Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 ï>¿Author: Tooluser
Title: Boy Batter
Part: 3
Keywords: mb, anal, oral, inc, 1st, gay, teen, rimming, rom
Summary: Chris is alarmed when he sees two guys playing 'angry' couch
baseball.  Randy shows him that buttfucking can be friendly.



   Boy Batter: Chapter 3



   The alarm went off: an idiot, persistent mechanical command to obey. 
Randy knocked the shrilling, clattering machine into the trash with a
well-practiced swipe; pushed himself out of bed, and headed downstairs,
thinking muzzily of coffee.

   While his class schedule meant that they'd managed to solve the problem
of supervising Chrissie, it also meant that he seldom saw Mom any more. 
Oh, they'd talk a little when she came in, but nowadays she was tired from
her day at the salon, and they didn't get that long anyway.  If the traffic
was bad, they basically high fived as they passed each other on the porch,
Mom arriving as Randy left for his late night shift at the grocery store.

   So it was a pleasure and a surprise to find Mom seated at the kitchen
table when he came down.  He blinked.  "No salon today?" he said.

   His mom looked up at him, looking as tired as he felt.  "It's Sunday,
Randy," she said.  "What are you doing up?"

   "Oh." Randy swallowed a cuss-word and headed for the kettle.  "If it
comes to that, what are you doing up?"

   "Nothing useful." She shifted her arm a little, and Randy noticed the
thick black book she'd been reading.  Her expression looked hopeless,
defeated.

   "Mom?" Randy said.  "Are you okay?"

   She noticed the direction of his gaze, and twisted her face into a
smile. "No," she said, her thumb brushing back and forth across the gilt
cross embossed on the front.

   Randy nodded, feeling the dread swell inside himself as he continued
mechanically filling the kettle at the faucet.  "It's about Dad, isn't it?"
he said, jerking his head toward the garage where his father had set up his
temporary camp bed.  He swallowed past the lump in his throat as his mother
stared first at the deep dents in the side of the fridge and then looked
down at the tabletop.  She bit her lip and didn't reply.

   "It was just bad luck, Mom -- a bad day, bad timing, and me coming home
and opening my stupid mouth."

   "No." She shook her head and looked up at him, tears in her eyes.  "It
wasn't that.  It was all summer.  He bullied Chris all summer, and it just
got uglier and uglier.  I should have stopped it, but -- I never thought--"
she swallowed and groped wildly in her sleeve.

   "Oh, mom." Randy crossed the kitchen in two strides and squeezed her
shoulder.  "He was trying his best."

   "Matt and me," his mom gulped.  "We didn't always get on--"

   "Yelled like banshees," Randy said, with a lightness he didn't feel.  "I
was there, Mom, remember?" He smiled and squeezed her shoulder again,
though the memory of hiding while they screamed at each other brought back
the old, sick-scared feeling.  "Maybe that's why I love Chrissy so much. 
All the shouting -- it all stopped after he came." He pulled out a chair
and sat down next to his mom, putting his arm around her.  "You were so
happy, remember?"

   His mom leaned against him, a comfortable shape, still with the faint
scent of hair lacquer that never quite seemed to leave her.  Randy felt her
shiver, and take a deep breath.  "I used to smell it, on his clothes," she
said.  She closed her eyes.  "Cigarette smoke, and cologne too, sometimes."

   "What?" Randy could feel his own gut tensing up from the sound of the
pain in her voice.

   "I'd ask him what he'd been doing," his mom continued softly, "where
he'd gone, and he'd look at me as if I were a stranger.  He started working
longer hours -- strange hours."

   "Mom.  Are you saying Dad had an affair?" Randy felt his mom suck in a
shuddering breath, and heave it out again.  He felt sick and angry.  He and
dad may not have been best buddies, but he'd always thought...  "Bastard,"
he whispered.  "When someone trusts you-" he swallowed through a suddenly
tight, aching throat.  "Oh, mom!" He put his arm around her back and
squeezed her ample shoulder.

   "Randy, don't--" she sobbed, shaking her head.  "Don't judge." He saw
her hand gripping tight on the floppy black leather of her Bible, her thumb
rubbing back and forth across the pebbly surface.  She turned to look at
him, her face blotchy with crying.  "Please."

   Randy managed a weak smile, feeling his gut burn inside him.  She was
right: he should be the last to make judgements about betrayal.
"We got through it," she whispered, "and then there was Chris.  He loved

Chris.  He may not have loved me, but -"

   "Don't say that!"

   His mother was quiet a moment, staring down at nothing.  Then she looked
at him, and he was astonished to see shame in her eyes before she looked
down again.  "There's a _ten year_ gap between my only children, Randy,"
she said, her voice trembling.  "Do I have to spell it out?"

   For a moment he couldn't work it out, then realized his mom was sobbing
silently; he could feel it shuddering through her body as she leaned
against him.

   "I knew," was all she said.  "But he loved you, Randy; I knew that too.
he may not have luh-loved me, but the way he loved you just shu-shone out
of him.  And then, when Chris came along, I thought he loved him too, and
he seemed to, but then, this summer--"

   "Mom," Randy began, "Dad did _tell_ you about work - the accident,
right?"

