He wasn't sure if it was the cider or the shaky camera work, but Andrew was starting to feel a little nauseous.
"Do people really like this kind of stuff?" Andrew asked, wrinkling his nose as the cider fizz did its thing to his sinus passages.
Warren looked at Andrew's glass of cider quizzically, obviously misunderstanding. When he saw that Andrew was gesturing towards the TV, he snorted, "Um, hello? Yeah! What's not to like? Two beautiful ladies ... one beating the holy hell out of the other? Whips and chains? BDSM. Yeah, people are into it. It's hot."
Andrew wasn't so sure. He squinted at the screen and sipped his cider. He mostly doubted the motivations of the black-haired lady who was on the hurty end of the whip. She didn't look like she was in that much pain, so, the whole deal kind of looked fake. Even when the other, bigger woman really laid on the whupping ... the girl who was kneeling just didn't look like she was really feeling it.
No, he was sure. This was super fake, and, the bad lighting and camera work was making him want to barf.
"Who's the camera operator? Katherine Hepburn? This movie's dumb. Can I change it?" Andrew reached for the remote, which was laying smugly in Warren's lap.
Warren was leaning back with a beer in the hand furthest from Andrew, and the other arm up on the back of the couch. He noticed Andrew hesitate in his grab for the remote, but made no move to stop him. Instead he sipped his beer.
"Don't be a geek. No one cares about camera work when chicks are dressed like that, beating on each other and shit. I mean eventually the one chick's gonna be all moaning and coming and stuff, or maybe crying, and it'll all be worth it. You don't wanna miss that do you?"
Warren kept his attention mostly on the screen, but saw that Andrew kept the remote pointed at the TV, not changing the channel. Andrew peered sideways at Warren, looked him up and down, then shyly returned the remote to Warren's lap, and sort of patted it in place on instinct, like it was a puppy. Warren was endlessly amused when Andrew immediately cringed and started drinking urgently, to give himself something to do.
"That's more like it."
Warren struggled to keep his arm still when Andrew leaned back and accidentally touched his neck to Warren's fingers. They sat there, both pretending to be intently focused on the screen, until the other forgot about it. Touching during porn just wasn't manly.
"Whatever, Warren. If you're into it, I guess we can watch more," Andrew sighed. "I just hope they lez out soon. All this fake spanking stuff is so... cliche."
Warren glanced at him dubiously. Yeah, right. Like Andrew knew from cliche. Pronouncing it "kleesh" wasn't helping his cause any. Plus, if Andrew's logged porn viewing was like, a 10% of the time Warren'd logged since he was ten... well, he'd bet his favorite nut (his left one) that it wasn't even a that high of a percentage.
Andrew was doing some math in his head, too. He was trying to figure out if the girl who was getting quote-unquote beaten up had a formula, or like, maybe a ratio. She was all "gasp gasp, YELL, moan, gasp gasp..." and then repeat. Was that like, the industry standard for cheesy sex noises? Or, maybe... maybe it was a loop!
"Ohmigod, Warren!" Andrew squawked, sitting up in his seat, causing Warren to jump a bit, and, regrettably, retract his hand from where it was TOTALLY touching Andrew's head two seconds before.
"Fuck! What now? You had to wait until right at that crucial moment to shriek in my fucking ear?"
Andrew looked at the screen... huh, interesting. The girl with the whip was now forcing a very uncomfortable-looking prod into the other girl's bottom. The tied-up girl looked like it hurt for real, and Andrew's whole idea that it was a soundtrack, and that the whole pleasure thing was staged, kind of lost its ballast. Something twitched in Andrew's lap as the camera tightened in on the girl's strained face. Whoa.
"Oh." Andrew sat back on the couch and focused on the screen. "Whoa. Sorry. I -- huh."
Warren brushed the remaining droplets of beer off his shirt. Fucking goddammit. Andrew, ruining yet another one of his shirts. There was going to be a big blotch of a stain right below his solar plexus. Katrina would think he'd drooled food out of his mouth or something. Awesome. Maybe he should put it in water to soak --
Warren frowned at the beer. What the fuck was he going on about? He sounded like Andrew, who was Prissy Galore when it came to stains on his own shirts. He'd just make Andrew wash it later. But, yeah, later. He took another gulp of his beer and settled back on the couch. On the screen, the sub was getting her ass raped by some kind of prod. Hot. He was into it. And, if he wasn't misreading Andrew's posture... Andrew might be getting into it, too.
He stretched his arm back across the top. It took Andrew a second to register the feeling of something stationed directly above his head.Oh thank god, Andrew thought. the hand was back. He sat up a little straighter so Warren's fingers actually had some contact with his hair.
On screen, the girl in the bonds was pushing herself, as best she could, onto the thing wielded by the dominator-lady. Andrew realized he was holding his breath as she did so. A joke. A joke might come in handy right here.
"I sheath my Cat o' Nine Tails and attack the village girl with a +5 Rod of Bowel Disruption!" Turning to Warren, he used his game voice and vaguely gestured at the TV.
God, the remote had shifted and was stuck between his thighs now.
Warren sighed. Unfortunately, rolling his eyes meant looking away from the TV briefly. But what the fuck? "Bowel disruption? Could you be more... fucking - opposite of the point of porn? Which is, you know, getting off, not trying to make everyone throw up." He glared and pointedly did not look at Andrew, who cringed and tried to shrink into the couch.
Warren put his beer down and absent-mindedly fondled the remote. Damn. Ass play. The prod, when left to dangle from the chick's hole, looked kinda like a tail, now that he thought about it. It made her even more animalistic, and therefore fit to be beaten. Like a bad dog. Down girl! Off the couch! Smack! Howl.
He nodded to himself. Why don't human chicks go into heat? And just start rubbing against you randomly in the street. Hell yeah. 'Miss, can I be excused from class? I have to go have sex.' 'Ok, but don't be long. Who wants to volunteer to go with her? Quickly now, hands up. Ok, now onto question five...'
Warren's eyes glazed over, and the fingers of his other hand, the non-remote hand, shamelessly twisted in the hair right above Andrew's neck. He could practically feel Andrew blush. Putty in his hands. Life was good.
