Tigger's Perfect Valentine


"Take your pants off and I'll wash them for you."

Tigger hesitates. If he takes his pants off, he'll feel vulnerable. But Harold is looking at him expectantly so he takes a deep shaky breath and undoes the fly on his chinos, sliding them off. He leaves his underwear on and belts the robe securely around his slender waist.

"Don't you want to do something tonight?" he asks. "I don't want you to have to stay home on my account."

"The weather's miserable—it's pouring out there now. Staying here, ordering pizza, and watching a movie sounds perfect to me. What do you think?"

"Yeah ... okay. If that's what you want. But I could go out with you if you want. I'm fine."

They're facing each other now, still standing close. "No," Harold says, reaching out and touching Tigger's sore cheek very gently with the tips of his fingers. "Let's stay in."

Tigger nods. Closing his suitcase, he shuffles it once more to the foot of Harold's bed. Taking a seat nervously on the edge of the bed, he makes sure the bathrobe covers him well.

"We should have some ice in here." Harold is at the mini-fridge on Steve's side of the room, opening the door. "Oh my god! Steve forgot his beer." He looks over his shoulder at Tigger with a huge grin on his face. "Normally, I wouldn't touch his stuff, but I think he owes you at least a six-pack for being a total dickwad. In fact, on Tuesday when the administrative offices open up, I'm going to file a formal complaint."

"You don't have to do that. I don't want to cause trouble between you and him."

"Don't worry about it. I was going to see if they could move me in with someone else anyway. I don't like living with him—he's a prick. This will be the ammunition I need to convince the powers that be to move me. I might even get a private room."

"I had a private room for a while. My first roommate didn't last two weeks before he got too homesick and moved back to Pomeroy. Luckily I met Jon and he moved in with me before they could assign me someone else. Jon's great.

"Love interest?" Harold asks. His voice is neutral but he's watching Tigger's face intently.

"No. He's gay too, but we're not each other's types. We both like big guys and he's tinier than I am."

"Big guys, huh?" Harold says. "I'm surprised you liked me in high school. I'm tall, but I'm skinny." He pops the cap off one of the Henry's and hands it to Tigger.

Tigger doesn't like beer, but he accepts it without comment. He can feel his face flushing. "I ... I like tall. And thin is better than fat."

"But you'd prefer muscles, like Steve?"

"Ugh! Did you have to bring him up? Muscles are nice, but really, is a guy that looks like that ever going to go for someone like me?"

Harold raises an eyebrow. "Don't sell yourself short. With those beautiful aqua eyes, you could probably get anyone you set your heart on."

Tigger turns his flaming face to the floor and bites his lower lip. He never knows what to say when people compliment him. They often comment on his eyes, which are very pale and can pass for either green or blue, depending on what he's wearing.

After getting a beer for himself and taking a long pull, Harold busies himself filling a baggie with ice and wrapping a small towel around it. He hands it to Tigger.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine. Really."

Harold looks at him with concern but doesn't come back with, "Are you sure?" Instead he says, "You're a pepperoni and olive guy, yeah?"

Tigger is startled for a second before he realizes that Harold is talking about pizza toppings. How sweet. He remembers what kind of pizza I like. He feels his insides going gooey and chastises himself. Don't go thinking you're special. We ordered pizza so often in high school, it's probably just etched into his brain. "Yeah, but I've branched out a bit. I'll eat other stuff on my pizza too."

"Mushrooms?" Harold asks hopefully.

"Sure." Tigger's quick smile turns into a wince. His cheek hurts like hell. He might even end up with a shiner. Wouldn't that be fun to explain to his new friends at school?

An hour later they'd finished eating. While they'd waited for the pizza to arrive, Harold had rinsed the blood out of Tigger's shirt and sweater and thrown his clothes in the washer along with a load of his own.

"Why don't you pick out a movie while I run down and put the clothes in the dryer?" Harold hands his laptop to Tigger. "I've got a Netflix account or we could watch Hulu or whatever. Sorry I don't have a bigger screen. We'll have to sit close." He throws Tigger a sly grin and Tigger tries again to convince himself that Harold isn't flirting. It certainly seems like Harold is flirting. Down boy! Tigger orders his deviant cock.

"What kind of movie do you want to watch?"

Harold waggles his eyebrows and taunts, "How about some porn?"

"Absolutely not!" Tigger huffs. He feels like a prude, but he's sure if they watch porn, he'll get hard regardless of whether there are boobs involved or not. If Harold got turned on, he'd get turned on. He's already feeling self-conscious about wearing a bathrobe.

