Poison Candy-Chapter One-Part Two
He turned his head away from the alarm and wow, fuck, it was fantasy number three in the flesh, Chester naked in a hotel bed, jerking himself off while he fingered himself open
"Mmm," said Mike, still sleepy, "need some help?"
Chester just shook his head kind of frantically and knocked his head on the wall. He didn't seem to notice or care about that, either, though, just kept going until he came and then slumped over on the pillow next to Mike's head.
Mike reached up, yawning, and pushed the sweaty hair off Chester's forehead. "Is there anything I can do for you now? I hear I have a tight ass if you wanna try."
Chester made a hocking, squawky noise because he tried to moan and laugh at the same time. "Fuck, you do," he agreed. "No, not yet."
Mike touched the smooth, white skin of Chester's belly. It was covered in what was probably like five layers of evil pon farr/ drug-infested come, sticky and flaking. "If you can take it, man, I can take it," he said, trying not to sound like a chick in some gang-bang porno (I like it rough! Fuck me all night long until I bleed!).
"I just really," said Chester, blinking at Mike and mumbling like he was too tired to move his mouth carefully, "Really need something in my ass right now." (And Chester takes the prize for Sounding Like A Slutty Chick in a Porno!)
Mike smiled, slowly. "Why didn't you say so?"
"I thought you were fucked out," Chester said doubtfully.
"Shut up," said Mike. "Anyway, I am. Turn over."
Chester turned over grumpily. "Why isn't it morning yet?" he said. "Shouldn't this be over?"
"What, like it magically ends at dawn?" Mike asked, spreading his ass apart carefully and leaning down for a first taste.
"I don't know, but it can't last for more than, fuck, twelve hours or something, oh fuck, can it?"
Mike laughed a little. "Stop trying to talk to me, because I can't answer with my tongue in your ass anyway." Then he bent down and went to work knocking another fantasy off the list.
The rimming fantasy was kind of sketchy, actually, so Mike had to make up a lot of details as he went along, like the finger-fucking and the slow teasing. For a while Chester was actually talking - "I think a real pon farr can last for days - fuck, what was that, do that again. The Enterprise took days to get to Vulcan... but this is a drug, right, Mike? It's gotta be a drug... fucking shit, those motherfucking sons of bitches" - but then he lost the power of speech when Mike reached around and started jerking him off at the same time.
Also, Mike's fantasy generally ended with Chester begging to be fucked, not with him saying "Okay, okay, I can fuck you now, get the fuck off me - but you've gotta tell me, okay? You can't let me fucking hurt you."
Mike rolled his eyes and pulled Chester on top of him. "I promise, Chester."
Mike already knew the face Chester made when he was first pushing in, the concentrating frown, the little hint of smugness - the tension slowly melting away as he got into it, until Mike wrapped his legs around Chester's waist and his arms around his back and let his head fall back on the pillow, feeling his whole body move with Chester's short, rolling thrusts until he suddenly realized that he was hard again.
"Chester, Chester, hold on, wait."
"Uhhh," said Chester, "what?"
"Got a hard-on," said Mike. Chester looked down and his eyes got sort of buggy, and then he was pulling out and lying down next to Mike.
"Fuck," he sighed. "It doesn't even hurt that much anymore."
"No?" said Mike. "Well, it's almost four, man. You might make it by dawn after all."
"Did you notice?" Chester said, frowning. "I didn't come."
"You didn't?" said Mike, and hell, Chester was right, he hadn't come that time in Mike, and - "what about before?"
"Before, the other eighty times I came?"
"No, wiseass, before when my tongue was in your ass," said Mike.
Chester laughed a little tiredly, and then yawned. "No, I don't know. I mean... I didn't, actually. Felt like it a couple of times, though. Almost." His eyes were all the way closed.
"Are you even awake? Maybe we should..."
Chester's eyes shot open. "And waste that hard-on? Fuck, no. Come here and give me that cock."
Mike giggled and sat up, woozy with sleeplessness and wiping tears of tired hysteria from his eyes, and he was still giggling tiredly when he finished with the lube and started pushing his cock into Chester's ass.
"Very flattering," Chester muttered, but Mike had already stopped laughing before he slid all the way in - it felt too good, turned off the laugh circuits and turned on all the sex ones all at once, too much friction on every inch of his overworked cock.
"You are so hot," Mike breathed. He didn't mean to change the subject, exactly. It was just Chester's stupid black eyelashes and his swollen, reddened, lopsided mouth and the way he was so relaxed, loose and slick from Mike's fucking before. It just slipped out.
Chester's eyes flew open and he blinked up at Mike in confusion, like he didn't know that he was hot, or didn't know what they were talking about.
"Hot," Mike said firmly, tilting Chester's ass and sliding back inside. "So fucking hot."
"Says the guy with his dick in my ass," Chester gasped, finally.
"Yes," Mike agreed, "yeah, I'm the guy with my dick in your ass," and he pulled out and thrust again and moaned, "and it's a fucking sweet ass."
"Come on," Chester whispered, all hoarse and raw and fucked-sounding, and Mike did, really going for it, because he wasn't going to last all that long - if he didn't come soon he was just going to pass out, and he didn't want to miss coming in Chester's incredible hot ass again.
"You are hot," Mike said determinedly, when he figured out how to talk again, "fucking amazing, you're the hottest I've ever had."
Chester's head was turned to the side and his eyes were closed, and he was in the fucking zone, gasping with every thrust and then suddenly he was coming again, coming and coming, with these jerky, slow, almost-dry pulses while Mike held his cock and milked it, carefully.
He probably hadn't even heard. His eyes fluttered and started to open, and he whispered, "'S matter? You didn't..."
That was all the invitation Mike needed to bend him in half and fuck him again, quick and sloppy - just to come, just needing to come. He could feel the orgasm coming like a headache between the eyes, squeezing the breath out of him until finally it washed over him. He was coming in Chester again, and when he opened his eyes Chester was looking at him, his eyes wide and curious and wondering.
He looked sad.
When Mike pulled out again, really, really carefully, he really thought Chester was going to apologize again, but he hadn't forgotten their rule; he just bit his lip and sighed, loudly.
"I'm about to fall into a coma," Mike yawned, rolling back over and snuggling up to Chester's side. "Kick me really hard if you need to wake me up, but I really seriously can't fuck anymore."
"That's okay," Chester murmured. "It's dawn."
And then Mike was asleep.
