Swim Team Ch. 11 - Baptism

"Fuck!"

"Shh!" Michael appeared in the doorway. "You can't say that word here. What did you find?"

"You were right." I closed the windows on the screen. "It's too much. I couldn't get through it either," I lied.

Through the nose and out of my mouth, I closed my eyes and drew deep breaths.

When I opened them again, Michael was kneeling in front of me, frozen, eyes wide, with his palm inches from my knee.

His voice trembled. "I'm sorry. I should have warned you."

"You did."

"But--" He paused, his hands trembling. "I shouldn't have shown you the files."

"I wanted to see."

Michael recoiled, turning his head to the side.

"I'm fine, really." I said to reassure him.

His face steady, his eyes looked at me. He sighed, more in defeat than relief.

The room was quiet, the air conditioning clicked on and hummed. Dejected, Michael stared at the ground. No words came to me. I waited, the beat of my heart growing louder in my ears.

With a deep breath, Michael looked at his brother's bed. "Somehow it's been the hardest part for him."

I too looked at the bed, then back at him, but he continued, confined to DJ's side of the room.

Tears welled in his lower eyelids. "I wish I knew how to be there for him like he'd been for me." He swallowed hard. "But I--I need him, and he's not here... not like he was before."

Michael tilted his head back and filled his lungs. A fight against tears.

As if possessed or in rebellion, my arm reached for him and landed my palm on his shoulder. He turned to face me, his eyes wet, glittering.

"That has to be hard," I said.

I wonder where my dad is. Why hasn't he responded to my texts?

I didn't need him, not like Michael did DJ, but questions stewed in me.

Had he had enough? Did they disconnect his phone?

Michael's lips quivered, strings of spit stretched from each lip as he opened his mouth. "I wish we'd move."

I nodded, squeezing his shoulder. "Hey, wanna see the loft?"

Michael met my eyes, his expression vacant.

Hand extended, I stood, and he accepted.

***

Keys jingled, the deadbolt clunked, and I stepped past the flat, polished, stained door. Michael's eyes grew, his head panned over the ceiling to the floor. "Wow."

"Pretty nice, right?" I smiled.

Michael gaped, gliding his fingers over the thick granite countertop. "The three of them live here?"

"Only on some weekends, and usually just the dads."

"Are you serious?" Michael asked, a hint of envy in his tone.

"Yeah, they live in a big house closer to school, right next to Keith."

"That's crazy."

"Let me show you the loft upstairs," I said, and gestured for him to follow.

When the bed entered our view, his face lit up, and he ran, jumping with arms and legs outstretched before his body thumped flat.

"It's so soft," he said, bending and brushing his limbs over the sheets.

I beamed. "You'll get your shirt wrinkled."

Michael froze and climbed off the bed. "Dang it." After pulling his shirt from his arms, he studied it. "Too late," he said, rolling his eyes and tossing the white shirt to the floor.

Damn, he looks cute in his little wife beater.

"Your pants look ok. Fold them up and we'll wash the shirts here." I suggested.

Michael looked up at me, then down at his belt buckle.

Brows high, lips pursed, I opened my mouth and said, "I've seen you in less, don't be so shy." I winked at him. He flushed before unbuckling.

My dick jolted, engorging.

After depositing our shirts in the wash, I returned to the loft, finding him under the covers gazing at the ceiling, wedged in the bed's center, a silly grin stretching from cheek to cheek.

"Comfy?"

Michael giggled, his eyes rolling to me. "Very."

With a nod, I said, "Awesome. I'm going to rinse off real quick."

He grunted.

I did more than rinse. I lathered my whole body, especially my asshole, cock, and balls. Lower lip pressed between my teeth, my cock hardened.

Such an innocent little boy. I bet he tastes delicious. I want to take him, swallow his cock with my mouth and hole.

My chest tightened, cock at full mast. I turned off the water and wrapped the towel tight, peeking around the corner. Michael's eyes were closed, the movement of his chest slow.

The drumming in my heart sped.

It wasn't cool to make moves on someone while they slept. Keith can be such a downer. Keith liked it a lot. He fucked me when he thought I was asleep. Fucking hypocrite--but all is forgiven. Fuck me day or night, Keith, awake or asleep.

I wonder how big Michael is.

Tiptoeing, I reached the bed and slid out of my towel and under the sheets, wriggling closer to my resting angel.

I'd love to cuddle, but he'd easily turn back from that. No, I need to go down on him. Even if he wakes up, he might pretend to be asleep just to keep from making things weird.

