Part One

JUST LOVE

by

Charlotte Frost

Part Two

    I was real happy with the room I was staying in. And the bed was real comfy. But when I picked up my glow-in-the-dark watch for the third time and looked at it, it was nearly midnight. And I knew I wasn't anywhere near being able to sleep.

    It was just hard, lying there, imagining Hutch living in this house. Trying to imagine how the long, dark halls must have appeared to a little boy. The silent father in the easy chair. The mother worried about him 'exposing' himself. The little sister who must have been terrified of her own shadow.

    Not a lot of love in this house.

    So, I tossed and turned. And finally I couldn't stand it anymore. So, I got up, found my robe, and tip-toed out of my room and down the hall. When I reached Hutch's door, I hesitated. I was afraid knocking would echo and sound real loud in the stillness of the night, but I sure hated to just barge in without any warning at all.

    So, I did a couple of real soft knocks, hoping Hutch heard them, and I slowly turned the door handle.

    I peeked around the edge of the door, into the darkness. "Hutch?" There was only silence, and I thought I'd probably whispered too softly. I didn't want to consider that he actually may have been sound asleep. It just didn't seem likely. "Hutch?" I said a little louder.

    His voice was puzzled... and hopeful. "Starsk?"

    "Yeah." I stepped a little further into the room.

    "Just a second."

    I paused and heard him fumbling around. Then a lamp suddenly came on beside the bed, and he was lying there, on his back, in his t-shirt, looking at me with eyes that were wide awake. His voice got all soft. "Hey, what's the matter, buddy? Can't sleep?"

    I shrugged and stepped toward the bed. "Guess not. Apparently, you can't either."

    "Yeah," he said around a sigh. "I've just been laying here, remembering a lot of things."

    I sat on the edge of the bed. "I can imagine."

    He put his hands behind his head. "Your bed comfortable?"

    "Yeah, it's great. It's just kinda hard to sleep... you know, being in a strange place an' all." I looked around. "It almost seems too quiet. This is a big place for your parents to be livin' in alone."

    "Yeah, but it's the only place they've ever had. They wouldn't leave it."

    "Hutch, how come you wanted to come back here?"

    He looked at me suddenly, blinking. For an instant, his expression looked like it was going to get defensive. But then he was all soft again. "It just seemed like the time to do it." Then he sort of snorted. "I always think, after enough time has gone by since the last visit, that I can come back here and somehow things will be different."

    "What do you mean different? It's not like you guys have been arguing a lot, or anything."

    He shook his head. "No, I don't mean that. I mean that I always feel that by coming back here, I'll somehow understand something -- about myself, about them -- that I didn't before. And then when I get here, and everything is the same, I wonder why I even wanted to come." He stared at the ceiling. "I can't wait for it to be Monday, Starsk."

    I hadn't realized he felt that bad about being there. Oh, it's not like he seemed to be having a great time. I just hadn't realized he was already having a lousy time.

    His tone was suddenly wistful, and a little smile formed on his face. "You know something, buddy?"

    I leaned closer, pulled in by his voice. "What?"

    "When I was a kid -- even a teenager -- I used to lay here at night and wish, so much, that I had a brother."

    "Oh, yeah?" I knew he considered me the brother he never had -- well, actually, more than brother -- but I hadn't known that he ever longed for one.

    A small laugh. "Yeah." He looked at me. "Older brother, younger brother, it didn't matter. Just someone to pal around with."

    "You were pretty lonely, huh?"

    He had to think about that. Then he made a little nod. "Yeah. At least, whenever I was here at home." His face brightened. "But I really tried not to be home very much. I participated in a lot of extra-curricular activities at school. I made a lot of friends, so it wasn't like I was lonely all the time, or even most of the time."

    I placed my hand on the covers that outlined his leg, and leaned on it. "Then how come you wanted someone to pal around with?"

    His brows narrowed, like he was taking the question -- and the answer -- real serious. "I guess because I wanted someone I could be with who understood where I was coming from. Someone who, you know, knew me. My friends didn't know what my home life was like because I never talked to them about it."

    I didn't have anything to say to that.

    Hutch's eyes were on the ceiling again, and his voice got kind of distant. "I used to lay here and pretend that there was another bed in the room, and that my brother slept in it. And, in the middle of the night, I would imagine us having all sorts of conversations. We talked about everything."

