Starting With a Bang and a Whimper
by cmshaw
19 Nov 1999

Disclaimers: To Pet Fly be the glory, amen. (But send the feedback to me!)

Summary: A joke gets out of hand, so to speak, when fingers are sucked.

Warning: NC-17 m/m, which is more of a promise than a warning.

Author's note: Yes, I'm still alive and kicking. And writing, see? Those overdue stories I've been promising will doubtless be finished Real Soon Now. (Hah!)

I have no clear idea of how it started, but then that's not unusual. I rarely know how any conversation with Blair started, because he and I tend to take sudden left turns into strangeness every time we stop to catch our breath. That night, for instance, we were talking about, um-- oh, right, there something about the Cascade East High School's softball team, some local special on the ten o'clock news. From there we went into team sports, the PTA, academic fraud, foreign students, football players, back to softball, left turn to get the gist of this? In four years Sandburg and I have never run out of things to talk about. Willingness to talk, yes, but not topics for conversation.

This night, though, we got from softball to the military to homoeroticism in all-male environments. By this point it was late and we were both rather punchy, and we weren't exactly having a theory-heavy debate, if you follow. He started it with a limp wrist and a drawl, teasing me about the barracks showers, and I responded with an imitation of some of the more flame-y drag queens I'd seen in military revues which had him rolling, literally rolling, on his sofa. I have a good voice for accents -- I work undercover, I have to have a voice for it -- and I impressed myself, really. I got into it, started camping it up even farther, and leaned over to rub my hand up the inside of his thigh. One thing led, as happens, to another, and we were climbing all over each other, mock-fondling around the laughter. All in fun, you understand -- I mean, I wasn't taking advantage of the situation to indulge any particular homoerotic fantasies of mine or anything like that, mostly because none sprang to mind. I've had fantasies, of course, and who hasn't? None featured my roommate, though. There was this one with David Duchovny, three pairs of handcuffs, and a...well, never mind that now. I wasn't thinking about it anyway. But then-- oh, but then.

Then Blair started sucking on my fingers.

I like having my fingers sucked.

I really like having my fingers sucked.

I don't think Blair realized this at first. He probably thought I was still playing, pretending to moan and shimmy, and I was, initially. My hands are a hell of an erogenous zone, though, and I was writhing for real before I knew what was happening to me. My chest felt far too tight and my eyes were crossing, with strange things happening to the colors around the edges; I got dizzy, up and down not retaining any meaning, and every hair on my body was trying to stand at attention. Blood pounding in my ears, hot and cold shivers up my spine, the whole nine yards. What I'm saying is that it turned me on hard and fast, and Blair didn't even seem to know, because he went right on laughing and tongue-fucking the space between my first and second fingers.

Somewhere in there I'm sure it occurred to me to tell him to stop, but even if I could have managed to retrieve that much energy and focus I don't think I could have brought myself to make this stop. It hurt -- god, it hurt! -- that much sudden overstimulation was sending ghost pains through the rest of my body, but at the risk of being trite: it hurt so goddamned good that I only wanted more. When Sandburg pulled back and started nibbling on my fingertips, and I could feel every ridge of his lips and every string of saliva, I lost it. There were firecrackers sizzling on the backs of my thighs and red-hot wires stretched from my palms to my groin, and I was riding a rolling wave slowly into shore.

Wipeout, crash and burn -- the sensation was very like being swept off of my surfboard and tumbled over and over until the solid earth slammed into me from a direction I would have sworn was upwards.

Then I was shaking, slumping back onto the couch, and Blair's laughter was stumbling to a halt as he came to the realization that I wasn't playing any more. Random muscles all down my body kept jumping and the living room was weaving back into focus unevenly, and it took me a moment to hear Blair's increasingly frantic questions. Was I okay? A stock answer to that one was available, and when my head refused to nod I did manage to wave one hand reassuringly. Had I been hurt? The world was settling down and I could shake my head no to that one. What the hell had just happened? Well damn, Sandburg, that's what I wanted to know. I didn't have the breath to say so, though, so I tried to wave him away. He didn't stop hovering, but I was pulling real air into my lungs now, and I curled into a ball to cut out as much outside stimulation as possible while I recovered.

