Little Things Ch. 02 of 04

I nod once, a tremble of titillation at my throat, and settle back to watch. Regarding with flashing eyes the pink of self-consciousness on David's cheeks as his hand drops inside his underwear, forcing down the elastic band. And then a sudden, sharp inhalation of breath as he pulls it out - a spear of flesh, red-tipped and rippled with veins, pushing upwards within his curled fingers. My gaze sticks to it like a insect trapped in amber. April was right; he's big. At least as big as Jeff was, and I didn't even go all the way with him.

Not like I'm going to with David, either, obviously. Just...I don't know. The nervous babbling of my mind quiets, nearly stills as he begins to stroke. Not yet fully erect, but he's close - the little droop near the tip disappearing second by second as blood pulses into his cock, the mushroom head emerging from its sheath of skin. My tongue sneaks out to wet lips that feel suddenly, painfully dry. God, he has a gorgeous dick. Uncut, thick, the tracery of veins ending in a smoothly bulbous tip. The kind of cock that pushes buttons deep in the back of a girl's mind. Maybe deep in a few other places, too. And it's such a rush, watching it turn hard as rock in his hand. Even his long fingers look like they have to stretch to get all the way around. I bet mine couldn't, if I tried.

It rises up tall now, long and imposing. I'm distantly reminded of that picture, marines raising the flag at Iwo Jima, and I have to suppress a lightly hysterical giggle - he might get the wrong idea if I laughed right now. So I just watch with baited breath as the tip of his cock bobbles back and forth with his rhythmic, quickening strokes, his slit aimed almost at me, like a single, red-tinged eye staring me in the face. A dab of pre-cum, clear and slick, beginning to bead there, glinting like a priceless pearl. I can feel my pussy trickling, a sympathetic wetness.

God damn, this is too much, too compelling. My skin itches, burns with an insistent need to be touched. I permit my fingers to roam again about my breasts, flicking at my swollen and sensitive nipples. Squeeze together my thighs, letting the nectar of pleasure run through me, filling my head with fireworks.

Something grabs at me, a twinge in my soul. I glance up, away from the fevered pumping of his hand, into the eyes that seem to luxuriate with such manifest pleasure upon my body. A sea of blue, washing down my shoulders, over my chest, warm and all-encompassing. After some moments, his eyes flicker upward, meet with mine, and we share a quiet gaze. A faintly wry smile passing between us, testament to the admitted madness of this moment. And then we dive back in, without pause, without hesitation. I gently squeeze at my breast, delighting in the look of primal hunger that flashes in his eyes. Drop my gaze back to his tall and rigid manhood, as he pushes himself towards release.

Nearly there now, by the look of things. The furious red of his tip, the speed with which his hand works at his shaft, his foreskin sliding, stretching back and forth upon the head. His mouth hangs barely open, breathing heavily past pearly, just-parted teeth. Erratic motions, erratic breaths, appearing in flickering palpitations as he draws near; I can almost see the orgasm boiling up inside of him. Some fussy voice in the back of my mind worries about the mess he's going to make on my bed, but the arousal burning in my mind takes no trouble from it. Instead, I feel another rolling thrill of pleasure, rub together tingling thighs, in contemplation of him spilling his seed here where I sleep, where I touch myself.

Then it comes. He grunts, low and deep and masculine, his eyes closed in rapture. His frantic pumping shudders to a stop, fingers curled at the base of his throbbing cock. His balls draw visible upwards, clenching together as the first jet of cum spurts forth. I'm expecting a modest trajectory, a stain upon the bedsheets - but I've underestimated him, underestimated the power in his body. That first dull white stream flies in a high arc across the space between us, and splatters messily on the side of my breast. The second is almost the same, landing just a little lower to puddle around my belly button.

For a moment, I'm startled, shocked by the impact. Then the feeling of it thrusts into my consciousness - gooey, hot, slowly dribbling down across my tingling flesh. David's cum, alive with the teeming millions of squirmy little swimmers. His deepest essence, plastered and dripping on my skin...my fingers brush through it, drawing slimy lines up my breast, smearing upon my nipple as I pinch and twist madly, my nerves burning with feeling. My legs crossed, squeezing frantically together, pulses of pleasure bubbling through my mind. God, there's an impossible, terrible perfection to this moment, my baby brother spasming in rapture just before me, his hot cum messily splashed upon my skin. Me, being that much to him...another desperate pinching at my nipple, biting at my lip, and my eyes roll backwards in my head as I fall back into ecstasy. An orgasm quick but intense, ringing in my ears like a thousand tiny bells, exploding behind my eyes like a lightning storm. Exquisite.