    His voice was so intense. And even though I knew it's not unusual for kids to have imaginary playmates, I all of a sudden felt real sad for Hutch, sadder than I had the whole day. I mean, there's a big place in people that's filled by the love of the people who love them. And Hutch had a big, big hole where that place was supposed to be. And it just wasn't right. And I felt real mad at those people sleeping down the hall.

    "Thanks for coming here, buddy."

    That was the second time he'd acted like it wasn't my idea. "How come you sound like you had to talk me into it?"

    He'd been looking at the ceiling, and now his eyes turned to me. "Huh?"

    "You sound like you think you had to talk me into coming."

    His eyes narrowed, like he was puzzled. "Didn't I?"

    I lay down on my side beside him, propping my chin in an elbow. "No, dummy. I practically insisted on coming."

    Now his mouth was open. "You did?"

    "Yeah."

    "How come?"

    "Because I wanted to see for myself where you grew up."

    "Oh."

    "Dumb blond." I poked at his ribs. "You having delusions or something about how this trip came about?"

    Now his voice was firm. "This trip was my idea. I'm the one who made the reservations."

    "Yeah. And as soon as you mentioned that you might go back to Duluth, I started dropping hints that I wanted to come. Not that you argued or anything," I admitted. Then I couldn't resist adding, "And then you kept changing those damn reservations. I wasn't sure we were ever going to get here."

    Now his expression got all sheepish. "Oh."

    I patted his shoulder, softening my voice. "Hey, I'm glad we're not staying any longer than Monday. This is a pretty dull place."

    His voice perked up. "I'll show you around tomorrow. Places I used to go, like my old high school. Just me and you."

    "Terrific. It'll be good to get out of the house."

    He snorted. "You've only been here a few hours, moron."

    "Yeah, but it seems like longer." I shivered. "This is a cold place, Hutch." I couldn't help but reach out and stroke his chin, tweak his mustache. "I don't know how you managed to turn out as well as you did."

    "Like I said, I stayed away as much as I could."

    "I'm sorry about your dog."

    It seemed to take him a second to figure out what I meant. Then he sort of laughed. "Yeah, thanks. I've always stayed mad about that. The poor little mutt didn't have anyone to play with, so he sat outside and barked all day. I only had him about three weeks."

    "How come you never got yourself one of your own? I mean, after you were old enough?"

    "Ah, Starsk, I never lived in a place where I could have one."

    "What if you bought a house? Would you get one?"

    "Sure. But I can't see being able to afford a house anytime in the next ten years or so."

    He had a point. "Yeah," I agreed with reluctance. At least I already knew what I'd be getting him for a house-warming gift when the time came.

    I was getting tired of laying on my side, so I scooted down the bed, then twisted to lay my head against his chest. Then I put my hand on his stomach.

    His arm came around me, and he petted along my shoulders. He's real good at that kind of thing.

    And it struck me -- really not for the first time -- how odd it was that someone who had been raised in such an unaffectionate environment could be capable of demonstrating so much love. I mean, I'd always understood that human beings followed in their parents' footsteps, even when they tried like hell not to.

    The robe I was wearing was real thick, and he seemed to realize that, so he stuck his hand inside it at the back of my neck. His hand was real warm as it rubbed against my t-shirt. I think I made a noise of blissful contentment.

    "Hedonist," he scolded.

    Hey, I wasn't gonna argue with the truth.

    We lay there for a while, each with our own sleepy thoughts. Then I remembered something. "Hutch?"

    "Hm?"

    "What does your mother have against bare baby bottoms?"

    "Huh?" Then he seemed to remember what I meant. And he laughed. "Oh, I don't know."

    "But she said it was, like, exposing yourself. I mean, geez, an innocent little baby...."

    "She's always been prudish about things like that. She always made sure we wore lots of clothes."

    "She must have been one of those mothers who acted like, you know, sex was real dirty or evil or something."

    "Pretty much."

    "Did your parents talk to you about it?"

    His hand paused. "What? Sex?"

    "Yeah. Did you get that father-son lecture from your Dad?"

    "Nope. I learned from my friends." His hand started petting again. Honest to God, Hutch has the world's gentlest hands.

    "Did you learn everything from them? Or just what fucking meant?"

    "Pretty much everything. Most importantly, that everyone else was jerking off like I was."

    I grinned. "Yeah, I'd consider that a pretty important part of one's education."

    Hutch's other hand started in on my scalp... rubbing... scratching. He outright giggled, like a mischievous little boy. "You can probably imagine how scared to death I was when I almost got caught by my mother."