He wondered how far he could go before Andrew would flip out and run away. Or, you know, fall to his knees and beg to please him. Either would do. Oh, shit, whipping now. That had to hurt. The chick on the bottom was bucking each time. That prod was gonna fly out any second, he knew it.
After Warren finished bitching him out, he fell silent. Andrew watched him out of the corner of his eye. He was nodding slowly to himself. He'd probably just come to a scientific conclusion, or invented some new kind of plastic in his brain. Or something amazing. Andrew would love to poke around in Warren's brain. Not literally, because, you know: yuck. But, maybe if he became a psychiatrist someday, Warren would be his test subject for a change. His brain was that beautiful, that complex... like a spiderweb of robotics and cruelty and pop culture and super funny jokes.
Oh and porn, apparently. Andrew could tell Warren was really into seeing this girl get brutalized, because his jaw had set in the very special way it did when he was concentrating. Still, Warren's hand was fidgeting right behind Andrew's neck... causing every hair on Andrew's neck to seemingly reach out in attempt to making contact with his fingers.
Too much quiet, Andrew noted. "Sorry about the joke. I guess I was just trying to ... um, I don't know. Be funny. At a non-funny time. Sorry, though."
Warren shushed Andrew dismissively and reached for his beer. Oh well, at least he said something. Andrew leaned his head back to rest against the couch, and finally, there Warren's fingers were -- absently grazing the back of Andrew's head. Andrew imagined himself curling up like a cat on Warren's lap, so he could get a proper headrub, but... now was not the time. Watching porn was not the time. Even still, Andrew scootched over, towards Warren. Barely even an inch. Andrew thought that, maybe if he just scooted over a little bit every couple of minutes, he'd be on Warren's lap by the time the next porno started. And maybe by that time, Warren would be drunk.
His second glass of cider was making him a little sleepy, actually. Andrew focused on the screen. That butt thingie didn't look very comfortable. It wasn't like a, you know, viable size. Or shape. And, the color was SO wrong.
Warren allowed Andrew's sleeping head to rest on his shoulder. At this point he had two obvious choices of entertaining things to do. He pondered which would be most worthwhile.
First of all, he could take this opportunity to jerk off to his heart's content. The porn, the beer, the risk of being caught... Tempting. But he could jerk off any time, and he had no guarantees that Andrew waking up wouldn't be disastrous.
No, the second option would be way funnier in the long run, and would allow him to keep the power structure aligned in his favor, practically no matter what. Now the question was, what was the most embarrassing position he could get Andrew into without him noticing?
He thought for a few minutes, and took a break to watch the - oh fuck yeah - beating going on, and getting more and more intense, on the TV. When the dom held the sub's mouth open by the lower jaw and forced her pussy on her, he thought maybe he had an idea.
He carefully, carefully shifted them both until Andrew's head was in his lap. He undid his fly a little and moved Andrew's hand onto it. He manually opened Andrew's mouth wide. Hm. Just about perfect.
Warren's voice startled Andrew awake, and for a moment, he was completely baffled. He was looking at denim, and zipper, and, beyond that, red check boxers and his own hand. His mouth was wide open and about five inches away from Warren's crotch, and drool had already started collecting at the corner of his mouth.
Wait... what? Had he -- were they --
He tried to remember what had transpired last. The movie, the bad joke, the lulling hair semi-touching ... the fantasy about laying his head in Warren's lap and purring like a kitten. He must have nodded off, but -- was there a step he missed?
Andrew continued laying there for a moment, thinking that this couldn't possibly be happening. You don't just pass out in your best friend's lap. With your hand on their yoo-hoo and your spit drooling onto their pants. Ugh. Totally happy/scared, happy/scared land. Was this at all play-offable?
In one scenario, Andrew slowly raised his head off Warren's lap.
"Uh... I don't know what -- I'm..." Wiping the little ribbon of drool off his cheek, Andrew shrugged, "Sorry?"
In another scenario, Andrew glanced up at Warren knowingly, confidently, and curled his fingers into the opening in Warren's boxers. He pulled Warren's hardening, circumsized cock out and licked the length of it with his expert tongue. Alternating between flicking at the head and running the tip of his tongue around the shaft, Andrew knew he was doing something right because Warren was moaning and starting to grind himself against Andrew's mouth.
"You're so fucking good at this," Warren breathed, tucking an errant lock of hair behind Andrew's ear. "I've been hoping you'd go down on me all night. You're the fucking champ at sucking my cock."
Andrew smiled against Warren's penis and felt like he was the Velveteen Rabbit all of a sudden. This was what being wanted felt like. Warren had wanted head attention from him. From Andrew!
But, in this scenario, Andrew just remained semi-frozen in time, drool running onto his cheek, heart palpitating, palms sweating, head spinning.
Warren just barely resisted the urge to double over in hysterical laughter. He almost managed to keep a straight face, but couldn't quite keep the corner of his mouth from turning up. He didn't think Andrew noticed though.
He made his voice stern, despising and just a little disappointed. "What do you mean 'uh'? You mean you're not all into this? You have no idea what you're doing do you? Dude, and I thought you were taking matters into your own hands or some shit. You finally grow some balls and you're asleep for the whole thing. And here I was thinking it was about me or something..."
He shifted his body so that if Andrew had still been sitting up, Warren would have been angled further away from him. He left Andrew where he was and went on watching TV. He didn't do up his fly, and didn't acknowledge Andrew staring up at him, as if awaiting an order.
The dom, who he'd now nicknamed Veronica, was licking the reddening lines on poor Betty's back. It looked painful. Betty was jerking and yelping with every touch. Her chest was heaving, and she was shuddering like it was getting difficult to stay up on her hands and knees. Veronica took pity on her and forced her down to sit on her own ankles. When she yanked Betty's head back by the hair and started rubbing herself against betty's face, Warren didn't even bother to hide his growing hard on.
Desperate measures.burninatingAugust 15 2004, 18:09:24 UTC
Grow some balls!?, Andrew thought. What the hockeysticks was that supposed to mean? It's not that Andrew hadn't wished a million times that he could just casually open Warren's fly and suck him off -- it's that Warren gave him so many mixed-signals! Come here, go away, we're friends, you're a homo, stop being annoying, why are you staring at me, why aren't you staring at me... Andrew never knew if he was coming or going with Warren.