Harold laughs and the sound of it brings a flood of memories: goofing around in the halls of their old high school, swimming at the lake in the summer, playing Nerf Pong in his basement. Tigger can't help but grin back at him. "I'll pick something we'll both like."

"I'm sure you will." Harold winks at him and Tigger feels the color rising in his cheeks again.

By the time Harold is back, Tigger has found an old Arnold Schwarzenegger movie, Commando. He loves watching big muscular men run around with no shirts on.

He and Harold sit close, their shoulder's touching, the laptop balanced between them as they watch the first part of the movie. They drink all of Steve's beer, Tigger having two and Harold pounding down the other four. Two beers make Tigger feel giggly and Harold is definitely wobbly when they pause the movie so he can retrieve the laundry. When he returns he insists that Tigger sit between his legs for the rest of the movie, saying he's getting a stiff neck and it would be more comfortable for both of them.

Tigger agrees with some trepidation, glad that the laptop covers his crotch. Harold wraps his warm arms around him and he snuggles back against the bigger man's chest, loving the way it feels to be held. He can't help the instant daydream that plays in his mind: Harold is his boyfriend—he gets to snuggle like this with him every day. He hits his mental pause button when it starts to go further, but he has trouble focusing on the movie after that. Harold gently strokes his arm and he feels Harold's dick swelling against his ass. His own cock, not to be left behind, immediately engorges beneath the warmth of the laptop.

After a time Harold's hand steals from his arm across his chest and begins to pet the sparse hairs there. Tigger's breath hitches and he fights to keep his heartbeat under control, sure that Harold will feel it and know how he's affecting him.

When Harold's lips touch the side of his neck, he squirms in panic and would have pulled away if Harold hadn't tightened his arms.

"What are you doing?" His voice is high.

"You're beautiful, you know that?" Harold murmurs, kissing along his neck.

Heat flushes through Tigger and he gasps for air, suddenly light-headed. His mind is screaming at him to pull away, but his body refuses to obey. He can't do anything but lie there and let Harold nuzzle him. "But ... but you're straight!" he finally manages to stutter.

"I never said that." Harold's hand moves over to gently pinch one of his nipples.

"Ungh!" Tigger is not able to control the sound that comes out of his mouth or the twitch of his hips. As Harold continues to torture his nipple, he throws his head back against his shoulder and lets out a long moan.

He feels Harold chuckling against his neck. "You're very sensitive," he whispers in his ear. His fingers abandon the now-stiff nub and move slowly across his chest to start in on the other one.

That brief respite is enough for Tigger to gain a tiny bit of control over his body and he grabs Harold's hand in desperation. "Wh ... what?"

Harold manages to extricate his hand, but instead of going back to play with Tigger's nipples, he touches his jaw, tipping Tigger's head toward him.

"You have such kissable lips."

The sound of Harold's voice, low and silky, sends a shiver through him. He's sure he's dreaming. That's it. I've fallen asleep while watching the movie and am having a wet dream about my high school crush.

He pants softly while Harold removes his glasses and sets them on his desk. Then Harold shifts around and leans in to kiss him.

Tigger is too startled to protest. Hell, he doesn't want to protest. If this is a dream, he'll run with it. But the lips on his feel very real, warm and soft, and Harold's breath smells like beer and little like pepperoni, which he doesn't think he'd paint into a wet dream. He can feel Harold's hard-on pushing into his hip.

Harold deepens the kiss and began to rock against Tigger with a gentle rhythm while his fingers find Tigger's nipple again.

Tigger's brain goes into overload. He's never been kissed like this or touched at all, and he's unable to process the amazing sensations. Harold's tongue thrusts into his mouth and he groans around it—loudly. He feels Harold smile against his lips, and then he moves his face away and the weight of the laptop leaves Tigger's groin. He hears Harold close it with a snap and shuffle it to the side. Harold settles behind him again.

Tigger feels cool air waft over his cock as soon as it's freed from its electronic prison. With a panicked whimper he looks to see how much of a fool he is making of himself. Sure enough, his cock is fully erect and plainly visible, having fought its way out of a gap in the bathrobe to proudly proclaim that it's ready to go. A bead of precum gathers at the head.

"Oh, that's gorgeous." Harold's voice is husky. "Can I touch it?"

