Their Girl Pt. 03

This is a work of fiction. All characters are eighteen years or older.

If you don't want to read about gay/bisexual interplay, dominant/submissive sexual relationships, unbalanced relationships (age or power), reluctance, or intentional breeding stories that result in pregnancy and children, this might not be the story for you. If you do read it, don't complain about it; you were warned.

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Jordan

"I hate leaving her there," I grumbled as we pulled away from the street where Kyra walked toward the beautifully restored mansion-turned-women's-shelter.

Marq made a grunt of agreement from the passenger seat, where he moved to after helping Kyra out of the car. "She should be in our bed tonight, not in some homeless shelter cubbyhole. I don't even care if we fuck or not. I just want her close."

Our house wasn't that far away, a century-old four-bedroom Craftsman home tucked into a hillside property on the edge of the Capitol Hill neighborhood of Seattle. The house was gorgeously restored and updated by a previous owner, with enough mature trees on the property it felt like we were in a forest. The house was built at the top of the slope, while the three-car garage of the same era was at street level, partly dug into the hillside. It was a unique layout, with winding stone stairs that led from the garage to the door.

Once we were inside, I pushed Marq against the wall and kissed him deeply. He was surprised but more than willing. Often that kind of move resulted in a sexy wrestling match but tonight, for both of us, it was about comfort, not sex.

Marq pushed back into me, just enough to show he was wholly involved, and when we broke the kiss, I dropped my head to his shoulder. "Are we going to the club tonight?"

His deep breath told me he was as emotionally affected by the last twenty-four hours as I was. "No. They've got it under control. I want a quiet night in. We've been busy. Too busy. I've missed just being with you."

He pushed me back, gently, and led me to the sprawling master bedroom, where we both changed into our favorite lounge clothes -- him in custom-made silk pajamas, and me in joggers and a tank. I settled on the California king bed, piled the pillows against the headboard to lean on, and turned on the big-screen TV on the opposite wall. Friday Night NCAA Football was on, Nebraska vs Clemson. I turned the sound down to be just enough to hear if we paid attention, but not loud enough to kill a conversation.

Marq took his time in the bathroom. His braids were a lot of work, but they were his pride and joy. He started growing them after the "trauma" of his NFL "rookie haircut," and they had become the center of his signature look. I just didn't want to deal with it, so I kept mine short.

When he finally emerged from the bathroom, he flopped down on the bed and rolled until he lay against my side, head on a pillow that was sticking out from behind my back and threw his arm over my waist. My cock jumped at the contact, but our "fuck every time we touch" days were behind us. After our two rounds with Kyra, it would be a while before I was overly easily aroused. Not that Marq couldn't get me going at any moment, with very little effort.

"What are we doing?" he asked.

"Watching football?" Yeah. I knew what he meant, and he grumbled at me for my teasing words.

"What if she doesn't choose us? I mean, do you feel it? That connection? I haven't felt anything like it since I met you."

I chuckled. "We didn't move quite so fast ten years ago."

"Ten years ago we both thought we were straight, and even so, once we figured it out it was pretty damn fast, from roommates to lovers in zero point six seconds," he argued.

My mind went back to the day we finally "got it." We were barely eighteen ourselves, and away from the direct influences of our families for the first time.

- Ten years ago -

We arrived at school for our freshman orientation and rookie session at football conditioning camp in early June and were assigned as roommates in the athletic dorms. Immediately we became joined at the hip, the best of friends, or so we thought. We just clicked. We were both defensive linemen, with nearly identical body types and height, about six-six, 280, and from the day we met we did everything together -- eating, working out, we watched film together, and before long we weren't finishing each other sentences, so much as knew what the other would say, so we didn't bother saying it.

Our teammates started calling us Thing 1 and Thing 2. We played along with the joke and chose jersey numbers 71 and 72.

During the first two weeks of rookie conditioning, we spent what little time we had off searching for two things -- girls and junk food. Sure, the stuff they fed us in the athletic dining room was plentiful and high quality, both in flavor and nutrition, but sometimes a guy has to have pizza or a hamburger. However, it was summer, and the girls were difficult to find. Even the jersey chasers -- who knew we were mostly locked away, so they were elsewhere, probably on a beach in Barbados or something.

