Talker's Graduation

once had
    maybe been his greatest nightmare. He realized that the lights were
    still on, and he made a noise about it, but Brian paused, looking
    from the floor between Tate‟s legs, where he was taking off Tate‟s
    shoes.
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    “I want them on,” he said quietly. “You need to see me—
    what‟s damaged, what‟s not. You need to know I‟m okay. Once you
    know I‟m okay, you‟ll feel better. You can eat. You‟ll be okay too.”
    “But my….” But my scars! He didn‟t need to finish the
    sentence—they both knew. The entire right side of his body was
    covered in scars. He‟d tattooed over the ones on his arm, his
    shoulder, his neck, his face, but the parts of him that never saw the
    sun—God, he couldn‟t even look at himself. And it occurred to him
    then—suddenly, for real—that this is what Brian had been talking
    about. Brian knew about his scars, had felt them, had moved his
    mouth and his hands over them and loved them and loved Talker
    and was not disgusted or put off. And now Brian was making Tate
    do the same thing.
    Tate‟s shoes were off and Brian placed kisses up the inside of
    Tate‟s damaged leg. Tate moaned, pulled his feet up to the bed
    and spread his knees, then threw his arm over his eyes, because
    he was embarrassed and turned on and needy.
    Brian kept kissing. He skipped the creases—thank God,
    because Tate was still sweaty and sticky from work—but he did
    spend some time licking at the base of Tate‟s cock and then
    running his tongue up to the crown. There were scars on it—one of
    the many reason Tate wanted the lights off—but he‟d needed Brian
    for so long, had been hungry for this for so long, and had needed
    the reassurance that only physical touch could bring for oh so long,
    that for once, he didn‟t hide, or cover, or apologize. Brian‟s mouth
    covered his cock, slid down to the base, tightened, and then pulled
    up again. The ridges of Tate‟s damaged erection were massaged
    again and again with Brian‟s lips and….
    Talker was moaning, needing, begging , and he was hardly
    aware of it. Brian‟s weight was on his good shoulder, and his weak
    hand came up to grasp Tate‟s cock. He couldn‟t tighten his fingers
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    the way he used to, and the pressure was almost… teasing. Tate
    moaned again, thrusting his hips into Brian‟s hand harder, and
    Brian pulled back and gave the head a casual swipe with his
    tongue.
    “Not hard enough, is it?” he said dryly. Tate turned his head
    and looked at him. Brian was still fully dressed, but he was
    wriggling his hips with enough urgency to let Talker know that he
    was really turned on, just from touch.
    “My dick?” Talker joked. “Yeah, plenty hard.”
    Brian‟s smile was gentle. “My hand, genius—maybe instead of
    abstracts, I should spend all my time making dildo sculptures, see if
    I can get my grip back.”
    Talker giggled, and Brian kept up that not-quite-hard-enough
    grip that was driving him insane. “Well, practice makes perfect!”
    Brian kept stroking him and carefully bent and placed a kiss on
    Talker‟s hip. “Or maybe I can practice this way,” he said, and Talker
    looked down his body and saw those amazing, clear, guileless
    eyes, gazing at him with absolute devotion.
    “Yeah,” Talker rasped. “I‟m good with that. Go ahead and
    prac- tice ….” Brian‟s hand tightened, and his grip was almost hard
    enough now, and Brian chuckled, the sound strained. Tate reached
    down with his own damaged hand. “Here,” he said, and tightened
    his fingers over Brian‟s. Brian “hmmmd” and then opened his mouth
    over the crown and started swirling with his tongue. Talker kept
    stroking, and the pressure, between the two of them, was exquisite.
    Talker‟s nuts tightened up under him, and his whole body
    started to tremble, and Brian kept up that pressure with his mouth
    and their hands oh God! Both their hands, kept stroking and… “Oh,
    Brian!”
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    His other hand, his sound one, knotted in Brian‟s hair, and
    Brian moved their hands to take Talker all the way down to the
    base. Talker squeezed his eyes tight and came, watching in
    wonder as the black and red behind his eyes exploded with
    shattered fragments of white brain-fish. “ Gawwwdd ….” He
    convulsed, turning to his side and holding Brian‟s head, not to
    control but just to… just to hold him, as Tate‟s