Pat's Fuck by Petr V NOTICE: This story contains sexually explicit material and is for adults only. This story is dedicated to Bill Drake. Feedback welcomed. Please consider a donation to the Nifty Archive to support the work they do.
Pat's Fuck
So there I am in the middle of a crowd of 28,000 people outside the ASU stadium and I know there's got to be some cute guy somewhere. Actually, I don't mean cute, I mean big and buff, muscular and hot. But I have Verizon, which is in Epic Fail mode and it keeps shutting down Grindr, failing to load any update that will show who is there in the crowd. Not that I'm here to fuck. I'm here to run, I'm here to honor Pat.
Who, no matter where my own story takes me today, was an incredibly brave and courageous man. Oh, and hot. Straight, but still hot.
There are guys everywhere, in shorts of various lengths and tightness, in sweats, in running tights, and most of them wearing the race day t-shirt. There's a lot of nice legs, although the body type does tend towards lean because after all it's a race. The good thing is there are a lot of military guys and police officers and firemen who are all attracted to Pat Tillman as well, or at least the image of Pat Tillman that they cherish and aspire to. And I aspire to them. Also, using Grindr in a crowd is good for a lot of laughs, although it can get you in trouble if you start snickering out loud at the guy hanging all over his girlfriend or wife and you realize that he's the down-low versatile bottom who can't host. Snickering is an occupational hazard.
Putting my phone away in disgust I stretch and warm up, something few other people in my corral of one thousand seem to be doing. Which I think, pardon me, is dumb. How can you run 4.2 miles from a cold start? There's a guy in front of me whose ass really fills his gym shorts. He's a little young for me, maybe a college freshman, but it's nice to look and I appreciate the out-swelling curve, and I idly consider what it would be like to bend him over the back of a sofa, nudging his feet wider apart, all the while hoping that he would push back underneath me and buck a little.
A military band member plays the national anthem on his trumpet and it gives me goosebumps. The high notes are perfect, intact, much better than any singer could hit them - there's no question that this guy is good. There's a little glottal trill on a couple notes but basically it's plain rather than fancy, and more satisfying. People whoop and cheer when he swoops higher on the free. And then the ASU coach who's the honorary starter gets the first corral on its way, and the other corral's start moving up one by one to take their place.
4.2 miles is an interesting race. If you're super conditioned you could almost sprint it and you could run it in under 30 minutes; the winner will finish in under 22. But most people run it just to be out there, and there are people with strollers, there are people walking, there are people jogging, and all of them are in my way. After a little zig-zagging at the beginning, the course has about a mile on a straight four-lane road that has been shut down for the race. This is the place to pass some people and pace yourself. But the challenge is dodging between them, and I'm constantly putting on little bursts of acceleration to maneuver. That's when I noticed the guy. What can I tell you, I'm a horndog. He's in front of me and I watch him take his shirt off while he's running. He's about my height, maybe an inch or two less, definitely younger, and his torso is a nice sturdy V with his shoulders maybe one-and-a-half times as wide as his waist, his arms are thick with no extra padding; he's stocky without looking clumsy. It's obvious he spends a lot of time in the gym. He has the faintest hint of bacne, which makes me wonder if he takes 'roids, but he has that police officer/military got-to-be-in-shape-for-my-job vibe. I watch him deal with his shirt, somehow attaching it to the front of his shorts. He's wearing shorts over those cutoff running tights that come just below the knee. He has nice calves, he hasn't neglected them or he's genetically blessed, I don't know which, I just appreciate the view.
Because he's running eight feet in front of me. I appreciate that he's maintaining a steady pace, although he does speed up a little once he gets his shirt organized. I don't mind, I'm following him. I lengthen my stride, admiring everything. And in my UA's I feel the chub start.