Training camp was ending, classes were right around the corner, and we had a rare full day off before starting the regular season. It was a Sunday, and the majority of students wouldn't arrive for another week, so the parties hadn't started, and the temperature was punishing -- a sweltering 98 degrees nearly every day. Summer in Southern California sucked beans.

Both of us had sweated off several pounds of fat and needed a lot more food to put on the muscle we'd need. We didn't have washboard abs. We had fucking razorboard abs, and for the first time I discovered my Adonis belt -- that elusive V shape of muscle that only happens when you get to very low body fat percentages.

However, football isn't a body-building contest. We needed to bulk up to compete at the NCAA level, so by the time training camp was coming to a close, if we had time off we did two things; eat and rest.

We gave up on the girls. It took too much energy and too many calories. Parties took energy and calories. Even eating had lost its appeal. It was a chore, not a pleasure, to consume 7,000 healthy calories a day, and we both needed to add a thousand or more to put on the weight we needed to be taken seriously as defensive tackles. Having low body fat was great for wide receivers and cornerbacks, not linemen. We both needed more muscle and at least a small layer of bulk, aka fat, to move into the first string.

We were watching a preseason NFL game on the pitiful 24-inch flat-screen TV on our wall, and both of us were laid out in just our underwear on our respective beds. The weak air conditioning system barely stayed ahead of the baking heat wave.

A TV ad with particularly sexy bikini-clad women caught my attention -- both my eyes and my cock. It didn't help that I hadn't had the time or energy to find a regular girl on campus, and I hadn't had a girlfriend since just after prom. Which meant I kept getting unplanned erections at the smallest provocation like a damn middle-schooler.

"Are you planning on going camping or what?" Marq complained and threw a pillow at my hips.

I threw it back and shoved one of my own pillows over the affected area. "You know it's not exactly my choice. It happens, and it's like a girl desert around here. Poor Rosy is getting worn out."

"Jeezus, at this rate I'm starting to understand the guys in the Army who start doing each other. Even you're starting to look awfully good over there," he joked.

My cock jumped at his words. Thankfully, it still had a pillow covering, because, no, that was not a socially acceptable thing to happen among football players.

I always considered myself straight and I absolutely loved girls, but since I was a kid I silently acknowledged at least a little bit of bi-curiosity -- despite my family's strong homophobic attitudes. I'd seen plenty of porn clips that included male-on-male action, usually as an aside to scenes with one or more women, and they were intriguing. Most of my curiosity was centered on the smaller, slim-type guys, and twinks, but I never felt the need to act on it. More importantly, I'd never met a guy in real life who made those thoughts return.

"I've heard a lot of guys experiment, then spend the rest of their lives straight. Not sure I've ever talked to one who admitted it openly, but Google said it's a thing," I told him.

Marq nearly spat his Gatorade all over his bed. "You've actually looked it up? What, you had a thing for a guy?"

I laughed. "Never thought that way about anyone I've ever met. It's more of a theoretical thing. Google is dangerous when you're bored. Bored is a thing when you have to spend your summers with your grandparents in rural Missouri.

"Have you ever tried it?" His eyes were looking anywhere but at me.

"Nope. Never thought much about it outside of a vague concept, I guess," I shrugged.

I had no idea why I said it, but the next thing that came out of my mouth somehow missed every verbal filter I had. And trust me, considering some of the shit the rednecks in rural Missouri said to me, straight to my face, my filters are damn good. At least the West Coast racists usually know how to be subtle. It still cut, but I didn't feel like I'd end up shot and dumped in a river.

"Tell you what, I'll suck you off if you do the same for me. Then we never have to talk about it again," I suggested, and prepared to need to change rooms. Either that or laugh it off as if it was a joke.

When I finally built up the courage to actually turn to look him in the face, his eyes were practically bugged out of his face -- and his cock had raised his shorts like a damn circus tent.

"That," he sputtered, "that shouldn't sound like a good idea."

It took me a second to process what he said. Once it registered, I found myself sitting on the edge of my bed, my feet planted on the floor, in a split second. "Wait, you actually think it's a good idea?"

Marq looked away again, crossed his arms over his chest, and looked out the window as if he'd find whatever answer he was looking for out there.