So Mike woke up in the best mood ever hours and hours later. By the time he was all the way awake, he'd taken a whole little tour of memory through last night's never ending interactive porn movie and moved all the way through into wondering how Chester was doing.
And it was only then that his body woke up and started screaming bloody murder.
Well, it wasn't bloody murder, exactly. Mike had woken up feeling like he wanted to kill himself to make it stop before, and this wasn't that. He wasn't nauseated, he wasn't bleeding, and he hadn't broken anything. Well, actually, he might be bleeding - he wasn't sure. And he didn't think he could stand up and go check his ass for blood without a lot of pain, so that was just going to have to stay up in the air.
Mike had muscle aches in stupid places, like the tops of his feet and his calves and his pecs, where he should really be able to feel safe from muscle strain. He hadn't exactly been keeping in shape with an eye to being ready for an all-nighter of athletic sex. Big mistake.
He also had muscle aches in his ass, but that was kinda what he expected. He'd do it again for Chester. If he got really drunk he'd probably do it even if Chester wasn't dying of the pon farr.
And speaking of Chester: Chester was probably the reason Mike had slept like a baby, full of joy and rainbows and fucking butterflies, because Chester was right there, under Mike's arm and leg, naked and sticky and smelly and Mike's favorite thing in the world.
Mike wanted to wake up like this all the time, with less drugs and scary alien diseases and less ass pain. (Waking up sort of on Chester wasn't completely unique, of course, but the important new element was the naked and sticky part.)
He pried his eyes open - it felt like his eyelashes were loaded with glue and his mouth was stuffed with cotton. Fucking like a porn star until dawn would take a lot out of you.
Chester was lax under his arm and his leg, but he wasn't sleeping like a baby anymore. He was staring at the ceiling with his eyes wide open like the ceiling had pissed in his Cheerios and stomped on his sunglasses.
He didn't have a hard-on anymore. (Mike checked.)
"You cured?" said Mike.
Chester jerked like Mike had poked him in the side and turned to look at him. "You're awake! Yeah - yeah, thanks." He still wasn't moving anything except his head.
"Did it hurt a lot?" Mike asked. "I'm sorry I wimped out on you. I feel bad about that."
"No!" said Chester anxiously. "No, I mean, that would be completely okay, and I completely understand, I mean, I just thought you'd have fallen asleep way before that, Robly. But no, no, you didn't wimp out on me anyway, because that was it."
"That was it?" said Mike.
"Yeah, that was it. I mean, you saw the last of it. My dick had already stopped hurting before you gave me that rimjob, I guess. I mean, for the most part, and I didn't have that feverish need to be fucked through the door anymore -"
"I think you mean the floor," said Mike.
"We didn't do it on the floor," said Chester, annoyed. "And yeah, after you fucked me the last time that really did it. I had actually softened up by the time you went to sleep. I tried to tell you but you were pretty much out of it."
"We didn't do it on the door either," Mike pointed out.
"So, yeah," said Chester. "Thanks. God, thanks are so inadequate."
Mike shifted a little and immediately regretted it, but he felt the need to bury his face in Chester's neck and he was fucking going to. He nuzzled a little and sighed when another little burst of contentment happened in his chest. "Don't mention it. Don't even worry about it. Any time, seriously." No, thought Mike, really any time.
"I thought you really were going to be in a coma for a minute there," said Chester.
"Even you aren't that good," said Mike.
Chester scrunched his nose up at Mike, but he didn't really say anything. Mike could hear his guilty thoughts running around, though, and he knew letting Chester listen to his own crazy for too long was a bad thing.
"Well," he said cheerfully, "it's too bad this had to happen yesterday and not some time when I was already being a total hyper little shithead and needed to be tired out."
Chester frowned, then looked amused momentarily. "What, like... 'Shut up or I'll shut you up! With my cock!'"
"Mmm," said Mike, "cock." Of course, Mike wasn't the one who usually needed to be shut up.
"Hmm," said Chester, and moved his arm, which was the first time he'd moved anything except his head since Mike woke up. Mike snuggled closer, and Chester wrapped the arm around his waist.
Mike was so happy he almost felt guilty. It wasn't like he wanted Chester to have been dosed with sex drugs. It was just... well. And meanwhile, Chester was frowning again and when he forgot and tried to move his leg, too, he stopped immediately with an "Ow, motherfucker."
"You must be really sore, huh," said Mike sympathetically. "Hey, you know, my ass has definitely never been this sore after fucking before. And if you ever heard me say that size doesn't matter, I was lying. Like a rug."
"Mine hasn't either," said Chester unhappily. "I can't fucking move. I wish you didn't have to feel it too, Mike."
Mike shrugged. "It wasn't your fault, man." Chester's arm tightened unhappily around him, and he gave a troubled sigh. "Look," said Mike, "are you guilt-tripping? Fucking stop it, all right? I wasn't kidding about size, man, I don't mind a little soreness. I like to be sore. Sex-sore is good."
Chester made an annoyed noise, and said kind of pissily, "I appreciate that, honestly, that you mean that, but even if you meant that I don't think that like fucking losing it, going out of control and and date-raping someone is okay."
If he really had felt date-raped, Mike thought Chester's attitude would make him want to punch him in the nose. Except Chester, of course, was looking at him soulfully with those big hazel eyes, earnest and still worried, and he couldn't really stay mad. "Look, come here," said Mike. "Or, don't move, hold on."
He scooted closer to Chester, moving as little of his body as possible, but when he gave up and collapsed on Chester's chest he was still sore and ready to curse his mother for giving birth to such an ungrateful cock-hungry pon-farr-helping dumbass. He didn't, though, not out loud - years of training. He snuggled down onto Chester's chest instead.
"See?" said Mike. "I honestly mean it. I'm honestly not mad. If anyone was date-raped it was you, man. Nobody slipped me a roofie."
Chester cuddled him anxiously for a while. "I couldn't help it."
"I know," said Mike. Boy, did he know. He had a whole series of mini porn movies to illustrate his fucking fantasy book but all of them were tainted with this fucking date rape stuff.
"That's what's so fucking bad about it, finding out that I could do that, that I'd just - fuck."
"But you couldn't help it, like you said," said Mike carefully. Sue him if "sleep with Mike" didn't really seem like the worst thing to do under the influence, either. Even if it was "sleep with Mike like ten times in a row."
"I know," said Chester, "That's what's so - it was like - I knew what I was doing, I mean, it wasn't like being high, I felt everything, I wasn't - I was there for all of it. But I just couldn't - that's why I used to do that shit, you know, the booze, and pills? To forget. I didn't want to know what I was doing."