On the other hand, which still hovered near Warren's fly, that wasn't much of a mixed signal, now, was it? That was a hard-on. Not a mixed signal. It was inches from his face, but this was kind of a precarious position.
Andrew thought a little longer, as Warren kind of obviously ignored him. Instead of reaching for his cock, though, he reached slowly for Warren's belt, flipping the end out of the clasp and actually managing to get it unbuckled with one hand.
He glanced up at Warren to see if there was any response, but, no. Still focused on the screen. Aha. Andrew got it. Totally. This is how it would all go down (so to speak): Andrew had to pretend that Warren didn't notice that Andrew's right arm had snaked around his hips. And Warren had to pretend that he hadn't felt Andrew unbutton his pants. In turn, Andrew had to nonchalantly open the front of Warren's pants to get at the treasure underneath.
As Andrew paused, though, noting the black hair that pointed the way to Warren's penis from his navel, he lost heart for the game. He'd love to put his mouth all over Warren, but, for what? Just to get turned down later that night, or maybe the next time? What about the next weekend that Jonathan couldn't hang out and Katrina was out of town? Where was Andrew left in the big picture of who gets into Warren's pants?
And how fun would it be to suck on an unresponsive Warren? Okay, pretty fun. Better than not sucking on Warren, for sure, but for just once, Andrew wished that Warren would actually just let himself be with him. Like, for reals. Not blame booze, or spells, or science experiments gone awry... or worse, blame Andrew. Warren's last ditch effort in excusing his behavior was to claim that Andrew was pressuring him into messing around. Which, honestly, Andrew would never do. Could never do.
Dang! Andrew just wanted to jolt him out of this game of it's all Andrew's doing, poor Warren was an innocent bystander, who HAPPENED to get his cock sucked. But, how to wake him up out of whatever passive thing he was pulling? He didn't want to hurt Warren, or scare him off. The worst case scenario -- even worse than getting beat up, or murdered -- would be that Warren wouldn't hang out with him anymore. That he'd just go on with Jonathan as best friend number dos. Andrew couldn't have that.
Warren suddenly cracked a smile. Probably at something on the tv. One of the girls had probably just popped their shoulders out of joint or maybe branded the other with a red hot poker -- Andrew could see Warren smiling at similar gross images. But, the smile, nonetheless, it broke and Andrew felt his heart leap in his chest. Oh god, he didn't see it very often, but -- Warren's smile was so amazing.
Andrew wished he could make Warren smile like that. He'd never really tried -- aside from silly jokes, Trek references and the occasional amusing dance. Andrew wondered if he should just try and, dunno, like, tickle him or something. Just go for it. Poke him in the ribs. A little "ticky ticky ticky ticky" call and ... voila, giggle. Right? How amazing would it be to see Warren outright giggle?
Hrm. Then, there are the number of bones in Andrew's arms, face and chest that could be broken if Warren really, really hated being tickled. Probably best not to just jump into anything all willy-nilly.
Andrew took a deep breath and nonchalantly said, "Hey, Warren?"
It was kind of funny calling Warren's name right next to his semi-hard cock, but, whatever. Warren made a question-shaped noise, and Andrew bit the bullet and asked him outright:
Warren made a confused, eyebrows-together face. "'Ever'? Only when someone tickles me." He snorted. "Duh."
Then his attention was back on the TV. He absent-mindedly started to put his hand in his lap, but collided with Andrew's head on the way.
"Shit, sorry. Are you ok?" He looked down at Andrew and rubbed his head where he'd bumped him, mussing his hair.
Andrew just nodded and stared back at him. He didn't look like it hurt or anything. Warren nodded. "Yeah, you're good."
He glanced up again. This lesbo S&M shit never failed to get him going. His cock twitched, and he felt it brush against - well, something. Andrew's chin maybe. He smirked, half embarrassed, half cocky, 'cause yeah, even with his pants open, he was still the dominant one around here. But dammit, the head-smacking-and-sympathy bit was screwing with his plan. How to get the power back?
"So? Make up your mind already. Ball's in your court."
The ball was in my court, huh? I couldn't just dive in there... it was too tense on this couch anyway. Having my head in Warren's lap probably wasn't adding any sense of normalcy, either. I needed to break the tension, especially as Warren had just bonked me on the head with a misplaced hand.
Carefully, I lifted my head off his lap until I was propped up casually on my left elbow. I whisked my hand across his belly at an imaginary bug.
"Whoa... what are you doing there, champ?" Warren hissed.
"Sorry! Spider," I explained. "It was on your shirt."
His attention turned back to the TV. A few moments later, I pinched at his side and he jumped again, "What the fuck?"
"SORRY! God. It was another spider. This couch must be like... infested," I tucked my hand under his seated thigh and sighed dejectedly.
When he'd relaxed again, I said, "You're really lucky, because they were huge. Like, tarantula-sized devil spiders."
"Uh-huh. Sure."
"You could have died," I said, earnestly.
"Of what? Boredom?"
Owie. That was mean. I turned my head up towards him, "You're bored? I think... I think..."
"I think they laid eggs all over your shirt!" I whispered.
Using both hands to grab the arm of the couch next to him, I sprung into action. I swung my right leg over his lap like a jeet kune do master, and hoisted myself onto his lap, facing him and effectively blocking his view of the TV. I faked like I was terrified -- only I wasn't really faking -- of the imaginary spiders that were covering his mid-section. I tickled and poked at his ribcage, whispering: "Spiders, spiders, spiders!"
I was careful to avoid his crotch, while gripping his hips between my knees. I was on him, like for real. It was risky, but, I had to see if it was really true if he was ticklish or not. Plus, everyone likes a good tickling... right?
Warren gasped and tried to swat Andrew's hands away. He ended up futilely holding onto Andrew's wrists and inhaling in breathless laughter. His face was scrunched up in a grimace that could have just as easily been fucking pissed as amused.
He decided to take matters into his own hands. He leaped up, still gripping Andrew's arms, and shoved Andrew down onto the couch on his back. He pinned him and relentlessly tickled his sides, grinning into his face. "How do you like that, bitch? Huh? Should I rescue you from the scary man-eating spiders? Not so great from the other end, is it?"
