Microsoft Word - Talkers_Redemption_Lane.docx

not… not… orificial sex doesn’t make it, you know,
    unofficial sex, right?”
    Talker couldn’t help it. He laughed, the sound shaking him from
    his chest through his stomach to his balls. “Orificial sex?” he howled
    when he could find breath. “Orificial sex? Oh. My. God! Is that like a
    word you just made up or something?”
    Brian’s ears went from pink to practically purple, and he buried
    his face in his pillow in embarrassment, and Talker couldn’t help it—
    he had to kiss that delicate shell of warm, embarrassed ear. Brian
    wriggled underneath him, and he kissed it again, and then he used
    the tip of his tongue, and Brian wriggled some more.
    And then kissing Brian’s ear wasn’t enough. Tate moved to the
    nape of his neck (still pink, but turning blotchy, like Brian was
    aroused more than embarrassed) and nibbled on that for a minute.
    They had managed a shower the night before, and Brian tasted like
    shampoo and warm male. His hair was long enough to push aside
    so it didn’t prickle, and Tate kept kissing down to the neckline of
    Brian’s sweatshirt. Brian made a sound that was half giggle and half
    sigh, and Tate suddenly needed… oh, God, he needed.
    He groaned and arched his hips, grinding up against the
    hollow made by Brian’s upper thighs and his tight little ass. Brian
    groaned too, and pushed back, and Tate kept kissing his back. He
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    rucked up Brian’s sweatshirt and played peekaboo with the pale
    gold skin. Brian had three small moles on his back, flat and dark,
    ranged unevenly around his backbone, and Tate kissed his way
    between them in a game only he knew. He got down to the
    waistband of Brian’s sweats, and Brian pulled up off the bed to give
    him better access. Tate took it and shucked the whole works—
    sweats, tighty-whiteys, sleep-socks—down to the foot of the bed
    and off.
    Brian started to roll over then, and Tate stopped him.
    “Hold still!” he laughed, continuing his kissing exploration in its
    original direction. Brian’s asscheeks were tight, and when he
    sucked in his stomach, they dimpled. Tate wanted to play with them.
    He could see Brian’s testicles—getting hard and heavy—drooping in
    the center of that magic, mysterious triangle, and covered in blond
    fur, and he wanted to play with them from this new angle too. This
    was fun—this is what Brian had introduced him to, in their bed. Fun
    and exploration and pleasure and dizzying, giddifying joy.
    Brian made things easy. He pulled up his knees practically
    under his chest and pushed his shoulders down against the bed…
    then he started fumbling in their dresser drawer.
    “What are you doing?” Tate asked in between little kisses right
    at the cleft of that tight little bottom.
    “Gnnnngggg,” Brian groaned, and Tate grinned, then reached
    under that lean, muscular body and stroked Brian’s loooonnngg,
    reasonably thick cock as it bounced under his tummy. (Brian was
    unaware of the absolute beauty of the ginormous wonder stick at
    the apex of his thighs. Tate had—so far—managed not to tell him
    that he could walk into any gay bar in the city, drop his pants, and
    yell “Who wants to support me for life!” and get some really eye-
    widening offers. He was planning to keep that a secret too!)
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    Tate kept stroking, and started licking Brian’s balls (very
    grateful that Brian liked to shower thoroughly, because this could be
    a really unpleasant position to be in if he didn’t) and Brian stopped
    rummaging for a minute, pressed his face against the pillow again
    and let out a short bark of a laugh.
    “Gaaaawwwwdddd Talker! Killing me! Killing. Me!”
    And Tate opened his mouth wide and engulfed his entire
    testicle, just to hear him strangle on his breath into the pillow. He
    kept doing it, and after a minute or two, the rummaging around in
    the dresser resumed, and Brian blurted, “Thank God!” and then his
    hand came back, and he fumbled for Talker’s hand as it stroked his
    cock.
    Talker let go of the cock (not easy to do. God, it felt good, all
    swollen and tight like that) and wrapped his fingers around….
    A round plastic bottle of lube.
    “Wha?” He was startled.
    “Jesus, Talker,” Brian breathed. “I’m all… all… just grease me
    up and take me, right?” He thrust back with his bottom to punctuate
    the idea, and Talker just gaped at him, his hard-on aching in his
    sweats and his