Mike hugged him tighter. "I'm sorry," he said thickly, feeling like the biggest tool in the universe. Great, his sexual fantasies had been acted out by slave labor.
"I could really use a fucking cigarette," said Chester sadly.
"Me too," said Mike. "Can you reach them?"
"Not without getting up."
"Fuck." It definitely wasn't worth getting up.
"You're being really good about this," Chester said, trying to sound casual and missing it by about four thousand miles.
Mike turned his head to look up at Chester. "Well, I'm a little sore, yeah, but it's not exactly a chore, Chester."
Chester rolled his eyes. "Sex is good, I know."
"No, really," said Mike. "I mean, I'm not saying I'd want to dose you with like, cock of steel pills or whatever, but I'm not, like, opposed to cock rings."
Chester clearly didn't know what to do with that. "Hmm," he said. There was a little silence. "I've never had a cock ring."
"I haven't worn one," said Mike, "but I've used one, if you get what I mean."
Chester rolled his eyes. "Yeah." Mike was wondering if he needed to say something else or maybe if they could call someone to bring them painkillers when Chester said again, "I want a cigarette."
"Yeah," said Mike. "You know I would get a you a cigarette if I could move."
"Same," said Chester. "I would totally get you a whole pack of cigarettes if I could move."
"Thanks," said Mike, bizarrely touched by Chester's random but completely earnest gestures.
"You deserve it," said Chester, and actually tried to move. That ended in tears. "Auuuugrrrrh," he said, and subsided back into the bed. "Thanks, for, you know. Putting your ass out there. I really do - I know you don't want me to feel guilty, so I just want to thank you, for all the things you do, and the things you would do too, you know? Thank you for the fucking hypothetical cigarette. I don't deserve you."
He made no sense, and Mike was still feeling choked up. "Shut up, you totally deserve me, asshole."
He couldn't believe he'd been feeling good about this when he woke up, which basically made him the date rapist in the scenario even if he hadn't fed Chester the poisoned candy himself. He wasn't about to totally come out about that, but Chester was right: he didn't deserve a friend like Mike, a friend who was acting off of a secret agenda that he didn't even give him the courtesy of notifying him about and looking at every porn scene through the creepy goggles of an obsessing stalker with a crush.
"Look," said Mike uncomfortably, "I'm not gonna lie, it wasn't a hardship for me to sleep with you, Chester, and that's. Wow, that's actually kind of an understatement. I had a choice about everything I did last night, and you didn't, you didn't have a choice about any of it. So stop making it sound like it was some big sacrifice."
Chester was off and babbling before Mike could even finish. "You know," he said, "even though I didn't, in a way, have a choice, that choice, the choice that I didn't actually make was you, and I'm glad about that. I mean, like, it's true I didn't actually have a choice, and would in no way have chosen this to happen - but - well, really at all ..."
Mike was starting to feel pretty shitty by now. Obviously Chester liked him well enough to get it up, and okay, well enough to cuddle with, but there it was: one of them had chosen last night and that one was Mike. Way to make the most amazing night of his life look pathetic, not just because he was an obsessive stalking creep, but because his fantasies were laughable next to the reality of Chester wrapped around him, smelly and sticky and sore, stupid and perfect and now he could never go back.
"No, of course not, no, I know that. You weren't in your right mind," said Mike. It was probably time to be pulling away but he couldn't move. Also, he was a selfish asshole. "I'm sorry if anything I, you know... did, or - or said - was over the line in any way at all."
"Wait," said Chester, pulling away enough that they both winced. "What are you talking about?"
"You know," said Mike.
"You mean," said Chester slowly, "the line when I went out of control and fucked your ass until you couldn't stand? Or do you mean the line when I acted like a hormone-crazed porn star and begged you to fuck me?"
Mike couldn't even really laugh at that. The best he made was a dry little chuckle, like the laughter equivalent of Chester's over-tired cock and its practically-nonexistent come. "You didn't go out of control. You got drugged and lost control and begged for sex."
"Go out of control, lose control, whatever!" snapped Chester. "However you want to fucking say it, I was high last night, and I was doing things that -"
"That you weren't responsible for!"
"I don't want to fucking not be responsible for them!" Chester said desperately. "I have to fucking own this shit, I did it and I fucking wanted it! Sometimes, sometimes there's shit you really don't want to fucking know about yourself, how far you'd go -"
"Like fucking me," said Mike, quietly.
"I crossed the line," Chester said. "I fucking obliterated that motherfucker going a hundred and fucking twenty miles an hour and didn't fucking look back!"
"There's no line," Mike said, "with me. Not for you." That seemed like a really awkward thing to say and he knew he was just going to make it worse, but he had to keep going now. "Really, don't worry about it. Not only has it not been crossed, but it doesn't even exist. My ass is probably the least of my worries right now, seriously."
Chester made a seriously doubtful face there, but Mike shushed him and kept right on going.
"You didn't do anything. I mean, yeah, you had sex with me, and we both liked it, but come on, you aren't even kinky - all you wanted was some cock, I've seen worse than that on prime time television! If those were, like, your darkest and basest desires when you're completely operating under instinct and can't help yourself then you've fucking got nothing to be ashamed of. I mean, my biggest problem with your porn star act was trying not to come too soon."
Silence. It's not like Mike could have shocked him, was it? Besides, if they were going for shocking, Chester had definitely won the contest fair and square.
Finally Chester said quietly, "Do you think so?"
"Yes," said Mike immediately. "Nobody wants to be roofied - or even worse given some kind of crazy sex roofie that leaves their mind intact and makes them uninhibited, or you know, unable to act on their inhibitions - God, that sucks, if I could find that purple haired guy I'd string him up. But if anything this has shown that you've got nothing to be ashamed of, Chester." Chester shuddered a little under Mike's arm and leg. "You're a good guy. You're good all the way down." Okay, kind of bitchy, maybe, but not scary or anything.
Chester thought about that for a minute, but then he said encouragingly, "Maybe you've got a point."
"Look, when you did lose it all you wanted to do was fuck me through the floor," said Mike. "And it was mind-blowing and amazing."
Chester said, with a hint of sarcasm, "Wow, I never knew that having a sore ass was one of your hobbies. You make it sound like a fucking pastime."
Mike felt a crazy impulse to laugh, because yeah, a fucking pastime. "It's more like a sexual preference," he said out loud, because a joke wasn't really the way to lighten the mood now. "The way I prefer to get fucked when I'm on the bottom, which you'll have noticed hasn't been for a while. But no - I was talking about anything I might have said that made you uncomfortable."