"At this point, I'd try just about anything. We never get any time alone for self-service, which sucks even when there is time, and there's no fucking girls around," he said gruffly.

That made me choke back a laugh. "You'd really rather get head from another guy than beat off when I'm in the room?"

He sat up and pulled his legs in close, and hung his head, almost to his knees."I've been thinking about it. A little bit. I'm not gay or anything. Like you said, it's curiosity. I heard guys give better head because they know what feels best."

For a long time, we both just sat there on our respective beds, working through the weird-ass conversation we just had.

"I wouldn't even know how to start. I mean, who makes the first move, and how?" Why the hell did my filter fail now? I'd never forget this afternoon, no matter how hard I tried. I'd need brain bleach.

Marq's soft, bitter laugh was an agreement in and of itself. "Fuck."

In a single motion, he was on his feet, and he had dropped his shorts. I was so surprised I found myself staring at his bobbing cock, I froze, mesmerized.

I'd seen it in the locker room, the shower, the hydrotherapy pools, hell, everyone knew who was hung, and who was compensating. The first thing I learned, besides the old rule of not looking, was that the stereotype that black cocks were bigger was wrong. The biggest cock I ever saw in real life was a pony-size dick on a five-nine, pasty white kicker.

However, while I had seen Marq's cock before, I certainly hadn't seen it erect. He was a grower. Holy shit was he a grower. It wasn't quite as long or thick as my own, but damn close, and it was straighter than mine -- which was just a hair longer than eight inches. On our large bodies, they didn't seem huge, they seemed proportional.

"There's no way in hell I'm getting on my knees for you," I snapped. I wasn't anyone's bitch.

He glared at me. "This was your idea. This is fucking weird. Never mind. We'll just forget it," he said furiously and started to pull his shorts up.

The dorm room was small, way too small for two guys our size, and he was easily within reach. I yanked his shorts back down, and they tripped him so he fell back onto his bed.

"What the fuck?"

I laughed, mostly to show him I wasn't trying to be as aggressive as it seemed. It was more defensive. "Bruh, I said I don't go down on my knees. Just lay back, and relax. That way I won't get crushed when your knees give way and you fall on me."

"I can't believe I'm doing this," he said, his eyes screwed shut as if he was about to get kicked in the balls and didn't want to see it coming.

I double-checked that our doom door was locked securely. The last thing we needed was a teammate to barge in on -- what we'd be doing for the next while.

"Relax, I'm not going to kick you in the nuts," I told him as I guided his legs so one was on the ground, and the other on the bed, so I could sit between them. Surprisingly, he let me position him.

What the hell was I doing?

My own cock was diamond-hard as I examined Marq's proudly waving member. Perhaps my bi-curiosity was something I should have been more curious about.

"I'm going to touch your leg, don't freak out," I told him as I put one hand on the inside of his thigh, and ran it slowly up his leg. He flinched, and I took it slow, running my fingers up and down his thigh. Since I turned eighteen the previous October, I'd been with several female classmates who also reached their eighteenth birthdays. With a football scholarship on the line, I couldn't take the chance of a statutory rape accusation -- and a few college girls who went to school at a nearby community college. Once they saw the size of my cock, sometimes they needed to be calmed so they could relax for good sex. I used my experience with those girls, not having a clue if it would work on a guy.

Marq's cock was gorgeous -- so thick and long. The thought should have alarmed me, but it didn't. I had a gay cousin. He was shunned by my own parents and grandparents, but his parents and his maternal grandparents were supportive. He was loud and proud and taught me there was no shame in being LGBT. If I turned out to be gay, so be it -- my parents were assholes anyway -- but I enjoyed women too much to consider the possibility likely. Thanks to him, I just didn't see anything wrong with experimenting.

I moved closer to Marq's balls, which lay heavy and large in his smooth, dark scrotum -- damn golf balls hanging against his taint.

My hand brushed against his sack, and he groaned, which gave me courage. He wasn't rejecting my touch. My worst fear? He might freak out and punch me in the face, destroying our friendship, versus my best-case scenario in which we both enjoy the experience and become friends with occasional benefits.

Emboldened, I cupped his balls and began a gentle massage, and he pushed his hips up into my hands.