Andrew squirmed and squealed under him and flailed his arms around uselessly. He cackled, delighted, and turned a bit red. He bucked his hips up into Warren's cock, which was sticking out of his jeans, covered only by boxers, and hard with activity and adrenaline.
Warren ignored all this to prove himself the tickling mastah, and when it seemed like Andrew had had enough, he just held him down by the shoulders and watched him catch his breath.
"So? Am I clean? Or are we gonna have to do a naked inspection to be totally sure?" His face was confusingly serious.
"I don't know... but I think I'm getting asthma or something," Andrew wheezed. His eyes were starting to fill up with tears too, which was totally embarrassing.
Warren shifted and moved until his knees were straddling Andrew's waist while he waited for him to catch his breath. Even though he wasn't sitting on Andrew's hips with his full weight, the pressure of Warren's body on his dick was both comforting and oppressive at the same time. If he could just move his hips, using the couch's squershiness as a bonus... oooh, like that. Andrew's hips ground a tiny circle into the couch and then up into Warren's ass -- a daring move, but he had to do it. It felt so fucking good that Andrew lost his wind again.
"Having a hard time breathing, still?" Warren nodded down at Andrew and well, that was just real nice of him to ask, Andrew thought. That is, until Warren slowly and intently moved his right hand up Andrew's sterum and then, to his throat. The contact was enough to make Andrew hold his breath as it happened, but inhale sharply when Warren's fingers found their way past his collar.
"I'm a little better," Andrew whispered, in disbelief. This was actually happening, wasn't it? He risked it all and slowly circled his hips against Warren's again. Warren tilted his head as he seemed to register what was going on in the lower half of their congress. He narrowed his eyes down at Andrew.
Warren's fingers creeped further until his fingers were encircling Andrew's thin and gulping neck. "What about now?" Warren spoke calmly, but directly.
Andrew didn't answer. He couldn't look at Warren anymore, either -- with his eyes all dark and focused, the cruel angle of his lips, the way his face was slightly flushed from the tickling -- so he squeezed his eyes shut.
"Open your eyes and look at me," Warren directed, but Andrew shook his head and kept his lids closed. He felt a jolt of panic shoot from his solar plexus to his crotch as Warren's fingers tightened around his throat slightly. "Do it," Warren commanded again, a little more emphatically.
Andrew carefully opened his eyes, but found he still couldn't look at Warren's face. He directed his sight elsewhere -- Warren's tweaked collar, Warren's rounded shoulder as he'd leaned in to Andrew slightly, the celing behind Warren's head.
The fingers around his windpipe tightened more and Andrew learned his lesson quickly. He darted his eyes back to Warren's and tried not to flinch. Warren nodded and said, "What about now? You okay?"
Andrew tried to nod in response and felt his eyes fill up with tears again. Air could barely squeak through his windpipe and it was making his head swim pleasantly.
"Do that thing again," Warren whispered, lowering his torso towards Andrew's -- and thusly, increasing pressure on Andrew's throat. Andrew hesitated for a second: was this a trap of some kind? What were the repurcussions of making a distinctly grinding motion with his cock against Warren's ass? Even still, Warren requested it and the way Andrew saw it, he was in no position to disobey.
More directly, Andrew rolled his hips into Warren's seated groin. A tiny sigh made its way out of his constricted throat and reflexively, Andrew's eyes closed again. This time, more out of pleasure than fear.
Warren released the pressure on Andrew's throat, but kept his hands firmly in place. A little reward for good behavior.
Warren found himself appalled that he had not only acknowledged the grindage, but actually asked for it. He had no choice now but to keep going in that vein. Ask for it, sure, but make it known it was not his idea.
"So that's where this was going. It was all a trick wasn't it? The whole spider thing - you had this planned all along didn't you?"
He looked sternly down into Andrew's face, and pretended to disapprove. He ground his hips down and watched Andrew gasp.
"You like this don't you?" Harder this time. A bit of squeezing at his throat. A long glance up and down his body. "Keep doing it." Andrew obeyed. "You need to learn your lesson."
He studied Andrew's face. "Your eyes don't close all the way. Your ears are red. Your mouth is open. You know how you look? Just from this, with me. You look like a swooning little girl. Like this is the most amazing thing ever. Either you're the most fucking desperate person I've ever seen, or... Well, I'm sure you can finish that sentence yourself."
Or it's because of Warren himself. He wondered if Andrew would say it.
Warren's face was a mixture of horror, amusement and tension. It seemed like waves of each were passing through his expression with every stroke of Andrew's hips.
Andrew felt his consciousnes get wavy with the increasing pressure of Warren's fingers. Not a bad way to die, really, although the headlines would be super embarrassing: "Boy Choked to Death In Failed Erotic Asphyxiation Attempt."
When he tried to speak, though, his voice came out as a thin squeak. His hands flew on top of Warren's thighs, each one planted where Warren's legs met his pelvis. Warren glanced briefly at Andrew's hands with alarm and he loosened his grip.
"Can you speak?" Warren whispered harshly. Andrew nodded as best he could.
"There's... something about you," Andrew managed to gasp. "Please don't make me stop."
Warren tightened his grip and nodded at Andrew to continue. Andrew rubbed his hips upward again and tried to squeeze his eyes shut. He wanted to keep watching Warren, but it was just too intense. Everything was just so ... happening. His dick was starting to feel raw and more sensitive, his throat was constricted, his breath shallow -- and Warren was sitting on top of him like he was the boss of the whole world. Which, really, right now -- he was.
"Please," Andrew continued, eyes closed and breath ragged. "It's you. I want you to --"
More urgently, he rubbed himself against the seat of Warren's jeans and the inside of his own pants. It wouldn't be too much longer. If Warren could just keep holding him down, keep watching him, keep his hands at his throat.
"-- teach you a lesson? When you're having all the fun?" Warren finished for him, when it'd become fairly clear that Andrew had lost the power of speech.
