Hanging out

by BRK   

Two guys chillin’ and thinkin’ about dick. Thinkin’ real hard.

“Hey Joe,” Gene said suddenly. It was an idle night of hanging out. Gene was lounging on the huge dark-blue sectional in Joe’s basement media room and hadn’t said anything in a while. Two 12-ounce bottles of Sapporo premium lager were on the end table just within reach, one empty and the other mostly empty. The room was dark, the only light coming from the large flatscreen and a soft-glowing Charizard night light low to the floor near Gene’s bare feet on the soft carpeting, his toes splayed in the thick nap.

“Yeah,” Joe grunted from a foot or so over. He was similarly languidly ensconced in the deep-set cushiony monstrosity, his focus likewise passively fixated on the telenovela they were streaming solely for the male eye candy. His end table, occupying the corner of the L-shaped sectional, sported the remotes, a bulbous porcelain lamp, their phones, and three tall brown bottles of Sierra Nevada Pale Ale, each presently boasting nothing but a bit of foam at the bottom.

Gene mushed his lips, gazing glassy-eyed at the big screen as a lanky twenty-something with a nice tan and nicer abs hauled himself gracefully out of his nemesis’s husband’s swimming pool with a sensual smile for the man in the expensive bathrobe now watching him with a proprietary star, only the hottie’s eyes showing the malice that drove his lurid and mostly shirtless vengeance. “You ever think,” Gene said in a slightly slurry voice, “how our bodies are kind of like giant cocks?”

Joe tore his eyes away from the infiltrating catamite pool boy to stare at Gene. “No,” he said, kind of emphatically. He frowned as it occurred to him that Gene’s long, unremarkable body did have a certain languid, slug-like form that could be called not unphallic, at the moment. His too, maybe. He was certainly feeling both heavy and flaccid, like a thick, spent cock sprawling across someone’s flat belly. “What, you mean, us two specifically?” he asked.

Gene shrugged, his attention still locked on the screen. The infiltrating catamite was padding along the side of the pool toward the bathrobed Colombian aristo, who was eyeing the younger man like a steak. “I mean, the basic male body is kind of tubular, you know?” he said. He let out a huff. “Maybe us more than him.”

Ironically, as he said that Joe was actually thinking the strutting boy toy was exuding a significant amount of cock energy as he let the other man’s gaze rake of his long, limber form. “Dunno if I’d say ‘tubular’ exactly,” he mumbled, looking down at himself in his pocket tee and knock-around sweats. He wasn’t ripped by any means, but he was proud of his flat stomach, at least. “I’m not round,” he protested mildly.

He glanced over at Gene, who looked more sluglike than ever. “Neither are you, for that matter.” Medium tall and naturally trim, narrower than Joe but not skinny either, neither bony nor soft, Gene had the most average body of anyone he knew, which Joe had always kind of appreciated. Gene was the archetypical male, in his own pink, nondescript way.

“Naw, but cocks aren’t really tubular, you know?” Gene said. “They’re like—” His eyes still locked on the TV, he lifted his hands a few inches apart and made a wide C with each of them, so that they were describing something resembling a thick capsule. “—like a flattened tube, maybe. Mine is, anyway.”

Joe hummed agreeably. Now that Gene had suggested the idea, he could totally see it. In the shifting light of the flatscreen, his buddy totally looked like a five-foot-nine phallus with a head, arms, and big bare feet, languidly lying around in a baseball tee and jeans. All meaty and docile, like he was casually waiting for the next bit of stimulation.

Joe felt an all-over twitch of pleasure, like his whole body was feeling the pleasure of potential tumescence at the sheer latent sexuality of Gene’s relaxed, stand-by status.

“So what about the hands?” he asked, curious and a little turned on. “What would you do for hands, if you were a big giant dick?”

Gene grinned. He was still fixated on the screen where the pretend boy toy was pushing open the older man’s robe, but his tone gained a bit of animation as he warmed to his image. “You don’t need real hands,” he said. “You can do it all in your mind, projecting your hands. Like in fuck-manga or hentai, you know? Sometimes you see the figure that’s being sexed up, and you see just a pair of disembodied hands, feeling up all the right places.”

Joe felt warm, his body seeming thick and full of exceptional energy. “I can get behind that idea,” he said, gazing at Gene. “Hand like that, they could go… anywhere you needed them to.”

Gene finally looked at him. “As strong as you wanted,” he said distractedly after a moment, his eyes locked with Joe’s.

