Unexpected Seduction Chapter 2 Dg912@gmx.com
When I woke up the next morning, I couldn't tell whether the difficulty of extracting myself from the sheets was a reflection of how tangled I was in them or my raging hangover. My head felt like a declaration of war, but a wicked need to piss and a desperate craving for water got my body in gear. As I disentangled myself, I realized I'd shucked my jeans at some point during the night, and, after answering the call of nature, I made my way to the kitchen, yelping in surprise as I almost collided into Matt coming around the corner.
"A little jumpy?" he grinned.
"Always, right? You're the one that quotes Ferris Bueller at me... 'Pardon my French, but Wyatt is so tight that if you stuck a lump of coal up his ass, in two weeks you'd have a diamond.'" I mentally kicked myself as it came out of my mouth. (Nice reference in light of recent events, Einstein....)
"Greatest. movie. of. all. time," he said, emphasizing each word.
"I'm too hung over for age jokes... just know that you're leaving yourself wide open here."
"Heretic... classic movies are like wine... and me... they just get better with age. Anyway, I didn't think there was much reason to uber home... at least until I started counting the ways your couch blows chunks... and I'm talking like projectile chunk-blowing."
I held up my hand to stop him. "Dude, if you keep talking about blowing chunks, you're going to see it happen."
"Yeah, okay, nobody wants that... But I did figure I should hang around and see how you were this morning."
I knew he meant more than how I was coping with the aftershocks of inebriation, and part of me appreciated his concern. But in the short time I'd been up, I'd very clearly told myself that I wasn't going to think about what happened last night. That I'd done it almost incessantly made me wonder whether I was paying attention... especially now that I'd almost run headlong into him with neither of us in more than boxers and the peripheral view of his body returning my thoughts yet again to the events of the last 12 hours... the feel of his cock as I stroked him, the satisfaction of hearing him moan, his sure grip on my hand and, later, my cock, and the disorienting but strangely erotic effect of his words, actions, and body.
Eventually, I half shrugged. "It's nothing a little water and sleep won't cure." (Cause avoidance is a perfectly good way to problem solve, and playing dumb is a perfectly good method for avoidance.)
"Don't play dumb," he said, giving me a knowing look. "Avoiding it never solves anything. You practically bolted to your room after..."
I interrupted, "Is this conversation really going to happen? Because I've got a headache that probably registers on the Richter scale and ignoring what happened seems like a solid plan."
"You mispronounced "shitty"... with that plan, it wouldn't happen again," he said, handing me a couple of aspirin and a bottled water he'd evidently gotten for me, anticipating my need. I greedily pounded both, thankful for the time to process his casual statement about repeat performances. Still, given how hard and persistently this had invaded my thoughts, I felt I needed some distance.
"Yeah... the benefits abound."
"Some benefit... watching you walk around at half-mast all day, ya horny bastard." I avoided his gaze by averting my eyes, but felt my cock stir to life at his implicit admission that he'd starting paying attention at some point. "Hey... we just messed around when there was no other option, Wyatt... hell, didn't you ever have circle jerks with friends growing up?" The look on my face must have been enough of an answer, because he continued, "This only has to be an issue if one of us makes it one, and I'm not going to." He paused again, giving me time to respond, but when I remained silent, his voice took on a challenging tone. "Tell me you didn't get into it. Tell me you've cum that much or that hard by yourself in your entire life." Like with blushing, my stubborn refusal to say anything was a true testament my Irish roots. "I bet you can't look me in the eye and deny how much you liked it."
"Of course, I deny it, fuckwit," I didn't say. "And it's not going to happen again," I failed to add. Nor did I roll my eyes to emphasize the point I didn't made.
When I finally returned his scrutiny, my eyes probably held exasperation, but his eyes held the same challenge his voice did. A shiver ran through me, and I felt myself continue to harden. My annoyance at having to deal with... this... whatever this was... vied with my body's response. I felt that strange magnetism again, the pull to look and see if he was similarly hard, which was all the more jarring considering my long-standing history of indifference to cocks in general. Slowly, deliberately, he took a step towards me, giving me plenty of time to say something. Warnings sounded in my mind and my mouth opened to give them voice, but nothing came out. I shifted back, but he continued to advance, and when I felt the wall against my back a step later, he closed the distance between us, stopping just shy of physical contact but close enough that I could feel the heat emanating off his body onto my own.
"No? Then can you stop stressing me out with your stressing out?" he grinned. He made a point of looking down my body slowly before meeting my eyes again. "Are you ever. not. hard?" He asked, emphasizing each word as his eyes seemed to bore into my skull. His neck bent, lowering his mouth to my ear, and I felt the breath as I heard the words: "We're just helping each other out."