Chester sighed. "You keep saying that, but what could you possibly have said that could make anything worse -"
Then he stopped, just fucking stopped talking, no trailing away, no babbling, and even though it should have been the end of the sentence, Mike knew the sound of that cutoff. That was the silence of Chester thinking something he'd never thought before.
Mike wished he'd rolled out of bed and crawled into the bathroom to take a shower.
"Wait," said Chester, slowly. "Wait, what?"
Mike hated Chester and his stupid figuring things out and his stupid amazing cock. He wished he could teleport. He wished he'd called room service, or that someone next door had ordered it and they'd knock on his door by mistake. No such luck.
"Mike!" said Chester, but Mike just bit his lip and tried, desperately, to figure out how to answer without sounding like a moron. Or a creepy date-raping stalker. "Mike?" said Chester again, uncertainly.
Mike felt his heart - do something, at that quiet, hopeful 'Mike'. It wasn't like butterflies and rainbows, it was like - it felt like it cracked right open in his chest. His stomach was in knots from one-eightying so fast from dread to - to -
"Fine," he said, "but I feel like such a follower. The whole world is in love with you."
Chester was staring at him with his stupid mouth hanging open, his eyes wide and shocked. "But I'm not in love with the entire world, though," he said in a small, bewildered voice. "At least, not like this." And then he smiled, slow and gorgeous and lopsided.
The rest of Mike's heart melted and oozed out the crack.
He put his head down on Chester's shoulder and held on tight.
"Hey," said Chester, "where are you going?" He tipped Mike's head back up and kissed him sloppily.
His mouth tasted like sulfur and three-day-old gym shorts, but that was okay with Mike. He said hi to Chester's tongue and all his teeth again, and he kissed hard, happy - hi, teeth, you love me! Tongue, you totally love me, and we are going to have lots of time to get better acquainted.
"You also don't fuck the whole world until its ass is sore seven times in one night. Although if you hadn't been alone up here with me when it happened..." said Mike, once they pulled apart.
Chester shuddered. "God, do you think it was those fans who gave us the candy? What were they going to do?"
"It was the purple-haired skeeze," said Mike. "At least, I mean, it's not like I have any evidence, but I didn't like the way he was looking at us."
"But you know, if I was fucking the whole world I wouldn't be in love with all of it," said Chester. "And I guess I would prefer to be, because I don't really believe in meaningless sex, you know? I think there should be some kind of a connection there. And I mean, the ideal situation is if that connection is already there in advance as opposed to something that came along into being afterwards.
"So the ideal would be that I was in love with the whole world already, assuming that that was who I was having sex with. So really, I guess I should just be thankful that I'm totally in love with you. I mean, I should, definitely, I am. Before I was tending to be more like a little nervous about it."
Mike put his head back down on Chester's shoulder. "Me too," he said happily, and kissed Chester's nipple. "And I felt like such a pathetic creepy loser when you were all drugged and needing me and I was sitting there like, secretly boning for you."
"It didn't feel like a secret," said Chester in a campy, lascivious voice, and licked his lips.
"Yeah, well, I didn't have a lot of time for guilt either," said Mike. "But that was your fault. You were kind of demanding."
"Sorry," said Chester.
"That's okay. I squeezed it in the cracks."
"It's good that we were both guilty when we were fucking," Chester said doubtfully. "...I guess. For equality."
"Yeah," said Mike. "I think I had about all the equality I could stand last night."
"You know," said Chester, "we can't stay here forever. Eventually we're going to have to get some smokes and coffee."
"Yeah," said Mike. "And showers."
"Ugh," said Chester. Showers always seemed grosser than being gross to him.
"Do we have to call anybody and let them know we're alive?"
"Brad called while you were asleep," Chester said. "We're taking the day for recovery. We can see the guys at supper time."
"Good. That should give us just about enough time to get to the bathroom and back," said Mike.
"Haha."
It wasn't actually much of an exaggeration. Okay, it was, but it still took like an hour for them to hobble over there.
He felt like an old man, trying to move his body around without moving the individual parts, wobbling and collapsing in Chester's arms.
"Whoa, there," said Chester, like Mike was a horse who was way too eager to gallop into the floor.
"Fucking whoa there yourself," said Mike, clinging to Chester's shoulder and taking like two hobbly little steps to keep up with him.
"Fuck you," Chester said, smiling at Mike so his eyes crinkled up in the corners.
Chester tried to bend over to turn the shower on, but then he winced and stood back up again really fast, and Mike had to do it with his foot.
"After this shower, let's go by a pharmacy," said Chester.
"Definitely," said Mike. "I want one with lots of skulls and crossbones. No Nyquil."
"Fuck no," said Chester indignantly. "No fucking Nyquil."
It was weird to be standing in the shower, kissing in the water, touching each other slowly under the pounding spray and wreathed in clouds of steam, and not having sex. They touched each other's cocks, carefully, but they'd probably had enough sex for a week. Mike's ass was really hurting too much for him to get very turned on, anyway.
"It's too bad we had to wind up in the shower instead of the bath," Chester mused. "I was kinda looking forward to taking a bath with you."
"You?" said Mike. "A bath? Wow, I am sorry to miss that."
"Oh," said Chester airily, "not that kind of bath. This is just so much like I imagined it, and all. The steamy hotel bathroom... the morning after the night before... the tub full of hot water, and me washing your hair."
"Oh yeah?" said Mike. "What then?"
"Then I fuck you," said Chester matter-of-factly. "Usually in the water, sometimes against the edge of the tub."
Fuck, yeah, Mike could see it right away. It wasn't like he hadn't thought of it, either. He loved sitting in Chester's lap for a reason, and it was a reason that looked really good in tight jeans.
It wasn't exactly Mike's favorite bathtub fantasy from the fantasy book - his favorite had been the one in the shower, his legs around Chester's waist, Chester fucking him against the wall, or else Chester facing the wall, leaning on his forearms while Mike took him from behind.
When he thought about them now, they didn't seem right anymore. Mike buried his face in Chester's soapy neck and kissed up to his ear, where the wet hair was plastered to the curves.
"We'll still have time to do that later," said Mike. "I wouldn't want you to be disappointed."
"Mm," said Chester. "Nah. I already got plenty of wishes fulfilled last night." Then he looked at Mike under his eyelashes, and said, "Or this morning," and looked embarrassed, and Mike didn't need the fucking fantasy book anymore, he could make a whole new book, a book of 100% real fucking Chester, and Mike didn't want any imaginary Chester who couldn't possibly measure up.