It takes Tigger several seconds to process what Harold said. His brain feels like it's filled with mush. Boiling mush. Before he's able to respond, Harold's hand wraps around his cock, his thumb sliding over the slit to gather the precum.

Tigger loses any semblance of sanity he might have had. His head drops down against Harold's shoulder, his eyes squeeze shut, and his hips buck on their own accord as Harold begins to stroke him.

"Ohgodohgodohgodohgod." The words stream out of Tigger's mouth without any direction from his brain. Harold jacks him with a slow rhythm and his hips come forward to help. The taller man begins to grind his own crotch against him; he can feel an iron-hard cock rubbing against his butt crack, the plush of the bathrobe starting to get damp. Harold's other hand begins to pinch one of his nipples and he hears himself emit a hoarse cry.

Struggling to get air into his lungs, he fights for control over his mouth. He's spiraling into the stratosphere, every raw nerve in his body on sensory overload. He gasps out, "Ha ... Harold!"

Harold speeds up his rhythm, his hand racing up and down Tigger's leaking cock. Tigger feels his balls draw up and his whole world flies apart. His body is no longer in one piece. Each separate molecule screams in pleasure as it disintegrates.

He feels heat splashing across his chest but distantly, as if it were miles away.

"Yeah, Tig. That was so hot." He hears Harold, feels his breath tickle his ear, but he can't respond. He tries to gather himself together again, taking slow mental inventory. Yes, my fingers are still here. I think I still have toes. My hands are resting on the bed. My legs feel like jelly.

Suddenly he feels something frigid on his chest and his body coalesces in a snap. His eyes fly open and he sees that Harold has taken the hand towel off of the ice pack and is using it to clean the evidence of his release off of him.

"Oh!" Tigger says. His brain is still not functioning enough to form a sentence.

Harold finishes his task and sets the cloth aside; then his hand strays back to Tigger's chest to finger one of his nipples.

Tigger groans. His nipple is so sensitive it's almost painful, but Harold's touch is gentle. Harold's lips move along his shoulder and up the side of his jaw, bestowing playful kisses. Harold's cock is still hard and insistent between his ass cheeks.

He suddenly has an overwhelming desire to see it, to touch it, to taste its salty essence. But now that he's no longer in the throes of pre-orgasmic delirium, his usual caution reasserts itself. He needs to find out what Harold is thinking.

"What's going on?" he murmurs. His body feels so languid that no matter how he wills his voice to sound it comes out torpid.

"What do you mean?"

"You're not gay?"

"No, I like girls."

"But ... I'm not a girl."

"I noticed." Harold laughs softly. "I guess I like guys too. But you're the only one I've ever done this with. Most guys, like my muscle-bound roommate, I'm not attracted to at all, but you ... you're beautiful ... and soft ... and hot."

Hot? Tigger twists in Harold's arms until he's facing him, their groins together. His bathrobe gaps wide to reveal his bare chest, abs, and slowly reawakening cock. He sees Harold's eyes skim appreciatively over him and he can't help but shimmy against him.

"Oh!" Harold's head drops back. His hands scrabble under Tigger's robe to grab his small ass, a cheek in each palm. He squeezes and moans, pushing his hips forward, rubbing his crotch against Tigger's. "You're so sexy," he rasps.

How can I possibly be sexy? Tigger looks on in awe as Harold writhes below him, his face limned with ecstasy. Oh God! The realization that he is causing this reaction in Harold is exhilarating. A sudden burning desire to strip Harold naked, to touch, to taste, to tantalize him, overwhelms Tigger. He slips his hands under the hem of Harold's shirt and runs his fingers up his lean chest, finding a patch of curly hair to tug.

Driven by an instinct he doesn't question, Tigger yanks Harold's shirt up and presses his face against the curls, breathing in the musky scent of his sweat-damp skin. The texture against his cheek is scratchy. He can hear Harold breathing, fast and loud, almost panting as his hips grind into Tigger's. The fabric and button of his jeans are rough against Tigger's bare skin.

Tigger pulls back, stilling Harold. His fumbling hands go to Harold's fly on their own accord and start tugging at the button. What are you doing? Tigger's natural shyness interrupts his libido. He freezes.

Harold looks at him from under eyelids heavy with passion. "What did you stop for?" he gasps.

"So you're bi?" The question slips out without any prior consideration on Tigger's part.

"I guess so." Harold's voice is strained with need. "I must be. I'm so damn turned on right now ... by you." He thrusts his hips forward again.

