Some People Do Things Backward

“Let me take you to my gym,” Drin says. His musician is slouched back in a half-reclined leather car seat, eyes closed, blissing totally out on the sound system. “Tell me things, while I’m driving, would you please? Tell me what you’re thinking, anything you like.”

Dance blinks, opens the eyes. He looks at Drin with those eyes dilating open, that amazing soft dark look, as if he wants to get his hands on Drin all over again, right there as he’s driving.

Drin’s prick is assuring him that it really wouldn’t mind getting mauled again, not one bit. He hasn’t this many hard-ons in a row since he was on leave in the Army, and he sure wasn’t getting satisfied like this.

Dance’s knees can’t sprawl any wider. He lolls back into the support of the seat, looking at Drin, and he lifts his hands and folds them behind his head, and he just smiles, while his prick tents out his pants and swings round like the hour hand of a clock and points happily at twelve. “Yes, please, we are wanting to go swimming at our Drin’s gym,” Dance says. He pauses a moment, and then in a little rush he says, “We– I don’t know if our Drin is wanting to hear these things. Me, I am doing very rude thoughts about– you.”

“Oh? Oh yeah, tell me rude things! Things you want to do in bed, maybe?”

“Not even waiting so long.”

“Oh boy,” Drin says, grinning. “Hell yeah, tell me!”

“Our Drin’s cock getting all hard like that, and Drin’s car with the leather seats, so bad, they turn us on.” And he wiggles his rump in the seat, just a little. “We want to make our Drin feel very happy. We want to pull Drin’s trunks down in the locker room and start kissing our Drin’s penis. we– I am– I want to see if I can take–your balls into– my mouth.”

“You know,” Drin says, making the turns smoothly, not letting his outrageously sexy passenger distract him from foolish drivers in large trucks, “I don’t know that many guys ask to get fucked up the ass before they even get their first blowjob.”

“Ahh, and this made me sooo happy.” Dance gives a little sigh.

“So what kind of first blowjob do you think you’d like?” Drin says. “Say, hard and quick and fast? Or long and slow, taking breaks, really doing it for a long time, in private, no interruptions?”

“Both! And giving both, too. But it is sure not a job if we like it,” says Dance. “Yes, we want to suck your cock, and we really want our dick to get sucked, we– I want that a lot. I am not knowing if it will be much of a blow job with how we–with how excited I am. We’ve read that for some people it just doesn’t stimulate them enough, but the idea makes–me — very excited.There might be coming before you do much, Drin, you–saw how I am last night. You turn me on so much. I will be a shameless willow boy and ask for our Drin fucking up my ass some more, too. As much as our Drin wants to. Often. Please.”

“That’s just what you know so far,” Drin says, mildly. “You might find out you like being sucked off even better.”

Dance groans, and his hips roll lazily. “Well, yes, we might. I– I am wanting to kiss our Drin’s cock a lot. We didn’t give any chance to do that, I was so greedy. Drin, you–might like fucking my– my mouth even better too.”

“Oh, I might,” Drin smiles, “but I really liked taking you. A whole lot. Of course, I could do both. Start off blowing you, and then you turn over so I can penetrate you. Maybe once you’re calmer, you’re more used to making love.”

Dance gives a little gasp, hips jerking. He takes a deep breath. “Can one get used to feeling like that? Feeling cock hit us right there where it makes the head pinwheel and this whole body is ringing because your cock hits like a gong?”

“Whoah, love, I’m not gonna last, you keep saying things like that,” Drin says.

“Believe it,” Dance says, and his hands are unbuttoning his pants, “it bangs through this whole body.”

Drin draws in a sharp breath.

“Drin, are you hard too?” Dance asks, and his hand starts coming for Drin’s leg.

“Very,” Drin says, tightly. “Wait, please, give me a moment or two, until we’re not moving. Yes, I’m very hard, I’ll go off in my pants, and you don’t want me distracted in this traffic!”

“Oh, no, we don’t want to distract,” Dance says. “We can be very quiet, doing monkey tricks. These speakers are making the little man very hard too. So velvety. It’s like this car is whispering things just like you do, Drin. It feels so… so good.” And he’s got his hand down inside the boxers, not revealing anything to surrounding traffic even if they could see inside the tinted windows. There’s just the stretch of his neck, arching up from the seat support, and the way his mouth rounds open, and the way his brows frown as he gasps. He rolls his head, and looks at Drin, and his hand moves in his clothes, but very little shows.

“You’re used to hiding it, being quiet, not yelling,” Drin says.

“Oh yes,” Dance says, sounding a little breathless.