"Mmm," said Mike, still sleepy, "need some help?"
Chester just shook his head kind of frantically and knocked his head on the wall. He didn't seem to notice or care about that, either, though, just kept going until he came and then slumped over on the pillow next to Mike's head.
Mike reached up, yawning, and pushed the sweaty hair off Chester's forehead. "Is there anything I can do for you now? I hear I have a tight ass if you wanna try."
Chester made a hocking, squawky noise because he tried to moan and laugh at the same time. "Fuck, you do," he agreed. "No, not yet."
Mike touched the smooth, white skin of Chester's belly. It was covered in what was probably like five layers of evil pon farr/ drug-infested come, sticky and flaking. "If you can take it, man, I can take it," he said, trying not to sound like a chick in some gang-bang porno (I like it rough! Fuck me all night long until I bleed!).
"I just really," said Chester, blinking at Mike and mumbling like he was too tired to move his mouth carefully, "Really need something in my ass right now." (And Chester takes the prize for Sounding Like A Slutty Chick in a Porno!)
Mike smiled, slowly. "Why didn't you say so?"
"I thought you were fucked out," Chester said doubtfully.
"Shut up," said Mike. "Anyway, I am. Turn over."
Chester turned over grumpily. "Why isn't it morning yet?" he said. "Shouldn't this be over?"
"What, like it magically ends at dawn?" Mike asked, spreading his ass apart carefully and leaning down for a first taste.
"I don't know, but it can't last for more than, fuck, twelve hours or something, oh fuck, can it?"
Mike laughed a little. "Stop trying to talk to me, because I can't answer with my tongue in your ass anyway." Then he bent down and went to work knocking another fantasy off the list.
The rimming fantasy was kind of sketchy, actually, so Mike had to make up a lot of details as he went along, like the finger-fucking and the slow teasing. For a while Chester was actually talking - "I think a real pon farr can last for days - fuck, what was that, do that again. The Enterprise took days to get to Vulcan... but this is a drug, right, Mike? It's gotta be a drug... fucking shit, those motherfucking sons of bitches" - but then he lost the power of speech when Mike reached around and started jerking him off at the same time.
Also, Mike's fantasy generally ended with Chester begging to be fucked, not with him saying "Okay, okay, I can fuck you now, get the fuck off me - but you've gotta tell me, okay? You can't let me fucking hurt you."
Mike rolled his eyes and pulled Chester on top of him. "I promise, Chester."
Mike already knew the face Chester made when he was first pushing in, the concentrating frown, the little hint of smugness - the tension slowly melting away as he got into it, until Mike wrapped his legs around Chester's waist and his arms around his back and let his head fall back on the pillow, feeling his whole body move with Chester's short, rolling thrusts until he suddenly realized that he was hard again.
"Chester, Chester, hold on, wait."
"Uhhh," said Chester, "what?"
"Got a hard-on," said Mike. Chester looked down and his eyes got sort of buggy, and then he was pulling out and lying down next to Mike.
"Fuck," he sighed. "It doesn't even hurt that much anymore."
"No?" said Mike. "Well, it's almost four, man. You might make it by dawn after all."
"Did you notice?" Chester said, frowning. "I didn't come."
"You didn't?" said Mike, and hell, Chester was right, he hadn't come that time in Mike, and - "what about before?"
"Before, the other eighty times I came?"
"No, wiseass, before when my tongue was in your ass," said Mike.
Chester laughed a little tiredly, and then yawned. "No, I don't know. I mean... I didn't, actually. Felt like it a couple of times, though. Almost." His eyes were all the way closed.
"Are you even awake? Maybe we should..."
Chester's eyes shot open. "And waste that hard-on? Fuck, no. Come here and give me that cock."
Mike giggled and sat up, woozy with sleeplessness and wiping tears of tired hysteria from his eyes, and he was still giggling tiredly when he finished with the lube and started pushing his cock into Chester's ass.
"Very flattering," Chester muttered, but Mike had already stopped laughing before he slid all the way in - it felt too good, turned off the laugh circuits and turned on all the sex ones all at once, too much friction on every inch of his overworked cock.
"You are so hot," Mike breathed. He didn't mean to change the subject, exactly. It was just Chester's stupid black eyelashes and his swollen, reddened, lopsided mouth and the way he was so relaxed, loose and slick from Mike's fucking before. It just slipped out.
Chester's eyes flew open and he blinked up at Mike in confusion, like he didn't know that he was hot, or didn't know what they were talking about.
"Hot," Mike said firmly, tilting Chester's ass and sliding back inside. "So fucking hot."
"Says the guy with his dick in my ass," Chester gasped, finally.
"Yes," Mike agreed, "yeah, I'm the guy with my dick in your ass," and he pulled out and thrust again and moaned, "and it's a fucking sweet ass."
"Come on," Chester whispered, all hoarse and raw and fucked-sounding, and Mike did, really going for it, because he wasn't going to last all that long - if he didn't come soon he was just going to pass out, and he didn't want to miss coming in Chester's incredible hot ass again.
"You are hot," Mike said determinedly, when he figured out how to talk again, "fucking amazing, you're the hottest I've ever had."
Chester's head was turned to the side and his eyes were closed, and he was in the fucking zone, gasping with every thrust and then suddenly he was coming again, coming and coming, with these jerky, slow, almost-dry pulses while Mike held his cock and milked it, carefully.
He probably hadn't even heard. His eyes fluttered and started to open, and he whispered, "'S matter? You didn't..."
That was all the invitation Mike needed to bend him in half and fuck him again, quick and sloppy - just to come, just needing to come. He could feel the orgasm coming like a headache between the eyes, squeezing the breath out of him until finally it washed over him. He was coming in Chester again, and when he opened his eyes Chester was looking at him, his eyes wide and curious and wondering.
He looked sad.
When Mike pulled out again, really, really carefully, he really thought Chester was going to apologize again, but he hadn't forgotten their rule; he just bit his lip and sighed, loudly.
"I'm about to fall into a coma," Mike yawned, rolling back over and snuggling up to Chester's side. "Kick me really hard if you need to wake me up, but I really seriously can't fuck anymore."
"That's okay," Chester murmured. "It's dawn."
And then Mike was asleep.
So Mike woke up in the best mood ever hours and hours later. By the time he was all the way awake, he'd taken a whole little tour of memory through last night's never ending interactive porn movie and moved all the way through into wondering how Chester was doing.
