Grown Men

to roll onto his back, grease his hand and tug in tandem. He was so horny all the time and finding a place to have a toss was near impossible. They were friends, so surely it wasn’t a worry. Maybe this was Ox’s way of raising the subject.
    That thing’s gotta be hazardous to a woman’s health.
    He glanced at Ox’s face in the dark, the clamped eyes and the sweaty brow. Could he really get off from that little stimulation? Runt would have lost his marbles at that pace; he tended to yank his own meat hard and shout when he got there.
    But Ox seemed to know exactly how to get where he needed to go, teasing his pleasure to the surface like it was made of spun glass. Breath whistled between his clenched teeth as those bull balls tightened-tightened and his broad feet pushed into the bed to tip his pelvis.
    Sure enough, half a minute later Ox gave a soft huff of relief and his orgasm arced in the darkness.
    Runt couldn’t see the spray of semen, but he could smell the hot brine of it and the soft plip-thwip-plips as it spattered onto Ox’s hairy brawn. One stray drop hit Runt’s chest, but he didn’t move for fear of giving himself away. Odd’s Gods! He stayed frozen, letting the thick scalding droplet run down his ribs like melting wax. His own erection strained under the crumpled sheets.
    Slowly . . . slowly . . . Ox relaxed each of his muscles with grinding patience, settling his weight back into the foam so gradually that for all his heft he barely seemed to move.
    Runt realized there was no way Ox could clean up his load quietly.
    Is he gonna sleep in it? Shit. What if he rolls over on me covered in his splooge?
    But clever Ox had a solution. Not knowing that Runt was spying through slitted eyes, the spunk-slicked giant carefully and quietly and shamelessly scraped his juicy nut off his face and torso and bush and cleaned his fingers like a hulking, satisfied cat.
    By the time Ox had finished and began snoring lightly, Runt’s erection was a quivering spike that he was too nervous to touch.
    Conscious of the big warm beast a few centimeters away, Runt just rolled to press his face into his pillow and humped the sheets carefully until he began to doze off, praying he wouldn’t blow his load in his sleep.

 
    In the morning, Ox had beaten him out of bed again.
    By the time Runt rolled awake and stumbled naked toward the cook-space, Ox had begun preparing a quick breakfast of scrambled soy and seaweed. He wasn’t as skilled as Runt with the digi-wok, but nothing was more delicious than a breakfast you didn’t have to make.
    Watching in contented silence, Runt didn’t bother to cover his pisshard at the table and Ox didn’t joke about it. Likewise, Runt didn’t say anything about the small patch of dried semen on the side of Ox’s throat. Or his swollen cock.
    Checking on the food for an ETA, Runt took a whiff of his own pit and grimaced. The dark scrubby thatch on his head felt too long, three centimeters at least, enough to be hot.
    Ox bobbed his head, stir-frying sliced peppers and tofu in soy oil. He paused and held up ten fingers for ten minutes. Breakfast ready shortly.
    Runt nodded and jerked his chin toward the wash-space, “I have time to grab a rinse?” And a hard wank.
    Ox winked and raised one massive arm, smelled his own pit, and scowled.
    The tickle of hormone triggers ghosted over them both. He’d forgotten his anti-allergen dose.
    “And how!” Runt chuckled. “Tell you what, I scrub up after, so you can go do your own bits . . . yeah?”
    Of course, Runt’s knob pressed a wet coin of seminal fluid on his stretchy sleep shorts as he stood. Neither man looked down at it. Runt’s precum was old news by now.
    Ox seemed to prefer washing in the water under the little red sun. Something about the wide space and big sky, maybe? He bathed a couple of times a day, which seemed to help with the pheromones. So polite .
    Runt ducked into the wash-space and skinned out of his shorts as soon as the door shut. His cock bobbed in front of him, blind and adamant, reminding him about the pills. He spit-swallowed two to blunt the pheromonal itch. At least he hadn’t squirted in his sleep after spying on his partner’s stolen pleasure.
    Without a word spoken, they had crossed some kind of threshold in the night. Had Ox known he was awake? Again Runt wondered if Ox was trying to raise the subject of masturbation with his typical caution. Then again, maybe it had been on purpose.
    Grabbing the