“What would it take to make you just really yell?”

“Sound-proofing!” Dance says, and he chuckles.

“I have that, at my apartment,” Drin says, with a little smile. He hasn’t even got Dance over there yet. Maybe tonight. He’s looking forward to that.

Dance gives a little groan.

“Good thing it’s the off-season now,” Drin says, smiling wider. “I haven’t even showed you my place. It’s private. You could yell, the neighbors aren’t there until late. Afternoon delight, man, me with you all stretched out naked wherever the whim takes us. I could really work on what you like, take my time. I’d enjoy that, finding out what works for your body so well that you just start yelling. ‘Yeah, do that some more!’ Or you’re so happy you don’t even need to say anything.”

He gets a whimper out of Dance for that one. The muscles of his arm are moving faster.

Drin pulls into an empty lot by an empty gas station. He clicks out of his seat belt, turns down the sound system slightly, he turns off the engine, and he looks around, a long careful look at where they are parked. “Okay, my fine spunky friend, pants down, and pull out one of those condoms I gave you, please.” He knew Dance would keep careful track of those, and keep them handy, and he has. Dance gets his pants and boxers down past his knees, and gasps as Drin grasps the stiff brown penis, tugs on it to make sure the foreskin is pulled back from the head, and then he rolls the condom down firmly into it. “Oh,” Dance says, and his hand flails up into the door. “Oh, oh– “

Drin twists around painfully past the steering wheel, lowers his upper body, and inhales the poor boy’s latex-covered tool with one of his more inspired kisses. Just because it’s covered in latex doesn’t mean you can’t torture a foreskin properly. Then Drin gets his other hand down and strokes the wiry hair on the taut, wrinkled scrotum, and down under it, reminding Dance’s perineum that they’ve have fun before, but not penetrating him, not with bare hands. Rubbing the dense muscles of the man’s butt, sliding his hand under Dance. Oh yes, the man does like feeling those leather seats on his bare bottom, doesn’t he?

He can feel the massive impulses in Dance’s abdomen, wanting to thrust, but checked instantly, knowing he can’t buck around like some bronco under Drin’s mouth, not here. Maybe another time, in the back seat instead. And yes, Dance’s penis is fucking his tonsils somewhere down there in his throat. Not a willow-sized boy at all, he thinks, and he can’t even smile around the bulk that is making him drool onto Dance’s crotch.

He already knows the warning shocks of Dance’s climaxes, he can feel it rumbling along Dance’s body, and then it’s hitting. Dance’s hips give just the tiniest uncontrolled flutter, held rigidly in place, and it’s only his prick that is shaking violently, trembling. So controlled, so careful, as he is with all that muscle in his legs, with the strength in those hands.

Drin keeps his mouth on the condom until he’s sure the last tremors are quite gone, reluctant to give up the feel of Dance climaxing. When Drin draws back, releasing the man’s cock from his mouth, Dance may still be breathing hard, but he already has some folded tissues right there for Drin. And then Dance is kissing him, urgently, gratefully, and he’s so distracted that he didn’t notice when Dance got that zipper down to slide his hand down there into Drin’s pants. Drin gives a strangled cry, and sprawls back in the driver’s seat, thrusting up into the grip of Dance’s fingers.

He thinks dimly of asking Dance to stop, to let him save it up for that moment in the locker room that Dance was fantasizing about. But he’s pretty sure that his musician is going to have him so wildly turned on, all over again, that there’s no need to conserve anybody’s manly strength. He may not climax neatly or nicely, but Dance will get a mouthful of cock to work on, at least. He’s going to want Dance to have some decent mouth-time, anyway.

Dance’s tongue is as urgently intrusive as his cock was, and a powerful reminder of the thing thrusting down into his tonsils. Drin bangs his hips about into the steering wheel, heedless of later bruising. The state Drin’s cock is in right now, he’s not going to last– oh, he’s going right about now, Dance is wringing him dry into that marvelously strong hand. Dance doesn’t want to give up on the feel of him, either. Dance keeps his hand there, stroking until he has drawn the last shudder out of Drin’s penis, and pets him after, gently, feeling him soften, feeling Drin’s body relax again.

Drin feels the other man’s mouth soften too. Dance is kissing him just because he likes it, kissing up Drin’s face, and down his neck, and along his beard, onto his ear. Tasting him with his tongue. Just because he likes Drin.

It is … amazing.

Drin pants, getting his breath back. Then he lifts Dance’s chin up in his cupped hand, and kisses him back, tasting all those places he’s been wanting to kiss the man for weeks.