Tigger can clearly see the outline of his dick, straining against the fabric of his jeans, a telltale wet spot starting to form. His mouth is as dry as the Mohave in July, and he desperately wants to slake his thirst with the fluid emitting from Harold's fountain.

"May I?" he asks, his fingers poised at Harold's fly.

"God, yes!" Harold's answer is almost a groan and it sends a shiver through Tigger. He quickly has Harold's fly undone. Harold lifts his hips and pushes his jeans and underwear down to his knees. Tigger grabs them and drags them the rest of the way off.

"Shirt, too!" Tigger demands, reaching for the hem.

Harold smirks. "You're pushy in bed," he teases as he pulls his shirt off.

"Oh, yeah," Tigger sighs as he takes in Harold's naked form stretched out below him. He's thin, but proportionate. His pale skin contrasts sharply with the dark treasure trail that runs from his belly down to his groin. His cock is gorgeous—perfectly formed and cut, with a thick corona and a leaking slit.

The clear liquid entrances Tigger. Before he can have second thoughts, he sticks his tongue out and sweeps it across the head. The fluid is salty with a bitter, nutty flavor.

"Ungh!" Harold makes a sexy sound deep in the back of his throat.

Tigger flushes with pleasure. I did that to him! Emboldened, he grabs Harold's thick cock in his hand and runs his tongue around the tip. Another few drops of precum drip out and Tigger thrusts his tongue into the slit, sliding it rapidly back and forth, trying to get all of the salty essence.

Harold has been up on his elbows watching Tigger, and now he drops back, onto the mattress with a low groan. Tigger notes that his hands are fisting the blanket and his body is stiff with tension.

Tigger runs his tongue down the length of Harold's member, feeling the veins, tasting and licking until he reaches his tight balls. Burying his nose in Harold's hair, he breathes in his musk. It's a heady scent and Tigger pauses, savoring.

"Oh, please! Please suck," Harold gasps out.

Does he mean his balls or his dick? Tigger wonders. Maybe both.

He pulls one of the orbs into his mouth, rolling it around with his tongue and sucking gently.

Harold sounds like he's coming unglued. Tigger can't help but glance up at him. His eyes are closed tight and his face is scrunched up. He's out of control. I'm doing that to him! The thrill is empowering.

Tigger sucks and licks Harold's balls to a cacophony of appreciative sounds. Moving slowly, he kisses his way back up Harold's engorged cock.

"Tigger!" Harold cries his name on a plea.

Tigger smiles as he takes Harold's head into his mouth. It feels so right. He's imagined this so many times; it's just like he imagined and not, at the same time. It's instinctive to pull his lips over his teeth and suck down the hard length of tender skin encasing steel. His lips slide until he triggers his gag reflex, then he starts back up, marking the place with a firm hand wrapped around the base of Harold's shaft. All of this he expected. What he didn't expect was that he could feel every vein in Harold's cock with his tongue. He also hadn't imagined that his lover would be moaning as if he were being tortured with pleasure.

He thought he would feel embarrassed, but he doesn't have room in his head for embarrassment; he's too engrossed in his task. He starts up a rhythm, his hand sliding naturally with his lips, his tongue playing with the veins and the ridges. He feels like he's been born to suck cock.

Harold makes a desperate sound and thrusts his hips. Tigger gamely swallows a little deeper. He can feel Harold's muscles, taut as a coiled spring, and a light sheen of perspiration breaks out across his lover's skin. He must be close now.

"T ... Tig!" Harold's voice cracks. Tigger feels movement in Harold's balls and then his mouth is filled with salty goo. Harold lets out a loud groan and cants his hips. Tigger swallows rapidly. The cum fills his mouth and he struggles to stay with Harold's bucking hips. He's surprised at the amount of cum and swallows as quickly as he can.

Harold's groans roll into a moan as his movements slow and stop.

Tigger gives his softening cock a few more licks and looks up at his face. His eyes are closed, his jaw relaxed; he looks asleep.

Tigger crawls up to lay next to him. "Harold?"

Harold opens his eyes and smiles at Tigger sleepily. "That was awesome," he murmurs.

"It was okay?" Tigger asks even though, judging from the sounds Harold made, it was more than okay. Pride fills him. He feels warm all over.

Harold nods. "It was unbelievable, Tig. That can't have been your first time."

"It was."

"You're amazing. Come'ere." He pulls Tigger down into a sloppy kiss and then breaks off abruptly, laughing. "You taste like cum!"

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byroughboy18© 14 comments/ 26563 views/ 25 favorites

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