David's hardly moved when reason returns, and I find that my eyes can focus again. Still kneeling there across from me, his eyes closed, fingers curled firm around his softening manhood, now oozing the last remnants of his ejaculate. Little dollops of white, scattered across the blankets between us, like a perverse trail of breadcrumbs. His breath comes slow and heavy, a sound like that of contentment, fulfillment, and I hesitate to speak - until his eyes finally flicker open again, darting around the bed, taking in the sticky mess splashed upon my skin. When his mouth opens, I already know the words he's going to say.

"Oh, jeez, I'm sorry." An amused, tolerant smile curling on my lips at the familiar phrase, the embarrassment in his voice and on his cheeks. He pulls his hand from his organ, hoping perhaps for a greater dignity - but a mucousy, distended blob still clings that he has to awkwardly carry, trying not to drop it on the bed. "I didn't, um...ugh, what a mess..."

"Don't worry about it." A bit of a snicker, softly elated. I roll off the bed, awareness of my still-uncovered chest pulsing somewhere in the back of my mind. Leaving it aside, quietly glorying in this freedom, this openness. "I've got some tissues, here on my desk..." Passing him a small handful, we work together in silence to scoop up the scattered puddles, so thick as to be almost fibrous. His eyes avoiding my breasts now, hiding away. I'm not sure how to take that. It felt...good, having him look at me. Feeling his desire for me. I mean, I don't usually really care about that. It's nice to be able to turn guys on, but by itself, it doesn't mean they care about me.

With David, though...it's different. I know he cares. Looks up to me, trusts me. Loves me. And so for him to want me, too...the feeling is worlds apart. Like I'm really worth something. And it would be too easy, as well, to want him back. Even has he stands around, head bowed and eyes averted, humiliated for what I bade him to do...I can still see the Adonis in him. With a little confidence, he could have any women he wants. But - and my heart tingles, a smile curves on my lips - he wants me.

Quiet now, an awkwardness after the heady abandon of his display. With a trace of reluctance, I retrieve my shirt from where it was heedlessly cast, slip it back over my shoulders. The fabric sticking briefly to my skin where the tissues didn't entirely clean away his residue. His stain. I don't like the word; it suggests dirt, ugliness. That's not the way I feel, from this. More - alive. Like that moment between sleep and wakefulness, between dreaming and reality, when anything seems possible. That's the feeling that flows from the beating of my heart, that aches through my skin.

He's standing, loosely uncomfortable, as I settle down upon the bed again, sitting with my back to the wall. Watching me, but with his mouth shut, not knowing what to say. I need to reassure him, if only in a simple way. "Come on, Davey." A comforting half-smile lightly stretched across my lips. "Lay back down here with me." And I pat invitingly at the space beside me, giving him a look, expectant and waiting.

He obeys, after some moments, sits down in that spot, facing away from me...stock still, as my hand slides up his shoulder, glides and rubs gently at the base of his solid neck. A short lifetime of worries gathered there, not much relaxed by his recent release. Knots of tension, fairly throbbing under my hand. I rest there lightly, at the top of his spine, feeling the muscle twitch in tiny flickers.

"Lay down." Softer. My hand guiding him down, putting his head to rest gently in my lap. My fingers woven through his wavy, cornsilk hair. After the excitement, the erotic tension of minutes before, this is a quiet pleasure, one that we've oft enjoyed. Common in our childhood. Curled up before the television, or in our old treehouse, telling each other stories...it's been years. My smile tinges bittersweet as my fingers tenderly caress upon his scalp, and I briefly wonder if this isn't what I really missed. A simple, innocent closeness, not the dangerous thrill that I just demanded of him. That he gave me with hardly a quarrel. "Thank you."

Even without turning my head downward, I can just see his china-blue eyes at the bottom of my vision, faintly obscured by thin locks of strawberry-blonde hair. They tilt up at me, uncertain; he swallows before he speaks. "What? You mean for...?" A trailing silence, for the thing he has such trouble expressing.

