Right Time, Right Place...

Then his lips are on mine, pressing him to me, holding him to me.

When we broke, he was looking into my eyes, me into his, wordless.

Between our bellies, I was hard. Hurting hard. With a load wanting somewhere to go.

He burrowed his hand between us, and took hold of it. "Mmmm," I reacted.

"You're close?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said, "it's not going to take much."

"I want it," he said. He reared back. Again the searing pain, his withdrawal the reverse of his penetration. Like he was stretching me beyond what I could endure as he withdrew. 'Easy', I thought, 'easy'. Then, just as I felt I could take it no more, and wanting him to stop where he was, he was out of me. I felt suddenly empty, a void.

But high up, deep in my guts, warm still, him still, there.

He flipped onto his back. He reached up and spat in his hand, then worked it between his legs.

"You," he said, holding out his hand to my mouth. I spat a wad into in, and he brought it down to between his legs.

My asshole still pulsing from him pulling out of me, I reached between his legs and found his asshole, now wet, and fingered it.

He sucked in a deep breath. "Whew," he said.

"Tender," I asked.

"You better believe it!"

"You're sure you want this?

He flung his arms around me, pulled me in tight, and said, "If it kills me!"

I spat a wad in my hand and lathered it between his legs. He twitched every time I hit his asshole. I spat another wad, and spread it around my dick, praying, 'Not yet. Not yet.'

"Okay, look at me," I said.

"Whaat?"

"I want to be looking at you, and I want you to be looking at me."

I touched my cock to his hole. I saw flickers of hurt, then anticipation, then wincing to the hurt when I pushed against it.

He sucked in a deep breath, holding it, then another. Eyes opening wide, surrendering to the hurting, when I entered him.

"Just keep it there," he said. I did. And I could feel his ring of muscle striving to open and pull me in. Then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, I was coming into him. More and more. Still more. And then I felt the sphincter to his anus, now familiar.

"Oh, man, you're big," he said, "So fucking big."

"That the way you like it?" I teased, "Big?"

" Yeah. You," he said, "Oh, yeah."

We were working now to penetrate his rectum. Another deep breath. Then opening. Then penetration. Long. Slow. Tortured. Until, "there," he said, "just keep it there. I want to feel what it is like there."

We lay together, treasuring our intimacy. Then I slowly began thrusting. And slowly increasing the intensity. Then I pulled back, and thrust again, going deep. Pulled back, and going deep again, I hit his prostate. Chaos. The muscles in his belly jerking, abs in full flexion. His hips bucking, slamming up into mine.

I pulled back, thrust, and hit it again. Again chaos. Pushing to expel me, and the same time they were pulling me further and further into him.

His mouth now on my mouth. Hungry, Greedy. His tongue working mine. His hips thrusting up into my pelvis, my pelvis responding to grind into his hips, driving me deeper into him. Then, quick, strong thrusts. Out of control, driving, hard. Hard. And harder. We were close to the point of no return and getting closer.

"Grab my dick," he said. "I want to come with you."

Between our bellies he was rock hard. I grabbed onto it. Now he was arching his back as he drove his hips up to me. I was driving my dick just as hard.

Then, at the last second, I said, "Look at me." I was exploding into him, my loins shooting into his. In his eyes, a sudden look of surprise, then wider and wider, and a look of sheer pleasure and of satisfaction, deep, deep, within him. The essence of my being, from deep within me, to deep within him.

Then, knowing I was filling him, again it was like he was filling me, every cell in my body jangling. Heady. Like the moment between lifter and spotter, when mind and muscle triumph over gravity, the metal at full extension with the last expenditure of energy before exhaustion. Or, crossing the finish line, touching the tile, breaking out of the water, victory and hearing the roar of the crowd. Yes. Then the burn, spreading from head to toe. Vital. Alive.

"Mmmmm," he was saying. He brought his legs up to wrap around me, holding me in him. I wrapped my arms around him, holding him to me, feeling every one of his muscles that I was filling. Bliss. This was pure bliss.

