Cupid's Sophomore Year, Semester 01

"That was...well, it was just..."

He grins. "Cat got your tongue?"

"Yeah, and I've misplaced my spare. I know it was in my ass just a minute ago."

He giggles. "How awesome was that?"

"Fuck. No one's ever done that to me," I sigh, shaking my head, wondering at my impossible good fortune.

He squints at me skeptically. "Right. Because gay guys would never do that."

"I didn't say no one's ever rimmed me before. No one would believe that," I laugh. "But no one--no one--has ever made me feel that way. How did you come up with those moves?"

"I had a month to plan. And I took careful notes when I was watching porn. Those guys can get pretty creative."

"You are a diligent student," I reply. I kiss him, deeply, tasting myself on his tongue, which drives me even crazier. "Now, did any of those nice, creative gentlemen give you any ideas about other parts? Say, like, oh, I don't know, the penis, for example? 'Cause mine could use some creativity right about now. Before it gives up on me and goes off to make its own way in the world."

"I thought you'd never ask," he growls. His hand finds the organ in question, and begins a slow, firm stroke. Each time he slides up, my 'skin gathers over the top of the head, slipping back down when he makes the return motion. A few more of those and I'm done.

Suddenly, his eyes light up, and he looks down to where my hip meets his. He looks back up at me, eyes wild. "You're...you're uncut!"

"Don't panic. You treat it just like any other cock. Well, hypothetically. Though if I catch you treating any other cock from now on, mister, there's going to be trouble."

He grins and kisses me. "Only two cocks in the world I'm ever going to do this to--yours and mine."

"You always know the right thing to say, and yet it still comes out sounding dirty."

"I just can't believe you're uncut. I watched a couple of vids with uncut guys, but I never imagined that I would find myself one." He clears his throat, then he's all business again. "Now, assume the position! I've got work to do." His smile lights the room.

Once again I rest my elbows on the armrest--not sure those indentations in the upholstery are ever going to come out. Beneath me he squirms into position, and I feel his fingers wrap around my cock. He pulls it down to him, to his mouth, and I can feel his breath on the wet tip. Remembering his recklessness with my balls and ass, I steel myself for the swallowing I'm about to experience. But it doesn't come. Instead, his hands pull slowly, forcefully, drawing my skin down and over the head of my prick. He coaxes along all that he can, so that it completely hoods the end and the excess gathers. He kisses the skin that covers my dickhead, then draws it in and flattens it between his tongue and the roof of his mouth. His tongue wriggles into the opening, and he works that skin like it's gum and he wants to blow a bubble. The tip of his tongue circles my cock, slivering down between layers of skin as far as it can go, swabbing me out but good. Then, without warning, be purses his lips and pulls back, stretching my skin so that it thins and my entire cock is pulled down toward him.

He hears my heavy breathing.

"Everything okay?" he asks, having released my foreskin with a smack of his lips.

"Fucking awesome," I huff back. "Now, be honest. Who taught you this?"

"Heh. No one. Guess you could call me an autodidact of dick. Now, I'd love to chat, but there's this thing I gotta do."

And with that, he's back on my dick. He tugs and sucks while his hands roam all over me, tickling my buttocks with light sweeps of his fingertips, squeezing my balls, and a couple of times he pokes at my ass with his fingers. It's like having a whole team of specialists down there working away at making me crazy with lust.

This can't go on. Not because he's going to exhaust himself--though he's certainly working hard enough--but because I'm going to come like a fucking cannon in about twelve seconds. I give the international signal for impending male orgasm: several thrusts of my pelvis, accompanied by urgent grunt/moan combinations and heavy breathing. If he's been paying attention to the porn vids, he'll know the drill.

Instantly, the suction on my cock doubles, while his hands fly into action--one wraps around my balls, the other, slick with saliva, jabs into my ass without so much as a howdy. The shock of this intrusion makes me jump, but his hold on my balls (with his hand) and on my cock (with his mouth) keeps me rooted in place.

"Oh, god, I'm gonna--"

That's as far as I get before the speech part of my brain shuts down so that its synapses can be given over to the I'm-about-to-come part, which must be lit up like Paris at night right now. The last thing I feel before the lights go out is his long finger mashing on my prostate like it's the doorbell to the whorehouse. From that moment on, I no longer exist in conventional space-time. I'm lost in the dark thicket of pure orgasm--every hair stands up, searing hot chills wrack my body, and I feel a heaviness gather in my gut that threatens to pull me right down through the floor.