Under the covers, I plunged head first, cool air seeping in when I lifted up for more clearance. His smooth sun-kissed legs joining under tight white open-fly undies. I lowered my face and took a deep inhale of his groin's musk. A tingle ran down my back and to my aching shaft. I planted a kiss on the center bulge. It throbbed. My mouth watered. From the mound of his sack, his dick separated and grew. I encouraged it with my hand, rubbing with my palm. It grew longer and thicker. I swallowed a growing pool of saliva. At least seven inches and thick. Under the waistband, I threaded my hand and formed a fist around his rigid cock. There was no turning back now. I needed this. He needed this. I stoked him until a sphere or pre-cum glistened on the tip of his circumcised glans. Lips wetted, the tip of a finger absorbed it and I connected the liquid to the tip of my tongue.

Oh my god, he's so sweet, and pure, and--and.

I lowered my mouth to his engorged purple head, giving it a slow, tender lick. He was a complex wine of honey, cocoa notes, and sea salt; a bouquet of a boy lusting to be a man, for a man.

My eyelids fluttered and pupils rolled back, savoring and indulging. I circled the head with my tongue before locking my lips around it, sucking, rewarded with a gush of sweetness. A moan, I hummed on his cock. Then I inched down, my lips gliding over the smooth thin skin tight around the engorged tissue beneath. I extended my tongue far and flat, slipping down and across his shaft. Michael sucked in air as I pumped his cock harder. The pumping sped, my spit flowing in streams over and around his sack. I cupped his balls and descended further, welcoming the taut mushroom head beyond the opening of my throat. Lips sealed over the base, pubes tickling one cheek, undulating testicles under elastic next to the other. I glided back up his shaft, tongue caressing every millimeter with tender care.

Fucking shit. I wanna have his babies. White shirt, dark tie, and briefcase out the door every morning, leaving me with a kiss, and a promise to fuck my brains out later. A gentleman on the streets, an animal in the sheets. God, I'm so hard.

With the knuckles of my fist, I pressed the end of my shaft deep into the meat of my thigh. A low quiet moan escaped, my anus pulsed with aching need.

Threads of saliva stretched when my lips popped from his cock. I looked up, Michael's eyes were open. "Please--please don't stop," he said.

I smiled and jerked his heft. "Just sit still."

Between his legs, I climbed up on the bed, the weight of my feet jostling his hips from side to side, planting outside his lower torso. I bent my knees into a squat and guided his spit slick shaft to my greedy hole. Michael stared at my descent, gaping, eyes bulging. When my anus touched the purple hard tip he winced an inhale, eyes rolling back as my warm body swallowed him.

When I could feel the warmth of his pelvis on my cool cheeks, Michael took hold of my hips with startling strength, forcing me down hard. My god, it hurt, longer and thicker than either Keith or Jake. I clenched my teeth, but Michael didn't seem to notice, his hips slapped louder and louder, my cock flailing between our stomachs, sometimes slapping him, sometimes me, spinning webs of pre-cum. The force of his rock hard cock jammed against my insides, an incredible drumming barely behind the beat of my sprinting heart. Michael slurped air through his teeth and salivating mouth, beginning a guttural growl.

He bent forward at the waist and pushed me to my back, pulling his legs from under me, my head dangling past the foot of the bed. Palms tight over the backs of my thighs, he watched himself fuck me, harder and faster. I covered my mouth, my eyes rolling back into my skull. Where had the meek Mormon boy gone? Had I killed him and summoned some kind of insatiable demon? I didn't care, he could fuck me as hard and as long as he wanted. Each thrust only made my hole want more.

Please god, don't stop.

His palms lifted from my thighs, pushing them to one side. At my waist, he tugged guiding me to my knees.

Fuck, god yes.

Michael spat on his fingers and rubbed his cock before ramming his jet in a single merciless thrust. Now his hands hooked around the front of my upper thighs as he used me and I took hold of my aching rager.

I tightened my anus around his piston and he moaned, but continued the grueling assault on my ass. My moans lifted in pitch, the drums of his cock against my prostate hummed. I couldn't breathe, my chest tight with ecstasy. Somehow his rhythm increased, he growled, then he growled again, and again, each time louder and more feral than the last. It was as if he was taking a life of repression out on me and he was going to get everything--everything he'd denied and been denied.

In a howl, jets of cum filled me, so deep, I worked my cock with reckless abandon, soaking the sheets in rope after rope of satisfaction.

Gasping as though we'd swam a race, Michael fell backward on the bed with a sigh. I climbed beside him and he let me rest the side of my head on his warm muscular shoulders. He said nothing, which suited me. Words would have spoiled it, but I hoped more than anything it'd happen again--and soon.

I admitted it to myself, I was a slave to that cock. What wouldn't I do or tolerate to feel this way again?