his kissing exploration in its
original direction. Brian’s asscheeks were tight, and when he
sucked in his stomach, they dimpled. Tate wanted to play with them.
He could see Brian’s testicles—getting hard and heavy—drooping in
the center of that magic, mysterious triangle, and covered in blond
fur, and he wanted to play with them from this new angle too. This
was fun—this is what Brian had introduced him to, in their bed. Fun
and exploration and pleasure and dizzying, giddifying joy.
Brian made things easy. He pulled up his knees practically
under his chest and pushed his shoulders down against the bed…
then he started fumbling in their dresser drawer.
“What are you doing?” Tate asked in between little kisses right
at the cleft of that tight little bottom.
“Gnnnngggg,” Brian groaned, and Tate grinned, then reached
under that lean, muscular body and stroked Brian’s loooonnngg,
reasonably thick cock as it bounced under his tummy. (Brian was
unaware of the absolute beauty of the ginormous wonder stick at
the apex of his thighs. Tate had—so far—managed not to tell him
that he could walk into any gay bar in the city, drop his pants, and
yell “Who wants to support me for life!” and get some really eye-
widening offers. He was planning to keep that a secret too!)
Talker’s Redemption | Amy Lane
59
Tate kept stroking, and started licking Brian’s balls (very
grateful that Brian liked to shower thoroughly, because this could be
a really unpleasant position to be in if he didn’t) and Brian stopped
rummaging for a minute, pressed his face against the pillow again
and let out a short bark of a laugh.
“Gaaaawwwwdddd Talker! Killing me! Killing. Me!”
And Tate opened his mouth wide and engulfed his entire
testicle, just to hear him strangle on his breath into the pillow. He
kept doing it, and after a minute or two, the rummaging around in
the dresser resumed, and Brian blurted, “Thank God!” and then his
hand came back, and he fumbled for Talker’s hand as it stroked his
cock.
Talker let go of the cock (not easy to do. God, it felt good, all
swollen and tight like that) and wrapped his fingers around….
A round plastic bottle of lube.
“Wha?” He was startled.
“Jesus, Talker,” Brian breathed. “I’m all… all… just grease me
up and take me, right?” He thrust back with his bottom to punctuate
the idea, and Talker just gaped at him, his hard-on aching in his
sweats and his brain on flash-fry.
Brian made a little whining sound and turned around to snatch
the bottle back. While Talker was still coming up with words for,
“But… but you’re the top! I’m supposed to… oh Jesus.” Brian
poured clear, slippery lubricant on his fingers and reached back,
and and and oh holy bat, crapman, he was thrusting a finger into
his own tightly puckered entrance, and Tate couldn’t look away.
Brian sighed and grunted, and his whole body shook like a
dog getting scratched in just that right place, and then he added
another finger.
Talker’s Redemption | Amy Lane
60
All thoughts about “top” and “bottom” charged out of Talker’s
skull, and he wanted to touch his lover in the way that was making
him moan softly into the pillow with every molecule of his body, even
the ones in the ends of his hair and his tattoos.
He reached out and grabbed Brian’s hand and pulled his
fingers out, muttering, “Let me!”
Brian put his hand down and just sat there, ass in the air,
vulnerable, and quivering with an unspoken begging that made
Talker hurry so fast his hands shook. He stripped off his own
clothes, shivering in the chill of their bedroom, and snagged the
lube from where Brian had left it on the bed, then added some to his
fingers.
He tended to keep his nails bitten to the skin anyway, so there
was nothing sharp to snag on tender flesh, and he used two fingers,
and push… push… push….
Brian’s sphincter clamped down on him
original direction. Brian’s asscheeks were tight, and when he
sucked in his stomach, they dimpled. Tate wanted to play with them.
He could see Brian’s testicles—getting hard and heavy—drooping in
the center of that magic, mysterious triangle, and covered in blond
fur, and he wanted to play with them from this new angle too. This
was fun—this is what Brian had introduced him to, in their bed. Fun
and exploration and pleasure and dizzying, giddifying joy.
Brian made things easy. He pulled up his knees practically
under his chest and pushed his shoulders down against the bed…
then he started fumbling in their dresser drawer.
“What are you doing?” Tate asked in between little kisses right
at the cleft of that tight little bottom.
“Gnnnngggg,” Brian groaned, and Tate grinned, then reached
under that lean, muscular body and stroked Brian’s loooonnngg,
reasonably thick cock as it bounced under his tummy. (Brian was
unaware of the absolute beauty of the ginormous wonder stick at
the apex of his thighs. Tate had—so far—managed not to tell him
that he could walk into any gay bar in the city, drop his pants, and
yell “Who wants to support me for life!” and get some really eye-
widening offers. He was planning to keep that a secret too!)
Talker’s Redemption | Amy Lane
59
Tate kept stroking, and started licking Brian’s balls (very
grateful that Brian liked to shower thoroughly, because this could be
a really unpleasant position to be in if he didn’t) and Brian stopped
rummaging for a minute, pressed his face against the pillow again
and let out a short bark of a laugh.
“Gaaaawwwwdddd Talker! Killing me! Killing. Me!”
And Tate opened his mouth wide and engulfed his entire
testicle, just to hear him strangle on his breath into the pillow. He
kept doing it, and after a minute or two, the rummaging around in
the dresser resumed, and Brian blurted, “Thank God!” and then his
hand came back, and he fumbled for Talker’s hand as it stroked his
cock.
Talker let go of the cock (not easy to do. God, it felt good, all
swollen and tight like that) and wrapped his fingers around….
A round plastic bottle of lube.
“Wha?” He was startled.
“Jesus, Talker,” Brian breathed. “I’m all… all… just grease me
up and take me, right?” He thrust back with his bottom to punctuate
the idea, and Talker just gaped at him, his hard-on aching in his
sweats and his brain on flash-fry.
Brian made a little whining sound and turned around to snatch
the bottle back. While Talker was still coming up with words for,
“But… but you’re the top! I’m supposed to… oh Jesus.” Brian
poured clear, slippery lubricant on his fingers and reached back,
and and and oh holy bat, crapman, he was thrusting a finger into
his own tightly puckered entrance, and Tate couldn’t look away.
Brian sighed and grunted, and his whole body shook like a
dog getting scratched in just that right place, and then he added
another finger.
Talker’s Redemption | Amy Lane
60
All thoughts about “top” and “bottom” charged out of Talker’s
skull, and he wanted to touch his lover in the way that was making
him moan softly into the pillow with every molecule of his body, even
the ones in the ends of his hair and his tattoos.
He reached out and grabbed Brian’s hand and pulled his
fingers out, muttering, “Let me!”
Brian put his hand down and just sat there, ass in the air,
vulnerable, and quivering with an unspoken begging that made
Talker hurry so fast his hands shook. He stripped off his own
clothes, shivering in the chill of their bedroom, and snagged the
lube from where Brian had left it on the bed, then added some to his
fingers.
He tended to keep his nails bitten to the skin anyway, so there
was nothing sharp to snag on tender flesh, and he used two fingers,
and push… push… push….
Brian’s sphincter clamped down on him
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