And then, the brilliant clarity of ejaculation. I see my body in cross section, watch the rhythmic contraction of all of the secret muscles whose only job is this--these amazing few seconds that stretch out forever--and I follow with my mind's eye the first blast as it barrels toward Clark, still mine--still mine...unhhh...now his--all his.

He signals receipt of my essence with a groan, and a swallow, and a redoubling of his frenetic labors between my legs. His tongue races around the head of my cock as if 0.8 seconds were an eternity to wait for the next dose; his hand tightens on my balls to prevent their rising to the base of my raging member; and the finger in my ass--wait, is that two fingers?--flicks and strokes my prostate with an intensity that would make a proctologist blush.

From that instant, I become a fire hose that has slipped the fireman's grip. There's so much semen that it feels like an solid mass extending from his finger in the back to his tongue in the front, and thrust as I may I cannot get it all out. I feel him swallowing, twice, three, four times.

Finally the spasming slows, and I begin to think I will survive. But then his fingers--I'm sure there are two of them in there now--make one last assault on my p-spot, and a second, even more electric orgasm tears through me.

The last thing I am aware of is my elbows giving way.

# 15 #

"Josh? Josh!"

The first thing I hear is Clark's somewhat panicked voice. I open my eyes, and I'm staring at the slate floor, which is about half a foot from the tip of my nose.

"Are you okay?" His voice is strained.

"I'm fine, I'm just a little, well..." I'm not sure what I am right now. I hike myself back up onto the sofa, and Clark immediately wraps a blanket around me. Mmmm.

"I think you passed out," he says, looking into my eyes for--what? Signs of a stroke?

"How long was I..."

"Just a minute or two. But you really worried me there."

His voice has gone from stressed to shaky, and now he sounds like he's about to cry. I must have scared him pretty badly.

"I'm fine, really. But, damn, you know how to give a blowjob."

His anxious expression yields to a grin, and then he's so relieved that he breaks into giggles.

"So, do people often pass out when they come?" he manages to ask once the giggles have subsided.

"Well, it's never happened to me before. But it's your fault--that thing you did with your fingers? That was amazing."

He blushes and I just have to kiss him.

"Here, let me get this thing going," he says, and gets up to put more wood on the fire. Once the blaze is furious he pulls a couple more blankets from a chest of drawers and lays them on the furry white rug in front of the fire (I swear to god this place is a replica of Hugh Hefner's swingin' bachelor pad, circa 1960). He tosses out a few pillows for good measure, and then gestures for me to slide off the couch and join him on the rug in front of the fire. I do, and he covers me with what has to be a cashmere blanket--it's so soft, and he's under it with me, and this is about the most amazingly romantic thing ever.

I curl up next to him and kiss him while his long fingers trace endless looping swirls on my back. I used to snicker when people talked about cuddling being better than sex, but right now I can kind of see their point. I certainly felt close to him when his tongue was up my ass, but right now we are so totally together that I can't imagine how it could be better, or more complete.

"I love you," I whisper into his ear as the fire crackles and shadows dance on the ceiling above us.

"I've been waiting for you my whole life," he whispers back, and pulls me even tighter into him.

I'm not sure what time it is when I wake--the fire has become a glowing bed of coals, and the house is silent all around us. Clark and I are still entwined, and his deep breathing is the new rhythm of my life. When he told me we had the entire night to spend together, I immediately thought of how many sweaty positions we could get into, how much semen would be spilt. But this is infinitely better--one (no, wait--two) perfect orgasms and a luxurious doze in front of the fire, wrapped in the softest blankets imaginable. I had no idea such happiness existed in the world. I drift back into the warmth.

The next time my eyes open sunlight has filled the room, streaming in through the windows that make up half the walls and most of the ceiling. The fire is dead and cold, but Clark is still warm next to me, and we spend our first waking moments looking silently at each other, amazed at our good fortune, astonished at how we got here.

"Good morning," he finally says, kissing me on the nose.

"Morning," I reply. I know for a fact that most people, upon waking, look a little rough--but Clark is the same beautiful man he was when he pulled open his robes of Death last night. If anything, he's even sexier, with his stubbled jaw and slightly mussed hair.

