's erect nipples and his chest; hands rubbing all over the dark headed boy's tanned skin, stroking the hard ripples of his stomach, fondling his balls and encircling his dick with a soapy fist. Disgusting, really. Made him sick just to think about it.

Jeff reached down into his boxers to adjust his cock, which was now totally erect and painfully wedged to the side. His patience was wearing thin. Might as well just go and knock on the door. No telling how much longer they'd be in there.

Brett threw back his head and moaned softly, the water pelting him full in the face. He didn't care. The water felt good. Tommy slurped greedily on his cock, smacking his lips and whipping his tongue artfully around the head. At this rate he knew he would blow his wad any second. It was fucking fantastic. He leaned back against the cold, hard shower wall and floated violently between heaven and earth, fighting the urge to sink to his knees on the floor.

Tommy was on his knees in the shower with his arms wrapped around Brett's muscled thighs, and his hands would alternate between kneading his buttocks and running up and down his legs, rubbing the hollow behind his knees. Brett grunted and could feel Tommy fighting the urge to grin around his dick.

Brett opened his mouth and tried to speak around the water that flooded his mouth. "T-T-Tom, I'm 'bout to...spew...man," he whimpered softly, running his hands through Tommy's wet, tangled mop of blonde curls. "I'm serious, man, I'm 'bout to cum..."

Tommy slapped him soundly on the buttocks. "That's the whole point of me sucking your dick."

Brett knew he was gonna take him all the way this time, and he rubbed the back of Tommy's neck tenderly. Hot water splashed off his chest and ran down into Tommy's face. He couldn't think about anything else, just Tommy's hot mouth on his cock, sucking harder and harder. He knew he was about to cream. Gonna cum...

Brett grabbed Tommy's head between both his hands as he blew his wad. He threw back his head and clenched his teeth as his body bucked under the force of orgasm. He looked down, glassy eyed, at Tommy who was busy licking his throbbing boner. He had busted his nut all over Tom's face. It must've been a whole gallon.

Just then there was a loud knock on the door.

"Hey, Tommy? You in there?" Oh fuck! It was Jeff!

Tommy bolted to his feet as Brett jumped out of the shower. They looked helplessly at each other, their faces mirror images of shock. Brett wiped frantically at himself with a towel and jumped into his boxers. "Say something," he mouthed to Tommy, who was still standing dumbfoundedly in the shower.

"Uh, yeah, Jeff," he called, swallowing hard. "What do you want?"

"I gotta talk to you, man," the other voice answered.

"Can't it wait? I'm fixin to be out."

"I don't think so. Just... hurry up, okay."

"Alright! Dammit, Jeff! Can't a guy even finish his shower?"

Tommy motioned frantically for Brett to hurry. Brett frowned and looked desperately at him. "What do I do?" he mouthed, holding out his palms in frustration.

Tommy looked first at Brett, and then at the door, and then at Brett, and then at the wall. The window. There was a small window opposite the shower, perched slightly above the ground outside. It would be a squeeze. But maybe, just maybe, Brett would be able to crawl through it. Tommy gestured towards the window.

"What??? Me, fit through THAT???" Brett whispered harshly. He gritted his teeth in exasperation and climbed onto the back of the toilet. "What do I do once I'm outside?"

Tommy was picking the rest of Brett's clothes off the floor. "Go on up through the window and I'll throw you your clothes. Go around to the front and get in the cab of the truck and change. I'll be out in about thirty minutes."

Brett slid the window open and pushed out the screen. Over the past few months there had been numerous close-calls where the two had almost been discovered, but this was by far the most bizarre escape he had ever attempted.

Jeff pounded impatiently on the door. "Hurry up, Tommy!"

Brett jumped up onto Tommy's shoulders and pulled himself up and out the window. The sunlight was blinding, and he found himself laying facedown in the thick grass of the backyard, his body wet and naked except for his boxer shorts.

He crawled away on his hands and knees and then reached back down to retrieve the rest of his clothes, which Tommy wadded up and chunked out, quickly closing the window.

Brett watched as he flew to the door without even wrapping a towel around himself.