Oh god! He was having all the fun! So much fun, in fact, that he might accidentally just blow it in his own undies. Which would be horrifying and potentially fatal. At this, Andrew realized that he hadn't paid any attention to Warren's cock since he'd seen it poking out of his boxers during the tickling. Oh, the cringability of the whole tickling rouse. Doy. But Warren had laughed! And Warren'd gotten hard. It couldn't have been that horrible, could it?
Tenatively and with his right hand, he moved up from Warren's hip to Warren's boxers. Through the thin fabric, Andrew rubbed his thumb under the head of Warren's cock. He paused for a reaction, but wasn't allowed the gratification of even a small sigh. Well, no one doesn't like a little fondling, right? Andrew continued the veritable head pat/tummy rub action of ginding his cock against Warren's ass and rubbing Warren's cock with his own shamefully pathetic hand.
As far as deaths go, this would be about as good as Andrew could imagine.
Warren breathed in deep and moved one hand off Andrew's neck. He grabbed Andrew's hand, gripped it tight and jerked himself off harder with it. He leaned forward, pressing harder onto Andrew's throat, somewhat less than intentionally. He ground himself down and tensed his jaw, his eyes closing slightly and losing focus.
"It's about me. Say it again. It's about me."
He let go of his cock and teasingly popped the button of Andrew's pants. Just an offer. Do this right and you'll get more.
"Andrew..."
He took his hand off Andrew's neck, which was changing color, almost lost balance and leaned hard on Andrew's shoulder. He put his other hand on Andrew's face, pulled his mouth open by the lower jaw, just to see him squirm and flail his head around. He leaned his face in close, to be simultaneously intimidating and comforting. The good cop and the bad cop at once. He touched Andrew's tongue as they both continued bucking and grinding. It was soft and wet. He let go to speed up Andrew's hand again. Getting close.
"Do people really like this kind of stuff?" Andrew asked, wrinkling his nose as the cider fizz did its thing to his sinus passages.
Warren looked at Andrew's glass of cider quizzically, obviously misunderstanding. When he saw that Andrew was gesturing towards the TV, he snorted, "Um, hello? Yeah! What's not to like? Two beautiful ladies ... one beating the holy hell out of the other? Whips and chains? BDSM. Yeah, people are into it. It's hot."
Andrew wasn't so sure. He squinted at the screen and sipped his cider. He mostly doubted the motivations of the black-haired lady who was on the hurty end of the whip. She didn't look like she was in that much pain, so, the whole deal kind of looked fake. Even when the other, bigger woman really laid on the whupping ... the girl who was kneeling just didn't look like she was really feeling it.
No, he was sure. This was super fake, and, the bad lighting and camera work was making him want to barf.
"Who's the camera operator? Katherine Hepburn? This movie's dumb. Can I change it?" Andrew reached for the remote, which was laying smugly in Warren's lap.
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"Don't be a geek. No one cares about camera work when chicks are dressed like that, beating on each other and shit. I mean eventually the one chick's gonna be all moaning and coming and stuff, or maybe crying, and it'll all be worth it. You don't wanna miss that do you?"
Warren kept his attention mostly on the screen, but saw that Andrew kept the remote pointed at the TV, not changing the channel. Andrew peered sideways at Warren, looked him up and down, then shyly returned the remote to Warren's lap, and sort of patted it in place on instinct, like it was a puppy. Warren was endlessly amused when Andrew immediately cringed and started drinking urgently, to give himself something to do.
"That's more like it."
Warren struggled to keep his arm still when Andrew leaned back and accidentally touched his neck to Warren's fingers. They sat there, both pretending to be intently focused on the screen, until the other forgot about it. Touching during porn just wasn't manly.
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Warren glanced at him dubiously. Yeah, right. Like Andrew knew from cliche. Pronouncing it "kleesh" wasn't helping his cause any. Plus, if Andrew's logged porn viewing was like, a 10% of the time Warren'd logged since he was ten... well, he'd bet his favorite nut (his left one) that it wasn't even a that high of a percentage.
Andrew was doing some math in his head, too. He was trying to figure out if the girl who was getting quote-unquote beaten up had a formula, or like, maybe a ratio. She was all "gasp gasp, YELL, moan, gasp gasp..." and then repeat. Was that like, the industry standard for cheesy sex noises? Or, maybe... maybe it was a loop!
"Ohmigod, Warren!" Andrew squawked, sitting up in his seat, causing Warren to jump a bit, and, regrettably, retract his hand from where it was TOTALLY touching Andrew's head two seconds before.
"Fuck! What now? You had to wait until right at that crucial moment to shriek in my fucking ear?"
Andrew looked at the screen... huh, interesting. The girl with the whip was now forcing a very uncomfortable-looking prod into the other girl's bottom. The tied-up girl looked like it hurt for real, and Andrew's whole idea that it was a soundtrack, and that the whole pleasure thing was staged, kind of lost its ballast. Something twitched in Andrew's lap as the camera tightened in on the girl's strained face. Whoa.
"Oh." Andrew sat back on the couch and focused on the screen. "Whoa. Sorry. I -- huh."
Warren brushed the remaining droplets of beer off his shirt. Fucking goddammit. Andrew, ruining yet another one of his shirts. There was going to be a big blotch of a stain right below his solar plexus. Katrina would think he'd drooled food out of his mouth or something. Awesome. Maybe he should put it in water to soak --
Warren frowned at the beer. What the fuck was he going on about? He sounded like Andrew, who was Prissy Galore when it came to stains on his own shirts. He'd just make Andrew wash it later. But, yeah, later. He took another gulp of his beer and settled back on the couch. On the screen, the sub was getting her ass raped by some kind of prod. Hot. He was into it. And, if he wasn't misreading Andrew's posture... Andrew might be getting into it, too.
He stretched his arm back across the top. It took Andrew a second to register the feeling of something stationed directly above his head.Oh thank god, Andrew thought. the hand was back. He sat up a little straighter so Warren's fingers actually had some contact with his hair.
On screen, the girl in the bonds was pushing herself, as best she could, onto the thing wielded by the dominator-lady. Andrew realized he was holding his breath as she did so. A joke. A joke might come in handy right here.
"I sheath my Cat o' Nine Tails and attack the village girl with a +5 Rod of Bowel Disruption!" Turning to Warren, he used his game voice and vaguely gestured at the TV.