    I was laughing, too. "Jerking off?"

    "Yeah. I got the little pecker put away just in time."

    "It probably wasn't so little by then."

    "No, I guess not. It sprouted up overnight, and boy did it feel good."

    This was great, having Hutch laughing like this. "Yeah, it was like that for me, too."

    I suddenly realized there was something we'd never discussed. "Hey." I rolled over onto my back so I could look at him. His hand never missed a beat and was rubbing against my chest. But the one in my hair had left. "How old were you when you first did it?"

    He seemed surprised, too, that we'd never talked about it before. "Eighteen. You?"

    "Twenty."

    "Really?"

    Believe it or not, I felt a little embarrassed. "Yeah. I'd been lying about it since I was sixteen. But I really didn't do It -- capital I -- until I was twenty."

    "Was it good?'

    "Yeah. Mary McMillian. I was in love with her. She was real nice. And I learned fast."

    Hutch snorted, his free hand plopping down on my forehead. "I don't remember much about my first time, except that I came so fast that I hardly knew what happened. I was sort of disappointed, actually."

    "No fireworks, huh?"

    "No. That didn't happen until later -- until Van."

    "No wonder you married her."

    "Yeah." His voice was soft, bittersweet.

    Van. "Hey, how come those photo albums didn't have any of your wedding pictures?"

    Hutch shrugged. "I don't know. They may have been in a different album. Maybe we never got around to sending them any."

    "Did Vanessa like your parents?"

    "Not particularly. But they liked her."

    "Because she was hollow, like them?"

    Hutch snorted and seemed uncomfortable. "I don't know." His hand stopped rubbing and his voice was soft. "Hey, Starsk, I'm going to get the light, okay?"

    "'kay."

    The room went dark and I had to wriggle a lot to get out of my robe. But Hutch didn't complain about all the jostling. I finally had to stand up a sec to get free of it, and when I knelt on the bed Hutch was holding the covers open. I slipped between them and snuggled up next to him, my head back on his shoulder.

    See, Hutch and me had kinda gotten used to sleeping together. Now, I know how that sounds, but that's not what I mean. We usually don't sleep together. But sometimes we do. I mean, there just came a point in time when staying at each other's place no longer meant sleeping on the couch. I guess it all started when Hutch almost died from the plague. When they finally released him from the hospital, and that awful, sterile room, I wanted to do nothing else except hold him and hold him and hold him. So, after I got him home and put him to bed, that's what I did. He didn't have any complaints. And sometime later he returned the favor -- just because he felt like it, I guess. I mean, it wasn't after any particularly near-death incident, or anything like that. After a time, it just sorta got to be a habit whenever we found ourselves at the same place and ready for bed.

    I guess you could say that we're kinda spoiled. But I don't really care. I mean, hell, we sleep better when we're together. I don't see why there should be anything wrong with it. But it's not like we can tell anybody. And, well, I gotta admit, I feel a little funny sometimes when I read in an advice column every now and then about someone complainin' about their six-year-old kid still insisting on sleeping with its parents. I mean, once you're a certain age, wanting to sleep with someone who isn't your lover is considered some kind of bad, awful thing. I don't know why. Maybe those people who write all those advice columns should try it sometime.

    Anyway, I was all snuggled up against Hutch when I realized there was something wrong with our sleeping positions. This was one night where I really didn't want to do anything except hold him a lot. Try to fill up the empty place a little bit, do the job his parents didn't do. Not that if I held him for weeks and weeks it would make up for all those lost years, but I wanted to do what I could.

    I nudged him in the ribs. "Hey."

    "Hm?"

    "Scoot over a sec." I raised up, dislodging the arms that had been around me.

    "Why?"

    "'Cause I wanna hold you, that's why."

    "Hey, I was comfortable," he complained, but moved over anyway.

    When there was enough space in the middle of the mattress, I lay down in it on my back, then felt for his arm and pulled on it. "Come on, lay back down here."

    He was real careful about lowering himself on top of me. Well, not exactly on top, but against my left side, and then laying his head on my chest. You know, Hutch really isn't as tall as some people seem to think. But he's lanky. All arms and legs. But he's real considerate about not knocking ya around with his elbows and knees.