Drin has been so hasty, so preoccupied by mere sex, that he has neglected kissing some of the places he’s been admiring for so long. He kisses Dance all about the face, onto his closed eyes, down onto the man’s neck, onto his shoulders. God, he smells good. It’s musky in the same way as a deep barky cinnamon, some kind of resinous wood, not quite the same as the rosin for his bow.

Drin’s left hand brushes back sheaves of long black hair, trailing his fingers into it. He feels Dance lean into the touch, twisting his body around. Drin rests his right arm around Dance’s back, rests his left hand around the man’s hot bare hip, fingers curved onto his thigh, stroking up and down Dance’s side. For some time he just kisses Dance, kisses the powerful cords of his throat, around the nape of his neck, along the collarbone.

Dance gives a little happy sigh. When Drin draws back a little to look at him, Dance is looking at him with his mouth just parted, his eyelids relaxed. He looks exactly like he’s just had the most incredible sex. It’s really quite a nice look on him, in Drin’s admittedly biased opinion. Drin smiles. A shot of his musician wearing a condom with pants down, looking like that, won’t make it into any Metro calendar. Put that pinup in a frame in his apartment bathroom! But he might be able to maneuver Dance into looking wonderfully inviting in a pair of perfectly decent swim trunks.

Dance smiles back. “What is so funny?”

Drin says, “I’ve been having outrageous ideas for a shoot for a Metro underwear calendar that’d sell like hotcakes. Draping you in the car seat, like this.”

Dance’s eyes go wide, and then he’s laughing. “That means no underwear!”

“It’d be very–” Dance kisses him again, “–very–” he grips the amazing ass firmly, “–very pretty.” And then he lets go, and he smacks Dance’s flank very lightly. They haven’t talked about levels of stimuli, or much about how hard either of them like to be gripped or pinched or smacked, or any of the more detailed negotiations that some new couples would have done before they ever got near a bed. They’ve been too busy finding out if Dance likes making love to another man. Apparently he likes making love with Drin quite a lot. His eyes are soft and wide and dilated black with pleasure.

Hell, it’s been three days, and his pupils dial wide open, receptive as all hell, whenever Drin looks into his eyes. If anybody ever wondered what they were doing, there it is, up front. Dance likes him.

Drin hasn’t bothered to figure out what his own eyes are doing. He’s gone. He likes touching the man, he likes listening to his voice, he likes hearing the guy get all excited over shared ideas, he just wants to roll in him.

Drin feels himself grinning like a fool. The sudden burst of happiness pops over his whole body like a big, fat soap bubble. He says, “Feel like going swimming?”

“We– yes, I would like that,” Dance says, and solemnly peels the condom off his relaxed penis, and ties off the latex neatly, as if he’s copying how Drin does it. God, is it idiotic to love how the man’s penis looks when it’s all soft and relaxed and rumpled, not thinking about sex at all? Dance wipes himself off on a tissue, and puts away the spent rubber in another twist of tissue into a pocket of his pants. Then he shifts around, and pulls up his pants, and smiles back as Drin makes a sad clown face at seeing all that beautiful skin covered up again. He offers tissues to Drin, too, and takes them, tucks them away in the same pocket. Then he leans in and kisses Drin’s cheek, and whispers, “Can I suck you off in the locker room, please?”

Drin chuckles. “Is it a fantasy you’ve–”

“Oh yes,” Dance murmurs into his ear, and nibbles gently up Drin’s ear. “Yes, I want to lick our Drin all over, lay back on a gym bench and ask our Drin to fuck me, but that’s probably… just… impractical.”

“We can see about testing your theory, yes, but gyms aren’t exactly set up for it. And I’m not sure about the getting me off part. After all this, I might just get all excited and go nowhere on you, can’t promise.”

Dance laughs. “Oh, excited is wonderful,” he says.

Drin looks at him. “How long have you been having this fantasy?”

Dance’s eyes go wide. Then he splutters into laughter, and leans on Drin’s shoulder, and whispers, “About six weeks.”

“Oh Christ!” Drin says, spluttering likewise into laughter.

Dance peers up at him. “And have you?”

Drin rolls his head back onto the headrest, and he sighs. Then he meets the wry gaze. And he admits it. “Yeah, it’s been about that long for me, too. Jacking off thinking about you. About you giving me the best blow job of my life. About what it’d be like making love to you, fucking you all over, having you do me, making out in some…really interesting… locations. And you know what?”

“What?”