God, the remote had shifted and was stuck between his thighs now.
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Warren put his beer down and absent-mindedly fondled the remote. Damn. Ass play. The prod, when left to dangle from the chick's hole, looked kinda like a tail, now that he thought about it. It made her even more animalistic, and therefore fit to be beaten. Like a bad dog. Down girl! Off the couch! Smack! Howl.
He nodded to himself. Why don't human chicks go into heat? And just start rubbing against you randomly in the street. Hell yeah. 'Miss, can I be excused from class? I have to go have sex.' 'Ok, but don't be long. Who wants to volunteer to go with her? Quickly now, hands up. Ok, now onto question five...'
Warren's eyes glazed over, and the fingers of his other hand, the non-remote hand, shamelessly twisted in the hair right above Andrew's neck. He could practically feel Andrew blush. Putty in his hands. Life was good.
He wondered how far he could go before Andrew would flip out and run away. Or, you know, fall to his knees and beg to please him. Either would do. Oh, shit, whipping now. That had to hurt. The chick on the bottom was bucking each time. That prod was gonna fly out any second, he knew it.
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Oh and porn, apparently. Andrew could tell Warren was really into seeing this girl get brutalized, because his jaw had set in the very special way it did when he was concentrating. Still, Warren's hand was fidgeting right behind Andrew's neck... causing every hair on Andrew's neck to seemingly reach out in attempt to making contact with his fingers.
Too much quiet, Andrew noted. "Sorry about the joke. I guess I was just trying to ... um, I don't know. Be funny. At a non-funny time. Sorry, though."
Warren shushed Andrew dismissively and reached for his beer. Oh well, at least he said something. Andrew leaned his head back to rest against the couch, and finally, there Warren's fingers were -- absently grazing the back of Andrew's head. Andrew imagined himself curling up like a cat on Warren's lap, so he could get a proper headrub, but... now was not the time. Watching porn was not the time. Even still, Andrew scootched over, towards Warren. Barely even an inch. Andrew thought that, maybe if he just scooted over a little bit every couple of minutes, he'd be on Warren's lap by the time the next porno started. And maybe by that time, Warren would be drunk.
His second glass of cider was making him a little sleepy, actually. Andrew focused on the screen. That butt thingie didn't look very comfortable. It wasn't like a, you know, viable size. Or shape. And, the color was SO wrong.
[Nods off.]
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First of all, he could take this opportunity to jerk off to his heart's content. The porn, the beer, the risk of being caught... Tempting. But he could jerk off any time, and he had no guarantees that Andrew waking up wouldn't be disastrous.
No, the second option would be way funnier in the long run, and would allow him to keep the power structure aligned in his favor, practically no matter what. Now the question was, what was the most embarrassing position he could get Andrew into without him noticing?
He thought for a few minutes, and took a break to watch the - oh fuck yeah - beating going on, and getting more and more intense, on the TV. When the dom held the sub's mouth open by the lower jaw and forced her pussy on her, he thought maybe he had an idea.
He carefully, carefully shifted them both until Andrew's head was in his lap. He undid his fly a little and moved Andrew's hand onto it. He manually opened Andrew's mouth wide. Hm. Just about perfect.
"Andrew! What the hell are you doing?!"
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Wait... what? Had he -- were they --
He tried to remember what had transpired last. The movie, the bad joke, the lulling hair semi-touching ... the fantasy about laying his head in Warren's lap and purring like a kitten. He must have nodded off, but -- was there a step he missed?
Andrew continued laying there for a moment, thinking that this couldn't possibly be happening. You don't just pass out in your best friend's lap. With your hand on their yoo-hoo and your spit drooling onto their pants. Ugh. Totally happy/scared, happy/scared land. Was this at all play-offable?
In one scenario, Andrew slowly raised his head off Warren's lap.
"Uh... I don't know what -- I'm..." Wiping the little ribbon of drool off his cheek, Andrew shrugged, "Sorry?"
In another scenario, Andrew glanced up at Warren knowingly, confidently, and curled his fingers into the opening in Warren's boxers. He pulled Warren's hardening, circumsized cock out and licked the length of it with his expert tongue. Alternating between flicking at the head and running the tip of his tongue around the shaft, Andrew knew he was doing something right because Warren was moaning and starting to grind himself against Andrew's mouth.
"You're so fucking good at this," Warren breathed, tucking an errant lock of hair behind Andrew's ear. "I've been hoping you'd go down on me all night. You're the fucking champ at sucking my cock."
Andrew smiled against Warren's penis and felt like he was the Velveteen Rabbit all of a sudden. This was what being wanted felt like. Warren had wanted head attention from him. From Andrew!
But, in this scenario, Andrew just remained semi-frozen in time, drool running onto his cheek, heart palpitating, palms sweating, head spinning.
"Uh..." He managed to squeak out.
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He made his voice stern, despising and just a little disappointed. "What do you mean 'uh'? You mean you're not all into this? You have no idea what you're doing do you? Dude, and I thought you were taking matters into your own hands or some shit. You finally grow some balls and you're asleep for the whole thing. And here I was thinking it was about me or something..."
He shifted his body so that if Andrew had still been sitting up, Warren would have been angled further away from him. He left Andrew where he was and went on watching TV. He didn't do up his fly, and didn't acknowledge Andrew staring up at him, as if awaiting an order.
The dom, who he'd now nicknamed Veronica, was licking the reddening lines on poor Betty's back. It looked painful. Betty was jerking and yelping with every touch. Her chest was heaving, and she was shuddering like it was getting difficult to stay up on her hands and knees. Veronica took pity on her and forced her down to sit on her own ankles. When she yanked Betty's head back by the hair and started rubbing herself against betty's face, Warren didn't even bother to hide his growing hard on.
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On the other hand, which still hovered near Warren's fly, that wasn't much of a mixed signal, now, was it? That was a hard-on. Not a mixed signal. It was inches from his face, but this was kind of a precarious position.
Andrew thought a little longer, as Warren kind of obviously ignored him. Instead of reaching for his cock, though, he reached slowly for Warren's belt, flipping the end out of the clasp and actually managing to get it unbuckled with one hand.