He couldn't stay to gawk, though, what if someone saw him lying in the Davis' backyard in his boxer shorts? He grabbed his clothes and ran around the house to Tommy's truck which was parked in the driveway underneath a giant oak tree.

Jeff scowled as Tommy opened the bathroom door.

"What the hell is so important?" the younger boy demanded. Goddam, he hadn't even bothered to wrap a towel around himself. The two brothers had never been self- conscious around each other, but jeez... what had he been doing with his body just seconds ago? His brother's dick was limp now, but what about last night? It put Jeff a little off guard.

"Uh, is Brett here?" he asked, swallowing and trying desperately to regain his former conviction.

"Does it look like Brett's here?" Tommy queried, walking casually into the room and plopping down onto the couch, flipping on MTV.

Jeff was perplexed. "You're dripping water everywhere, Tommy. Haven't you ever heard of a towel?"

"Don't need 'em," was his reply. He reached over and plucked a banana off the end table and peeled it. "I prefer to air-dry." He swallowed half the banana in one bite and Jeff felt his head spin.

"What the fuck ever," he said, staring at the ceiling. "Where's Brett?"

The boy was probably still in the bathroom, hiding in the shower.

"I took him home about an hour ago," Tommy said around a mouthful of banana.

"Why?"

"Never mind," Jeff answered. "Do you have some extra gel? I'm all out and I'm fixin to go over to Haley's."

"No," Tommy said. "Haven't used the stuff in ages."

"Well I'm going to look anyway." To his satisfaction, Tommy looked nervous.

"Don't mess with my shit, man!"

"I'm not, I'm just looking for some gel." He darted in the bathroom as Tommy jumped to his feet.

"Get the fuck out of my bathroom, Jeff."

"Jesus, Tommy!" he exclaimed. "This whole place smells like jizz."

"Oh, shut up, Jeff. Like you've never beat off in the shower." Tommy was turning red now, it was obvious.

Jeff could smell the spunk, but where was Brett? He wasn't in there. Not in the shower, either. It was open and empty. He was definitely puzzled.

Maybe he was wrong. He had the sudden feeling that he was wrong, very wrong, that he had blown everything way out of proportion. There wasn't any proof that Brett had been in here with Tommy. As for the thing the night before- well, that was still real, but he couldn't bring it up now. Tommy was obviously pissed at him and embarrassed at the same time. He couldn't confront him now. Besides, he wanted to talk to Brett too.

"I don't have any damn gel, ass-wipe," Tommy insisted again. "Get out of here before I kick your ass."

"Okay, okay," he said, walking towards the stairs. "Why are you such a bitch this morning?"

"Are you going to Haley's?" Tommy asked.

"Yeah," he answered. "With my hair looking like shit, I guess."

"Have fun," was the dull reply.

"Thanks," Jeff said, opening the door to leave. "By the way, Ashley told me to tell Brett that she would call him this morning. At his house, I guess."

"Well, I'm sure they're talking right now. I'm sure Brett appreciates you giving him the message."

"Well, y'all were asleep when I got home, I guess. It's not my fault."

"Whatever. Just hurry up and get outta here," Tommy scowled, flopping back onto the couch. His bare ass was in perfect view and brought back strange memories of the two younger boys in bed together.

"I'm gone, man," he replied, turning to leave. "And, dammit, put on some clothes."

A banana peel smacked against the wall and he slammed the door.

TOMMY (m/m) by matt shakespeare

Part Eleven: Football Practice

Helmets and hard bodies slammed into each other with the sound of cracking thunder. Grunts. The play exploded into action. One hard blow to the chest and his man went down. Jacobs. Loser. Brett pivoted on his heels to survey the field and smiled as he saw #14 break free of the defense and trot effortlessly toward the end-zone. Tommy, as usual.

Whistle. "What the fuck? Davis!!!" Coach O'Brian barked. "What in the hell was that? Trying to be a star?"

From his vantage point a few yards away, Brett could see Tommy getting thoroughly chewed out. Nevermind that he scored, Coach. Gotta practice the stupid plays, even if Russell, the intended receiver, couldn't catch crabs from a five dollar hooker. Much less a football.