And it was only then that his body woke up and started screaming bloody murder.
Well, it wasn't bloody murder, exactly. Mike had woken up feeling like he wanted to kill himself to make it stop before, and this wasn't that. He wasn't nauseated, he wasn't bleeding, and he hadn't broken anything. Well, actually, he might be bleeding - he wasn't sure. And he didn't think he could stand up and go check his ass for blood without a lot of pain, so that was just going to have to stay up in the air.
Mike had muscle aches in stupid places, like the tops of his feet and his calves and his pecs, where he should really be able to feel safe from muscle strain. He hadn't exactly been keeping in shape with an eye to being ready for an all-nighter of athletic sex. Big mistake.
He also had muscle aches in his ass, but that was kinda what he expected. He'd do it again for Chester. If he got really drunk he'd probably do it even if Chester wasn't dying of the pon farr.
And speaking of Chester: Chester was probably the reason Mike had slept like a baby, full of joy and rainbows and fucking butterflies, because Chester was right there, under Mike's arm and leg, naked and sticky and smelly and Mike's favorite thing in the world.
Mike wanted to wake up like this all the time, with less drugs and scary alien diseases and less ass pain. (Waking up sort of on Chester wasn't completely unique, of course, but the important new element was the naked and sticky part.)
He pried his eyes open - it felt like his eyelashes were loaded with glue and his mouth was stuffed with cotton. Fucking like a porn star until dawn would take a lot out of you.
Chester was lax under his arm and his leg, but he wasn't sleeping like a baby anymore. He was staring at the ceiling with his eyes wide open like the ceiling had pissed in his Cheerios and stomped on his sunglasses.
He didn't have a hard-on anymore. (Mike checked.)
"You cured?" said Mike.
Chester jerked like Mike had poked him in the side and turned to look at him. "You're awake! Yeah - yeah, thanks." He still wasn't moving anything except his head.
"Did it hurt a lot?" Mike asked. "I'm sorry I wimped out on you. I feel bad about that."
"No!" said Chester anxiously. "No, I mean, that would be completely okay, and I completely understand, I mean, I just thought you'd have fallen asleep way before that, Robly. But no, no, you didn't wimp out on me anyway, because that was it."
"That was it?" said Mike.
"Yeah, that was it. I mean, you saw the last of it. My dick had already stopped hurting before you gave me that rimjob, I guess. I mean, for the most part, and I didn't have that feverish need to be fucked through the door anymore -"
"I think you mean the floor," said Mike.
"We didn't do it on the floor," said Chester, annoyed. "And yeah, after you fucked me the last time that really did it. I had actually softened up by the time you went to sleep. I tried to tell you but you were pretty much out of it."
"We didn't do it on the door either," Mike pointed out.
"So, yeah," said Chester. "Thanks. God, thanks are so inadequate."
Mike shifted a little and immediately regretted it, but he felt the need to bury his face in Chester's neck and he was fucking going to. He nuzzled a little and sighed when another little burst of contentment happened in his chest. "Don't mention it. Don't even worry about it. Any time, seriously." No, thought Mike, really any time.
"I thought you really were going to be in a coma for a minute there," said Chester.
"Even you aren't that good," said Mike.
Chester scrunched his nose up at Mike, but he didn't really say anything. Mike could hear his guilty thoughts running around, though, and he knew letting Chester listen to his own crazy for too long was a bad thing.
"Well," he said cheerfully, "it's too bad this had to happen yesterday and not some time when I was already being a total hyper little shithead and needed to be tired out."
Chester frowned, then looked amused momentarily. "What, like... 'Shut up or I'll shut you up! With my cock!'"
"Mmm," said Mike, "cock." Of course, Mike wasn't the one who usually needed to be shut up.
"Hmm," said Chester, and moved his arm, which was the first time he'd moved anything except his head since Mike woke up. Mike snuggled closer, and Chester wrapped the arm around his waist.
Mike was so happy he almost felt guilty. It wasn't like he wanted Chester to have been dosed with sex drugs. It was just... well. And meanwhile, Chester was frowning again and when he forgot and tried to move his leg, too, he stopped immediately with an "Ow, motherfucker."
"You must be really sore, huh," said Mike sympathetically. "Hey, you know, my ass has definitely never been this sore after fucking before. And if you ever heard me say that size doesn't matter, I was lying. Like a rug."
"Mine hasn't either," said Chester unhappily. "I can't fucking move. I wish you didn't have to feel it too, Mike."
Mike shrugged. "It wasn't your fault, man." Chester's arm tightened unhappily around him, and he gave a troubled sigh. "Look," said Mike, "are you guilt-tripping? Fucking stop it, all right? I wasn't kidding about size, man, I don't mind a little soreness. I like to be sore. Sex-sore is good."
Chester made an annoyed noise, and said kind of pissily, "I appreciate that, honestly, that you mean that, but even if you meant that I don't think that like fucking losing it, going out of control and and date-raping someone is okay."
If he really had felt date-raped, Mike thought Chester's attitude would make him want to punch him in the nose. Except Chester, of course, was looking at him soulfully with those big hazel eyes, earnest and still worried, and he couldn't really stay mad. "Look, come here," said Mike. "Or, don't move, hold on."
He scooted closer to Chester, moving as little of his body as possible, but when he gave up and collapsed on Chester's chest he was still sore and ready to curse his mother for giving birth to such an ungrateful cock-hungry pon-farr-helping dumbass. He didn't, though, not out loud - years of training. He snuggled down onto Chester's chest instead.
"See?" said Mike. "I honestly mean it. I'm honestly not mad. If anyone was date-raped it was you, man. Nobody slipped me a roofie."
Chester cuddled him anxiously for a while. "I couldn't help it."
"I know," said Mike. Boy, did he know. He had a whole series of mini porn movies to illustrate his fucking fantasy book but all of them were tainted with this fucking date rape stuff.
"That's what's so fucking bad about it, finding out that I could do that, that I'd just - fuck."
"But you couldn't help it, like you said," said Mike carefully. Sue him if "sleep with Mike" didn't really seem like the worst thing to do under the influence, either. Even if it was "sleep with Mike like ten times in a row."
"I know," said Chester, "That's what's so - it was like - I knew what I was doing, I mean, it wasn't like being high, I felt everything, I wasn't - I was there for all of it. But I just couldn't - that's why I used to do that shit, you know, the booze, and pills? To forget. I didn't want to know what I was doing."