    When he was all settled I put my arms around him. Then I squeezed real, real tight. And then I started feeling emotional, and then I squeezed harder, and that made me feel even more emotional. I mean, hell, I loved the guy. And I wanted everything to be wonderful for him. And I wanted him to feel nothing but love and contentment and happiness and good things like that the whole rest of his life. So, maybe, if I just squeezed hard enough nothing bad would ever, ever touch him. But I knew it couldn't really be like that, that I couldn't protect him from everything in this world of ours, so my throat got all tight.

    And I was trying so hard to shut out all the bad that it took me a minute to realize he was trying to speak.

    His voice was real soft, strained. But real gentle, too. "Let go of me, buddy."

    Hey, what The Man wants, The Man gets. So I let go. And then I was lying there, my arms against the bed, breathing hard from having squeezed and squeezed and squeezed.

    I realized my chest was cold and he wasn't lying against me anymore.

    But then something warm, butterfly soft, and slightly moist touched my forehead.

    Then it touched my left cheek. Then my right one.

    I opened my eyes, and he was hovering over me. And, from the moonlight from the window, I saw him close his eyes and lower his head. The warm, butterfly-soft lips touched my chin.

    Did I mention how gentle Hutch is? How much I love him? How much he loves me?

    I mean, it was like taking the most wonderful thing in all existence -- our relationship -- and making it even more wonderful still. Even though it's impossible to make it more wonderful.

    His hand reached up and stroked back through my hair... real slow-like. Then his face lowered again and I felt that soft touch against the tip of my nose.

    I knew what I wanted then. I almost whimpered with the wanting of it.

    He knew.

    I closed my eyes this time as his face lowered. My lips parted, waiting. And a moment later, I felt the soft touch there. The softest touch I've ever known. And I think I did whimper when he pulled back.

    His eyes were half closed, his face all soft. He leaned down again, and when I closed my eyes a heavy breath blew against my ear. "I love you."

    Oh, Hutch. I clutched at his back, trying hard to understand what it meant that this was happening.

    Those so-soft lips touched each of my eyelids. Then they were back at my ear, his voice so incredibly soft. "Will you let me love you?"

    Oh, Christ. He'd been loving me for forever. I mean, I had to think real hard to remember a time when I hadn't been receiving Hutch's love.

    I wanted to ask him what it meant, that we were doing this. I wanted reassurance that it wouldn't change anything, that-nothing-bad-would-ever-happen-because-of-it, thatitwouldn'tmeanwewerereallyfaggots, that I wasn't dreaming it... this thing I'd never even thought about.

    But knew we'd arrive at, eventually.

    Okay, so I'd been fooling myself all along. Especially about the sleeping together part. But, hell, I just wanted to be close to him all those times. I mean, there's nothing like it -- having the person you love so, so much all snuggled up against you, safe and warm.

    I wasn't sure I could answer his question. But it didn't matter, because my body was answering for me. I felt completely open to him, like my limbs couldn't do anything of their own. I just lay there, limp against the bed. But, damn, I had one hell of a hard-on....

    His upper body was straddling mine, his weight against my chest. Those lips were there again, at my ear. "How do you want it?"

    Oh, shit. Like he was willing to do anything.

    I swallowed, and my eyes were all watery. I'm not sure why. But I had to talk, had to tell him... "However you want it."

    But then, right away, I was thinking I didn't want him to blow me. Because then he'd have to move down there, and I wanted him up here, right here with me when something happened.

    He didn't answer. But he was beside me, leaning on an elbow. He put one hand on the center of my chest. Then the other moved down and pulled at the elastic of my shorts.

    I arched up, so relieved when he removed them. Man, I was on fire. And his hand came down, over my dick, and I arched and arched and arched. And then groaned because it wasn't near enough.

    His whole body started to move toward it, and I stopped him by grabbing his arm. "Stay here." And he looked at me, his expression so incredibly soft, tender. And, shit, I loved him so damn much, and I knew in a million years he'd never know just how much, because no language possessed the words, no action would be enough, and he'd never know, and it seemed so sad all of a sudden, and tears were streaming down my cheeks, and my prick hurt like hell.

    He straddled me, and I could hear how heavy he was breathing. And then his hands went behind my head and neck, lifting slightly. And then his lips lowered to mine, and it wasn't gentle this time. He pressed and pressed, that beautiful mustache of his against the bottom of my nose, and I thought I was gonna die, and I arched and arched but found nothin' but air.

    And then he flattened out against me, matching our bodies together, and I reached down to pull his cock out of his underwear, and for some reason I was shocked at how thick and hot and smooth it felt. And then he arched his ass up to position them against each other, and then he grabbed my shoulders and humped and humped....