“Fantasy doesn’t even come close, love. Not by miles.” And he hugs the man tight, and kisses his cheek, and then his laughing mouth, and his ear. “You wicked thing, you, if I’d known six weeks ago–”

“Oh yeah,” Dance agrees. He puts up a hand and touches Drin’s face. “We.. I just…know so little. I want to make… you happy. Our Drin, you make me very happy. I don’t want to get all–sloppy–”

Drin grips him tightly, hard enough to surprise him. “Dance,” he says. The eyes look up at him soberly. After a difficult moment, Drin says, “If you want to be silly and romantic right out in front of everybody, or if you need to stay dignified and not let anybody know we’re involved, down at the Metro, either way, I’m fine with that. I really am. I don’t want anything messing up your music for you. I got nothing to prove to anybody about how much of a big he-man I am. I’m okay with holding hands and wearing rainbow belts and pastel shirts, God knows I wouldn’t be the first gray bear out there doing that. But if you want to be very straight, I’m okay with that too. And you don’t have to decide all that stuff today. But if you want to be sloppy and get all romantic with me, because it makes you happy, you get to. You do. Life is too fucking short to– to be so goddamn limited about what you really want to do. “

Dance puts up both hands, stroking Drin’s hair. Then he leans in and rests his head on Drin’s neck. “No towels,” he says solemnly into Drin’s chest. “But yeah, maybe some belts so we don’t take so long unzipping these pants for you.”

Drin throws back his head and laughs, and it feels good.

The gym parking lot is nearly full, when they pull in. Drin says, “Looks like Murphy’s car, that’s another guy from work. He goes to jazz clubs, likes some of the more experimental stuff, but he’ll go to the Jazz Festival and listen to everything, Dixieland, ragtime, anything, if he can. Loves live performance. Nice guy. It’d be interesting talking to him. Guess we do get to decide some things today, huh?”

Dance says calmly, “Drin, if you are liking, you can tell Murphy this name, what I do. Or anybody else. We– I– I myself have been out, at the Metro, ever since we got there, even though we haven’t done anything about it all this time. Kind of silly, yes?” He looks up at Drin. “Is that going to be okay at our Drin’s work?”

Drin smiles at him. “Oh yeah. Dance of Knives, Concertmaster at the Metro Symphony– God, that has a nice ring to it. And you’re such a fine-looking man, I just want to eat you up.”

“Good,” Dance says, grinning. “So it is worth doing all of this exercise! Well, that and having enough stamina to make it through Shostakovitch stacked on top of Bernstein. Crawled home after first rehearsal with arms like the limp noodles.”

“You got tired? Makes me wonder what that poor little pissant Robert Goldstein felt like,” Drin says, with a spurt of sympathetic laughter.

Dance rolls his eyes. “Well, he didn’t make it in our next day.”

Drin finds himself introducing Dance to a few of the other guys he knows from work, too. Drin and Murphy show Dance the gym equipment for circuit workouts, and Drin has the gym’s trainer check Dance on the machines, so he can use all of them whenever he visits.

Then Murphy tries to figure out how Dance measures up to his own standards on both the weight machines and on the jazz coolness quotient. Dance can run both of the other two men into the ground without blinking, he’s way beyond Murphy on the weights, but he’s far too polite to push either man, and he doesn’t let it show. It seems Murphy has heard Dance perform jazz, too. Apparently Dance does okay in regular guy conversation. It’s only in the restroom, washing hands, that Drin finds out what the judgment was.

Murphy says, “You went and did it, huh?”

Drin looks up at him, soaping his hands.

“Hell, I got eyes.” Murphy shakes his head. “You went and bagged yourself a cape buffalo there, man.”

“Oh, I’m aware that–” Drin pauses, unsure where Murphy is going with this.

“The Metro Concertmaster, holy crap!” Murphy says, laughing. “I love seeing him drop in to jazz clubs during the Metro’s off-season. He’ll sit in on sessions, if he likes what he hears. He’s got this severely precise ear, you aren’t gonna hear him slopping off in all directions like he’s some gospel diva, but when he does solos, he does these–these– modulations, man, you don’t think it ought to work, and then it does. It’s like he’s doing this mathematics stuff with your head, twisting your brain inside out. It’s amazing–”

“Thank you,” Dance says quietly.

“Shit,” Murphy says, “don’t give me a heart attack like that!”

“Our apologies, Murphy. We did not mean to startle anybody.”

“Okay, okay, I fess up, I was raving about your performances–”

“Why say that like it’s a bad thing?” Dance says, smiling, and tying the string on his trunks. “Hey, we could like this a lot.”