"This is good. This is too good," I kept saying to myself.

"Mmmmm, mmmm," I could hear him moaning. Not in hurt. Pleasure. Pure pleasure.

"Holy fuck," I heard him say. "Too fucking much. Too fucking much."

We held each other, body to body, sensing, muscle into muscle, sinew into sinew, soul into soul, our bodies, our selves, melding into each other. Ecstasy. Rapture.

Then, coming down, neither of us moving, neither of us saying anything, still in the moment.

Until, untangling, arms and legs, stretching out, continuing to savour what had happened between us. The afterglow. Warm, intimate, sublime. Him stretched out beside me. Me stretched out beside him. Somewhere in space, way out beyond the stratosphere.

We lay there for a long time, saying nothing, feeling each other's presence.

He began nuzzling my ear. It felt good. Then he lifted his nose and lips away and asked, "So, mate, what do you say for yourself?

"Mmmmm. Mmmm. What do I say for myself? ... Fucked," I said, "Fucked and fucked good. Buggered. Had. Spent. Done. Two up, three down. Knackered. You?"

"That pretty well covers it," he chuckled. "Fucked. Well and truly fucked."

We continued to lay there. My shoulder touching his. His thigh against my thigh. I put my head on his chest. Muscled, strangely familiar, now strangely new against my cheek. Sweaty, his scent tantalizing, musky, slightly pungent, manly, him. I could feel the rise and fall of his chest. My breathing was coming into sync with his. And in his chest, I could feel and hear his heart beating. And my heartbeat likewise coming into sync with his.

He said nothing, and I said nothing.

Then he asked, "You cool?"

"I'm cool," I replied.

I put my hand on his belly. Deep inside him, I knew that I, what of myself that I had ejaculated into him, was there. Then I put my hand to my belly, knowing that deep inside what he had ejaculated of himself into me was there.

I felt his arm now under my shoulder, cradling me, his hand on my head, fingers running through my hair.

It all felt good. Right, somehow.

I heard him say, "I kinda think we've let a genie out of the bottle."

'I kinda think we have,' I replied, 'And I kinda think there sure ain't no putting him back.'

My hand was on his belly. It was sticky with what he had ejaculated, and what was on his belly was liquefying. I began rubbing my hand in it, then round his belly, his abs, feeling them firm, then up and around his pecs, likewise firm, his shoulders, likewise hard to my touch. Then he rubbed his belly, and likewise rubbed mine, my chest and shoulders.

Then he took my hand and licked my fingers, and continued holding my fingers to his mouth.

We laid there, content, my hand on his belly.

And then I was asleep.

Waking, I was aware of daylight. I heard him come out of the bathroom and opened my eyes. There he was, standing, his ass to me. His ass, his back, shoulders, thighs, legs, all beautiful muscle, alive. He turned. Magnificent. Beautiful. Chest, abs, belly. Ripped and cut, clean-shaven head to toe. The bodybuilder. The full monte. His cock, long, thick, veined, the ripe chestnut of the head just emerging from his foreskin, more than magnificent.

Him and that cock I had seen how many times in the showers at the gym, but it was like I was seeing it like I had never seen it before. And remembering where it had so recently been. And me sucking it. And wanting it.

'Once you've tasted cock ...,' somebody, somewhere had said ...

Twenty four hours ago, hell, twelve hours ago, no way, not in a million years ... Now my guts were in revolt from last night's pounding, and I am thinking it's gotta happen again, and sooner rather than later.

" .. morning," I said, stretching, coming out of the reverie.

" '.. morning, yourself," he replied. "Not going to ask how you slept. But how did you sleep?"

"Fuck you," I smirked.

"Yup, did that," he shot back, likewise smirking.

I had to get to the bathroom. I swung my feet to the floor, standing up. Awkwardly. And groaned. Every muscle in my body was protesting.