All through the run I keep up with him. I keep him in sight, sometimes he gets a little bit ahead, sometimes I'm right on his heels. Now and then I get distracted, particularly when I pass a platoon of police officers running with a flag. I can't help noticing there's a couple tons of nice healthy, chunky dilf meat. One guy has great calves Ð they bulge in perfect proportion to his stocky upper legs. I want to stop and grab them and lick behind his knees. But I pass him up and follow my quarry.
Others get between us and I have to crane my neck to see him bobbing up and down until I can squeeze through the gaps. There's no question this whole race is one big fucking melee. The last mile is mostly on Rio Salado Parkway and involves a stupid hairpin turn around the median in the middle of the road that almost forces you to come to a stop. I've already figured out after that turn there's no holding back.
I can tell he knows it too, as do other runners. Unfortunately, there's still a lot of oblivious people who were in earlier corrals. I'm leaning forward, lengthening my stride, reminding myself that it doesn't matter how much it hurts right now. And just ahead of me he's starting his turbocharged fireplug thing. I pull up next to him and we match our pace. Each of us are conscious of the other; we are running side- by-side. We split to pass somebody and come back together. We both move to the right to go around a guy and he moves more to the right for me because I'm on the left. We dodge around somebody else and I do the same for him.
Finally we're into the last two tenths of a mile. I feel him slow a tiny bit. I turn my head sideways, and with as much familiarity as you can have with someone who you don't know I grunt encouragingly, "Come on, man!" And he puts on a burst of speed matching mine and we're dodging people like crazy as we power up the slope to the finish. I'm convinced that I can take him but three yards before we cross the line there is no room at all for two people to be abreast and he squeaks past.
No one is moving out of the way the far side of the finish line; it's just a big crowd pushing forward. Volunteers thrust at us a banana, water, and some sports drink that's mostly colored sugar water that they're trying to promote. The guy looks at me and I look back at him, we both jerk our heads at each other and keep moving through the crowd. We're both getting our breath back. Then he says, "Good race."
"You too," I reply.
We continue moving together, eating our bananas and then throwing the peels away with the sports drink. Finally we get out of the crush enough to feel that we can stop moving. He stands still for the first time with his hands on his hips taking a deep breath and pushing his chest up to the sky. "Steve," he says offering his hand.
"Brad."
His grip is firm but his hand is sweaty, and we both laugh and wipe our hands on our shorts which hardly helps at all. Without anything further, we start to walk around the after-race Expo together. I like this. Now for a moment, for whatever cosmic reason, we are a unit. Then he tells me the bad news. He's from New Jersey. He's a fireman from New Jersey. What the heck is he doing in Arizona, I think.
"You came out here just for this race?"
"Yeah I was going to do with my little brother but he got deployed."
"Oh," I say momentarily stalled, then add lamely, "What a great way to honor him - I mean, his service."
By now we both realize that the Expo doesn't have a lot to offer, booths handing out key rings or pens or fridge magnets for utility companies or savings and loans doesn't make much sense. But right then we're walking past where Tuft and Needle are demoing mattresses. I've been wondering for a while if they're actually any good, so I throw down on one. To my surprise, Steve flops down right next to me.
We both appreciate the chance to be horizontal after the race.
"Feels okay," I say.
"Yeah."
That's when my lizard brain takes over, and I hear, "Laying down next to you anywhere would be great." As soon as I say it, I know how dumb I am to push this far this fast, but he doesn't look angry. Or surprised. He just cocks his head sideways. As if continuing a perfectly normal conversation I ask, "By the way, where are you staying? "I got this sweet Airbnb when I thought it was going to be me and Ronnie, and I didn't change it when he couldn't come. It's totally awesome; it's got its own hot tub and everything, want to check it out?"
Oh hell, yeah! "Sure!"
We retrieve my car from the parking garage and drive the two miles he walked to the race this morning. I glance over at him while I'm driving. He's not showing any signs of nervousness, but I definitely get the sense that he doesn't do this all the time and that I've got to be careful.