“Feeling everything,” Joe agreed. He tried it, exerting his willpower to envision a mental hand stroking Gene’s cheek, and to his ecstatic delight he could definitely feel Gene’s skin under his notional caress.

Gene was looking at him in wonder. “You’re getting hard for me,” he said. “You’ve never done that before.”

Joe smiled, sliding his mind-hand down from Gene’s head to glide over his torso-shaft, feeling the increasingly firm flesh through the cotton of the now-sleeveless baseball tee. “You’ve never been a giant hard dick for me before,” Joe admitted.

Joe sucked in a breath as he felt a hand, then two, stroke aggressively over his own wider body-shaft. Every part of him craved that sensual, pleasure-giving touch.

“It’s a good look on you, too,” Gene murmured.

Some sort of fight had broken out in telenovelaland, someone else having barged in and gotten between the two scheming hotties screaming about embezzlement and a murdered brother, but neither Gene nor Joe was paying attention any longer. Joe used his strong, infinitely dexterous mind-hands to gently slide Gene out of first his shirt, then his one-legged jeans, leaving him naked and increasingly turgid. Free of the awkwardness of arms and elbows clanging against each other, Gene happily did the same to Joe. The repositioned on the couch so Joe was lying on top of Gee, both of them now achingly hard and coasting their mind-hands zealously all over each other’s man-sized lengths.

Joe was noticeably bigger than Gene now, though the difference was not more than half a foot and a proportionate increase in girth. You’re a little bit of a grower, Gene thought at him happily.

Joe flexed his long, thick cock-body against Gene’s shaft, enjoying the smaller man’s heat as he wriggled a little under him. You jealous? he teased.

Somehow there was another mind-hand stroking along Joe’s hard body, and he hissed inwardly. I am beyond content, Gene purred.

Joe moaned. Wanting to up the ante, he imagined pleasuring Gene with more than just mind-hands. If he could project those, what if—

He shivered with magnified pleasure as Gene gasped, feeling his hard cock-body being mouthed in the same notional way as Joe’s hands were doing. Instantly Joe’s arousal kicked up exponentially as he felt Gene doing the same to him—only instead of low down on the shaft, like Joe had done with his mind-mouth, Gene was starting with the Joe’s ultrasensitive cockhead.

Oh fuck, Gene, he thought frantically as he felt Gene’s projected mouth embracing the slit in the hottest kind of kiss, the very real-feeling mind-tongue intruding deep within the glans.

Joe copied Gene’s technique, using another mind-mouth to mack and tongue-fuck Gene’s fever-hot slit. They were both oozing juices, and Joe could taste Gene in his mind and vividly as if he were fellating Joe with lips and flesh—maybe more so, the taste and the sensation of the smooth, warm goo on his deep-stretching tongue drenching every part of him with pleasure.

By now they were driving each other nuts with countless hands and mouths as their raging-hard bodies writhed against each other on the couch, every sensation magnified and saturating their adamantine, ultrasensitive, built-for-pleasure cockflesh beyond anything they’d felt before. Joe could feel climax welling up in him, and he was nervous and exhilarated to feel what orgasm would be like to someone who was all cock. Fuck, G, I’m—

Yes! Do it! shouted Gene in his mind, his buddy’s building release almost palpable on the edge of Joe’s enhanced senses. Joe tensed, holding it back just a moment, and then—utter, explosive euphoria as the two of them released together, channeling ungodly amounts of seed from some never-universe of infinite spunk, shooting together with high-pressure spurts that blasted out of them in massive surges of pleasure. There was the crash of glass breaking as their cum-blasts totaled the end table lamp and knocked over the three beer bottles.

I think we just drowned our phones in cum, he thought giddily, just before a blackness made of pure, physical joy disconnected him from his being.

They recovered on top of each other after a moment or two, wriggling their gooey, softening bodies against each other in a little bit of snuggly pleasure. That was amazing, Joe thought. I could sleep for a week after that.

Gene giggled in his mind. But I want to do it again, came his lover’s response.

Joe did too, but there was no rush. Eventually, he thought. We’ll have to get another lamp first, he joked.

They cuddled happily together for a while in the bleary, messy haze of mutual afterglow, using a few stray mind-hands to hold each other all over but mostly just enjoying the constantly gratifying press of cockflesh against cockflesh.

What about human us? Gene thought sleepily after a while.

Joe smiled. Maybe tomorrow, he thought as a powerful torpor washed through him, sending him into a deep, pleasurable cock-slumber. No rush, some part of him thought as he slid contentedly into the welcoming black. No rush at all.

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