Mike hugged him tighter. "I'm sorry," he said thickly, feeling like the biggest tool in the universe. Great, his sexual fantasies had been acted out by slave labor.
"I could really use a fucking cigarette," said Chester sadly.
"Me too," said Mike. "Can you reach them?"
"Not without getting up."
"Fuck." It definitely wasn't worth getting up.
"You're being really good about this," Chester said, trying to sound casual and missing it by about four thousand miles.
Mike turned his head to look up at Chester. "Well, I'm a little sore, yeah, but it's not exactly a chore, Chester."
Chester rolled his eyes. "Sex is good, I know."
"No, really," said Mike. "I mean, I'm not saying I'd want to dose you with like, cock of steel pills or whatever, but I'm not, like, opposed to cock rings."
Chester clearly didn't know what to do with that. "Hmm," he said. There was a little silence. "I've never had a cock ring."
"I haven't worn one," said Mike, "but I've used one, if you get what I mean."
Chester rolled his eyes. "Yeah." Mike was wondering if he needed to say something else or maybe if they could call someone to bring them painkillers when Chester said again, "I want a cigarette."
"Yeah," said Mike. "You know I would get a you a cigarette if I could move."
"Same," said Chester. "I would totally get you a whole pack of cigarettes if I could move."
"Thanks," said Mike, bizarrely touched by Chester's random but completely earnest gestures.
"You deserve it," said Chester, and actually tried to move. That ended in tears. "Auuuugrrrrh," he said, and subsided back into the bed. "Thanks, for, you know. Putting your ass out there. I really do - I know you don't want me to feel guilty, so I just want to thank you, for all the things you do, and the things you would do too, you know? Thank you for the fucking hypothetical cigarette. I don't deserve you."
He made no sense, and Mike was still feeling choked up. "Shut up, you totally deserve me, asshole."
He couldn't believe he'd been feeling good about this when he woke up, which basically made him the date rapist in the scenario even if he hadn't fed Chester the poisoned candy himself. He wasn't about to totally come out about that, but Chester was right: he didn't deserve a friend like Mike, a friend who was acting off of a secret agenda that he didn't even give him the courtesy of notifying him about and looking at every porn scene through the creepy goggles of an obsessing stalker with a crush.
"Look," said Mike uncomfortably, "I'm not gonna lie, it wasn't a hardship for me to sleep with you, Chester, and that's. Wow, that's actually kind of an understatement. I had a choice about everything I did last night, and you didn't, you didn't have a choice about any of it. So stop making it sound like it was some big sacrifice."
Chester was off and babbling before Mike could even finish. "You know," he said, "even though I didn't, in a way, have a choice, that choice, the choice that I didn't actually make was you, and I'm glad about that. I mean, like, it's true I didn't actually have a choice, and would in no way have chosen this to happen - but - well, really at all ..."
Mike was starting to feel pretty shitty by now. Obviously Chester liked him well enough to get it up, and okay, well enough to cuddle with, but there it was: one of them had chosen last night and that one was Mike. Way to make the most amazing night of his life look pathetic, not just because he was an obsessive stalking creep, but because his fantasies were laughable next to the reality of Chester wrapped around him, smelly and sticky and sore, stupid and perfect and now he could never go back.
"No, of course not, no, I know that. You weren't in your right mind," said Mike. It was probably time to be pulling away but he couldn't move. Also, he was a selfish asshole. "I'm sorry if anything I, you know... did, or - or said - was over the line in any way at all."
"Wait," said Chester, pulling away enough that they both winced. "What are you talking about?"
"You know," said Mike.
"You mean," said Chester slowly, "the line when I went out of control and fucked your ass until you couldn't stand? Or do you mean the line when I acted like a hormone-crazed porn star and begged you to fuck me?"
Mike couldn't even really laugh at that. The best he made was a dry little chuckle, like the laughter equivalent of Chester's over-tired cock and its practically-nonexistent come. "You didn't go out of control. You got drugged and lost control and begged for sex."
"Go out of control, lose control, whatever!" snapped Chester. "However you want to fucking say it, I was high last night, and I was doing things that -"
"That you weren't responsible for!"
"I don't want to fucking not be responsible for them!" Chester said desperately. "I have to fucking own this shit, I did it and I fucking wanted it! Sometimes, sometimes there's shit you really don't want to fucking know about yourself, how far you'd go -"
"Like fucking me," said Mike, quietly.
"I crossed the line," Chester said. "I fucking obliterated that motherfucker going a hundred and fucking twenty miles an hour and didn't fucking look back!"
"There's no line," Mike said, "with me. Not for you." That seemed like a really awkward thing to say and he knew he was just going to make it worse, but he had to keep going now. "Really, don't worry about it. Not only has it not been crossed, but it doesn't even exist. My ass is probably the least of my worries right now, seriously."
Chester made a seriously doubtful face there, but Mike shushed him and kept right on going.
"You didn't do anything. I mean, yeah, you had sex with me, and we both liked it, but come on, you aren't even kinky - all you wanted was some cock, I've seen worse than that on prime time television! If those were, like, your darkest and basest desires when you're completely operating under instinct and can't help yourself then you've fucking got nothing to be ashamed of. I mean, my biggest problem with your porn star act was trying not to come too soon."
Silence. It's not like Mike could have shocked him, was it? Besides, if they were going for shocking, Chester had definitely won the contest fair and square.
Finally Chester said quietly, "Do you think so?"
"Yes," said Mike immediately. "Nobody wants to be roofied - or even worse given some kind of crazy sex roofie that leaves their mind intact and makes them uninhibited, or you know, unable to act on their inhibitions - God, that sucks, if I could find that purple haired guy I'd string him up. But if anything this has shown that you've got nothing to be ashamed of, Chester." Chester shuddered a little under Mike's arm and leg. "You're a good guy. You're good all the way down." Okay, kind of bitchy, maybe, but not scary or anything.
Chester thought about that for a minute, but then he said encouragingly, "Maybe you've got a point."
"Look, when you did lose it all you wanted to do was fuck me through the floor," said Mike. "And it was mind-blowing and amazing."
Chester said, with a hint of sarcasm, "Wow, I never knew that having a sore ass was one of your hobbies. You make it sound like a fucking pastime."
Mike felt a crazy impulse to laugh, because yeah, a fucking pastime. "It's more like a sexual preference," he said out loud, because a joke wasn't really the way to lighten the mood now. "The way I prefer to get fucked when I'm on the bottom, which you'll have noticed hasn't been for a while. But no - I was talking about anything I might have said that made you uncomfortable."