    It was both some of the best and some of the worst sex I'd ever had. The best because it was Hutch. The worst because the friction wasn't the greatest, and we both had to struggle like hell to hit the peak, and we both were sweating and gasping and heaving. He came first, and when he collapsed against me was when I was really able to get anywhere, rubbing like crazy against his stomach.

    But when you're struggling so hard, the comin' can be that much better, because it's that much more of a release, and I thought I was gonna sink right into the mattress. And he seemed to be having a hard time keeping his weight off of me, though I was glad he didn't move away. I wanted him near, kinda liked feeling the sweat dripping from his hair onto my t-shirt and neck.

    And then it was suddenly too hard to just lay there and breathe. So I reached up and put both hands in his damp hair, curling the strands around my fingers. I guess he liked it because he dropped the top of his forehead to my chest, and then his whole body sort of relaxed, his legs spreading to rest outside of mine, his body resting on top of me, though he was hoisted up on his elbows so they'd take most of his weight.

    We were both still breathing hard, but he stretched to lay a little soft kiss against my throat.

    God, he's so beautiful.

    I was all emotional again, but I knew we needed to talk about it as soon as possible, preferably now. "How'd this happen?" I asked him, my voice strained with effort. And I really wanted to know the answer.

    He lips kissed along my t-shirt, over my chest. "I don't know," he said in low voice, "it just did." He didn't sound regretful or ashamed, but kinda like -- just maybe -- it was something that shouldn't have happened. Then all of a sudden he looked up at me, those baby-blues staring right into me. "I love you so much and I wanted to show you."

    Aw, hell. When someone as special as Hutch outright loves you like that, you don't toy with it. You just take it, accept it. Being loved by Hutch is the greatest gift there is on Earth. I mean, he doesn't love a lotta people.

    I had my arms around him again, and I liked how he felt all lazy and heavy on top of me. And I squeezed him, but not as hard as before. And then I looked up, my chin brushing against his neck, and we kind of rolled onto our sides, still pressed against each other, and he sorta lowered his mouth so it was within range, and....

    Well, hell, what was I supposed ta do? I kissed him. I mean, it was real slow like, because I wanted to. I felt all warm and cozy, and he felt all warm and... well, kissable. And, damn, it just felt so damn good. Not like with a woman. With women, you know, there's all that makeup and perfume. And their bodies are all curvy and petite, so it feels real nice when you hold them. But, Hutch... hell, it was like we were physically bonded together, or somethin'. I mean, his body was bigger than what I'm used to being in bed with, and it's just so warm. Big and warm, and felt so strong when I put my arms around him. And when he put his arms around me... oh, boy, there's no describin' what that's like. I mean, a woman can hold you, but she can't cover you like a man can. Like Hutch can.

    And all of a sudden I felt real jealous of all those many women Hutch had had over the years. I mean, I'm the one who loved him. I oughtta be the one that he holds... the one who gets to hold him. And right then, with us lying on our sides, chest to chest, kissing for so long, and everything so nice between us, there just downright wasn't any room for anyone else.

    He's the one that broke the kiss, but his lips were still real near, and he made this real soft groaning noise, kinda like a cat purrs. And I could see the crinkle around his eyes, and I knew he was smiling and he was all happy and felt good all over. Shit, I'd do anything to keep him like that. Anything at all. And so I quit worrying real fast about how things got like this.

    I reconnected our lips, and I put my hand up his shirt and rubbed all along that silky, smooth skin, that warm, warm body of his. And I sort of pushed against him and he sort of rolled a little way onto his back, just like I wanted. I mean, he was the one that had been doing most of the work, and I just wanted him to relax.

    I got a little bit on top of him, still kissing, and when my hand brushed down far enough it felt his wet, sorta-soft cock and his underwear. I was gettin real tired of those clothes. So I started trying to push them off, which was hard because I wanted to keep kissing him. I mean, damn, he's just so damn kissable. And he started to shift, straining to pull them off, and finally I gave up and straightened. Then I pulled my shirt over my head while he pushed the underwear down and kicked them away, and then hoisted himself up to pull off his shirt.

    Finally, we were completely naked, and I was getting excited again. And I pounced back on top of him, my chest sideways against his, and I started kissing him again, and my hands went crazy rubbing all over him....

    And he was groaning and purring and his hands were all over me, and... oh, damn, I wasn't aware of anything after that.

