Hot Like Me

Part XIII: "Sugar, We're Goin' Down"


Harley's hands were on Trey's hips, kneading at the soft skin there.
Trey, eyes elosed, moaned and threw his head back when he felt his brother's soft lips press against the tip of his cock.

And then, nothing.

"Shit," Harley swore under his breath.

Trey leaned up on his elbows and looked down at Harley, the boy splayed out on his stomach across Trey's lap with his face in his brother's crotch.

"S'matter, baby?" the older man asked, puzzled. He thought things had been going very well, especially considering how smashed they both were. Watching Harley masturbate for him - in a hell of a lot less time than it usually took - had gotten him wildly excited. His dick was so hard it hurt, so that couldn't be the problem. Trey knew, even before Harley's little jack off soliloquy, that giving head was one of the young man's very favorite sex acts. He liked it so much, in fact, that on numerous occasions he'd come while blowing Trey, without either of them laying a hand on the boy's cock. So that wasn't it, either.

"Dry mouth," Harley croaked, lifting his head to look at Trey's face. "Really bad. This just isn't gonna happen. Shit..."

Trey started to laugh.

"Not funny," Harley glared at him.

"Is too."

"Is not."

"You gonna get it, or you want me go?" Trey offered with a grin.

"I dunno if that's a good idea," Harley replied, still drunk and slurring his words.

"What's the difference? We're both gonna be sick as fuckin' hell in a few hours anyway. I don't think mixing a little is gonna hurt at this point," Trey shrugged.

"Well, it's not gonna help," argued Harley.

"It'll help me."

"How?"

"'Cause you'll have spit, and I'll get a blow job."

"Right." Harley sighed in resignation. "I'll go." He crawled from the mattress and pulled the bedspread off with him, wrapping the quilted, king-sized material around him like some big ass, floral toga. Tripping over the length of it, Harley made his way out of their bedroom.

Trey smiled, gripping his dick and stroking it slowly. He was as hard as marble, and he fully intended to keep it that way until Harley and his spit returned.

---

Harley fumbled in the cabinet over the microwave, pushing glasses noisily around the shelf, obviously looking for something specific.

"Where're the goddamn flutes..." he muttered as he searched. "Fuck..." He finally gave up and slammed the cupboard door closed. Opening the refrigerator, he leaned over and grabbed a bottle of champagne.

J. Roget champagne. Extra dry.

Harley wasn't sure what kind of scientific, chemical reaction was at work, but champagne - particularly this brand and dryness - made him salivate like Pavlov's freakin' dogs. The brand was very inexpensive, but through trial and error Harley had found this one to work the best. It had become a secret, lovers' joke between them.

If Harley had a bottle of chilled Roget, along with the two Baccarat crystal tulip flutes that Jake had given them as a housewarming gift waiting on the night stand when Trey got home from the office - Trey knew that Harley was in the mood to blow him, and blow him good.

Struggling to keep the bedspread wrapped around him, Harley set the bottle on the counter and picked up the tea towel that hung neatly on the rack in front of the sink. He pulled the tab on the neck of the bottle, removing the foil wrapper and the little metal cage that held the cork in place.

With a practiced movement he put the towel over the cork for traction, and began turning the bottle slowly with his other hand. He'd learned the technique from Jake, that you always turn the bottle, never the cork. It might be visually exciting to see a cork fly up to hit the ceiling and to watch the champagne foam and spurt out of the bottle, but what a waste. Harley had actually developed a taste for the stuff and, remarkably, mass quantities of it didn't give him a headache like it did most people.

The cork came out with a firm 'pop', Harley not spilling a single drop. Having been unable to find the Baccarat flutes, he simply shrugged and put the bottle to his lips. Not exactly sophisticated, but practical at the moment. He took a long swizzle of the dry, fizzy wine, thoroughly enjoying the way it bubbled up in his mouth and tickled at his nose. He swallowed the dry-sweetness then took another swig.

He grinned and licked his lips, already feeling the saliva factory hard at work.

---

Harley entered the bedroom, one hand holding the chilled bottle of Roget and the other wrestling with the large bedspread in an effort to keep it swaddled around him. He looked around the room; Trey was nowhere to be seen.

He took another long gulp of champagne, then sat the bottle down on the night stand on Trey's customary side of the bed. He climbed onto the mattress, re-adjusting the bedspread over the blanket and sheet, and pulled the covers up to his neck.
"Trey!" he called out.

"Yeah?" Trey's muffled voice came from the direction of the bathroom.

"Y' okay?" Harley asked loudly.

"Oh yeah," his older brother replied over the sound of running water. "Had to brush my teeth. They were starting to feel furry."

"Get in here!" Harley hollered through a laugh, grabbing the bottle and taking another swill of the bubbly.