"Yeah. That." Warmth, amusement, flowing slowly in my expression. I let my fingers explore in his hair a few more moments, before speaking again. "I...I appreciate it. I mean, I used to ask some of my boyfriends, sometimes, to do that for me, and they..."

"They wouldn't?" He sounds surprised.

"No, they did." I shake my head lightly. "More or less. It just wasn't ever, you know, quite what I imagined it to be. There was always this sense, like...they were just humoring me. Or it was just a bargaining chip. Like they get to trade it in for a blowjob later on, like it's all just...commodities." A quiet snort of half-laughter, tinged with more vulnerability than I'd like. "I never felt like it was really for me, you know? Like they really wanted me to be happy with it. But you...well, I kind of felt that from you. So, um. Thanks." Self-consciousness holding back the gratitude in my smile.

"Heck, anytime." The bravado in his voice is all too audible - likewise, the tension beneath, fearful that I might take him up on the offer. I laugh, longer and more sincere than before. Oh, this guy. Quiet affection shakes my head at him, my thumb drawing gently along his forehead.

"It wasn't too bad, was it?" My voice solicitous, softly concerned.

"No...hey." He protests, weakly. "Come on, I'm not that pathetic. I can handle myself." And how much that sounds, now, like a half-believed affirmation, the sort of thing you'd say to yourself in the mirror every morning. "You just...caught me off-guard with this, that's all." A moment passes, and self-deprecating laughter flashes in his eyes. "'Sides...if I tell you I've got this crazy feeling for you, I at least oughtta be able to live up to it, right?"

"I suppose so," I fairly murmur back, my gaze lifting up, away, to rest abstractedly on the darkened walls. His crazy feeling. And me? What do I feel, really? With each passing day, each hour, I'm less and less certain. My heart pulled in a hundred different directions, like a panicked mob scrambling for safety. Sisterly affection. Friendship. Concern. Desire. Pride. Love.

Such an ambiguous term, 'love.' We use it to say so many different things, apart and in combination. The love of family, the love of close friends, the love of want and of regard. The love that's just a simple joy in being with someone. Maybe it's enough just to say that I love him - to hide in that ambiguity. Maybe that's all I can do. The feeling flows and fluctuates in my mind, rolling in and out like the tides; it would be a lie, I think, to slap down bright lines and say 'This is what I feel, right here.'

I don't need to decide. Not now, anyway. For a while we just lay there in silence, his head in my lap, my fingers tracing with a quiet, contemplative slowness through his scalp. I take pleasure in the nearness, in this touch that radiates with the warmth of our past and yet sparkles as well with fanciful promises of bright and dangerous futures. A wish sitting on my tongue, for which there are no words.

---

If the push and daring of the afternoon came with some awkwardness, then at least it makes the evening a comparative comfort. With Marie and April returned from their classes, the four of us gather in the living room, half-watching the TV, chatting as we tear through a couple pizzas - the expense of which I took on myself, as a minor peace offering to April. I've found a new equilibrium with David, able to look him in to eye, to laugh and to tease and to toss the occasional balled-up napkin, largely untroubled by the mild flirtation I feel in the activity. A game, reality...it's hard to distinguish, resting in the hazy space between the two. The rules I set sit solid in the back of my mind; nothing real awaits us. But it's pleasant to pretend. To imagine.

And afterward, as the evening nears an end - April departed for a late-night party, and Marie to her studies - David and I are left alone again, sitting on the couch beside greasy pizza boxes while the television tries its best to sell us on cell phones and auto insurance. Remote in hand, I turn the volume down to a whisper before rising to my feet. David following soon after, and the first to speak. "So, what now?" A little eagerness in his voice, a humble hunger that makes my heart flash with exuberant delight.

"What, today wasn't enough for you?" A teasing lilt in my tone, quietly mindful of Marie in her room down the hall. "You take me out to the movies, kiss me...jerk off all over my tits..." He blushes beet-red at the mention, at my crudity, and I grin. God, he looks adorable in embarrassment. "...and now you want more? I swear, guys are impossible to satisfy."

"No, not..." He shakes his head, cheeks still radiant. "I didn't mean, um...what I meant was just-"

"Relax, Davey." An indulgent smile. I step forward, my hand slipping around his for a little squeeze. "I know what you meant." A brief quiet, with eyes locked. The blue of his gaze, timorous and hopeful, beautiful...there's a faint regret, as I give my head a shake. "But we've got to head out pretty early tomorrow, and I've still got a paper to polish up and send off in, um..." I glance at the clock. "Three hours. So for now, I think it's going to just have to be 'good night.'"