    Except, all of a sudden, he slowed it down. Somehow, some way, he was back in control of what was goin' on, and his kisses got real soft, all over my face, and his hands went from rubbing and squeezing to petting real gentle-like. And my heart started slowing down, too. And, I thought, maybe my cock really could wait awhile for another favor.

    I just lay there in the dark, on my back, and after a while I realized he was sitting on his knees beside me. He was running his fingers along my face, down to my chest. Every now and then they'd jump up into my hair, and do this real tender massage-thing that Hutch has always been good at. And, you know, I coulda died right then and it would have been okay, because I would have been so happy and content. I mean, there woulda been nothing else to do in life.

    Except Hutch would be all alone and I killed the thought right there. I mean, hell, every now and then -- even though I try real hard not to think about it -- I wonder how I'd ever survive if something happened to Hutch. But then I wonder how he'd survive if something happened to me, and that's an even worse thought. So, ever since I came close to buying it from Gunther's goons, I've been a lot more careful about stayin' alive. And maybe it's my imagination, but I think Hutch has been tryin' harder, too.

    All of sudden, he wasn't touching me and I felt all cold and I opened my eyes.

    Without hardly a sound or squeak of the bed, he'd made it down toward the foot of the mattress, and he was pushing the covers back. It was real easy to see him in the dark, that body of his is so damn white. Almost pure-like. Like an angel or somethin'.

    "Spread your legs," he whispered. Oh, man, his voice was so soft... so quiet. And, yet, it wasn't like he was askin'. Hey, when Hutch tells ya to do something, you do it. No if, ands, or buts about it. So I spread my legs. It was kind of a vulnerable feeling, but exciting, too. I mean, I didn't know what he had in mind. I just knew that some ultra-sensitive parts of mine were going to be getting something.

    And they knew it too. My cock had softened a little after things slowed down, but now it was doin' that ninety-degree salute.

    He came closer, between my legs, then settled on his knees. He reached out and put a hand on my stomach, and I closed my eyes, so I wouldn't spoil it. I wanted my nerves to feel everything first.

    At first, the hand just rubbed, real gentle-like. And then I felt two fingers drawing a line from my stomach, down to my pubic hairs. And then they started scratchin'. Man, it was good. Such a nice feelin'. Not even really a turn-on, just nice. They scratched and scratched. And then they moved on down, went around my cock, and then they were into my balls. Just the fingertips were feelin' around my nuts, kinda scratching a little bit. And then they went underneath, to that seam right beneath my nuts. And kind of scratched, then just barely went down into my crack. And then he drew them up and rubbed them around the base of my cock.

    And, man, my dick was about to burst. I mean, this was some big-time teasin'. But I needed him to pay attention to further up the shaft, and I meant to say somethin' about it, but all I managed was a sound that came out like a strangled groan.

    I guess it got the point across. He slid up beside me, still on his knees, and in a very quiet, matter-of-fact tone, he whispered, "I'm going to make you come."

    Oh, shit, all the veins in my cock throbbed when he said that. But I had no idea how he was gonna do it, because he wasn't touching me at all. But he sorta smiled at me -- real tender-like, but also sort of mischievous. And shit, I groaned again, or whimpered, or something.

    He turned around then, his back to me, and reached for my dick. When he gripped it real firm, I understood why he was in such a funny position. He was gonna jerk me off, and he needed to grip it like he did his own. That in itself was another turn-on, I mean him pretending that my cock was his.

    And his hand started to stroke. Damn. He was good, too. Knew right where to grip it firmest around the head. I guess it shouldn't be strange that Hutch, being a guy, would know how to make it feel good, but I always figured every guy likes his cock handled a little differently. I know that what's heaven for one woman isn't necessarily anything special for another. So, I figure with men, it would be the same way.

    And maybe it was. Except Hutch and me seemed to have similar tastes in how we liked to stroke ourselves. Because he was doin' one hell of a job. And I can't say nothin' else about it because my brain took a hike and all I know was that my cock was on fire, and his hand felt so damn good, and it just kept building and building, and it got so powerful that I think I yelled or somethin', because all of a sudden my throat was raw and everything was on a mattress of air, and I didn't have a body anymore, and nothing mattered anymore, and everything was wonderful and perfect, and it would have been fine if I'd died right then.