The clock chimes eight times.

"We should probably get up and see if anyone else is around," I offer. "Seeing as we've been locked away all night--they might think you've killed me or something."

He grins. "I thought I had there for a minute."

"Pretty proud of yourself now, though, aren't ya?" I tease. "Not everyone can make their first sex partner pass out."

He gives me a quizzical look.

"Sex partner?" he asks, nose wrinkling. "That's not what you are to me."

My turn to look quizzical.

"This isn't about sex," he continues. "We're here because you took a chance and helped a guy who didn't even know he needed your help--because once you reached out to me I knew that we were meant to be together. We're here because there was a hole in my whole life and you fill every bit of it."

"Clark, I...I don't know what to say."

"Just say that you love me, and that you feel the same way I do, and I'll be the happiest guy on the planet."

I look into his sparkling green eyes, and I flash back to the first time I saw him, the lost look on his face, the bizarre performance in the twins' room. He's hardly that person anymore, and I guess I did have something to do with that.

"I love you, and I feel exactly the way you do, and I'll give you some competition on that happiest guy on the planet thing."

His smile is as bright as the sun streaming into the room.

"We should get ourselves pulled together," he says, sitting up.

"Not sure how together we can get," I reply. "All we brought into this room was a grim reaper costume and a towel."

"That will have to do," he laughs, and we gather our respective garments and put them on. He looks incredibly sexy in his robes, which he leaves open to the waist. I wrap my towel securely around me, and we walk to the door.

Before we open it though, I stop him.

"We're about to go public, you know," I caution, covering his hand with mine as it rests on the doorknob. "Are you sure you're ready for this? It's going to mean that the whole team, and soon everyone else you know, is going to know what happened between us. This is a big step we're taking."

"Actually, I think the big step was when I swallowed your come--twice," he says through a grin. "This is a baby step compared to that."

"Well, then, let's take some baby steps," I reply, and kiss him again for luck.

We open the door and almost trip--someone has gathered up our clothes and stacked them neatly outside the door. I'm relieved--the towel seemed like a fine outfit last night, but it's not really morning wear. I put mine on, but realize that there isn't anything here for Clark.

"I guess they couldn't find yours."

"Didn't bring any," he says, simply. "This was an all-or-nothing deal for me."

"I like you in the robes anyway," I assure him, and just to drive the point home I run my hands down his chest and into his costume, give his package a quick caress.

"That's all I care about," he says, smiling. "Now, let's see if there's breakfast around here."

The hall outside the conservatory is empty, and we walk toward the only sounds of life we can discern. After what seems like a quarter mile, we arrive at the kitchen, which is the center of morning-after activity. The hosts are here, sporting khakis and polos instead of vampire and mummy costumes, and there are pancakes on the griddle and bacon in the air. Upon seeing us, the former mummy drops his spatula and gasps.

"Well! What have we here?" He looks at Clark meaningfully, eyebrows raised.

"Cameron, I'd like you to meet Josh, my..." He pauses a bit. He's clearly never imagined himself saying this word. "My boyfriend."

Cameron beams, and, pausing first to retrieve his spatula from where it had clattered to the floor, steps over to us, hand outstretched.

"So pleased to finally meet you, Josh. I had no idea last night that you were the one Clark had been talking about." He turns to Clark. "You, sir, have excellent taste." With that he returns to his griddle to flip a half-dozen pancakes.

I'm trying to figure out whether I should thank him for this indirect compliment when a door opens and Dexter walks through (I can tell it's him because he's back in his street clothes--the Twins costume is probably under the bed of a completely satisfied woman).

"Good morning!" he calls, and we all answer back.

Through the door just behind him steps the aforementioned beautiful woman, wearing the top half of a zombie costume. It's a tattered old button-down shirt, just long enough to reach her thighs but torn enough to reveal some pale, smooth skin. I can see what Dexter sees in her. She walks over to him and kisses him--briefly, but with a little tongue. Yeah, there's a jockstrap under her bed all right.

"Josh," Dexter says, "Have you met Andrea?"

I haven't, and I'm about to say so when the door swings open again, and Porter and another guy come barreling through as if they've been racing each other to the kitchen. They shove and tickle their way across the room. Clearly Porter has found someone to tear off his jockstrap as well.