"Okay." He struggles with a smile, to hide his disappointment, without tremendous success. My heart twinges a bit, and my hand lifts, lights on the side of his slightly narrow jaw. Curling around the edge, my fingers sliding in a tiny caress. If it's goodnight, well...at least we can make it a nice one. I step forward, into him - my lips seeking his, finding them warm and waiting. His hands rising up to rest lightly at my waist. His tongue venturing outward, gliding experimentally upon the inside of my upper lip, tasting me...

One second. I pull back again, flush with pleasure, and with a vague irritation at myself. Damn it, why did I have to say a second? It's about the worst possible limit - long enough just to catch the merest glimpse before the curtains are pulled shut, to get the barest taste of a dish then ripped away. To make me realize what I'm missing.

I mean, it's still...necessary. Wise. Prudent, one might say, if one wanted to sound like an investment banker. Just frustrating to stick to, when I'm in that moment. When I want to dive in, to lose myself in his lips, to let his tongue invade me, and instead I have to...step back. Close the door. Be sensible, a good example, all of that. Whatever it all means, whatever it's worth.

But I have to, so I do it. Step back, away from him, letting his hands fall from my sides. Half a smile, small and slightly sardonic, curled on my lips. "Goodnight, David." My eyes dwelling in his, floating in that sea of blue.

"Goodnight, Sam." The response comes with a warm and honest simplicity, one that I carry with me as I turn away, starting down the hall to my room. After everything today, all the worry and the wonder and the nervous thrills, right now I just feel...good. And in the past few years, that's not been too common a state. So it's with a light heart that I run through my paper a couple times more, swapping out the odd word here and there. Finally emailing it to my professor, and with all duties disposed, drop back into bed. My heart sparking a little faster, as my legs brush on spots still slightly damp, the memory of watching him there smouldering in my mind.

---

I sleep well that night, to my mild relief, and wake with the dawn from a dreamless sleep, the sun rising with a cold, white light over a thin layer of snow. Even with my heater going strong, I can feel the day's chill seeping in, an icy intruder infiltrating the room.

No matter. The drive down to Oakley looms ahead. It's usually quite a chore...nine or ten hours, eight if I push it and just eat in the car. It'll be nice to have some company; make it a bit of a road trip, instead of a maddening exercise in monotony. All the same, I want to get it over with sooner, not later.

A dozen or so outfits, tossed into a large luggage bag alongside toiletries and DVDs. When I head out to the living room, I find that David's had the same idea, standing there fully-dressed with his weekend bag neatly packed and sitting on the couch. A smile is his greeting, soft and slight, but I can feel it warm me like a mug of cocoa, and I smile back. We hardly need to speak to plan the day; our old familiarity, old connection, does the work of words. Indeed, we're packed up and about to pop off in the truck when distraction arrives in the form of a souped-up car engine, its rumbling breaking the silence of and otherwise-still morning. And not long before the source of the sound becomes apparent - a cherry-red Charger prowls slowly down the parking lot before finally stopping in front of my apartment. I'm scarcely surprised when the door opens and April pops out, wearing fashionable fur boots but otherwise far underdressed for the weather. Clearly coming from the tail end of her party, if the disheveled hair and slightly glassy eyes are anything to go by.

She catches sight of me at about the same moment, and I can feel my hackles rise as a familiar smug smile curves her lips, as she stumbles towards us, the snow audibly crunching around her footsteps. "So," she croons, still with that faint, self-satisfied amusement, while the car that brought her takes off once again. "You two sneaking off together?"

Damn it. Frustration aches along my spine, but I don't want another fight with her, not right now. Especially since she's uncomfortably close to being right... "I'm going home for the winter break, remember?" Keeping my voice calm, controlled. As affable as I can manage, under the circumstances. "Might be good for me to get out of your hair for a while, anyway."

"Oh." The humility of this answer seems to catch April off-guard, as though she were bracing for another fight herself. She swallows, and when she speaks again, it's in a quieter voice, one a bit more civil. "Back to the farm, is it?"

"Yep. I'll get to feed chickens, milk cows...all the fun stuff." Half a smile flickering on my face, concealing my discomfort beneath a layer of sarcasm.