Dammit! Why in the hell did O'Brian have him playing offensive guard? He was a wide receiver from the day he was born! And especially with Tommy quarterbacking, there was no way O'Brian was going to have him playing OG in the first game of the season. The game against Beaufort; THE game of the season. Bunch of bullshit.

"Alright guys, waterbreak!"

The cluster of uniformed jocks on the practice field trotted wearily over towards the sideline. Brett grabbed a squeeze bottle of Lemon Ice Gatorade and began to drain it down his throat, which was dry and sticky from constant panting. It was the best drink he had ever tasted. Wet and cool.

"Oh god, give me some," a winded baritone gasped behind him. Brett turned around as Tommy sauntered over and took the Gatorade, downing it in large gulps. His hair was matted to his head, sweat running down his skin, and his face was flushed red with exhaustion and probably more than a little indignation. "Can you believe O'Brian? That play sucks, and it's not going to give us jack. There was nobody open out there."

"Tell me about it. I'm not too impressed, myself."

"Why aren't you out there receiving?"

"Dunno."

Tommy rolled his eyes and threw a fist into the air, sending Gatorade flying in a shower of golden droplets. "This is bullshit!"

Brett pried what was left out of his sweaty palm and drank it down. Thank god practice was almost over. It was only Monday, and there was a whole week left to sort this shit out. He was just ready to go home and crash in front of the TV.

Call Ashley, lay on the couch, and just fall asleep there. What a plan.

Coach O'Brian walked over to the water cooler, only a few paces away, but was stopped by a tall, lanky boy with carrot orange hair. He was limping. "Uh, Coach... Can I sit down for awhile. I think I have a cramp or something... it hurts pretty bad."

The short, white headed man stared at the boy's face, then glanced down at his leg, and then back up to his face. A smile spread across his face, and he began to laugh. "A cramp??? Huh. Nothing wrong with a cramp, boy, it just means blood's getting to your leg. Now get out there!"

The boy faltered. "Are you sure Coach?" His eyes met the old man's and he looked down, embarrassed. "It really hurts... I'm not sure I can run on it."

O'Brian clenched his jaw and then threw down his clipboard dramatically.

"That's IT!!!" he screamed. "That's IT, that's the last straw! I'm SICK and TIRED of all this whining! You are, without a doubt, the biggest pack of cock-sucking, whining bitches I have ever had the displeasure of trying to coach! I try to make you all men; try to make you into a football team. What do I have to work with? Nothing. You give me nothing. Nothing but whining."

He paused, his bulging eyes sweeping the team, and then resumed his pacing.

" 'My helmet strap broke...' " he whined sarcastically. His crazed stare singled out Tommy in the crowd. " 'I didn't LIKE that play, so I decided to run the ball myself...' 'My jockstrap won't fit because I don't have any balls, Coach...' 'I can't run because I have a cramp...' "

He stopped in his tracks and spun around. "A cramp? Excuse me, Mr. Douglas, but did you say a CRAMP?" His temper exploded. "Well, I guess it's just your time of the goddam month and you must be having CRAMPS IN YOUR GODDAMN PUSSY, because you SURE AS HELL aren't a REAL MAN! None of you. You're all whining little cunt lickers, and I just will not stand it any more."

He picked up the clipboard. "Wind sprints. Now. Till I say stop. Before you leave this field today you will be men... Or you may choose to die. One or the other."

Brett groaned out loud, as he felt any energy or drive he had been saving escape his body in one breath of air. No fucking way. This was hell. O'Brien was a Nazi. He'd never get home. And WIND SPRINTS? He was going to die. He would just drop down in his tracks and die a martyr, evidence to the cruelty of a man possessed by evil. He and Tommy both, laying together on the fifty yard line, the incarnate Romeo and Juliet, their bodies a morbid monument to teenage love. What a way to go. It didn't seem like too bad of an idea right about now.

Tommy walked up behind him and clasped him lovingly on the back, the gesture vague and innocuous to the rest of the team. "Ready to go home, huh?"