Blair's hand rubbed circles on my back, which went from irritating to steadying to soporific. As soon as I'd pulled myself together I sat up again and moved to face him, conveniently moving me out of arm's reach. I dried the corners of my eyes and took a deep breath.

"Sandburg," I said, "is there something you need to tell me?"

He looked like that took him a bit aback. His eyes raked over me assessingly, once quickly and then again, searchingly, at my crotch, where the fabric of my pants was undoubtably visibly stained. "Um," he said. "Jim, did you just-- Was-- Did you--"

I pinched the bridge of my nose and shook my head to clear it. "Sandburg," I said slowly. "Would you please care to tell me why you suddenly took it into your head to suck me off in the middle of the living room?"

Blair swallowed. "Geez, I didn't mean-- I'm sorry I--"

Wasn't I the one who was supposed to be unable to speak in complete sentences at a time like this?

"My god, you just came in your pants!" Blair finally blurted.

The man looked completely befuddled, as if the idea of a sexual climax while fully dressed and sitting on the couch was an alien one to him. If I'd had any doubts about his naive overenthusiasm versus a premeditated sadistic streak here, he would have just resolved them fully in favor of naivete.

"But you weren't even touching yourself!" he added.

Naivete. No question about it.

"...You, uh, you liked that, huh?" Blair asked.

I sighed. "Brilliant deduction, Watson. Whatever gave you that idea?"

He opened his mouth to answer.

"Yes, Sandburg, I liked it, okay?" I said, heading him off. "Geez."

"I didn't know you were, uh, into guys," my genius of a best friend said next.

I lifted my hands up before my face and studied them, mildly annoyed that they were still trembling faintly. "Well, Chief, I guess I'd have to say I am, wouldn't you? At least as far as finger-sucking goes." I thought about that and added, "Which does seem to be pretty far."

"I am sorry," Blair said. "I was just joking, you know, I didn't mean to get you all--" He cut that sentence off. "Sorry."

I shrugged. "We both learned something, hmm?"

"What did you learn?" he asked.

"The same thing you did: that I really like having my fingers sucked by guys. Or by you, at least." Honesty being the best policy and all that.

"You didn't know?"

"No," I said, "how would I have known?"

He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, wordlessly, but there was a tension at the corners of his eyes that said to me that his mind was working furiously. "Ah," he said after a minute, then, "Well then."

I waited, but nothing more seemed to be forthcoming.

Blair shifted a little on his side of the sofa on which we'd ended up. "Maybe we should both go get some sleep," he suggested.

Surprised, I said, "You don't want me to reciprocate?"

He stared.

I stared back.

He stared with eyes a little wilder.

"...Right," I said. "Not. Sorry, I just thought," I gestured vaguely, "well, I got off, you didn't," Blair was looking terribly embarrassed, "and never mind, okay, right."

Blair choked, "You'd do that?"

"Fair's fair," I pointed out.

"Yes, but-- well-- I mean, if you really want to-- I mean, I wouldn't say no, y'know?" He laughed nervously. One hand drifted down to tug shyly at the button of his jeans.

Fair was fair, I reminded myself, and leaned forward. After all, it wasn't like the evening could get any weirder, right? Softball to army barracks to applied homoeroticism on the living room couch, all before midnight. "What do you want?" I asked.

Blair pulled at the fly of his jeans until the button snapped open, then he lowered the zipper, talking the whole while without ever finishing a sentence, mostly variations on Would you--? and If you'd--?

When he had his dick out of his boxers, his hand twitched upward toward my cheek, by which I understood that he was unable to request a blow job out loud. Fairness, I told myself again, and tightened my stomach muscles briefly to feel the pleasant post-coital burn through my body before bending all the way down and taking the crown of his dick in my mouth.