Chester sighed. "You keep saying that, but what could you possibly have said that could make anything worse -"
Then he stopped, just fucking stopped talking, no trailing away, no babbling, and even though it should have been the end of the sentence, Mike knew the sound of that cutoff. That was the silence of Chester thinking something he'd never thought before.
Mike wished he'd rolled out of bed and crawled into the bathroom to take a shower.
"Wait," said Chester, slowly. "Wait, what?"
Mike hated Chester and his stupid figuring things out and his stupid amazing cock. He wished he could teleport. He wished he'd called room service, or that someone next door had ordered it and they'd knock on his door by mistake. No such luck.
"Mike!" said Chester, but Mike just bit his lip and tried, desperately, to figure out how to answer without sounding like a moron. Or a creepy date-raping stalker. "Mike?" said Chester again, uncertainly.
Mike felt his heart - do something, at that quiet, hopeful 'Mike'. It wasn't like butterflies and rainbows, it was like - it felt like it cracked right open in his chest. His stomach was in knots from one-eightying so fast from dread to - to -
"Fine," he said, "but I feel like such a follower. The whole world is in love with you."
Chester was staring at him with his stupid mouth hanging open, his eyes wide and shocked. "But I'm not in love with the entire world, though," he said in a small, bewildered voice. "At least, not like this." And then he smiled, slow and gorgeous and lopsided.
The rest of Mike's heart melted and oozed out the crack.
He put his head down on Chester's shoulder and held on tight.
"Hey," said Chester, "where are you going?" He tipped Mike's head back up and kissed him sloppily.
His mouth tasted like sulfur and three-day-old gym shorts, but that was okay with Mike. He said hi to Chester's tongue and all his teeth again, and he kissed hard, happy - hi, teeth, you love me! Tongue, you totally love me, and we are going to have lots of time to get better acquainted.
"You also don't fuck the whole world until its ass is sore seven times in one night. Although if you hadn't been alone up here with me when it happened..." said Mike, once they pulled apart.
Chester shuddered. "God, do you think it was those fans who gave us the candy? What were they going to do?"
"It was the purple-haired skeeze," said Mike. "At least, I mean, it's not like I have any evidence, but I didn't like the way he was looking at us."
"But you know, if I was fucking the whole world I wouldn't be in love with all of it," said Chester. "And I guess I would prefer to be, because I don't really believe in meaningless sex, you know? I think there should be some kind of a connection there. And I mean, the ideal situation is if that connection is already there in advance as opposed to something that came along into being afterwards.
"So the ideal would be that I was in love with the whole world already, assuming that that was who I was having sex with. So really, I guess I should just be thankful that I'm totally in love with you. I mean, I should, definitely, I am. Before I was tending to be more like a little nervous about it."
Mike put his head back down on Chester's shoulder. "Me too," he said happily, and kissed Chester's nipple. "And I felt like such a pathetic creepy loser when you were all drugged and needing me and I was sitting there like, secretly boning for you."
"It didn't feel like a secret," said Chester in a campy, lascivious voice, and licked his lips.
"Yeah, well, I didn't have a lot of time for guilt either," said Mike. "But that was your fault. You were kind of demanding."
"Sorry," said Chester.
"That's okay. I squeezed it in the cracks."
"It's good that we were both guilty when we were fucking," Chester said doubtfully. "...I guess. For equality."
"Yeah," said Mike. "I think I had about all the equality I could stand last night."
"You know," said Chester, "we can't stay here forever. Eventually we're going to have to get some smokes and coffee."
"Yeah," said Mike. "And showers."
"Ugh," said Chester. Showers always seemed grosser than being gross to him.
"Do we have to call anybody and let them know we're alive?"
"Brad called while you were asleep," Chester said. "We're taking the day for recovery. We can see the guys at supper time."
"Good. That should give us just about enough time to get to the bathroom and back," said Mike.
"Haha."
It wasn't actually much of an exaggeration. Okay, it was, but it still took like an hour for them to hobble over there.
He felt like an old man, trying to move his body around without moving the individual parts, wobbling and collapsing in Chester's arms.
"Whoa, there," said Chester, like Mike was a horse who was way too eager to gallop into the floor.
"Fucking whoa there yourself," said Mike, clinging to Chester's shoulder and taking like two hobbly little steps to keep up with him.
"Fuck you," Chester said, smiling at Mike so his eyes crinkled up in the corners.
Chester tried to bend over to turn the shower on, but then he winced and stood back up again really fast, and Mike had to do it with his foot.
"After this shower, let's go by a pharmacy," said Chester.
"Definitely," said Mike. "I want one with lots of skulls and crossbones. No Nyquil."
"Fuck no," said Chester indignantly. "No fucking Nyquil."
It was weird to be standing in the shower, kissing in the water, touching each other slowly under the pounding spray and wreathed in clouds of steam, and not having sex. They touched each other's cocks, carefully, but they'd probably had enough sex for a week. Mike's ass was really hurting too much for him to get very turned on, anyway.
"It's too bad we had to wind up in the shower instead of the bath," Chester mused. "I was kinda looking forward to taking a bath with you."
"You?" said Mike. "A bath? Wow, I am sorry to miss that."
"Oh," said Chester airily, "not that kind of bath. This is just so much like I imagined it, and all. The steamy hotel bathroom... the morning after the night before... the tub full of hot water, and me washing your hair."
"Oh yeah?" said Mike. "What then?"
"Then I fuck you," said Chester matter-of-factly. "Usually in the water, sometimes against the edge of the tub."
Fuck, yeah, Mike could see it right away. It wasn't like he hadn't thought of it, either. He loved sitting in Chester's lap for a reason, and it was a reason that looked really good in tight jeans.
It wasn't exactly Mike's favorite bathtub fantasy from the fantasy book - his favorite had been the one in the shower, his legs around Chester's waist, Chester fucking him against the wall, or else Chester facing the wall, leaning on his forearms while Mike took him from behind.
When he thought about them now, they didn't seem right anymore. Mike buried his face in Chester's soapy neck and kissed up to his ear, where the wet hair was plastered to the curves.
"We'll still have time to do that later," said Mike. "I wouldn't want you to be disappointed."
"Mm," said Chester. "Nah. I already got plenty of wishes fulfilled last night." Then he looked at Mike under his eyelashes, and said, "Or this morning," and looked embarrassed, and Mike didn't need the fucking fantasy book anymore, he could make a whole new book, a book of 100% real fucking Chester, and Mike didn't want any imaginary Chester who couldn't possibly measure up.