Murphy laughs, dries his hands. “So are you gonna bring Drin by some of the smaller clubs, so he can hear what you do with a decent quartet?”

Dance does an automatic pocket-patting gesture that makes Drin smile. Dance’s little notebook calendar is locked up with his clothes. “We promised to sit in with Petrovich and Dmitri next week, when they have a gig at the Blue Nile. We are uncertain of the pianist. It probably won’t involve solos from the rest of the quartet.” He blinks up at Drin. “If our Drin is wanting to hear jazz solos, we know Eleni and Markovic chalked in for the Nile next week if the club doesn’t book headliners. Last minute stuff, no publicity, not very well paid, but this keeps good relations with the club, and also good practice. But the Nile has odd acoustics.”

“Oh yeah,” Murphy says. “Some seats, clear as bell, hear every whisper. Others, it’s muddy like you’re underwater. You just got to know the good seats, or come with somebody who does know.”

“We will speak with Eleni about any confirmation, and let our Drin know, if Mister Murphy and the wife wish to hear the performance,” Dance says.

“That’d be awesome,” Murphy says. “Thanks, man, I’d love to hear that. You two off to the pool now? It’s been great talking to you guys, but I gotta run go pick up the girls from school now. Nice meeting you, Dance. See you Monday, Drin.” He shakes hands with Dance, and grins at Drin, and he bustles back noisily to his locker.

“You got jazz fans too,” Drin says. “I didn’t know that.”

Dance looks up at Drin, smiling. “We– I mean I– didn’t either.”

“Awesome. You ever remember seeing Murphy in an audience?”

“Oh yes, Mister Murphy is one of the serious listeners who comes often. He buys CD from new young performers. But he gets distracted from an ulcer or acid stomach, it gives him pain. His breath smells the same as other people who go talking about that. We don’t know if our Drin is the right kind of friends with Mister Murphy to speak about that, but we don’t think he has really tried to get help yet. We don’t know why. Maybe he is used to pain?”

Drin starts to laugh. “You got all that from seeing in him an audience a few times?”

“Of course, when he’s come up to speak with people,” Dance says. “Such a nice guy. He likes his wife a lot. When she comes too, he’s very happy. She worries about him, too. Both look tired.”

“So you said you’d sit in, just to make my buddy Murphy happy,” says Drin.

“If I get very short notice, most paid gigs of a last minute kind are just a mess, so we feel pretty safe making Murphy happy.”

Drin looks at him, and holds out his arms silently, and he feels Dance’s warm skin slide into his embrace. He leans down and kisses Dance on the cheek. “I think you are a cape buffalo too,” Drin says then, chuckling.

“Maybe our Drin is that, such a great big guy,” Dance says, leaning into him. He sighs.

“It’s still pretty noisy around here,” Drin says. Dance’s prick is rubbing against his, through their trunks, and it’s making both of them pretty happy.

“Pool time,” Dance says then.

Dance swims without trying to surface to breath at the frequent regular intervals of any normal swimming stroke. It’s obviously self-taught, much more like diving. He’s quiet about it too, almost no splash, no noisy kicking at the surface. It’s all drive with his legs under the surface, and he shoots along at a ridiculous speed, a blurred brown shape underwater. Then he surfaces in a rush, flinging back his hair with a gasp, and laughing.

The whole time they’re doing laps, or horsing around in the water, laughing, Drin is thinking of Dance’s fantasy about gym benches. He wants to make those fantasies happen for Dance, who has asked him for so little.

He’s thinking about the neglected waiting room at the top of the Metro building, where Dance used to tuck himself away to get a nap. The one where nobody else ever finds him. Drin could probably make love to Dance all afternoon up there and nobody would disturb their outrageous little fantasy encounter. Drin has an interesting image of a set of lockers and a plain wooden bench in his mind. Kill their backs doing it, too. It’s just a question whether they can clear the smell out of the room enough to keep it discreet. Some of those old ladies at the Metro, like Joscelyn, apparently can smell you thinking about having sex.

He tells himself that he’d better back off from thinking too hard about all of that when he gets out of the pool, too, or he’ll have everybody in the place cringing from the knowledge that he and Dance are quite the new item, maybe they ought to get a hotel room or something.

He manages to keep himself idling in neutral, get them both from the pool into the hot tub. The place has cleared out enough that he feels comfortable, there, urging Dance to settle back in his arms, let the boy drift up securely held in the heated water. “Mmmm,” Dance says, with his hair swirling round them like a mermaid’s. Drin can feel those neck and shoulder muscles relaxing. He should haul Dance out onto poolside, steaming hot, and massage him properly, but he’s too tired to do the job right, and the air temperature is too cold, Dance would get chilled too soon. Something to think about, arranging something that would work.