"I'm gonna die, Tom. Gonna motherfucking die right now."

"Aw, c'mon Brett. He'll have to stop practice pretty soon cause in about fifteen minutes of wind sprints they'll be dropping like flies."

Brett sighed wearily but smiled as Tommy patted him on the buttocks. He'd get through it one way or the other. Tommy was right, the younger ones were not nearly as in-shape as they were. It wouldn't last too long. Hopefully.

The whistle blew and the sprints began, pushing all thoughts out of his brain except for the single image of Tommy's buttocks bouncing in time with his strides. It sent shivers down Brett's spine, his body gripped between the strain of running and a weird sense of deja-vu.

TOMMY by matt shakespeare

Part Twelve: Caroline

The sleek black Camero glided off the road and came to a halt in the gravel in front of the field house. Brett's ride was here. Ten minutes late.

Football practice was over, and he stood outside the weight room waiting on his ride, leisurely discussing plays with Chase and Matthew Durham. The younger of the two cousins was strictly a baseball and golf man. Matthew wasn't on the football team but had just ridden up because his afternoon detention was over. Chase and Brett were still in their gray "Daviston Football" cut-off T-shirts, athletic shorts, and football cleats. The three boys looked up as the Camero pulled abreast of the building and its engine purred to a standstill. Brett raised an eyebrow.

The door of the sports car swung open and out stepped his cousin, beautiful as always, her dark raven hair spilling over her shoulders in ebony waves.

Caroline Davenport. She smiled pleasantly as she approached them and kissed him on the cheek. "Brett! Oh my god, look at yourself!"

"Speak for yourself, Caren," he drawled good-naturedly, throwing his arm around her shoulder. "What a lady of the world you've become. Your hair has grown out. I suppose you still shave your armpits though. How was Europe?"

She pushed his arm off disdainfully. "Please... Brett, you're sweaty... Europe was great but I'm glad to be home. France was just awful. The people were so rude and disrespectful I just couldn't stand the place any more. It was AWFUL. And I missed the family, Brett. I missed Daviston." She sighed. "But now I'm home..."

"And bitchy as ever," Chase mumbled. Caroline's aristocratic airs and fiery displays of temper were legendary in the town of Daviston, especially among her classmates and friends.

Caroline glared. "Chase Durham, YOU probably would have enjoyed France. It's full of other rude, arrogant, and alcoholic people. Why, people just like yourself!" She frowned. "Here I've been off in Europe for the whole summer and this is how you all welcome me home. Call me a bitch. Hit him, Brett, hit him for me."

Chase moved forward as if to strangle her but she smiled innocently and kissed him as well. "You're lucky that I'm in a forgiving mood today, Chase. But I'm glad to see that things here haven't changed any. Nothing has changed."

Her expression grew concerned. "Except for you, cousin. Brett, you look like a complete mess. This is so unlike you. What's all this crap about football?

When momma told me that you were here at football practice I just couldn't believe it. You used to be so skinny, Brett, I just couldn't believe it."

Chase chuckled.

Caren continued. "You're a baseballer, like Matthew here. What happened to the golf team? The swim team? What happened to the pretty boy that I used to know and love? Did Tommy do this to you? The bastard. Did he talk you into this?"

"No, Caroline, Tommy didn't do a thing," he protested. "I've always wanted to play, just never really given it a try. But I like it. I'm good too, Caren, just watch! O'Brian says I'm an awesome running back and I want to believe him."

"But football?" she asked incredulously. "Brett, honey, c'mon. Getting knocked around by fat boys. How can you stand it?"

Brett grinned. "You just knock THEM back."

"Cos, the world doesn't revolve around football even if Daviston does. I know, I've seen the world. And you don't like football. You never have. What happened to the bright-eyed, well-dressed boy that you were when I left? You've got a different look in your eyes and I don't like it. You look older. You're not the same Brett you used to be. What's happened?"

