This story is rated NC-17 (adults only). It includes explicit male/male sex (sort of). If this is what you came for, scroll down. If it isn't, hit the Back button.




















by Resonant

Mouth wide open. That was the key to jerking off without getting caught. Lot of guys got that wrong, tried clenching their teeth, but there always came a time when you couldn't breathe through your nose, and air through clenched teeth made a hissing noise.

Air through a wide-open mouth didn't make any noise at all if you were careful. If it also made Ray think about things that turned him on -- well, bonus.

Hand moving at the wrist. Nothing else moving. Not as good that way as when you could get your hips into it, but this kind of jerking off wasn't about good. It was about if you didn't come you'd be hurting. It was medicinal.

He didn't know what it was with him these days. He'd done just fine out on the ice, in the tent at night, Fraser so close he could smell him. Done just fine the first couple of weeks back at the cabin, when it was dim at noon and dark the rest of the time and Fraser's bedroll was over there just on the other side of the woodstove.

And then the sun came back.

All of a sudden it was like he wanted it every waking minute, and a good number of sleeping ones, too.

Two or three days of sun -- just a few minutes of it -- and he was almost ready to worry about whether he was going nuts. He hadn't been this horny all the time since he was fifteen. Not even then, because now he had Fraser around. Chopping wood. Hauling water. Body all honed by hard work. Face glowing with happiness.

And more and more it seemed -- maybe he was imagining it. But it seemed like Fraser might want the same things from him that he wanted from Fraser. Like maybe all they needed was a spark, just something to set them off, and they'd --

He caught himself as his hips began to move. Couldn't lose awareness or he'd start making noise.

Had to do this the medicinal way. No flourishes, no getting a hand up inside the sweatshirt to rub a nipple. God knows no fingering. Scratch the itch fast and don't get caught.

This afternoon, there'd been a big shrieking flapping bird uproar someplace just out of sight, and Fraser had said, "All the wildlife will be somewhat crazed for a while, now that the sun's come back. It seems to stir the libido of most living things." And Ray had looked him over carefully for any sign that this was Fraser-ese for I'm well aware of what you're doing at night when you think I'm sleeping, Ray, and I'd like you to stop it, because it's disgusting, but Fraser had had his usual expression of bland curiosity.

Maybe Fraser was like this, too, when the sun came back. Maybe over in the other sleeping bag, right now, he was waiting to be sure Ray was asleep so he could take his cock in his wind-reddened hand --

Maybe he wasn't waiting.

He'd lived in barracks. He probably knew every trick Ray knew.

Maybe he was doing it right now.

Jesus. Three feet of rag rug between the two of them, and maybe --

Maybe that had been a hint, that stuff earlier. Maybe it wasn't just the birds and the moose and the beavers. Maybe it was Fraser, too.

Ray held his breath for a second, and then, very deliberately, he began moving his arm from the shoulder, and pushed up his hips to meet his hand -- christ, that was good --

And brought his teeth together.














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August 14, 2004