“Drin?” Dance murmurs.

“Mmmhmm?” Drin says.

“We could sleep.”

“Good. You have five more minutes on your official calluses warning clock, and then you have to shower and get dried off.”

Dance groans.

“Or you could get out now, and take a longer shower, with me in it too,” Drin says languidly.

Dance’s eyes pop open.

Drin smiles. “Guess you weren’t that sleepy?”

“Drin is wicked!” Dance says.

“Oh good,” Drin says, releasing him, stretching. He was careful about over-exerting himself in the pool, but he’s still feeling the tiredness of the workout. He’s going to sleep tonight. No shopping and dining leisurely and then taking Dance home to his own apartment, late, and staying up all night, so he won’t kick off into a nasty dream. There’s too much chance of him drifting off anyway. No, he’ll have to bring Dance to his apartment on another day, while it’s nice and bright. Tonight he’ll take Dance safely home to Dance’s crowded little bed for an early evening, and kiss him goodnight, and then go home to fall over in sodden, perfectly happy exhaustion. And if he’s fair about it, he’ll tell Dance why.

Looking at Dance, he’s thinking the musician could probably use some extra sleep as well. Hmm. Perhaps he’s been a little more physically demanding on his musician than Dance is used to, too, above his normal energetic schedule. And that’s not even trying to socialize in any ordinary way, he hasn’t had time yet to take Dance out clubbing in places where they don’t expect him to sit in, or take him to little bars for great local microbrews, or to movies.

Miraculously, the locker room has cleared out, the attendant has been through picking up flung towels, it’s quiet when they reach the showers. Dance silently crowds into the one stall with Drin, wet black hair sticking to everything.

Drin is starting to yank off Dance’s old trunks, not even bothering to untie the string, when Dance flings them down and steps out of them. Then he yanks down Drin’s trunks, and the moment Drin steps out of them, Dance flings them on the floor, and then he’s kneeling on the pile of wet clothes, and he’s got his hands around Drin’s legs, and he’s got his mouth kissing Drin’s scrotum, bumping Drin’s cock with his nose. Drin gasps, grabs onto the stall.

He sees Dance’s hand dip toward the nearby plastic bench, and scoop up a condom he must have put there moments ago. Dance rips it open without even pulling his mouth away from suckling Drin’s testicles. Then he does pull back, mouth wide, and he looks gravely at Drin’s penis, and he smiles. And he rolls the condom onto it with grave attention. He looks up then, meeting Drin’s gaze, and he smiles again.

His hands stroke up and down Drin’s thighs, grasp Drin’s hips, and urge him forward. His hands smooth around Drin’s hips, curve around onto his butt, and his fingers spread out and cup Drin’s butt. Drin can feel the wet, hard calluses gripping him. Then Dance’s mouth comes onto his penis, taking most of it in, not hesitating, not just a brief try at the head, but taking a good long stretch. His tongue moves against the underside of the latex-covered penis, poking gently at the vein, pushing at him, feeling him. Drin can feel the head of his penis hitting the back of Dance’s mouth, hitting the soft palate, making Dance’s mouth flinch, but he doesn’t pull back, either.

Drin holds still, breathing hard, letting a virgin work on him safely. Dance knows what it’s supposed to be like. He works onto the cock in his mouth, he relaxes, he lets it happen to him as he pushes his jaws onto Drin’s prick. Then he pulls back, he breathes, and then he slides onto it again, experimenting with how to arrange his jaws, how to move his tongue, coping with the strong taste of the latex in the condom. He’d like it much, much better if he was barebacking Drin, but they’re not doing that. It makes Drin wish that he didn’t have that past history getting in the way of giving Dance what used to be the most common queer experience.

Drin lowers his hands from hanging onto the stall walls. He puts his hands gently onto Dance’s head, stroking his face, letting Dance know there’s a world of gratitude in him. It’s one of the sexiest things he’s ever seen, Dance’s mouth sliding into his cock, the lips working over just the head of his cock. Then the tongue is coming out, pushing Drin’s prick up into his upper teeth, until Drin groans softly.

Dance is just getting his mouth around Drin’s prick at that point, and Drin is breathing in soft regular grunts. He hasn’t even starting really pulling any kind of suction, any kind of drag or friction, on Drin’s prick. It’s going to go slow and hard, a really long, drawn-out climax, if Dance wants to do it without any deeper stimulation, but Drin is happy to accommodate. God, he is so ready to accommodate he’ll stand there all night, if that’s what Dance wants.