Chase groaned and rolled his eyes. "Just chill, Caren. Brett's doin his thing and it's cool. You, on the other hand, are still a bitch. You haven't changed a lick. I'm going inside Brett, to get in a few more squat reps before I leave." He paused before leaving and looked Caroline straight in the eyes. "And speaking for Tommy, he's had far better lays this summer than YOU ever were."

Brett couldn't help but to chuckle, not only at Caroline's surprised expression but also the irony of Chase's parting words. He'd been a far better lay than Caren.

Caroline scoffed. "Well. I guess that's my cue to leave. Throw your bag in the trunk, I don't want your nasty mud and sweat in my backseat."

She tossed him the keys and he opened the trunk and threw in his mesh bag, his pads and school clothes. Caroline was indeed a first class bitch, but for that you had to love her. Scarlett O'Hara right down to the letter. Beautiful and intelligent, but with an coldly explosive personality always asking the single question, 'What's in it for ME?' Tommy had failed to realize this and it had hurt him in the end. She only used him. For sex. For prestige. To be dating the choicest piece of meat in the school, Tommy the quarterback; Tommy the star.

Even with all the reasons he had to hate his cousin, Brett found that he just couldn't. He had never hated Caroline, even after she had crushed Tommy like an insect. Her flaws were his own flaws, only in Caroline they had been encouraged, cultured, and magnified by her good-looks and over-indulgent parents. Brett saw himself in Caroline.

The brat and the bitch, both had learned manipulation early in life. When he was a boy Caroline had taught him that often the best way to get your own way was with your looks. Both had been adorable kids, with matching hair and eyes and dimples.

They had often been taken for twins or siblings. Caroline knew that being cute and smiling and climbing up in daddy's lap won instant gratification. In return, Brett had taught Caroline how to throw a proper tantrum. When smiles wouldn't work, a three-year old had to get nasty. They were cohorts in crime, the two of them, and Brett couldn't despise Caren. She was too much like himself.

And he liked himself. So he liked Caroline, bitchiness and all.

He had slammed the trunk and was walking towards the passenger door when a red Mustang pulled up beside them. He saw Caroline smile as the driver stepped out, and for an obvious reason.

It was Jason.

He pulled off a pair of RayBands and folded them into his pocket. He was wearing a pair of tight bluejeans and a plain white t-shirt. Simple but smart looking. His blue eyes shone casually as he eyed Caroline. He removed his baseball cap and threw it in the car.

Caren elbowed him in the ribs. "Who is this?" she whispered out of the corner of her mouth. "I think I've been out of town a little TOO long..."

Brett felt a green tinge of nausea and a bit of jealousy rush to his head.

So even Caroline admitted it, and what's good enough for Caroline...

"Hey Brett?" The punk spoke. "Has Coach O'Brien left yet?"

"Why?" he asked as Jason came sauntering over.

"I wanna try out for football, if it's not too late."

Brett tried not to frown, to scowl, but it happened naturally. "He's inside. In his office." Caroline kicked his leg subtly. "Oh yeah, this is Caren, my cousin from Reddington. Caren, this is Jason. He's moving here from Atlanta."

Caroline offered her hand to him. "Nice to meet you Jason. And your last name?"

"Harding." He shook her hand slowly and their eyes met. Brett thought for sure he was about to puke- but wait... They were hot for each other, that was evident, but a plan began to form in Brett's mind. Suppose Jason really DID like Caroline... it would take him out of the picture, away from Ashley. Of course, to have such a creep in the family... but their affair wouldn't have to last that long, just long enough to break up Jason and Ashley for good. And Caren's powers of seduction were legendary.

It just might work.

Caren smiled, and the desire and cunning that he saw in her eyes was enough to make him shudder. She had obviously spied something that she wanted. And what Caroline wanted...

"I'm Caroline... Caroline Davenport."

(to be continued...)

There is a "Tommy" mailing list for those readers who wish to receive the new parts as they are finished. Just send a reply to "jock12345@aol.com" and request that you be added to the mailing list. It's that simple.

Do you like the story so far? Please send your comments to: "jock12345@aol.com" or hit the 'reply' button on your AOL screen. This story is a work in progress, and the author would appreciate any comments or suggestions. Plot and character ideas are also welcome.