He was laughing.

"You bugger," I said.

"Bugger? Me?" He was still smirking.

"With number one - you're okay," he said. "Number two - not so sure about that yet!"

"Like that, eh?" I said.

I flushed, washed my hands, and checked myself in the mirror. Puffy. Bleary eyed. Sleep deprived. 'Unh. Rugged.'

'So,' feeling my beard, examining it, one side, then the other, 'this is what you look like when you've been fucked,' I said to myself, 'Bum-fucked. By your best friend. And you spending the night bum-fucking him.'

Then, lifting my chin, feeling my beard under it, 'Like you've been dragged through the proverbial knot hole, backward,' I told myself.

And with a kind of smug grin I could not suppress, "Not bad," I said, winking to my reflection, "Considering."

He was laying on the bed. I attempted to sit down beside him. Not easy. He had his head propped on one elbow, checking me out, smirking. I managed to stretch out full length.

He had his hand on my belly, finger circling my navel. I took his hand, and with it idly rubbed my belly.

"So?" he asked.

"So? What?" I asked.

"The question."

"The question?"

"The question. 'Do you still like me in the morning'?"

"You gotta be kidding," I said, snorting, remembering him hot and exploding inside me, our arms holding us together, our legs tangled in the bedsheets.

His hand was still on my belly.

"Well?"

"Well, what?

"Do you still like me in the morning?"

"Fuck you," I retorted, grinning.

"No," he insisted, "You cool?"

I looked at him, straight on. "I'm cool," I said. And added, the realization of what I was saying sweeping through me as I said it, "Never more cool about anything in my life."

He sucked in a breath. It was a powerful hit.

Then, absorbing it, he replied, simply, looking at me straight on, "Ditto,"

We neither of us were saying anything more, just looking at each other, taking in what we were looking at.

He broke the impasse. "Okay, mate,' he asked, "coffee?"

Then a pause, ".. Or?"

"Or what .. mate?" I responded.

"Or hair of dog."

"Meaning?" I asked.

"Hair of dog. Move over." Then he flipped, and had my dick in his mouth.

"Mmmmm," I couldn't say anything else. Again it was like I was going to explode, every cell jangling. I was soft but coming up hard as he sucked, hard, his head working me up and down. 'Oh, oh, oh, oh," was the only sound I could make, Then, finally, I was able to say, "Let me." I flipped, head for toe, and went down on him, 69. And I heard and felt him saying "Mmmmm."

"Mmmmm." Over and over again, "Mmmmm." He was humming as he sucked me. The vibrations from the sound were crazy and driving me crazier. I reciprocated, "Mmmmm," driving him into a frenzy, eating me, gobbling my knob. And I did the same, eating his, gobbling his knob, setting up a spiral that had me, him, soaring off into some distant dimension, our hips pumping, driving our dicks deeper and deeper into our mouths, until setting off spasms of gagging, we had to back off.

I grabbed his, and he grabbed mine, each of us pumping. Now my lips around his head, his around mine, sucking, pumping. Past the point of no return. Then exploding, him into my mouth, me into his. I held it, working it with my tongue, flipping to meet his lips, him opening his lips, mingling what I had in my mouth with what he had in his, savouring it, playing with it, swallowing it, a little at a time.

"Pheew", I heard him when our mouths finally parted.

"Hair of dog," I said. I could taste him, again like almonds, ever so lightly caustic, etched in the back of my throat.

"Hair Of Dog," he said, emphatically.

"Let the genie out of the bottle," I began to say. He finished he sentence, "... and there sure ain't no putting him back!"

"What the hell are we doing?" I asked, in the daylight a moment of reality settling in.

He took a moment, then replied, slowly, thoughtfully, "Well, for me, after how many years knowing you, I'd say I'm really just getting to know my best bud." He took my hand and held it to his chest. "You?"

I felt his hand on my chest. I looked down at it. "Goes for me," I said, and he squeezed my hand.