He should have realized Dance has done his homework, oh yes. Dance shifts one hand off Drin’s butt, then, slides it around to grip the base of Drin’s cock, and then Dance is sliding his other hand around too, putting it down over the wet curls on Drin’s scrotum. He grasps Drin’s balls in his hand, stroking them, pulling a little on them. Then he closes his lips tight as a ring on Drin’s prick, and he hollows his cheeks, and he sucks hard as he draws that ring of lips down slowly and luxuriously away to the tip of Drin’s prick. The whole time, he tugs away in a different direction on Drin’s balls, making him feel the tug as counter-pressure to the pull, and he pushes his fingers on Drin’s prick away toward the root of Drin’s prick, pushing the ring of the condom higher up in a slow counter-drag.

Drin’s breathing sounds very loud, against the rush of water running elsewhere in the building.

Then everything happens at once. Dance changes direction. He pushes Drin’s prick deep into his mouth, his one hand starts stroking Drin rapidly up and down at the base of his prick, and his other hand strokes Drin’s testicles in counter-direction to it. And then Dance draws his mouth slowly away, sucking hard, his hands moving fast.

It isn’t going to be a drawn-out climax after all.

It’s almost painful, the rush of pressure that swoops down through Drin’s body, shaking him violently. He doesn’t forget himself, he doesn’t grab Dance’s head and thrust far down into his mouth as he would like to do. He keeps it to a tight little arc, perhaps two inches, but that’s plenty to bang into Dance’s soft palate. He feels Dance settle into it, allowing it, waiting for him, meeting it, and he doesn’t dare push it any harder, much as his body longs to just take that mouth and fuck it. This is for Dance to learn how to do it, hopefully to enjoy giving head, not to push it further down his throat than he can handle.

Drin hears a tight little noise come out of his own mouth, astonished, shaking, and then he’s leaning into the stall above Dance’s head, feeling the other man’s mouth suckling gently on him, taking in more of him as he softens.

“Ah hah hah,” Drin breathes, noisily. “Shit, I let you blow me before I even gave you any really decent chance today to feel what it’s like–”

Dance draws back, wipes his mouth on his hand, swallows, and sighs. He looks up. “Made us both come, too.”

Drin looks down at him. Breath, man. Air is good.

Dance stands up and puts his arms around Drin’s waist. “Yeah. What was that our Drin did to– to me, last night, anyway? Is that giving it the wrong name?”

Drin smiles. “Well, technically, yeah. That was you going off like a rocket before I even got near your cock. A couple of times, as I fondly recall.”

“Hmm. Do you think we’re over time on wet calluses?”

“I think you really need a shower.” Drin rubs his hand down the other man’s thigh. He can feel it slide lazily over the skin, where Dance has ejaculated all down one thigh. “You liked it–”

“–that much,” Dance murmurs, leaning into him. “I– I would like it better without condom taste, just Drin’s penis, but I am happy. I want it. I want it a lot. So much fucking man going down this throat–and we know our Drin treated us very careful, very dainty. We could tell.”

“Yeah?”

“So wanting to feel it with just letting go, when we’re more used to this penis in the mouth.”

Drin can only groan. “Every time I give you something new, you gobble it all down and ask for more, I love it!”

“Must be our Drin,” Dance says, eyelids relaxed, smiling again. “Must be you, doing me, just right.”

“Let’s get you back in some hot water, get the chlorine out of your hair. Don’t want to ruin something that gorgeous.”

They can hear voices again in the locker room when they turn the water off, and they’re quiet as they get dried off in the limited space. Dance puts his hand on the stall door to unlock it, and he turns then, tilting up his head. Drin leans down and kisses him on the mouth, briefly, and feels him smiling under his lips. Then Dance steps out, wrapped in his towel, and nods to somebody out there, and walks away. He doesn’t seem surprised that Drin waits, cautious. Dance starts whistling something Mozartian in a moment, and a door slams, and Drin steps out too. God, what a relic from the bad old days, he thinks. And Dance just puts up with this stuff from him, as if it’s perfectly natural to expect an older guy to be nervous. Drin starts pulling things out of his locker. He knows Dance is looking at him.

Dance says, “Drin is okay?”

Drin nods. “Just wishing I wasn’t such a fucking coward, some days.”

“Our big Drin?” Dance chuckles. Then he says, seriously, “I… understand. I get… frightened sometimes. Walking Emma home late. It can be scary.”

