The Transitive Property of Attraction Part 10
Pete made meat pies for dinner. They were so good, Henry closed his eyes while he chewed. Pete giggled and blushed and clapped his hands with glee like a child. Henry was a goner.
When Pete climbed into Henry's bed for the third time, he was wearing nothing but Henry's t-shirt and y-fronts. Pete didn't have a change of clothes and refused to leave Henry's side, so his clothes had been washed out in the sink and were hanging in the shower to dry.
Henry's shirt hung down to Pete's knees. It made Henry feel big and manly, which in turn made him feel like a Neanderthal. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing.
Pete kissed Henry on the cheek.
"I like normal sex," Henry blurted out. "I'm not some kind of freak."
Pete gave him an angelic smile.
"I've been sexually rejected by my imaginary girlfriend," Pete said softly. "You really think I don't understand? I mean, I don't know exactly what you... need, but I understand... needing."
Henry wanted to wrap Pete up in a fuzzy blanket and keep him safe from the cruel and ugly world. He also wanted to roger his brains out. Possibly both at the same time.
When he went in for a kiss, Pete let out a gasp. It was the kind of unfiltered enthusiasm that had been Henry's undoing from the very beginning. Pete was out of his mind, and yet he was so fucking present.
He rolled Pete onto his back, running his hand up Pete's thigh. It felt a bit dirty to sneak his fingers under the hem of the oversized t-shirt. Henry hadn't spent much time putting his hand up skirts. With a man, he was usually working his way down from the waist. As with everything else, Pete managed to turn a simple feel-up on its head. Pete was eagerly tonguing him as Henry's hand moved up his thigh. His kisses were a bit sloppy, but charmingly eager. If he looked at it from a certain angle and squinted his eyes, Henry was doing Pete a favor. The world was full of people who wanted to crush innocence anywhere it popped up, like a game of sexual whack-a-mole. Charles was that kind of person, but Henry wanted to preserve Pete for posterity. He moved his hand to the inside of Pete's thigh, inches below his borrowed pants, and coaxed his legs apart. Pete was flushed and wide-eyed, but eager to follow Henry's lead. When Henry ran his thumb along the length of Pete's cotton covered cock, the younger man shuddered before pulling Henry down on top of him.
"You're a really good kisser," Pete panted.
Henry wasn't sure what to say, so he said, "Thank you."
"Just so you know, I'm good for anything," Pete whispered in his ear. "I been thinkin' about it, and I'm serious. Anything."
Henry laughed, because Pete had no idea what he was offering. Then he winced because he still had a stupid broken rib to remind him that he wasn't just a freak, he was also a bit of a dick.
Pete stroked the sides of his face as Henry took shallow breaths and waited for the pain to recede.
"I'm so sorry, Stitch," Pete said, his voice thick with emotion. "I didn't mean to really hurt you. I didn't think I could hurt you at all. That's why I was so mad in the first place."
It wasn't the time to have a heart to heart, with Pete's cheeks flushed with excitement and his erection pushing against Henry's belly, but Henry had come to a horrible realization: he was in love with Pete "Sweet" McDougall. He wasn't just attracted or attached; he wanted to spend the rest of his life eating flavored mayonnaise and watching Pete do his dance. If one of them had a womb, he'd want to have babies with Pete. Mentally ill babies with stupid hair and fragile egos.
Henry cupped his hand over Pete's crotch and watched him moan and grind his hips. There wasn't an inhibited bone in Pete's scrawny little body. His cock was about the same size as Charles's. On Charles, it looked proportional. On Pete, it looked like an elephant trunk. Henry's mind filled with possibilities. There were so many ways they could make each other feel good. He was confused when Pete suddenly pushed his hand away.
"What's wrong?" he asked as he scrambled off of Pete.
Pete covered his face and laughed. "Nothin's wrong. It was just..."
"Just…?"
Pete sat up and pulled his legs to his chest.
"I'm just, you know, excited."
Henry knocked Pete onto his back, ignoring the pain in his rib as he snogged the young man senseless. He carefully avoided touching Pete below the waist, even as his partner desperately thrust his hips into the air.
Henry pushed Pete's legs apart and trailed kisses on his inner thighs as the younger man whimpered and made vague pleas.
"Oh, Stitch. Please. Anything, Stitch."
He mouthed Pete's balls through the white cotton pants and learned the hard way to hold Pete in place after nearly getting a black eye from each of his thin and flailing limbs.
Henry licked at the tip of Pete's cock, tasting the precum leaking through the material. Pete was gripping Henry's hair hard enough to hurt and whimpering for more. Henry's good sense told him to take things slow.
He kissed and caressed Pete through his pants, stroking the cleft of his ass and his puckered entrance as he gently sucked Pete's cock. Henry was wondering if it was too soon to lick a finger and begin stretching Pete when the young man suddenly jerked in Henry's hands and in his mouth.