    Except I couldn't because something tickled along my stomach. I opened my eyes and had to raise my head a little. And there was Hutch bent over me, licking at the little... uh, puddle, that had been left there. Oh, shit, he was licking it so slowly, too. Like a cat or something. And it tickled but it was so incredible that I didn't want him to stop and I didn't even know why. For a moment, it crossed my mind that it must be pretty gross, but then I reminded myself that women swallowed that stuff all the time, so maybe it wasn't all that bad.

    And Hutch certainly didn't seem to mind.

    And then he did something that a woman could never do. He rubbed his mustache in it.

    Oh, fuck, it was really time to die. It tickled like hell, but I didn't move. I just watched. Shit. He'd lick, lick, lick -- quiet little strokes of his tongue -- and then he'd dip his mustache right in it, kind of rub it around, then go back to the lick, lick, lick. Jesus fuckin' Christ, is that what mustaches were for? Shit. I collapsed back on the bed so hard that it rattled. But he just kept right on lickin'.

    And then he was done. Had it all cleaned up. And he straightened and turned back toward me. Of course, I knew what he was gonna do. And I was ready. I would have hoisted myself onto an elbow, but I didn't have the strength. He just sort of looked down at me for a moment, like he was trying to figure out if I would mind or not. And I sorta grinned. And that's all he needed and he lowered his head.

    'Course, I could smell it long before his lips touched mine. Just smelled like it does in the bedroom after a lot of fucking has gone on. Only this was stronger, because it was all concentrated in one area. And he kissed me, real purposeful-like, but still kept it pretty soft, like he knew I didn't have the energy for anything heavier. And it suddenly occurred to me that, with the hair right under his nose, he was smelling it with every breath, and would go on smellin' it until he washed it off.

    Probably take one hell of a rinsin'.

    He turned me over, and I was so limp that he was able to do it real easy. In any other circumstance, I think I would have been real nervous about what was obviously coming next. But, damn, I felt like I didn't have a care in the world. Except I wanted Hutch to be able to fuck his brains out -- mine, too -- and I wanted to feel him all around me, and inside me. I mean, I've never felt like that before in my entire life. Never had an urge to have something stuck in me. I never even liked it when girls put their fingers up my ass. It seemed... I dunno, unnatural, I guess. Or maybe I was afraid that if I liked it, it would mean I was a fag.

    But none of that mattered now. I just wanted Hutch to do it. I wanted it so bad. Not just for me, but for him, too. I wanted him to pound into me and hold me real tight and scream like hell when he came.

    He hand was rubbing real slow up and down my spine. And after the sweat had started to cool me, it felt good to feel that warmth again. He paused at my lower back, rubbing in a little circle, and then drifted down one cheek and squeezed, then the other. It seemed like he was getting patient again, and though I was limper than a broken doll, I was real anxious for him to do it. I sort of bounced against the bed. "Do it, Hutch." My voice was real deep and breathless.

    His hand paused and I knew that somehow I'd misread things.

    He slid closer to me, leaned down a little toward my ear. His voice was heavy with wanting, but it was real clear. "Not going to do that tonight, partner."

    His no-nonsense tone sort of shocked me to my senses. Hell, we didn't even have any lubricant. He'd probably rip me to pieces. Sure, we could probably find something to use in the bathroom, but that was clear down the hall, and all of a sudden the whole process seemed way too complicated. I must have been crazy to want him to do that to me. And I shuddered to think what it would have been like if he hadn't been thinkin' straight and had rammed right into me, and it hurt like hell, and then I'd always be afraid of it, and he'd never forgive himself, and it would spoil everything....

    "Not tonight," he repeated. And it dawned on me the way he was sayin' it, like he was promisin' that it would happen on another night.

    And I closed my eyes and collapsed against the pillow. I mean, I loved the guy so damn much it just downright hurt at times.

    His hands were back on my ass, and I was confused about what he was gonna to do. I mean, he was real hard and it must have been driving him nuts. It was drivin' me nuts, knowing how badly he needed relief.

    He felt along the tip of my tailbone, back and forth, over and over. In fact, he seemed kind of obsessed with it, like he was trying to figure something out. Then his hands gripped my cheeks and he parted them. It was a real funny feeling being... well, exposed like that. For a split second I thought he'd changed his mind about doin' it, but then I realized right away that there was no way he'd chance hurting me like that.