"That's so good. How do you know how to do this," he asked.

I snickered. "I've got my own set, bruh, I know what feels good."

"Okay," he said absently as I continued, and gently, firmly, grasped the base of his cock. "Ooh!"

His slit was weeping precum, making the purplish-pink head shiny and wet. I'd tasted plenty of girls' cum, but it took a moment to build the courage to taste the precum of another man.

I drew myself higher between his legs, so my mouth lined up with his cock. I was surrounded by the aroma of freshly showered man, a little musky, a little soapy, and tentatively licked at the bulbous, wet head.

Salty and unexpectedly fruity and sweet. He was always drinking fruit and protein smoothies for breakfast; he pretty much cleaned out the papaya, orange, and pineapple supply in the cafeteria to make them. That's what he tasted like. Tropical. Damn, I decided I liked it.

"If you're going to do this, just do it," he growled. This time when I looked at him his eyes were open, and he was looking down at me with a combination of lust and fear.

I locked eyes with his, and sealed my lips over the head of his cock, wetting it with my saliva, then slowly worked my way deeper, until his head was bumping the back of my throat. I swallowed convulsively, trying to clear my mouth of the copious amount of spit it was producing, combined with Marq's precum, but I was drooling down his cock anyway.

The spit covered my hand as I worked the bottom of his shaft, and we continued to lock eyes, as I realized -- I didn't have a gag reflex. I took him deeper, until he was in my throat, and wrapped my tongue around his cock. My eyes watered, but it was something I wanted to try, to do, and to be good at it. I was insanely competitive, and sucking off a guy was no exception.

"Ungh," he gurgled. His hips began to buck under me, and his big hands came down to wrap around my head -- and he began to fuck my mouth. I could hardly breathe. His cock filled my throat with each thrust, and I gasped for oxygen between thrusts.

It didn't take long before he mumbled, "I'm.." but the warning was too late, and his cock erupted deep in my throat. He grunted -- clearly trying to stay quiet. The dorm was not the place you wanted anyone to hear your orgasm shouts, particularly because the coaches had the dorms locked down so no one could sneak in women.

His orgasm lasted forever, and he shot at least five ropes of cum down my throat before I milked his cock for the rest -- hungry for more of it.

When I pulled off of him his cock slowly deflated against his lean, hard stomach, and for the first time I realized I lost my own load, just from sucking him off. I vaguely remembered the feeling of intense pleasure, but I hadn't been touching myself.

"You're going to have to wait a while for your turn," Marq muttered tiredly. "Bruh, I didn't know a guy could do that to another guy, not like that. That was hotter than anything a girl's ever done."

I groaned, embarrassed. I was glad for my dark skin tone because I could feel the heat in my face and neck. "Take your time."

For the first time since his spectacular orgasm, he looked at me, and his eyes went to the large goopy stain on the front of my silky team workout shorts.

I shuffled into our en-suite bathroom -- one of the few luxuries we had in the athletic dorms -- and stepped into the shower to clean off the sticky evidence of my shame. I let my shorts puddle to the bottom of the shower, it was too hot for underwear, and once my body was clean, I made sure my shorts were clean too and hung them over the shower curtain. I just did laundry, and I'd need those shorts.

When I stepped back into the main bedroom, towel wrapped around my waist, Marq had his shorts back on and looked as embarrassed as I felt. I sat on my bed, feeling awkward as hell. He was flattened, as if he just finished a two-a-day, then ran ladders for an hour.

"If you're going to freak out, just let me know. I can request another roommate, or you can. No one has to know what happened," I offered, and I felt a painful contraction in my chest.

His confused eyes met mine. "I don't want a different roommate. You're the best friend I ever had, and this changes nothing. Have you ever had a moment when you realized something about yourself, something you never had a clue? Then in a moment, it's there."

Yeah, I just had one. I'm gay. Or at least bi. No straight guy enjoyed sucking cock that much. But I couldn't say that.

I nodded without clarifying what my "moment" was.

"I wouldn't complain if you wanted to do that again," he said with a cautious glance at my reaction.

Damn, but my cock was starting to rise under the towel already. I always had a short refractory period, but this was ridiculous. It hadn't been five minutes.