When we get there I grab my duffle from the back seat that has a change of clothes and my trusty dopp kit. It is indeed a very nice Airbnb, a honey of a condo with sliding glass doors leading to a private deck with a hot tub, the good kind of hot tub, not with molded seats that control where you are but with perimeter seating and some open space in the middle.
He offers me a beer, and I tell him it's too early, but I'd like to check out the hot tub.
He says he's gonna get rinsed off first, and disappears. I hear the shower for a minute, tops, and he's back, with a towel around his waist. I follow his lead, and he points me to the bathroom. The bathroom's great, all pristine white tile. Before I step into the shower, I see his discarded running tights in a heap on the floor. I want to pick them up, touch them, smell his sweat, but I also don't want to be away from him a second longer than I have to. My cock's seriously chubbed when I get out, the half-mast, 45 degree angle stage when it shows the most promise. I take quick look in the mirror Ð decent muscle, no fat but not too stringy, close cropped hair that lessens the salt and pepper. What you see is what you get.
He's already in the hot tub as I step out on the deck, and there's three bottles of water, plus the one in his hand. I don't know if he's naked, but I'm not about to let that stop me, so I drop the towel and step up and into the tub. I'm not trying to flash my junk, but it is right there in front of him for a moment, and I watch his eyes go right to it, before I slide into the water. The temperature feels great, warm without being scalding, and I maneuver so I've got a strong jet right on my back, which puts me directly across from him. My feet hit his, and he doesn't move away, and when I stretch out we end up with our ankles criss-crossing and rubbing together. I open my first water and chug half of it. The water feels great. The width of his shoulders and their individual round shape, and the pink and white skin flecked with red from the sun and the tub are a thing of beauty. I don't know what's on the agenda, but I'm content to let it ride for a minute.
"You remind me of my brother," he says.
"Your little brother?"
"You have the same goofy smile as him. The same dumb goofy smile as him. I don't mean Ð " he stopped."
"It's okay," I said, "I get it. I don't mind."
I know I have a wide dumb grin on my face from time to time. It just means I'm feeling happy. Like I'm feeling right now, being here with this guy. Not a faceless nameless grappling, but a one-time conjunction of our two passing stars. (Okay, that was ridiculously poetic, not going for that here, but I'm conscious of this being a) special, and b) transitory.)
I ask, "Where is he, overseas?"
"Afghanistan."
And then do I get it. I don't know why, or how, but there's something about his face and the tone of voice.
"Is he hot?"
"Yeah, he's hot."
And lizard brain takes over as I quietly and directly ask, "You guys ever fool around?"
He looks at me and I can tell by his silence the answer is "yes."
I nod seriously. "Did you both feel good afterwards?"
He sighs, embarrassed, looks down, and then back up at me. "Oh my God, yes, I just wanted to go again and again and again. We both did."
I'm smiling. I hope it doesn't look like a evil lecherous grin.
"How did it happen?"
"We were in a hot tub," he laughs, still embarrassed. Or maybe embarrassed because we're also in a hot tub. I let my ankle rub against his.
"We had some beer, a lot of beer, smoked a little weed. I kept looking at his chest, and I wanted to touch it way more than I ever did any chick's boobs. And, I don't know how, he was so stoned, but he knew. He stood up in the hot tub and he waded over to me and he said, `come on bro, pretty nice, huh.' He'd been really concentrating on upper body for a while. And I just reached up, and I started playing with his chest, playing with his nipples, running my hands all over him, fuckin' tight lats, I was so fuckin' hard. Harder than I've ever been in my life it felt like."
As am I at this point. In fact, I know that it would only take a few strokes and I'd be producing my own jet.
"What happened?"
He reddens.
"We Ð uh, we Ð uh Ð ended up in bed together."
He stares at me. "God, you remind me of him, you both have that look."
I stand up, untangling my legs from his.
"We never talked about it, ever. It was just that one time."
I know I don't have a mega-chest, but it's decent, and the water's the right height so that my substantial knob just clears it.
"But you wanted more?"
He exhales with a snort, and looks up at me. Then he slowly reaches out and takes hold of my cock.