I thought about the girl he'd been with and how her resistance had given way to desire. Perhaps I should have realized that I was, in that moment, feeling the same conflict between will and want. Pulling back, Matt examined my face. I don't know whether he read something in it, took my silence as consent, or decided to tilt the scales, but I saw hunger flash in his eyes. His arms encircled me, pulling my body against his. That moment in time seemed to dilate, amplifying and etching into me every sensation. I felt his biceps against my shoulders, flexing to bring our bodies into contact. We'd done the whole guy-hug thing before, but nothing so intimate as this. His hands slid around me, exploring my back and the contours of my muscles, my skin tingling wherever his fingers roamed, encouraging me closer. "Don't overthink it." Our bodies slowly zippered together, chest and hard nips scraping against each other, and then our taut stomachs, and finally, our hips coming together, pressing into each other at first before he began slowly grinding against me, causing a gasp and half-groan. His smooth skin was warm... almost hot against my own, with each movement letting me feel the shifting of hard muscle under skin as it slid alongside mine. "Just go with it." My head rolled forward, forehead resting on his shoulder, breathing in a residual hint of his cologne mixed with his own clean and masculine scent. I again felt his hot breath on my ear and neck, and it caused goose bumps. His arms tightened around me, as he continued to whisper to me. "Yeah, Wy, that's it... I got you," and I briefly wondered if he was reassuring me or staking a claim. His hands momentarily left my body, as he took and guided my own to his sides.
It was an odd counterpoint to the previous night... his whole body was currently on display with only his cock hidden, and I thought then about how I'd been torn between wanting to see his body and being glad I couldn't. I was now struck by how just shedding clothes was such an asset to Matt's ability to seduce, as both the sight of his muscled, hard frame, and the feel of it under my hands as they began moving over his smooth skin, fed my desire. A vague resistance (we can't get used to this) tried to burn through the increasingly familiar surge of hormones he seemed to draw out of me, but it fell short of the current events' domination of my senses of sight, feeling, hearing, and smell. Whether it was playing tricks on me or just my usual affinity for complete sets, my brain idly wondered what it would be like to lean in and taste him as well.
His fingers hooked under the waistband of my boxers, the fabric scratching over the head and shaft of my cock as he stripped it down my body until gravity took over and they fell around my ankles. His quickly followed suit, and his hand pressed into the small of my back, pulling me in as he began grinding against me in earnest. I remembered looking over that night and watching the flexing and relaxing of his body as his hips drove his cock in and out of that girl, and I knew that those same muscles and that same look would be seen by anyone watching as he ground against me. Despite biting my lip, the mental image and the soft skin of his hard cock against my own caused me to moan into his neck. My leaking cock quickly lubed his shaft, and I felt my own hips responding, frotting back against him, my hands feeling, seeking more, as I yielded to the urge to explore him, experiencing through a new sense the hard slabs of his pecs, the contours of his abs, his biceps, my fingers lightly running along the other side of his neck or massaging sinews or muscles as they discovered them.
His words were soft in my ear, and I strained to hear them or even process them, but they nonetheless encouraged me on. One of his hands reached and thumbed my nipple. I was used to girls reacting when I would caress their tits or kiss and suck on their nips, leveraging the sensations against their inhibitions and motivating them to continue rounding the bases with me, but I'd never played with my own or had them played with to know first-hand how effective it could be. I arched into him at the same time his free hand pushed mine down between our bodies to our cocks.
"Oh, fuck," my voice hoarse with desire, as the back of my hand made contact with the mushroom head of his cock. My mind cast back to the memories of the weight and heat of his cock, how it had surprised me both how good it felt in my hand and how intense it was to stroke him and hear him moan in pleasure. My stroking both of us would mess with that delicate balance that I believed existed when we both stroked each other's cock, and part of me wanted to guide his hand to my own cock, as he had now done twice to me, but I didn't progress beyond thinking about making it happen, and, in that moment of inaction, I heard his own voice, heavy with lust, murmuring "stroke us, Wy" and breaking the mental stalemate. My hand twisted between our bodies and gripped both of our cocks. With his appreciative moan loud in my ear, I began jacking us, automatically remembering the things from last night that seemed to heighten his pleasure and employing them again. For his part, he leaned into me, his weight pressing me into the wall. His hands moved more boldly... more possessively... over my body, at one point, feeling his hands and fingers on my nips, at another tracing my defined eight-pack, then his hand cupping the back of my neck or sliding into my hair before tracing down to the very base of my back, all while breathing details in my ear about how to vary the speed of my stroke on our cocks or the tightness of my grip... complying despite the fact that it was throwing off my ability to take myself to the edge without going over or to control my own tempo to prolong the pleasure. This was more than the biological loss of control over the timing of my climax like in our previous encounters... the way his hands moved without hesitation on me, his words whispered in my head, his preferences directing my hands, I recognized a fundamental shift was occurring that I should care about, but losing the focus on when and how I came seemed to have loosed something in me sexually that was now untethered, and my body was casting around for something else to hold onto, finding only Matt's guidance.
