Page 56 of Proof Of Life
His tongue slithers through my crease, licking between my cheeks. Wet and warm, it slides over my hole.
“Holy motherfucking shit!”
His laugh is as wicked as his tongue. “Just wait, it gets better.”
I twist my neck, trying to see him over my shoulder. “How would you know?”
“The guy in the video seemed to think so.”
“You watched gay porn?”
“Beats watching Betty Beasley.”
“I don’t know about that. That girl is a filthy freak.”
Brandt spreads my cheeks and licks a wide stripe through them, lapping at me like a kitten. He continues to do it over and over, making my hole soft and loose to the point I’m ready to beg him to slide something inside of it.
But I wasn’t expecting his tongue.
He stiffens the tip and pushes it past my rim, and every nerve ending in my body stands at attention and salutes him. The veins in my cock throb and I push into the mattress, seeking friction and relief. I’m almost embarrassed that I’m bucking my hips shamelessly against his face like a slut, but I’m too turned on to care. And then he’s gone, the sweet fire is gone.
“I like the way you taste,” he says in a voice that’s pure gravel. Another glance over my shoulder shows his glossy lips, and all I can think of is fucking his mouth.
He lowers himself over my back and presses sucking kisses on my neck, and I can feel his cock, thick and hard, slide through my wet crease. He starts a slow glide back and forth as he works my neck, sending shivers dancing down my spine. My natural instinct is to push back against him because it feels so good, but I’m afraid he’s going to shove it in.
“Feels so good, like I’m fucking you.”
Christ, his words. I’m gonna fucking come.
“You’re not really gonna–”
“No,” he breathes in my ear, making goosebumps shoot down my arm. “Not today. But soon you’re gonna have to man the fuck up and let me in.” He snaps his hips and his swollen cockhead catches on my rim, stretching it before he glides past. “I’m gonna slick you up real good and push inside of you.”
I shake my head from side to side. “You’re too thick.”
“You bet I am. I’m going to split you wide-open, inch by thick fucking inch.” Every nerve ending in my pucker is electrified like a live wire as he continues to rub back-and-forth over my hole. “You’re gonna let me in, and you’re gonna fucking love it.” His lips brush the shell of my ear, igniting another erogenous zone in my body. “You’re gonna fuck me back, and then you’re gonna come harder than you ever have before. I want to hear my name on your lips when you scream.”
That’s it. That’s all I can take. A spasm rolls through my gut, making all my muscles clench tight, and I surrender to the wave of pleasure. Cum bubbles over my knuckles as I pump my shaft, soaking the sheet beneath me in a warm puddle.
“Brandt,” I gasp, breathless like I ran a marathon.
He’s still thrusting, still pumping, his breathing harsh and ragged in my ear. “Gonna…come.” A heavy breath precedes a rush of warm wetness between my cheeks, and then he slows to a lazy glide. He sucks on my neck like he’s making out with it and if he keeps it up, I’m gonna get hard again. “Being with you is like…I don’t know what it’s like. I have nothing to compare this to.”
Neither do I. But as the endorphins settle and the fire in my veins cools, fear and doubt creep back in. “Does this make me gay?” I hate how small and unsure my voice sounds. And I know I’m saying stupid things, but I’m so fucking lost and confused that nothing makes sense anymore.
“Is that what you’re worried about?” The weight of his body on mine is a comfort, like a warm, weighted blanket of security. He rubs his nose along the back of my neck and his breath kisses my skin.
It’s easier to talk with my face buried in the pillow instead of looking at him. When he looks into my eyes, I know he can see more than just the color of my irises. He can see everything I’m not saying.
“I’m not worried about what people will think if I tell them I’m attracted to you.”
“Then what are you worried about?”
“With all these changes lately, I don’t recognize myself anymore, and I’m afraid that I’m losing myself. When I look in the mirror, I don’t recognize my body, and with all the side effects of the TBI, I don’t even feel comfortable in my own skin sometimes. My body is different, my head is different, my whole fucking life has changed. Everything that defined me is gone. I’m not a soldier anymore. I’m no longer a Sergeant First Class, team leader of the Street Sweepers.” The gentle way he's caressing me, brushing his nose back-and-forth in the crook of my neck, his finger tracing soft patterns over the tattoos inked into my skin, gives me the courage to continue.
“This just feels like one more thing I don’t recognize about myself. Something so basic as my sexuality that has identified me my entire life, long before the Army, is suddenly changing, and I just feel so lost. I don’t know who I am anymore.”
“I know who you are. You’re Weston Wardell. You’re my best fucking friend. You love military documentaries, and you’re a history nerd. You’re terrible in the kitchen, but somehow a whiz on the grill. You’re the most loyal person I know, but you’re a manipulative little shit.”