"What did you do?"
He's mesmerized with my cock, which he's slowly jacking. There's no lube, and the friction in the water is all wrong, so he's not going to make me cum, which is a good thing.
"Huh?" he says.
"What did you guys do once you got in bed?"
He reddens again, and there's the slightest hesitation before he mumbles, "He did me."
"Why should that be a bad thing? You liked it?"
He rolls his eyes and nods. I have one more question.
"Kiss?"
Now we're standing in the hot tub, our bodies plastered against each other, our mouths locked, my tongue pushing against his, working together and against and then together again. Our arms are around each other, I can feel the strength in his trapezius and lats, his hands are pulling me closer to him. I can feel his rock-hard cock pressing against my thigh and then my balls, and then jammed against mine, between us. I pull away far enough to whisper, "Slow down," before we're back at it.
When we can kiss no more we each take a swig of water and slide back down into the bubbles. We can't get as close to each other when we're up to our necks, so our hands make up for it, exploring. I do maneuver my way between his legs, which part more willingly than I expect. They are, like all of him, strong and sturdy. He wraps them around me and beneath the water I have my hands stroking the back of them, feeling his hamstrings, then holding them where the upper thigh meets his hard muscled ass. I kiss him as slowly as I can, my tongue near the back of his mouth, my groin pressing against his taint and the insides of his thighs, trying to press my chest against his.
"We should go check out the bed. See if it has more of a bounce than the foam."
Once we get horizontal we do more exploring, sliding against each other. His mouth finds my right nipple, sucking and pulling, making me gasp. My fingers slide over his ass, reaching between them, sliding down the cleft, searching for his pucker. He grunts, I can't tell why, but his body twitches against me when I find the hard, tight little knot. There is no give, no loosening, if I didn't know better my fingertips would tell me there was no hole there at all. I pull back enough to look at his face Ð he has his eyes closed. "Time to wake him up," I think.
I manhandle him into the position I want Ð he cooperates without entirely understanding. I get him on his hands and knees with his legs spread, and I dive in behind him. I'm relishing every second of getting better acquainted with his gorgeous muscular behind. Even though he's not really arching his back, his glutes are hard distinct mounds that rise above his spine. With one hand pressing against his smooth taint I lick downward from the base of his spine into the cleft. My bristly chin and jaw push him apart as my tongue gets closer to its target. I circle around it before using the tip of my tongue to flick the center. He's making noise now. Not always words, and definitely not complete sentences. "Ohh, ahh, unnnnh, dang, annnhhÉ" I grin to myself. I know these sounds. These are sounds that tell me the opening I want is going to happen.
He's pushing back now, subtly moving his hips, trying to work that hole against my tongue, which is only pushing forward, while my hands rub his taint and stroke and tug at his balls, letting his erect and aching cock bob and jerk by itself. My tongue can feel the smoother heated flesh, and I manage to work some spit in, and I add my fingers into the mix, pressing around the ring of muscle. Then I pull off and reach for my dopp kit.
"What are you - ?" he starts to ask, but I silence his turned head with a kiss, while manipulating the tube of K-Y with one hand. I know it's not a new, fancy lube, but its gel-like consistency is the best for this work. I get a glob on my right thumb, which I massage into his entry. I press against the inner ring of muscle, rubbing in tiny circles. I'm patient, and at the same time I'm using my other hand to caress him everywhere, sliding over his back and shoulder and shoulder and chest, alternating with glancing strokes of his cock and tugs of his balls. Gradually my thumb eases its way into the vise-grip of his anus.
Inside it's hot, smooth, and getting slicker. I pull out, add more K-Y, and resume my work, rotating my thumb, and then replacing it with my finger, which, reaching deeper, finds his pleasure button. He's now frigging himself on my finger, making this whimpering noise that still manages to sound masculine. His back is arched now and I admire the swell of his muscled glutes. My own dick's been pretty patient throughout this, quietly hanging out ramrod hard, dripping pre-cum, but I figure it's time to bring him into the game. With my fingers still busy I lean forward and lick up the side of Steve's neck, and whisper next to his ear, "Ready for me to take you for a ride, bro?"