He glanced up at Warren to see if there was any response, but, no. Still focused on the screen. Aha. Andrew got it. Totally. This is how it would all go down (so to speak): Andrew had to pretend that Warren didn't notice that Andrew's right arm had snaked around his hips. And Warren had to pretend that he hadn't felt Andrew unbutton his pants. In turn, Andrew had to nonchalantly open the front of Warren's pants to get at the treasure underneath.
As Andrew paused, though, noting the black hair that pointed the way to Warren's penis from his navel, he lost heart for the game. He'd love to put his mouth all over Warren, but, for what? Just to get turned down later that night, or maybe the next time? What about the next weekend that Jonathan couldn't hang out and Katrina was out of town? Where was Andrew left in the big picture of who gets into Warren's pants?
And how fun would it be to suck on an unresponsive Warren? Okay, pretty fun. Better than not sucking on Warren, for sure, but for just once, Andrew wished that Warren would actually just let himself be with him. Like, for reals. Not blame booze, or spells, or science experiments gone awry... or worse, blame Andrew. Warren's last ditch effort in excusing his behavior was to claim that Andrew was pressuring him into messing around. Which, honestly, Andrew would never do. Could never do.
Dang! Andrew just wanted to jolt him out of this game of it's all Andrew's doing, poor Warren was an innocent bystander, who HAPPENED to get his cock sucked. But, how to wake him up out of whatever passive thing he was pulling? He didn't want to hurt Warren, or scare him off. The worst case scenario -- even worse than getting beat up, or murdered -- would be that Warren wouldn't hang out with him anymore. That he'd just go on with Jonathan as best friend number dos. Andrew couldn't have that.
Warren suddenly cracked a smile. Probably at something on the tv. One of the girls had probably just popped their shoulders out of joint or maybe branded the other with a red hot poker -- Andrew could see Warren smiling at similar gross images. But, the smile, nonetheless, it broke and Andrew felt his heart leap in his chest. Oh god, he didn't see it very often, but -- Warren's smile was so amazing.
Andrew wished he could make Warren smile like that. He'd never really tried -- aside from silly jokes, Trek references and the occasional amusing dance. Andrew wondered if he should just try and, dunno, like, tickle him or something. Just go for it. Poke him in the ribs. A little "ticky ticky ticky ticky" call and ... voila, giggle. Right? How amazing would it be to see Warren outright giggle?
Hrm. Then, there are the number of bones in Andrew's arms, face and chest that could be broken if Warren really, really hated being tickled. Probably best not to just jump into anything all willy-nilly.
Andrew took a deep breath and nonchalantly said, "Hey, Warren?"
It was kind of funny calling Warren's name right next to his semi-hard cock, but, whatever. Warren made a question-shaped noise, and Andrew bit the bullet and asked him outright:
"Are you, um, ticklish? Ever?"
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Then his attention was back on the TV. He absent-mindedly started to put his hand in his lap, but collided with Andrew's head on the way.
"Shit, sorry. Are you ok?" He looked down at Andrew and rubbed his head where he'd bumped him, mussing his hair.
Andrew just nodded and stared back at him. He didn't look like it hurt or anything. Warren nodded. "Yeah, you're good."
He glanced up again. This lesbo S&M shit never failed to get him going. His cock twitched, and he felt it brush against - well, something. Andrew's chin maybe. He smirked, half embarrassed, half cocky, 'cause yeah, even with his pants open, he was still the dominant one around here. But dammit, the head-smacking-and-sympathy bit was screwing with his plan. How to get the power back?
"So? Make up your mind already. Ball's in your court."
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Carefully, I lifted my head off his lap until I was propped up casually on my left elbow. I whisked my hand across his belly at an imaginary bug.
"Whoa... what are you doing there, champ?" Warren hissed.
"Sorry! Spider," I explained. "It was on your shirt."
His attention turned back to the TV. A few moments later, I pinched at his side and he jumped again, "What the fuck?"
"SORRY! God. It was another spider. This couch must be like... infested," I tucked my hand under his seated thigh and sighed dejectedly.
When he'd relaxed again, I said, "You're really lucky, because they were huge. Like, tarantula-sized devil spiders."
"Uh-huh. Sure."
"You could have died," I said, earnestly.
"Of what? Boredom?"
Owie. That was mean. I turned my head up towards him, "You're bored? I think... I think..."
"I think they laid eggs all over your shirt!" I whispered.
Using both hands to grab the arm of the couch next to him, I sprung into action. I swung my right leg over his lap like a jeet kune do master, and hoisted myself onto his lap, facing him and effectively blocking his view of the TV. I faked like I was terrified -- only I wasn't really faking -- of the imaginary spiders that were covering his mid-section. I tickled and poked at his ribcage, whispering: "Spiders, spiders, spiders!"
I was careful to avoid his crotch, while gripping his hips between my knees. I was on him, like for real. It was risky, but, I had to see if it was really true if he was ticklish or not. Plus, everyone likes a good tickling... right?
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He decided to take matters into his own hands. He leaped up, still gripping Andrew's arms, and shoved Andrew down onto the couch on his back. He pinned him and relentlessly tickled his sides, grinning into his face. "How do you like that, bitch? Huh? Should I rescue you from the scary man-eating spiders? Not so great from the other end, is it?"
Andrew squirmed and squealed under him and flailed his arms around uselessly. He cackled, delighted, and turned a bit red. He bucked his hips up into Warren's cock, which was sticking out of his jeans, covered only by boxers, and hard with activity and adrenaline.
Warren ignored all this to prove himself the tickling mastah, and when it seemed like Andrew had had enough, he just held him down by the shoulders and watched him catch his breath.
"So? Am I clean? Or are we gonna have to do a naked inspection to be totally sure?" His face was confusingly serious.
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Warren shifted and moved until his knees were straddling Andrew's waist while he waited for him to catch his breath. Even though he wasn't sitting on Andrew's hips with his full weight, the pressure of Warren's body on his dick was both comforting and oppressive at the same time. If he could just move his hips, using the couch's squershiness as a bonus... oooh, like that. Andrew's hips ground a tiny circle into the couch and then up into Warren's ass -- a daring move, but he had to do it. It felt so fucking good that Andrew lost his wind again.