Half a second later I was bolt upright again, gasping for air around an overwhelmingly bitter and heavy taste. Muttering apologies, I waved his hands away and bent down again, bracing myself this time for the contact. It wasn't actually a bad taste, just strong, very strong, and unexpected; with everything wide open in me as it always was after sex, it had hit me doubly hard. He and I had been rolling around playing our little game for a while before it had gotten so wildly out of hand, and we'd both been mildly hard from the low-level sort of attraction that you always get with extended physical contact with another person's body. He wasn't hard any more, of course, and I fit the whole of his penis into my mouth to be rolled around on my tongue. Unsurprisingly, it didn't take much of that to get him excited. It was definitely strange to feel his dick swelling up inside my mouth, though, and after a short time I had to let most of it slid back out.

After the adrenaline jolt of that first taste of his precum, I was paying close attention to my surroundings, and I was pleased to hear Blair start groaning under his breath as I pulled on his cock with my lips to urge it to stand up from his body. Already it was hard enough to point straight up at the ceiling when I let go and began licking the crown of it. At that he did gasp aloud, then he laid one hand on the back of my head and pushed me until my tongue hit one spot which made his whole body shiver. From there I followed his directions, and when he rubbed up and down I wrapped my lips back around the girth of his now considerably larger cock and sucked as hard as I could, flicking the tip of my tongue over one of those sweet spots, while he arched up and cried out several times. His hand, now clenched tight on my shoulder, pulled me up and away just before a final spasm signaled his orgasm.

I leaned on my elbows and watched with fascination, having never seen another man come from this distance. It was kind of fun to experience from here, actually, with all of his muscles contracting under my hands on his hips and cum arcing out of his dick in long stringy spurts in rhythm with them. He didn't come all over the couch, either, which I appreciated; his tee-shirt caught all of it. He didn't scream and keel over with tears streaming from his eyes, but then he'd had rather more warning that I had had.

All in all, I thought we'd both seemed to make out quite well from this accident (no pun intended).

I didn't go so far as speculating when we might try this sort of exchange again, but the idea that we could did occur to me. I shrugged it off for consideration later, though, and sat up again before offering Blair a hand up as well. He took it and let me pull him up into a sitting position. The time it took for him to catch his breath stretched into awkwardness, though, and I jumped when he cleared his throat. Obviously trying for nonchalance, he asked if I wanted to use the bathroom first before he went in to clean himself up. I did, but when I got up he stopped me before I stepped away and looked at me for a moment before thanking me quietly. Embarrassed, I think I nodded, looked away, and replied along the lines of Yeah, you too. I brushed my teeth quickly (but thoroughly) and ran a washcloth over my face and sticky crotch. When I emerged from the bathroom, Sandburg was already in his bedroom, undressing by the sound of it, so I went up to bed with a Good-night called around the doorway.

And that was it, because we didn't mention it, either of us, over breakfast the next morning or after dinner the next night, when Blair had papers to grade and I took out a new book to read, lounging on our respective couches and resolutely ignoring each other. At least, I was resolute about it; I have no idea how Blair was treating his temptation, if indeed he was feeling any at all.

So it went for the last two weeks, and I'd thought that it probably was just a fluke after all, just a joke that got out of control, and it wasn't like I'd had time to make a date with anyone, man or woman, to test out certain new hypotheses about my sexuality. A couple of times, in the dark of night when I was alone in bed with my own hands, I tried thinking about Blair or other men I knew while I jacked myself off, but you can't really be certain of anything that way.

Then, tonight, as we were cooking dinner, Blair took my hand in his own, raised it to his mouth to lick the pizza sauce off with his own tongue, and lifted his eyes to meet mine with a smile.

It was a wicked, wicked smile.

That might be how it started, with a bang and a whimper one night, but that's not how it's going to end -- not yet, and not for a long, long time. I can see that already.



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