An Alley Near Orange and Hicks
Title: An Alley Near Orange and Hicks
WC: 553
Characters: Toby/UMC
Rating: um R for the details? I FAIL AT THIS
Summary: The lonely days when boys were too young to be drafted, but old enough to lose their girlfriends to those that were.
Notes: prompt was alleyway. It's another of Toby's 'first times' with a male. Orange and Hicks are, conveniently enough, two crossing streets in Brooklyn.
He was 13 for Kennedy and King, 14 for the Moon Landing, and 17 the first time he fucked a boy. He had been going steady with Ellen, who had broken it off for Patrick, whose draft number had come up. It was 1972 and he would be turning 18 at the end of it, possibly facing his own draft number in 73.
Ellen, of course, did not see the point in waiting for this, and had fled to Patrick's arms, her hero. Toby leaned against his locker and scowled. It happened all over school, boys dumped for 'soldiers'; boys dumped for men who would never be coming home again. Toby almost wanted to be them, wanted to be loved tenderly like that. He imagined the sex must be awesome.
The boys banded together, formed their own group; hormones ran wild, as they did often in 17 year old boys, and Toby found himself attracted slightly to a shy boy who did not look as though he belonged in this group of reject boys.
"She said we'd get married someday but when she heard her brother's best friend's number came up ..."
Toby nodded as the boy told his story, nodded in agreement, in sympathy. He didn't know what was going on with himself, didn't know why the fire burned in his loins every time this boy was near. Every time this boy touched him, Toby would shake it off, his heart racing. And there was the smile. Toby was convinced (after several late night 'philosophy' sessions) that the smile was just for him. Still, he never smiled back.
They took to walking home together, parting on Orange Street. Toby continued up Hicks to his street, always kicking the dirt as he went, wondering why philosophy sessions always happened the nights he didn't walk home alone.
It changed one day, as the days got shorter and Toby neared 18. With a smile meant only for Toby, and the lightest of touches, the boy gestured towards the alleyway. Toby glanced up and down Hicks, but followed. Orange was a few blocks up, but he didn't mind.
No words were spoken; belts were unbuckled, tossed aside. A few cans were moved, several crates placed on top for privacy. No-one would come. Mothers were collecting their children from school and the laundry still hung wet on the lines. No-one would notice two naked boys below.
It was fast, quick; Toby shoved the boy against the wall, rubbed his own cock until it was wet enough to push it. It was awkward, slow; Toby had to try twice to press it in at the right angle. It was perfect, for a first time; he was holding the wall with one hand and servicing a cock with the other. The boy beat his hands on the brick until they had both come.
They switched places, Toby's hands flat against the wall. This time it took only once to get the angle right; this time they moved to the ground, Toby's hands flat on the pavement, his ass in the air.
When it was done, they collected their clothes, silently sorting them, the click of the belts the only noise. They left the alley exactly as it was, with the crates for privacy. At Orange, as always, they parted.
WC: 553
Characters: Toby/UMC
Rating: um R for the details? I FAIL AT THIS
Summary: The lonely days when boys were too young to be drafted, but old enough to lose their girlfriends to those that were.
Notes: prompt was alleyway. It's another of Toby's 'first times' with a male. Orange and Hicks are, conveniently enough, two crossing streets in Brooklyn.
He was 13 for Kennedy and King, 14 for the Moon Landing, and 17 the first time he fucked a boy. He had been going steady with Ellen, who had broken it off for Patrick, whose draft number had come up. It was 1972 and he would be turning 18 at the end of it, possibly facing his own draft number in 73.
Ellen, of course, did not see the point in waiting for this, and had fled to Patrick's arms, her hero. Toby leaned against his locker and scowled. It happened all over school, boys dumped for 'soldiers'; boys dumped for men who would never be coming home again. Toby almost wanted to be them, wanted to be loved tenderly like that. He imagined the sex must be awesome.
The boys banded together, formed their own group; hormones ran wild, as they did often in 17 year old boys, and Toby found himself attracted slightly to a shy boy who did not look as though he belonged in this group of reject boys.
"She said we'd get married someday but when she heard her brother's best friend's number came up ..."
Toby nodded as the boy told his story, nodded in agreement, in sympathy. He didn't know what was going on with himself, didn't know why the fire burned in his loins every time this boy was near. Every time this boy touched him, Toby would shake it off, his heart racing. And there was the smile. Toby was convinced (after several late night 'philosophy' sessions) that the smile was just for him. Still, he never smiled back.
They took to walking home together, parting on Orange Street. Toby continued up Hicks to his street, always kicking the dirt as he went, wondering why philosophy sessions always happened the nights he didn't walk home alone.
It changed one day, as the days got shorter and Toby neared 18. With a smile meant only for Toby, and the lightest of touches, the boy gestured towards the alleyway. Toby glanced up and down Hicks, but followed. Orange was a few blocks up, but he didn't mind.
No words were spoken; belts were unbuckled, tossed aside. A few cans were moved, several crates placed on top for privacy. No-one would come. Mothers were collecting their children from school and the laundry still hung wet on the lines. No-one would notice two naked boys below.
It was fast, quick; Toby shoved the boy against the wall, rubbed his own cock until it was wet enough to push it. It was awkward, slow; Toby had to try twice to press it in at the right angle. It was perfect, for a first time; he was holding the wall with one hand and servicing a cock with the other. The boy beat his hands on the brick until they had both come.
They switched places, Toby's hands flat against the wall. This time it took only once to get the angle right; this time they moved to the ground, Toby's hands flat on the pavement, his ass in the air.
When it was done, they collected their clothes, silently sorting them, the click of the belts the only noise. They left the alley exactly as it was, with the crates for privacy. At Orange, as always, they parted.