"You okay?" Trey shouted back, the water turning off.

"Oh yeah," Harley replied, grinning and wiping away the excess spit that had begun to dribble down his chin. "I'm real good."

Trey finally emerged from the bathroom. He crawled into bed next to his brother, pulling the covers up to his armpits against the chill of the room. He looked at Harley and the boy suddenly jumped out of bed, scurrying off to the bathroom.

Trey smiled softly and shook his head. "Harley?"

"Yeah?" the younger man said, sticking his head out of the bathroom door.

"What's up?"

"Gotta brush my teeth," Harley replied, his words slurring even worse from the additional alcohol infusion of champagne in his system. "You might wanna kiss me or somethin'."

"Or somethin'," Trey repeated sarcastically. "Hurry up!"

"God, you're so fuckin' bossy!" Harley shouted back in retort.

"I'm s'posed to be bossy," snorted Trey. "I'm the top, remember?"

"Fuck you!" Harley yelled, sort of muffled due to a mouthful of foamy toothpaste.

"Later!" Trey hollered back. "You owe me a blow job first!"

Harley appeared at the bathroom doorway, smiling broadly as he wiped toothpaste from his chin with a hand towel. "I don't owe you shit, asshole!"

"Do so, jerk."

"Do not."

"Do so."

"Do not."

"Get your pretty ass in bed."

"You still horny?"

"Well, that's a charming way to ask." Trey reached for the bottle of J. Roget, making a nasty face as the dry champagne slid down his throat. He didn't know how his brother could stand the taste, but given the physiological reaction it produced in the boy, he wasn't about to voice a complaint.

"Well... are you? I don't want all this good spit to go to waste."

"Come over here and find out for yourself."

Harley threw the towel haphazardly into the bathroom. He walked back into the bedroom, climbing onto the mattress and sliding his body under the covers to join his brother. His hand traveled down Trey's body, over the hard, smooth muscles of his chest, down the slope of his ribs, past the sculptured six-pack, finally coming to rest on the man's cock, gripping the hardness of it with his fisted fingers. Harley gave his brother's dick a firm squeeze, down low at the base. Trey swallowed hard and let out a little moan.

"Feel good?" Harley whispered into his ear.

"Um huh," Trey replied breathily, his eyes rolling back into his head. "Feel even better with your sweet mouth on it...ah..."

"Hand me the bottle," Harley said softly, grinning. Trey was somehow able to execute the movement, picking up the champagne from the night stand next to him and handing the bottle to his brother.

Harley put the lip of the bottle to his mouth and took a hearty drink. He licked his lips, slurping up every last drop, then leaned over the edge of the bed to place the bottle on the floor.

"Sit up." Harley instructed, leaning against his brother, whispering again into his ear.

Trey scooted up, placing a pillow against the headboard behind him for support.
Harley pulled down the covers, the floral bedspread, the blanket, and the sheet. Moving with agonizing slowness - agonizing slowness at least as far as his older brother was concerned - he knelt between Trey's legs, sliding his long fingers over the man's muscular inner thighs. The spit factor ideal now thanks to the champagne,

Harley took his brother's cock into his mouth, sucked gently for a second on the head of it, then leaned down to take the entire length of the silky, hard shaft deep into his throat.

"Oh my God!" Trey rasped, "ah... God, you're so good... feels so good..."

Harley raised his head, sliding his mouth along Trey's dick to the tip, running his tongue along the underside, feeling his brother squirm. He left the velvety soft head in his mouth, sucking hard on it, Trey's cock getting outrageously hard from the suction and the friction.

The boy's mouth was so soft, so ungodly wet, so utterly perfect. He swabbed his tongue across the head of the cock in his mouth, prodding at the small slit, smiling gently when he felt the hardness flex involuntarily between his lips.

Ultimately, there are only two kinds of people where blow jobs are concerned. The first are people who do it out of a sense of duty, or for equality's sake, or from some sort of warped perception of obligation.

And then there are those people who do it just because they love it, they know they're good at it, and they simply can't enough of it.

Harley fell into the second category. He loved a lot of things, being the natural sensualist that he was. He loved chocolate and strawberries, the tingle of champagne under his nose and the taste of a fine brandy on his tongue, soft skin and hard muscles, silk pajamas and flannel sheets, gentle caresses and savage bites, a good back rub and a bubble bath, cuddling and kissing.

But there wasn't anything in this world that Harley loved more, sensually speaking, than a beautiful, hard cock in his mouth.

As a result, the boy wasn't merely good at it - he was extraordinary.


~~~~

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© Copyright 2006 Justin Tyler. All rights reserved. Publication or distribution of any kind is prohibited without the written consent of Justin Tyler.
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