"Having a hard time breathing, still?" Warren nodded down at Andrew and well, that was just real nice of him to ask, Andrew thought. That is, until Warren slowly and intently moved his right hand up Andrew's sterum and then, to his throat. The contact was enough to make Andrew hold his breath as it happened, but inhale sharply when Warren's fingers found their way past his collar.
"I'm a little better," Andrew whispered, in disbelief. This was actually happening, wasn't it? He risked it all and slowly circled his hips against Warren's again. Warren tilted his head as he seemed to register what was going on in the lower half of their congress. He narrowed his eyes down at Andrew.
Warren's fingers creeped further until his fingers were encircling Andrew's thin and gulping neck. "What about now?" Warren spoke calmly, but directly.
Andrew didn't answer. He couldn't look at Warren anymore, either -- with his eyes all dark and focused, the cruel angle of his lips, the way his face was slightly flushed from the tickling -- so he squeezed his eyes shut.
"Open your eyes and look at me," Warren directed, but Andrew shook his head and kept his lids closed. He felt a jolt of panic shoot from his solar plexus to his crotch as Warren's fingers tightened around his throat slightly. "Do it," Warren commanded again, a little more emphatically.
Andrew carefully opened his eyes, but found he still couldn't look at Warren's face. He directed his sight elsewhere -- Warren's tweaked collar, Warren's rounded shoulder as he'd leaned in to Andrew slightly, the celing behind Warren's head.
The fingers around his windpipe tightened more and Andrew learned his lesson quickly. He darted his eyes back to Warren's and tried not to flinch. Warren nodded and said, "What about now? You okay?"
Andrew tried to nod in response and felt his eyes fill up with tears again. Air could barely squeak through his windpipe and it was making his head swim pleasantly.
"Do that thing again," Warren whispered, lowering his torso towards Andrew's -- and thusly, increasing pressure on Andrew's throat. Andrew hesitated for a second: was this a trap of some kind? What were the repurcussions of making a distinctly grinding motion with his cock against Warren's ass? Even still, Warren requested it and the way Andrew saw it, he was in no position to disobey.
More directly, Andrew rolled his hips into Warren's seated groin. A tiny sigh made its way out of his constricted throat and reflexively, Andrew's eyes closed again. This time, more out of pleasure than fear.
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Warren found himself appalled that he had not only acknowledged the grindage, but actually asked for it. He had no choice now but to keep going in that vein. Ask for it, sure, but make it known it was not his idea.
"So that's where this was going. It was all a trick wasn't it? The whole spider thing - you had this planned all along didn't you?"
He looked sternly down into Andrew's face, and pretended to disapprove. He ground his hips down and watched Andrew gasp.
"You like this don't you?" Harder this time. A bit of squeezing at his throat. A long glance up and down his body. "Keep doing it." Andrew obeyed. "You need to learn your lesson."
He studied Andrew's face. "Your eyes don't close all the way. Your ears are red. Your mouth is open. You know how you look? Just from this, with me. You look like a swooning little girl. Like this is the most amazing thing ever. Either you're the most fucking desperate person I've ever seen, or... Well, I'm sure you can finish that sentence yourself."
Or it's because of Warren himself. He wondered if Andrew would say it.
He tightened his grip.
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Andrew felt his consciousnes get wavy with the increasing pressure of Warren's fingers. Not a bad way to die, really, although the headlines would be super embarrassing: "Boy Choked to Death In Failed Erotic Asphyxiation Attempt."
When he tried to speak, though, his voice came out as a thin squeak. His hands flew on top of Warren's thighs, each one planted where Warren's legs met his pelvis. Warren glanced briefly at Andrew's hands with alarm and he loosened his grip.
"Can you speak?" Warren whispered harshly. Andrew nodded as best he could.
"There's... something about you," Andrew managed to gasp. "Please don't make me stop."
Warren tightened his grip and nodded at Andrew to continue. Andrew rubbed his hips upward again and tried to squeeze his eyes shut. He wanted to keep watching Warren, but it was just too intense. Everything was just so ... happening. His dick was starting to feel raw and more sensitive, his throat was constricted, his breath shallow -- and Warren was sitting on top of him like he was the boss of the whole world. Which, really, right now -- he was.
"Please," Andrew continued, eyes closed and breath ragged. "It's you. I want you to --"
More urgently, he rubbed himself against the seat of Warren's jeans and the inside of his own pants. It wouldn't be too much longer. If Warren could just keep holding him down, keep watching him, keep his hands at his throat.
"-- teach you a lesson? When you're having all the fun?" Warren finished for him, when it'd become fairly clear that Andrew had lost the power of speech.
Oh god! He was having all the fun! So much fun, in fact, that he might accidentally just blow it in his own undies. Which would be horrifying and potentially fatal. At this, Andrew realized that he hadn't paid any attention to Warren's cock since he'd seen it poking out of his boxers during the tickling. Oh, the cringability of the whole tickling rouse. Doy. But Warren had laughed! And Warren'd gotten hard. It couldn't have been that horrible, could it?
Tenatively and with his right hand, he moved up from Warren's hip to Warren's boxers. Through the thin fabric, Andrew rubbed his thumb under the head of Warren's cock. He paused for a reaction, but wasn't allowed the gratification of even a small sigh. Well, no one doesn't like a little fondling, right? Andrew continued the veritable head pat/tummy rub action of ginding his cock against Warren's ass and rubbing Warren's cock with his own shamefully pathetic hand.
As far as deaths go, this would be about as good as Andrew could imagine.
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"It's about me. Say it again. It's about me."
He let go of his cock and teasingly popped the button of Andrew's pants. Just an offer. Do this right and you'll get more.
"Andrew..."
He took his hand off Andrew's neck, which was changing color, almost lost balance and leaned hard on Andrew's shoulder. He put his other hand on Andrew's face, pulled his mouth open by the lower jaw, just to see him squirm and flail his head around. He leaned his face in close, to be simultaneously intimidating and comforting. The good cop and the bad cop at once. He touched Andrew's tongue as they both continued bucking and grinding. It was soft and wet. He let go to speed up Andrew's hand again. Getting close.
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