"And this," Dexter continues, undeterred from his social graces by the ebullient entrance of his brother and guest, "is Roman, Andrea's boyfriend and the best center on the team, now that I'm not playing anymore." He shakes his head at Porter. "I believe you've met my obnoxious brother."

Roman leans over and kisses Andrea, and I'm completely baffled about how all of this works. But before I can ask any awkward questions, Cameron announces that breakfast is ready, and we follow him into the dining room where another amazing feast has been laid out for us.

As we walk into the dining room, Porter squeezes his way between Clark and myself.

"So," he growls, a leer in his voice and a sexy crook in his eyebrow, "Did Death come for you last night?"

Clark rolls his eyes at the palpable lack of subtlety.

"Yes, and I came for him." Clark gives me a sort of thrilled/embarrassed look. "Twice," I add. Clark blushes and beams, a combination I quite like.

Porter turns to Clark for confirmation.

"It was epic," he tells Porter. "And I owe it all to you. Thanks for being my wingman, buddy."

"Are you kidding me? I mainly wanted the drama queen here to stop moping around the suite. It was getting depressing." He jabs me in the ribs, eyes twinkling with good-natured teasing. Lovely bastard.

As expected, the breakfast is amazing, and as I eat I recall the last time Clark and I had breakfast together. We've come so far so fast that it makes my head swim, but when I look at him I know we're on the right path. He's glowing this morning, and he keeps touching my leg under the table--at first I think he's flirting, but the more I think about it the more it seems he's simply confirming that I'm still there, that I'm real. I swear to god he just gets more adorable every minute.

After breakfast, Porter and Clark and I help out with the dishes. It gives me a chance to ask Porter about how his evening went.

"So, this Roman guy," I begin, and Porter grins slyly. "Seemed like the two of you were pretty close, but then he's with Andrea, who seemed like she was into Dexter. What's the deal?"

He smiles at me. "You've got a pretty good handle on it," he says, somewhat cryptically.

"Wait, what?"

"Roman and Andrea are a couple. But they can get kinda wild, and last night they got wild with us."

"You and Dexter?"

He nods.

"But not, like, at the same time, right?"

He nods. Clark, who has been following my line of questioning, nearly drops a dish.

"But how does that work?" he asks.

Porter looks at us with that skeptical critical eyebrow of his.

"You want the details?"

I nod. I don't know about Clark, but when it comes to sex, I'm very detail-oriented.

"Well, once the party started to break up, a bunch of us were in the hot tub. Dex and Andrea started making out, and then I felt this hand on my junk, and it could either have been that Betsy Ross--she was hot enough, but, you know, a chick--or Roman, who was on the other side of me. It turns out that Roman is more...flexible than I'd originally thought he was. So we start messing around, and then Andrea notices, and she's all like 'That is so hot!' and then Dex suggested we find a room. So we did, and we spent the night all kind of tangled up together." He chuckles at the memory. "At one point, Dex was on the bed, and he was fucking Andrea, reverse cowgirl--"

"Oh dude--too much detail," I tell him. I'm into lots of things, but I draw the line at heterosexuality. "Pull back a bit."

"No, you have to know that part to get what happens next!" he replies, then continues. "Roman and I were on the bed next to them, but then he rolls over, pushes her back so that she's lying on top of Dex, facing up, and he slides into her too. This, as you might imagine, makes quit an impression on Andrea, but she seems down with it, so he starts thrusting and moaning about how he can feel both of them, that she's so tight because Dex is already in there. He's getting both of them at once, and I'm getting nothing. So I condom up and slip into Roman from behind. Aw, man! You should have heard the guy. He's starts gibbering about how he's got one twin in his ass and he's rubbing against the other's cock in his girlfriend's pussy, and basically having a sex seizure. Luckily, Andrea shuts him up with her tongue, leaving Dex and me to finish our work in peace." He takes a deep breath, and contemplates the glass he's been drying. "It was kind of awesome, really."

Clark stares at Porter, slack-jawed, while water runs all across the counter, deflected by the dish he's forgotten he's holding.

"Well played, good sir," I say to Porter, giving him a congratulatory fist-bump. Then I kiss Clark on the cheek to bring him out of his sex-addled haze.