boys_like_boys @ 2006-09-18T15:40:00

2006-09-18T19:41:15Z

It had been awhile. It had been weeks. And Patrick was lonely. And no one was home.

He walked into the bathroom and ran the water. Slowly he took the bottom of this shirt and lifted it over his head, discarding it to the side. He kicked off his shoes and removed his socks. Black socks, of course. He placed his hands on the button to his pants. Not his hands, Peters. Peter pulled the zipper down, not him. Peter who eased the pain by removing his pants too, not Patrick. And it was Peter who helped Patrick into the bathtub, full almost to the brim, overflowing as Patrick slipped into the warm water. And Patrick was sitting between Peters legs, not back against the cold porcelin.

He leaned his head back against the bathtub brim, slowly starting to tease himself, running his hand up and down his chest, pinching his nipples between his fingers. But it was Peter who wrapped his hands around Patrick's torso, palming his thighs and rubbing his skin. And Peters hands, oh they loved to travel up the inside of his thigh, adding a small pressure to Patrick's balls as he began to massage them. Patrick rocked slowly at the feeling of, finally, attention to his neglected needs. He wrapped his fist around himself at his base, squeezing gently. He closed his eyes and remembered that it was Peter who was touching him like this. It was Peter who, very slowly, pumped his fist up, down, Patrick's length. And Peter who stopped, suddenly, at his tip to press his thumb hard against it, adding and realeasing more pressure to tease his now moaning lover.

As he began to speed up, gaining a pace on Patrick, Patrick rocked and bucked his hips furiously, splashing the water and making rather loud sounds against the tub. Soon his pace became violent, the water spilling out in large amounts as Patrick rose his body off the tub floor with every thrust and pump. He felt closer then before now, his hand moving vigorously both in and out of the water, his cock half submerged in the draining water. Patrick took his other hand and ran it up his chest as he did before. And again, it was Peter who was feeling his lovers chest as he pumped away at Patrick. Slowly Peter took his hand down, crawling for his balls again, two hands working at one goal. To have Patrick screaming for more. And Patricks lip was now torn apart, the blood running between his teeth. But Patrick, in complete ecstasy, could care less. Actually, he was enjoying the slight kinkyness.

And oh, he was moving his hand faster now, if possible. Closer now, so close. His screams were echoing back at him, bouncing off the tiny bathroom walls. Patricks eyes were forced shut in his pleasure, his cock pulsating as he threw himself into his fist one last time, his hot seed spilling into the bathtub water. He panted and moaned, completely spent. The fantasy of Peter disappeared and he was again alone in the bathroom. He slowly moved about, unplugging the bathtub, letting the mixed water drain, and stepped out, dripping onto the floor. He quietly unwraveled a towel, wrapped it around his waist, and unlocked the door, opening it.

Patrick jumped when behind the door revealed Peter, crouched down, hand cupping his ear. Both men blushed and disappeared into the house.