in a tight, wet, lube-
slick grip that gave Talker the shivers. Brian moaned and Talker
pumped slowly in, feeling the hot, grainy texture of Brian’s insides
and wondering, oh God, wondering….
His own cock, medium-sized and misshapen, was literally
dripping pre-come onto the rumpled blankets. Oh God!
“Stretch me,” Brian commanded, his voice thin and impatient.
“Scissor your… oh hell yes!”
Tate had never possessed any subtlety. “Now? Are you ready
now?” Brian was begging. Omigod, there was his lover, on his
hands and knees, slick and dilated and begging and of course Tate
was good to go!
“Soooooo ready. C’mon, Talker… do it… Geez….” More
pleading grunts into the pillow in front of him, more ass-wriggling
and sexy shivers. Tate wanted him so bad, but—
Talker’s Redemption | Amy Lane
61
“Don’t want to hurt….” For the moment, he was uncertain, and
Brian put that to rest right quick.
“Gaaahhhh, fucking dammit, Talker, would you fuck me
already?”
Well. Didn’t get much clearer than that, did it? Tate’s cockhead
was mostly unscarred, and it looked, well, perfect, right up against
Brian’s pucker. It looked… miraculous, pushing through it.
Unbelievable. Fictional fucking. Brian stopped making noises and
kept very still, and his breathing grew very even. Tate realized Brian
was forcing himself to relax. He reached out a hand and stroked
Brian’s flank and then the small of his back, and kept pushing,
gently and inexorably. This was not the time to chicken out.
“How you doin’?” Tate asked softly. He was almost there almost
there almost—pop!
“Gawwwww!” Brian half-screamed into the pillow, and Tate
would have yanked out then, if he hadn’t been afraid it would really
hurt if he did that!
“’S good!” Brian gibbered. “’S good! Keep going! Crap, keep
going!”
Talker managed slow. It was a big triumph, going slow. He…
he… oh God… slow. Slow until he was buried. Slow until he couldn’t
go anymore, and Brian’s body clamped down on him, and he had to
stop, and there they were, merged, joined, orificially engaged in
intercourse, and just shaking with the effort and the pleasure and
the weirdness of it all.
“Uhm… Talker?” Brian’s voice was quivering just like his body.
“Yeah?”
“Man… you gonna move soon?”
Talker’s grin was tight and shaking too. “You gonna grab your
cock so we can both come?”
Talker’s Redemption | Amy Lane
62
“I could do that… nnnngggg….” That last part meant he
probably had. Talker pulled his hips back until he was uhm, right,
you know, yeah there, and then he thrust them forward, hard
enough for Brian to feel him. They both groaned, and he did it again.
He kept doing it, slowly at first, but then faster, and harder, and
then (gasp) then (moan) then (aaauuuggghhh!!!) he was pumping
as fast as he could, without finesse or holding back and Brian was
screaming into the pillow in a good way, his hand flailing on his own
cock without any sort of rhythm that Tate could feel, but Tate couldn’t
control that, couldn’t, could only control his own fucking. God! He
was fucking! Tate was doing it, he was doing the fucking and—
He looked down and watched his own cock disappear into his
lover’s body for the hundredth time, and what he was actually doing
pushed him over the edge. He closed his eyes and let the world
explode around the darkness in a firework-scatter of white. Beneath
him, around him, Brian convulsed, screamed, and then tightened
and pushed so hard that Tate was expelled in a rush of come.
Tate collapsed over his back and Brian collapsed to the bed
with Tate on top of him, both of them panting and half-laughing,
half-groaning in aftermath.
Brian shifted, and Tate rolled off of him, and they were face to
face like children again. Brian’s stomach was clenching and
fluttering, and Tate wondered if he was flexing his asshole to make
sure
slick grip that gave Talker the shivers. Brian moaned and Talker
pumped slowly in, feeling the hot, grainy texture of Brian’s insides
and wondering, oh God, wondering….
His own cock, medium-sized and misshapen, was literally
dripping pre-come onto the rumpled blankets. Oh God!
“Stretch me,” Brian commanded, his voice thin and impatient.
“Scissor your… oh hell yes!”
Tate had never possessed any subtlety. “Now? Are you ready
now?” Brian was begging. Omigod, there was his lover, on his
hands and knees, slick and dilated and begging and of course Tate
was good to go!
“Soooooo ready. C’mon, Talker… do it… Geez….” More
pleading grunts into the pillow in front of him, more ass-wriggling
and sexy shivers. Tate wanted him so bad, but—
Talker’s Redemption | Amy Lane
61
“Don’t want to hurt….” For the moment, he was uncertain, and
Brian put that to rest right quick.
“Gaaahhhh, fucking dammit, Talker, would you fuck me
already?”
Well. Didn’t get much clearer than that, did it? Tate’s cockhead
was mostly unscarred, and it looked, well, perfect, right up against
Brian’s pucker. It looked… miraculous, pushing through it.
Unbelievable. Fictional fucking. Brian stopped making noises and
kept very still, and his breathing grew very even. Tate realized Brian
was forcing himself to relax. He reached out a hand and stroked
Brian’s flank and then the small of his back, and kept pushing,
gently and inexorably. This was not the time to chicken out.
“How you doin’?” Tate asked softly. He was almost there almost
there almost—pop!
“Gawwwww!” Brian half-screamed into the pillow, and Tate
would have yanked out then, if he hadn’t been afraid it would really
hurt if he did that!
“’S good!” Brian gibbered. “’S good! Keep going! Crap, keep
going!”
Talker managed slow. It was a big triumph, going slow. He…
he… oh God… slow. Slow until he was buried. Slow until he couldn’t
go anymore, and Brian’s body clamped down on him, and he had to
stop, and there they were, merged, joined, orificially engaged in
intercourse, and just shaking with the effort and the pleasure and
the weirdness of it all.
“Uhm… Talker?” Brian’s voice was quivering just like his body.
“Yeah?”
“Man… you gonna move soon?”
Talker’s grin was tight and shaking too. “You gonna grab your
cock so we can both come?”
Talker’s Redemption | Amy Lane
62
“I could do that… nnnngggg….” That last part meant he
probably had. Talker pulled his hips back until he was uhm, right,
you know, yeah there, and then he thrust them forward, hard
enough for Brian to feel him. They both groaned, and he did it again.
He kept doing it, slowly at first, but then faster, and harder, and
then (gasp) then (moan) then (aaauuuggghhh!!!) he was pumping
as fast as he could, without finesse or holding back and Brian was
screaming into the pillow in a good way, his hand flailing on his own
cock without any sort of rhythm that Tate could feel, but Tate couldn’t
control that, couldn’t, could only control his own fucking. God! He
was fucking! Tate was doing it, he was doing the fucking and—
He looked down and watched his own cock disappear into his
lover’s body for the hundredth time, and what he was actually doing
pushed him over the edge. He closed his eyes and let the world
explode around the darkness in a firework-scatter of white. Beneath
him, around him, Brian convulsed, screamed, and then tightened
and pushed so hard that Tate was expelled in a rush of come.
Tate collapsed over his back and Brian collapsed to the bed
with Tate on top of him, both of them panting and half-laughing,
half-groaning in aftermath.
Brian shifted, and Tate rolled off of him, and they were face to
face like children again. Brian’s stomach was clenching and
fluttering, and Tate wondered if he was flexing his asshole to make
sure
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