Over time, a light sheen of perspiration allowed our bodies to move more easily against each other, our motions becoming more primal, our grinding more pronounced, fueled by our growing need. Too soon, I began to hear Matt's tell-tale ragged breathing that augured his impending climax. "Fuck, you're getting me close, Wy... I'm going to nut all over us." In my mind, I pictured his cock erupting between us, and was caught off-guard by the surge it caused in my own cock. "You're going to cum, too" I heard him say, unable to tell whether it was a question or a statement of fact; I half-nodded, half-moaned my agreement into his neck. A moment later, I felt his body stiffen against mine and could, again, feel the pulses of his cum moving through his shaft before they shot between us. All over my stomach and torso, I felt splatters of his cum hitting and cooling on my fevered skin as he shot again and again. The pulses of his cock against my own drove me over the edge, and, a moment later, I felt my own cum splashing up against my body and neck, grinding into him each time a volley of cum launched from my cock.
As I came down slowly... gradually... from another crushing climax, my whole body felt like it wanted to slump over with fatigue, like I'd slip down the wall to the ground but for his frame against mine, pressing me into the wall. The warm solidity felt good, and I wondered whether girls I'd fucked felt the same after I collapsed on top of them. I felt our loads spreading between our bodies, coating us. I relaxed when I heard Matt's familiar laugh in my ear and his arms shifting to give me one of those friendly hugs we'd often initiated, even if they may have been, on my part, relegated to my more drunken moments. I only realized later that the maelstrom of emotions from the previous night never hit me.
"See? Nothing to worry about." We both took in our bodies, coated with cum, and I felt a new, unfamiliar hunger in me as I gazed at his muscled, masculine body, gleaming as if he'd been oiled for one of those stupid weight-lifting competitions. As we pulled back on our boxers, I smelled the chlorine-like smell of our loads emanating off of me, but, having grown up swimming, its familiarity prevented me from being bothered too much by it. "You got anything to eat?" He asked. "I'm starving."
"I think we need to shower first."
"Damn, halfpint, you just came, and you already want another go in the shower with me?" An unbidden mental picture of us in the shower together flashed through my mind, and, despite the fact that I'd just sprained my spleen with the force of my cumming, I felt a muted but definite response in my cock. His voice snapped my mind back to the present, and his words made me wonder how apparent my thoughts had been: "How do you fit so much sex drive in such a small body?" he grinned, holding up his thumb and forefinger close to his eyes, as if I was as tiny as that skewed perspective indicated.
"How do you even have a sex drive after, lo, these many years?" I shot back, laughing as we both drew on our favorite respective insults, the familiarity abetting the easy camaraderie we'd long enjoyed.
He turned back into the kitchen, opening the fridge. "I think I can work with this," he said, as he reached and pulled out various groceries.
"Are you really going to eat before.... cleaning up?"
"Priorities, Wy... And I'm doing this mostly for you, cause I'm all generous that way... I mean, look at you... you've got no fat reserves... your body is skin over bone and muscle... seriously, every time you expend calories, and you just burned a fair amount, I feel the need to order you a pizza. When people look at you, their faces scream "feed wyatt" like they're holding a sign. You'd think--"
"Okay, okay... we'll eat first.... anything to stop this diarrhea of the mouth you've got going on."
"One day when you're older (I snorted with laughter)... you are such a sonofabitch... and snorting? really?... when you're wiser, you might gain mad conversation skills, too... 'though I doubt it...."
We worked side-by-side in the kitchen, me dicing ingredients, and him mixing them in while scrambling the eggs. Our conversation casually moved between various topics such as sports, school, interesting things we'd read or movies we'd seen, stopping only once the food was ready, which we attacked with a passion that bordered on mania.
"So, you up for our usual weekend run?" Matt asked, as we finished.
"Shower and bed seems like a better option."
"Again with this insatiable need for me? I'm like catnip." With a self-satisfied grin, he continued before I could respond, "It's okay... you realize I'm getting better at running, and you're worried I'm going to start schooling you in this the way I do at basketball... and tennis... and weightlifting... and biking... and--"
"Hells bells... memory really is the first thing to go... I could be suffering from alcohol poisoning in a race and still beat you like a rented mule."
"Bold words for someone crying for his bed and making excuses."
My eyes narrowed. "Oh, someone needs a whole heaping helping of humility. You're on... There're towels in the spare bath for you to take a shower... I'm going to clean up, so I can run and get sweaty."
"There's that particular logic of yours that helped you ace my lab, Wy," he said, as we both got up from the table. I was about to leave the room when I turned back, mentally refusing to debate why I wanted one last look at his body. As the old song says, he was already looking back to see if I was looking back at him. As our eyes met, he grinned again and, pointing to himself, mouthed "catnip" before disappearing.
Fucker.
Author's note: First, many thanks for the encouraging emails. I hope y'all enjoy the second installment. I'm not nearly as good or as fast of a writer as some of the people on here, so I apologize for the speed, such as it is, of new chapters. With the holidays, it'll probably get worse before it gets better, so consider yourself warned. Also, remember, hosting websites with tons of documents isn't cheap, so, if you use it, help support it.