not really gay chicken, but hopefully close enough?
He breathes hard through his nose as Q-Tip's fingers trail lightly up his thigh. This is a bad fucking idea, but they're bored and they've been at the Iraqi moonshine again, and Gunny is on watch and the Lt. is with the other officers, and his mind is doing a damn good impression of a hamster on a a wheel. All of these factors mean that since they've exhausted the amusement of 'Truth or Dare' they've moved on to 'Flinch' which is a lot more fun when you're in middle school and the person stroking up your leg is a blushing girl.
Christey hasn't been touched below the waist by anyone but himself since they got to Kuwait, and his cock seems to think that Q's fingers are close enough to merit interest. He's trying hard to control his breathing, and he can feel Q-Tip's breath against the back of his neck, which isn't fucking helping one fucking bit. His cock is beginning to tent out the front of his boxers, and he's just glad that Q-Tip is standing behind him, can't see the reaction of John's body. Except Q-Tip's fingers press up the leg opening of his shorts, and he can't hold in his gasp.
"Did you just flinch homes?" Q-Tip asks, and his voice is soft and a bit scratchy, because they both know this is a dumb game that's going to get them in trouble. John shakes his head hurriedly.
"Thought I had to sneeze," Christey prevaricates. "It's fucking dusty in here." He's whispering too, and bites his words off abruptly when Q-Tip's hands inches higher, rucking up the fabric of his boxers. He's dripping sweat down his ass crack, and he doesn't even care how fucking uncomfortable that is because all his attention is on the light touch of Q-Tip's grimy fingers against his skin.
Unable to get any higher through the leg of Christeson's shorts, Q-Tip slips his hand free. Christey holds in a sigh, thinking he's won this round. Behind his back, Q-Tip adjusts himself, because it's been a long fucking time since he touched anyone but himself, and it's fucking embarrassing is what it is.
"Your turn," Q-Tip says, and his voice cracks slightly. He licks his chapped lips as Christeson looks back at him, but Christey doesn't turn. He's a little glad, because if Christey looked, he'd find an erection pointed at his ass. A deep breath shifts John's shoulders, and then he turns slowly. In the dimness of the tent, Q-Tip can see the outline of a pretty serious looking chubb in Christeson's shorts, and he snorts softly, because evidently the Corps actually has turned them gay. Christeson flushes though, looking genuinely apologetic. Q-Tip isn't having any of that bullshit.
A step, and he's got Christey's cock cupped in his hand. It's the first cock he's grabbed hold of on purpose, or at least, for this purpose. It's heavy and warm in his grasp, but John's wide eyed as a teenage girl who just saw her first dick. Q-Tip can't help his grin, that's just the way he is, and so he squeezes a bit and steps closer.
"'S not gay unless our balls touch," Q-Tip says, imbuing his voice with as much authority as he ca muster. It's not much, but it must be enough, because Christeson pins his mouth closed and reaches into Q-Tip's shorts. Q-Tip bucks up a bit, because fuck it feels good to have someone else's hand on him. He shifts his grip, starts stroking Christey through his shorts, and okay. This feels pretty fucking good. A bit awkward, no denying that, but fucking good nonetheless.
"Evan," Christey pants, his free hand clenching tight on Q-Tip's shoulder.
"Yeah," he rasps back. "Yeah," and then he's coming, slicking Christeson's hand and messing up his shorts. Christey comes a few unsteady tugs later, hips stuttering into Q-Tip's hand.
"Fuck," Christey says, and that pretty much sums it up, so Q-Tip just laughs and wipes his hand off on his already stained shorts.
He breathes hard through his nose as Q-Tip's fingers trail lightly up his thigh. This is a bad fucking idea, but they're bored and they've been at the Iraqi moonshine again, and Gunny is on watch and the Lt. is with the other officers, and his mind is doing a damn good impression of a hamster on a a wheel. All of these factors mean that since they've exhausted the amusement of 'Truth or Dare' they've moved on to 'Flinch' which is a lot more fun when you're in middle school and the person stroking up your leg is a blushing girl.
Christey hasn't been touched below the waist by anyone but himself since they got to Kuwait, and his cock seems to think that Q's fingers are close enough to merit interest. He's trying hard to control his breathing, and he can feel Q-Tip's breath against the back of his neck, which isn't fucking helping one fucking bit. His cock is beginning to tent out the front of his boxers, and he's just glad that Q-Tip is standing behind him, can't see the reaction of John's body. Except Q-Tip's fingers press up the leg opening of his shorts, and he can't hold in his gasp.
"Did you just flinch homes?" Q-Tip asks, and his voice is soft and a bit scratchy, because they both know this is a dumb game that's going to get them in trouble. John shakes his head hurriedly.
"Thought I had to sneeze," Christey prevaricates. "It's fucking dusty in here." He's whispering too, and bites his words off abruptly when Q-Tip's hands inches higher, rucking up the fabric of his boxers. He's dripping sweat down his ass crack, and he doesn't even care how fucking uncomfortable that is because all his attention is on the light touch of Q-Tip's grimy fingers against his skin.
Unable to get any higher through the leg of Christeson's shorts, Q-Tip slips his hand free. Christey holds in a sigh, thinking he's won this round. Behind his back, Q-Tip adjusts himself, because it's been a long fucking time since he touched anyone but himself, and it's fucking embarrassing is what it is.
"Your turn," Q-Tip says, and his voice cracks slightly. He licks his chapped lips as Christeson looks back at him, but Christey doesn't turn. He's a little glad, because if Christey looked, he'd find an erection pointed at his ass. A deep breath shifts John's shoulders, and then he turns slowly. In the dimness of the tent, Q-Tip can see the outline of a pretty serious looking chubb in Christeson's shorts, and he snorts softly, because evidently the Corps actually has turned them gay. Christeson flushes though, looking genuinely apologetic. Q-Tip isn't having any of that bullshit.
A step, and he's got Christey's cock cupped in his hand. It's the first cock he's grabbed hold of on purpose, or at least, for this purpose. It's heavy and warm in his grasp, but John's wide eyed as a teenage girl who just saw her first dick. Q-Tip can't help his grin, that's just the way he is, and so he squeezes a bit and steps closer.
"'S not gay unless our balls touch," Q-Tip says, imbuing his voice with as much authority as he ca muster. It's not much, but it must be enough, because Christeson pins his mouth closed and reaches into Q-Tip's shorts. Q-Tip bucks up a bit, because fuck it feels good to have someone else's hand on him. He shifts his grip, starts stroking Christey through his shorts, and okay. This feels pretty fucking good. A bit awkward, no denying that, but fucking good nonetheless.
"Evan," Christey pants, his free hand clenching tight on Q-Tip's shoulder.
"Yeah," he rasps back. "Yeah," and then he's coming, slicking Christeson's hand and messing up his shorts. Christey comes a few unsteady tugs later, hips stuttering into Q-Tip's hand.
"Fuck," Christey says, and that pretty much sums it up, so Q-Tip just laughs and wipes his hand off on his already stained shorts.
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Teehee. That is common knowledge!
Love this! So hot!!!
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Hah, that's brilliant!
♥
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