Drin looks at him. “You need a ride, she needs a ride, you guys call me first, right? Don’t let it get to the point of dangerous. There’s nothing I’ve got going on that’s gonna die if I drop it for an hour and come pick you guys up. Besides, changing gears from work, talking to you guys might help me do my job better anyway. So call me, okay?”

Dance nods. “Okay.” He glances up. “We promise.”

“Good. Another thing, tonight. I gotta crash. I don’t want to… make myself a burden–”

Dance looks at him with real distress. “Our Drin is not a burden!”

“Yes,” Drin says. “When I’m having nightmares, I am. I seriously don’t want… to create a problem. I’m okay, I swear, but I don’t want to come up grabbing somebody in the middle of some fucking flashback. Don’t want to go tackling Emma when I can’t tell where I am. You saw how I jumped in the grocery store when–”

Truth be told, they both jumped horribly when somebody dropped a tray of something in another aisle.

Dance’s eyes know way too much when they’re looking at him. Way too much. And he doesn’t argue. “Okay.” He puts out his hand, and he touches Drin lightly. “It’s okay. We– I understand.”

Drin can feel himself breathing faster. “Thank God. And I’m sorry that you do, too.”

Dance gives a crooked smile. “Welcome to the fucking brotherhood, man.” And he sighs. “We have no… no bad dreams, no bad spell, since you, Drin, you first… took us to bed. Since you took me. I can’t tell you how much…”

“You don’t have to,” Drin says.

Dance tips his head back, closes his eyes. “Well, maybe we should tell it. But not here. We don’t know where.”

“Somewhere they don’t drop breakable things,” Drin says, with a snort.

“Yeah. Plastic forks,” Dance says, smiling at him. “Or you… could just take me again. Keep taking… me.”

“I’d like that.”

“It doesn’t help… making love doesn’t help you, then?” Dance says, hesitantly.

“I don’t know yet,” Drin says. “It doesn’t hit all the time. It’s just way bad when it does. Combat-type bad. I am not going to be careless about safety with you or Emma, believe me.”

“Okay,” Dance says. “It’s okay, Drin. She… she’s talked me out of some bad shit, too. She’s tough. We can all tell Emma. It’s okay.”

“Your Emma is totally awesome,” Drin says.

“Yeah, we think so. Haven’t seen anybody deserves her, dammit. Well, except our Drin.”

Drin looks at him.

Dance waves his hands. “I thought you’d– that you’d want Emma, not me. Other people said our Drin is bisexual, and we just– I never– “

“Is that where six weeks of us both being total wankers comes from?” Drin says, amused.

“Oh, part of it is just… me being stupid tired,” Dance says.

“I’ll tuck you in and go home, and we’ll both get extra rest. Dammit.” Drin says.

Dance gives him that wry smile. “Well, my little man can still be a wanker.”

“Christ, makes me wonder if we’re not getting you off the way you really need it, if–”

“Oh, my little man is happy,” says Dance, stretching. “Very, very happy.” He turns away and drops the towel, he puts one foot up on a stool, and he dries off his toes, and he looks back over his shoulder at Drin, and he gives a long, slow grin, as if he knows exactly how he’s just flash-fried Drin’s brain. Sweet baaaby Jesus, there’s another porn shot that ought to be hanging on Drin’s bathroom wall…

“Um,” Drin says. “Mine too.”

“Oh, we are hoping so!” Dance laughs. “We didn’t know my little man was such a slut.”

“Neither did I,” Drin says. Then he blinks, and hears Dance laugh. “I didn’t mean it like that– besides, you’re only a slut if you can’t get it at home, and you have to go running around all over to find it.”

“Sounds like very sloppy organization work,” Dance says, and dries off his other foot. Smiling.

“Gaaahh,” Drin says, leaning his forehead on the locker door.

“Well, our Drin was saying to make appointments to fuck me and please this little man,” Dance says. “Like taking such expensive hooker, boy. Now my little man, it wants to go off all the time. So then we wonder how often our Drin’s little man has needs–”

“How are you on toys?” Drin says, weakly.

“Toys? Oh, that means wanking with toys? We have something in the silicon, if our Drin is wanting to see it.”

Drin stares at him.

Dance shakes a finger at him. “It was not cheap, and it’s little man’s fault, making us so horny from looking at our Drin.”

“Don’t tell me, you bought it about, oh, six weeks ago?”

“Three,” Dance says, sternly. “We held out as long as we could. Our Drin is very…” and then he’s right there, resting his head on Drin’s shoulder blades, “…very… mmmm…”

“Yeah, that,” Drin says, and sighs. It feels good having all that warm skin against him. Going home is going to be harder than ever, tonight.

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