    And then something hot and thick and full laid all along my crack. And I knew it had to be his prick, and I liked how it felt so... I dunno, filling. I mean, I gotta admit, I still kinda of wanted him to stick it into me, but that of course was impossible, so I just tried to enjoy what he was doing. He placed his hands beside my shoulders, and then his cock started moving back and forth in my crack, and almost right away he started grunting with effort. And I was sorta worried that we were gonna have that problem again with the friction. But then he started rubbing the head of it against my tailbone, with each forward thrust, and I knew that's what was really going to get him off, having that firm bone to brace against.

    It was kinda frustrating layin' there and not being able to help him along. I mean, I could squeeze my ass muscles, but they weren't able to enclose his cock. I mean, that's what a man really likes... having his cock surrounded by something that grips and loosens.

    But Hutch was doing okay. I could tell by the way he was breathing and thrusting that he'd found a rhythm that felt really good. All of a sudden, he grabbed my shoulders, and I liked him gripping me like that, and his muscles were all tense while he thrust harder and harder... faster and faster. And then the sweat started dripping onto my back. And then a cry started deep in his throat, and then he thrust really hard, and I realized my tailbone was gonna be sore, but I was so happy listening to that groan/yell emerge from his throat. It wasn't like he screamed or anything. It was much deeper than that. And had this vibrating, shuddering quality. But it was real satisfying, like every bit of tension he possessed was being expelled all through his body.

    And then it sort of trailed off into a whimper, then a deeply drawn breath. And then I felt him go all slack.

    That's when I realized there was moisture on my lower back. It felt kind of funny, not really hot because it was the same temperature as my body, but not yet cooling, either. I know it sounds kinda funny, but it was sorta a turn-on, knowing that it had come from Hutch. And I always thought it kinda strange that that stuff could make babies.

    Hutch collapsed beside me. His eyes were closed and he was wearing a little smile and his face was all soft and relaxed. And he sort of made this real, deep, contented sigh.

    I was gettin' tired of laying on my stomach, and I was just about to roll over when it dawned on me that there was something I wanted real bad. I don't know why. It just seemed important.

    "Hutch?"

    I felt a little guilty when his eyes opened and they looked so sleepy. But I kept my voice firm and -- I hope -- sorta sexy. "Aren't you gonna, you know, sweep it up?"

    His eyes widened right then. And then he took a deep, purposeful breath, like he was still testing how strong his mustache smelled. And then he blinked and raised up.

    Hutch knows how to take orders, too.

    I relaxed against the mattress, and he put an arm across my back, then sort of leaned on it while he lay his head down and went at it. I mean, I could still feel a little hesitation -- not that there isn't a guy in the world who hasn't tasted his own sperm -- and I hoped he didn't mind too much that I was makin' him do it. And I guess he didn't. Because he just sort of relaxed and licked.

    And was doin' too much of the licking.

    "Hey, I said sweep it up." Shit, was that my voice that sounded so... so commanding?

    Oh, but he obeyed, like a good little Hutch. If I wouldn't have been so exhausted I would have gotten another hard-on right then.

    He sort of raised up, then I felt those ticklish little hairs along my lower back. I could tell that he was making sure they got soaked. He's always been willing to do anything for me.

    He went back to the licking for a moment, and then he was all done. I rolled onto my back and pulled the covers up over us. He'd taken his place beside me, curled toward me, his eyes closed like he could sleep right then.

    I sorta inched closer, put my arm out and, with his eyes still closed, he moved a little to place his head on it. I know he knew what I wanted to do, but it was like he was just too exhausted to participate much.

    And maybe it was just as well. Because I was gonna take my time.

    I put my other arm around him -- felt real protective of him all of a sudden, especially with his body being so lax -- and I leaned down to kiss him. He kissed back a little, but I didn't press it. I just wanted the taste. I mean, I'd done that before -- kissing women after they swallowed it -- but this was something a million times more special than that. Because as soon as my tongue licked up to his mustache, I knew I was tasting both of us. And there just seemed something so meaningful about it.

    I was tired, too, but I was getting into it. I mean, I wanted to part each and every hair of that little caterpillar and lick it clean so he wouldn't even have to wash it. But, then, I kinda liked the idea of him goin' around, smelling like the two of us, and nobody daring to say anything.

    But, for now, I just licked at it and licked at it. I had to be careful; I mean, I had to keep pulling back to give us both a chance to breathe. And then he just gave up and started breathing through his mouth. And then he drifted to sleep.

    Somewhere along the line, I did, too. And when the muscles around my mouth hurt when I woke up, I knew it was because I had been smiling all night.

Part Three