"In a Biblical manner of speaking," he said, his eyes twinkling with his joke.

"In a Biblical manner of speaking, yes," I said, returning his line in kind.

"Cool?" he asked.

"I'm cool," I replied.

Then needing air, we shook free of each other.

We started to say something, both of us at the same time.

"You." he said, "What were you going to say?"

"I was going to say you are beautiful," I said. And added, "And I just don't say that to everybody."

He blinked. He started to say something. Then didn't.

"Whaat?" I said.

"I was just going to say the same thing about you."

There was a long pause while we looked into each others' eyes. Again, straight on. Rock steady, no hint of 'us having gone too far.' Outgoing, fun-loving, sincere, surefooted. As before, it was a continuing, friend-with-friend, man-with-man moment. And more. It was like two strong arms, clasping. 'Here's somebody I could trust with my life,' I was thinking, 'Here's somebody I could trust with the rest of my life.' One wonderful human being. I could only hope he was seeing the same in me.

And then, suddenly, his arms were around me, and mine were around him, his mouth, my mouth pressed together, tongues probing deep, his body, mine, pressed firmly together, thighs, bellies, chests. And then, just as suddenly, we were holding each other even closer, grasping each other tighter, his body, my body, heaving with wave after wave of sobs threatening to break through, struggling to keep them in check, on the verge, but hanging on not to lose it all together.

The convulsions subsided, and, looking at me, he reached up, and with his thumb, smoothed out tears that had overflowed onto my cheeks. And I likewise reached up to his face and thumbed the tears that were flowing onto his cheeks. Then quickly his lips locked on mine, holding firm, his body again tight to mine, mine to his.

And then we separated.

Then, wiping at his eyes, he said, simply, "Man, you sure got to me."

"And you sure got to me," I said, pinching my face, squeezing my cheeks, choking off a further outburst.

"You're okay?" he asked.

"I'm okay," I replied, "You?"

"I'm okay, yes," he said.

We broke, and then he asked, almost with a smirk, "So, mate - you figure maybe we could make it as BFWBs?

My turn to blink. Before I could recover, he continued, "No need to answer right now. Just something to think about." He was smirking.

Then he patted my ass. "Okay. Breakfast. Or have you had your protein for this morning?"

"Smartass," I shot back.

"Smarting ass, you mean," he retorted, grinning.

I decided against going for a comeback. All I could do was shake my head. Grinning.

"Okay, okay, to the matter at hand - and no double entendre - room service, or do you want to go down?" He looked at the clock radio on the bedside table. "Room service is off. Brunch?"

"You want?" I asked. "Coffee and whatever is good enough for me."

"Okay," he said, "I am heading into the bathroom, then I am going out and getting us some brekkie. I'll bring you back something."

"Sounds like a plan," I said.

A quick shower and shave and he was out the door, and, my turn, I was off the bed and into the bathroom.

Towelled dry, shaved, I was not yet dressed when he came back. Take-out coffee and breakfast sandwiches from the coffee shop. And a silly look on his face.

"What?" I asked.

"We really gotta be back tomorrow?" he asked.

"No," I replied, "not really, I guess. Why? What are you thinking?"

"Well, it's an okay room," he said, "thinking maybe if we could see if it was available for another night .. " He paused.

"And?" I asked.

"And, " he replied, "I stopped by the gift shop and got us a tube of lube." He pulled it from his pocket and dropped it on the bed.

'A tube-a-lube.' It rhymed in my head. "You think that will be enough?" I shot back.

"That's why I bought two," he replied, and dropped a second on the bed. "And that's all they had."

"Holy fuck," I shook my head, "We're sure not in Kansas now."

"Nope," he said, "we're sure as fuck are not in Kansas now!"

He picked up the phone, negotiated the second night, then walked to the door, opened it, hung the 'Privacy Please' tag on the knob, closed it and flipped the slide-lock.