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(Cor)boning in the amphitheater in spring

7 mins read

This is the vice issue, so I wrote erotica (TW: explicit description of various sexual acts between two consenting cis men). The first person doesn’t imply it’s a true story, but it doesn’t preclude it either. Enjoy.

I’d never spoken to him, but knew him from afar. He was one of the myriad of individuals in this school that you were introduced to in a group setting and nod at nonchalantly at chance meetings. I’d barely noticed he was next to me when he grabbed my arm.

He didn’t let go. It was American Pie, and most people in the circle were linked one way or another, hopping around to wear off their buzz. He gripped tightly to make sure I noticed; no one else did. Although I didn’t have to, I turned to meet his gaze, and he was still unsure of whether he’d made the right move. I squeezed back.

The great thing about that song is that you can scream along without focusing. Instead, I ran my fingers up his arm, clenching his back, bringing it back down to trace the lines of his muscles. I could feel his fingers clawing at my shirt, trying to pass through to the bare skin. The song ended and he leaned over to my ear.

“Meet me by the amphitheater in half an hour.”

It was still warm enough you didn’t need a jacket outside.

I saw him glance at me coming and turn away, which I didn’t mind. We mumbled greetings as we got closer, he grabbed my arm again but with less urgency. We had time now. Our mouths were ajar and his lips quivered with a shiver. We were an inch apart and I could smell his breath. He’d just had a mint.

“Can I?”
“Yeah.”

He kissed me with leisure, with certainty. I learned from his tongue that he’d just had spearmint, and that he was feeling playful. His hand slid down and around my waist, reeling me in against his, our chests compressed as we tried to inhale. Mine ran up his shoulder and into his ruffled hair, tugging it gently. His head tilted upwards and my tongue snaked down to his neck. I bit, maybe harder than anticipated, and licked around the mark to soothe his moans. This must have triggered something, since he pushed up my chin with his knuckled pointer and brought his mouth to mine. I gasped when he gnawed at my lower lip. I felt a stir.

I tugged on the buckle of his belt.

“Can I?”

“Sure.”

The belt had already been loosened, I think for my ease. He began to kiss me distractedly, so I leaned in further to keep him focused.  I undid the buttons of his jeans with one hand, the other remained in his hair. Although the grip had loosened, his hand hadn’t left my waist. My fingers dipped into the denim. They reached below, between his legs, and ran back up, following the contours of his bulge, until my palm could rest at the top. He sighed and it twitched, something had worked and I smiled. He could tell and bit my neck knowingly.

He undid the buttons of my shirt, slowly, with thinly veiled effort; he was distracted. Upon finishing he moved onto my shorts. Those came off as he pushed me down over the step. He went down.

He’d done it before. Frankly, there’s no describing how he took me in; it worked. Eventually, he got tired; it was my turn.

I was methodical, playing off of cues. Down one side, down the other, down over him. I drew my tongue around the head, slowly. Slowly. He yelped each time I got to the frenulum. I rested one hand on his chest, feeling it rise and fall in controlled breaths. Nobody likes a quick finish. Given a few minutes, he flipped me over. We kept going, on a whim, depending on who was most eager to please.

His tongue dragged back up across my heaving chest. When he got to my mouth, he paused, hovering above me. We caught our breaths as he lay over me. He grabbed my ass with curiosity.

“Do you want to?”
“No, no offense.”

“None taken.”

He didn’t let go, and we kept going as expected. Eventually, he straddled me and grabbed my cock. I looked up at him and he smiled: I took his in a firm grasp. We began pulsing in tandem, he bent down to meet my face and I felt him against me. We sped up, as if for a dare, smirking at each other. We tried to kiss through the panting, but we’d reached a point where we’d lost interest. I felt his legs tense either side of me, pressing against my hips; his chest was widened out of anticipation. I must have been doing the same.

We shot. Bullseye.

 

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