Henry hoped that Pete was having safe sex when he was real partners, because the kind of breathable cotton that kept a man's junk from sweating off didn't act as much of a barrier.
When he looked up at Pete, he found his friend red-faced and pulling a comically sorrowful face.
"Sorry," Pete squeaked. "Bit excited there."
Henry slipped his fingers inside Pete's pants. For a man recently in a three-way relationship, Pete seemed to have been pretty backed up. Henry eased a semen-covered finger inside of Pete, whose entire body seemed to be vibrating with nervous energy.
"I'm not going to try and fuck you," Henry promised. "I'm just admiring... exploring, that is."
"You can, if you like," Pete offered with his incongruous sweetness. "Charles says you like it both ways."
Henry sighed at the mention of Charles and withdrew his finger. He was going to need an exorcism to get Charles out of his bedroom and his relationship with Pete.
"We can do whatever you like best," Pete continued. "I never done it with a bloke, but..."
"But what?" Henry prompted, feeling a million years old in the face of Pete's dogged optimism.
"I know I'll like it with you. You're a genius, Stitch."
Henry laughed at the idea. He was having frequent, unsettling sex with his cheating ex-boyfriend, pining over an insane straight boy, and using his degree in writing to run a music kiosk. What a genius.
"I need a drink," Henry admitted. "My rib hurts, and I can't stop thinking..."
"Don't have to explain yourself to me, Stitch. Never."
Henry wiped tears from his eyes as he poured himself a shot of Jack Daniels. Then he dumped the shot into a tumbler and filled the rest of the glass. Even twenty-four hours away from drinking had been enough to return some feeling to his abused esophagus, and the liquor burned his throat before filling him with a familiar warmth. He heard Pete follow him into the kitchen, but he remained focused on his glass.
Pete wrapped his arms around Henry's waist, resting his head between Henry's shoulder blades.
"I wish I could make you feel better."
"You do," Henry replied. On some levels, it was true.
Henry continued to drink as Pete hesitantly worked his fingers under the waistband of Henry's pants. The erection that had flagged while he contemplated the disaster that was his life immediately sprang back to life.
When Pete's hand gently closed around his cock, giving him a few hesitant strokes, Henry asked, "Why are you here?"
"'Cause I love you," Pete answered without missing a beat. "And you need me."
Henry allowed himself to be turned around and kissed, but when Pete tried to get on his knees, Henry grabbed him under the armpits and pulled him up like a little kid.
"Not without a johnny. You know where I've been."
xxx
When Pete climbed into Henry's bed for the third time, he was wearing nothing but Henry's t-shirt and y-fronts. Pete didn't have a change of clothes and refused to leave Henry's side, so his clothes had been washed out in the sink and were hanging in the shower to dry.
Henry's shirt hung down to Pete's knees. It made Henry feel big and manly, which in turn made him feel like a Neanderthal. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing.
Pete kissed Henry on the cheek.
"I like normal sex," Henry blurted out. "I'm not some kind of freak."
Pete gave him an angelic smile.
"I've been sexually rejected by my imaginary girlfriend," Pete said softly. "You really think I don't understand? I mean, I don't know exactly what you... need, but I understand... needing."
Henry wanted to wrap Pete up in a fuzzy blanket and keep him safe from the cruel and ugly world. He also wanted to roger his brains out. Possibly both at the same time.
When he went in for a kiss, Pete let out a gasp. It was the kind of unfiltered enthusiasm that had been Henry's undoing from the very beginning. Pete was out of his mind, and yet he was so fucking present.
He rolled Pete onto his back, running his hand up Pete's thigh. It felt a bit dirty to sneak his fingers under the hem of the oversized t-shirt. Henry hadn't spent much time putting his hand up skirts. With a man, he was usually working his way down from the waist. As with everything else, Pete managed to turn a simple feel-up on its head. Pete was eagerly tonguing him as Henry's hand moved up his thigh. His kisses were a bit sloppy, but charmingly eager. If he looked at it from a certain angle and squinted his eyes, Henry was doing Pete a favor. The world was full of people who wanted to crush innocence anywhere it popped up, like a game of sexual whack-a-mole. Charles was that kind of person, but Henry wanted to preserve Pete for posterity. He moved his hand to the inside of Pete's thigh, inches below his borrowed pants, and coaxed his legs apart. Pete was flushed and wide-eyed, but eager to follow Henry's lead. When Henry ran his thumb along the length of Pete's cotton covered cock, the younger man shuddered before pulling Henry down on top of him.
"You're a really good kisser," Pete panted.
Henry wasn't sure what to say, so he said, "Thank you."
"Just so you know, I'm good for anything," Pete whispered in his ear. "I been thinkin' about it, and I'm serious. Anything."