After his gasped, "Yeah! yeah!" I smear a generous coating on my cockhead and shaft. I don't mind a little extra slipperiness, especially when it's starting off this tight. I get behind him and as I pull my finger out I line up my shaft and press in.
The grip is still intense. The clutch is fierce. But I'm more determined, and I lean forward and whisper to him, telling him he needs to be strong, that he can do this, that he's making his bro proud of him. He gasps and shudders when I say the word "Bro."
It's also when the head of my cock pops through. I can feel him stiffen with shock and resistance. I hold still. And talk.
"You got this, bro. You can do it. It's all yours. Now make us all proud and in a minute you're gonna start feeling real happy. We're all gonna feel real good in a minute."
I kiss him again. "Your so hot, so tight, bro. Big muscle stud, taking it like a man, makin' your bro feel good, real goodÉ"
I don't know where this is coming, and I'm wrong about the minute part, but I'm patient, and I rock, but don't push. It's him that pushes. I feel him make the effort and he slowly drives himself back on my cock. It feels amazing, he's so tight, the grip on my cock is intense. I pull myself upright and get my hands on his ass, and very slowly begin to fuck.
Each stroke is an exercise in Zen patience, not too fast, not too far, but I know I'm getting closer to his prostate. When I finally reach it I hear a change of tone in his whimpering. There's a note of surprise and, thank God, pleasure. I concentrate on the target, with small strokes which gradually lengthen. This guy's never going to be loose, but soon he's going to be fuckable.
In the meantime, I admire his body, the curve of the arch of his spine, the width of his shoulders, the way I can see the lats and trapezius, and whatever those cords in his neck are called. Also his shoulders and all their distinct muscles. I reach underneath and check his cock. To my relief, he's still hard, wet and dripping. I slide some of the juice around over his cockhead and give it a gentle squeeze, and decide it's safe to pump.
There's no way I remember all the fucks I've had, but this is definitely one that will stay with me. It's taken a lot to get to this point, and it still feels like a gift as I really start to plow. I don't want to be selfish, but I'm starting to be more interested in what I feel, sliding my cock into this perfect piece of masculine flesh. I do want more ways to show my appreciation of his shape and weight and solid muscularity, but the lizard brain is in control, and his slick hot ass wrapped around my cock feels as good as anything I've ever felt. I don't think it can get better, but then he starts to talk.
It's talking mixed with grunts and whimpering, but the words are distinct. "Oh yeah, fuck me little broÉ Fuck me, RonnieÉ Gimme that big little-bro dickÉ oh yeah, fuckin' me now dude, just like you always wanted toÉ" And he starts to work his ass, too. Thrusting back on me, he's still not loose, but he's gonna put me over the edge real fast. I reach underneath him and start pulling on his dick, and the dude's nearly crying, and as I feel the load in my balls get ready to blast, I'm saying, "Come for me bro, unload with me, you can do it, broÉ" and we blast together.
When things calm down we lay there together, one of my arms around him, holding him in a relaxed way. I can't tell what he's feeling but I want to reassure him. I half- turn my face towards him and say, "That was great. You were so hot. And it's not weird, it's just one of those things that makes life more interesting than you thought it was going to be. Really, that was great."
He looks like he doesn't believe me. "You thought it was hot."
"I did. I do. The thought of two hot young studs finding out how good they can make each other feelÉ" I grinned and pulled his hand down to my re-energized cock.
"Here, check it my bullshit detector - it doesn't lie!"
"Mmmm," he murmurs, fondling my balls and gently stroking my still slick but very hard cock. He tilts his face so our gaze aligns and he looks at me as if seeing me for the first time.
"We should do it face to face this time," he says, pulling me on top of him and sliding his legs apart, "so I can see that it's you."