Henry laughed, because Pete had no idea what he was offering. Then he winced because he still had a stupid broken rib to remind him that he wasn't just a freak, he was also a bit of a dick.
Pete stroked the sides of his face as Henry took shallow breaths and waited for the pain to recede.
"I'm so sorry, Stitch," Pete said, his voice thick with emotion. "I didn't mean to really hurt you. I didn't think I could hurt you at all. That's why I was so mad in the first place."
It wasn't the time to have a heart to heart, with Pete's cheeks flushed with excitement and his erection pushing against Henry's belly, but Henry had come to a horrible realization: he was in love with Pete "Sweet" McDougall. He wasn't just attracted or attached; he wanted to spend the rest of his life eating flavored mayonnaise and watching Pete do his dance. If one of them had a womb, he'd want to have babies with Pete. Mentally ill babies with stupid hair and fragile egos.
Henry cupped his hand over Pete's crotch and watched him moan and grind his hips. There wasn't an inhibited bone in Pete's scrawny little body. His cock was about the same size as Charles's. On Charles, it looked proportional. On Pete, it looked like an elephant trunk. Henry's mind filled with possibilities. There were so many ways they could make each other feel good. He was confused when Pete suddenly pushed his hand away.
"What's wrong?" he asked as he scrambled off of Pete.
Pete covered his face and laughed. "Nothin's wrong. It was just..."
"Just…?"
Pete sat up and pulled his legs to his chest.
"I'm just, you know, excited."
Henry knocked Pete onto his back, ignoring the pain in his rib as he snogged the young man senseless. He carefully avoided touching Pete below the waist, even as his partner desperately thrust his hips into the air.
Henry pushed Pete's legs apart and trailed kisses on his inner thighs as the younger man whimpered and made vague pleas.
"Oh, Stitch. Please. Anything, Stitch."
He mouthed Pete's balls through the white cotton pants and learned the hard way to hold Pete in place after nearly getting a black eye from each of his thin and flailing limbs.
Henry licked at the tip of Pete's cock, tasting the precum leaking through the material. Pete was gripping Henry's hair hard enough to hurt and whimpering for more. Henry's good sense told him to take things slow.
He kissed and caressed Pete through his pants, stroking the cleft of his ass and his puckered entrance as he gently sucked Pete's cock. Henry was wondering if it was too soon to lick a finger and begin stretching Pete when the young man suddenly jerked in Henry's hands and in his mouth.
Henry hoped that Pete was having safe sex when he was real partners, because the kind of breathable cotton that kept a man's junk from sweating off didn't act as much of a barrier.
When he looked up at Pete, he found his friend red-faced and pulling a comically sorrowful face.
"Sorry," Pete squeaked. "Bit excited there."
Henry slipped his fingers inside Pete's pants. For a man recently in a three-way relationship, Pete seemed to have been pretty backed up. Henry eased a semen-covered finger inside of Pete, whose entire body seemed to be vibrating with nervous energy.
"I'm not going to try and fuck you," Henry promised. "I'm just admiring... exploring, that is."
"You can, if you like," Pete offered with his incongruous sweetness. "Charles says you like it both ways."
Henry sighed at the mention of Charles and withdrew his finger. He was going to need an exorcism to get Charles out of his bedroom and his relationship with Pete.
"We can do whatever you like best," Pete continued. "I never done it with a bloke, but..."
"But what?" Henry prompted, feeling a million years old in the face of Pete's dogged optimism.
"I know I'll like it with you. You're a genius, Stitch."
Henry laughed at the idea. He was having frequent, unsettling sex with his cheating ex-boyfriend, pining over an insane straight boy, and using his degree in writing to run a music kiosk. What a genius.
"I need a drink," Henry admitted. "My rib hurts, and I can't stop thinking..."
"Don't have to explain yourself to me, Stitch. Never."
Henry wiped tears from his eyes as he poured himself a shot of Jack Daniels. Then he dumped the shot into a tumbler and filled the rest of the glass. Even twenty-four hours away from drinking had been enough to return some feeling to his abused esophagus, and the liquor burned his throat before filling him with a familiar warmth. He heard Pete follow him into the kitchen, but he remained focused on his glass.
Pete wrapped his arms around Henry's waist, resting his head between Henry's shoulder blades.
"I wish I could make you feel better."
"You do," Henry replied. On some levels, it was true.
Henry continued to drink as Pete hesitantly worked his fingers under the waistband of Henry's pants. The erection that had flagged while he contemplated the disaster that was his life immediately sprang back to life.
When Pete's hand gently closed around his cock, giving him a few hesitant strokes, Henry asked, "Why are you here?"
"'Cause I love you," Pete answered without missing a beat. "And you need me."
Henry allowed himself to be turned around and kissed, but when Pete tried to get on his knees, Henry grabbed him under the armpits and pulled him up like a little kid.
"Not without a johnny. You know where I've been."
xxx