   "It was all so ug- ugly!  I looked at this big bully, and I couldn't
believe I'd made excuses for him all these years." She looked at him, blind
eyes in a face swollen and blotchy, and Randy realized she hadn't heard a
word he'd said.  She clutched at his arm.  "I'm so proud of you, Randy,"
she said, "with your studies and everything.  I, I'll try to live this way
as long as I can.  But I don't want to pretend any more.  I want a
divorce." She closed her eyes and sighed, as though she'd just put down a
heavy weight.  "There, I've said it.  I'm so sorry darling.  I know I'm
letting you all down."

   "Don't, Mom," Randy said, his throat tight and burning.  "Don't say
that."

   But all his Mom did was to squeeze his shoulders and then stand up. 
"I've got to get ready," she said.

   "What?  Where are you going?" Randy asked.

   His mom closed her eyes, briefly.  "Church," she said.  "It's time."

   Randy shrugged and looked down, not sure what to say.  His mom hadn't
been to church -- none of them had -- since before Chrissie was born. 
There'd been some dramatic falling-out.  He remembered the yelling, but not
what it was about; just his mom and dad shouting into each other's twisted,
scarlet faces and, one time, himself putting his hands over his ears and
screaming, hating himself for being too scared to get between them.

   "Oh." Randy swallowed, shivering.  He stood up and resumed making
coffee, glad of the excuse to hide his face.  He hadn't thought about that
for years.  The kettle boiled and clicked, and he moved like an automaton,
all feelings shut down.

   h2.oOo

   He looked up as his Mom returned to the kitchen in a once smart, now
shapeless print dress.  Her fruit-bedecked straw hat and her best
clutch-bag and white gloves completed her outfit.  She'd expertly repaired
her face, and the only reminder of the woman who'd sobbed against him was
the tired tone of her voice.

   "Can we keep this our little secret?" she asked.  "You won't frighten
Chris, will you?"

   "Sure Mom," Randy said.  "I think I'm gonna go to the park." Anything to
get out.  "I'll take Chrissie, too, so he can hang out with his buddies.  I
can study there just as easy, and I think he's spending too much time
cooped up with me."

   She nodded.  "I think Chris would like that.  He's been a little quiet
lately, hasn't he?" Randy tensed up, wondering once again if Chris had said
something, but his mom continued: "Is everything okay?  I haven't seen Todd
around here for a couple of weeks now."

   "I don't know, Mom." He smiled, or something close.  "I'll give Chris
the third degree for you, okay?"

   Her smile echoed his own.  "I'll expect a full report."



   * * *



   Randy rapped his knuckle gently on the open door of Chris's room.  "Hey
there - you awake, sleepyhead?"

   Chris yawned and rolled over.  "Hm?"

   "I was thinking we could go down to Memorial Park," Randy said, watching
as Chris blinked, and then nodded eagerly.

   "Can I take my glove?  And my basketball too?"

   "Not your skates?" Randy asked as he moved across the room and opened
the drapes.  "I thought you and Todd were skating partners."

   Chris hunched a shoulder.  "I guess.  He'll be in church anyway."

   Randy paused, watching Chris squinting against the light.  "Is
everything okay, Chrissie?  I'm sorry you haven't seen so much of Todd,
it's just-"

   "We're fine." Chris turned his head away, his tone defensive.  "We see
each other in school and everything."

   "Well, sure.  It's just Mom said you'd been kinda down, lately."

   "I don't wanna talk about it, okay?" Chris threw his coverlet aside and
got out of bed.

   Randy watched as his little bro' headed for the bathroom, troubled.  He
thought he knew Chris so well, yet he hadn't noticed.

   Not only had Todd not been around, but Chris hadn't even mentioned his
friend.  Chris and Toddie had been best buddies since they were old enough
to crawl.  In and out of each other's houses all day, and in each other's
company so much that Dad had nicknamed them _"The Conjoined."_ It had been
a real blow to Chris when, a year ago, the Sanderson family had moved
across town to a bigger property before their new baby, Aggie, arrived.

   It was a darn nuisance they lived where they did: it meant there weren't
any kids around here for Chris to play with.  All the properties in this
area were cheap: aimed at couples, or with very young kids.  As the kids
got older and needed more space, families moved out to Hillview, or down to
Parkside, like the Sandersons.

   Well, Randy thought, perhaps he could arrange a sleepover for Chris, or
something.  Quite apart from actually liking the effervescent little
redhead, Chrissie might well need a bolt-hole if things here blew up.

   "Don't be long!" Randy called as he passed the bathroom door.  "I'm
making French toast with maple syrup!"



   h2.oOo

   Randy sighed as he slowed the suburban and pulled up at the lights. 
"What?"

   Chris folded his arms and glared.  "I don't see why you had to pack
them! I'm not going to!"

   Randy glanced over at Chris and shrugged.  "Please yourself.  I was just
thinking how you liked skating, that's all.  Only I've got to study - I
won't be able to play with you, much."

   "What, not even a bit?" Chris asked, hurt.

   Randy smiled as the lights changed and he pulled away.  "The idea is for
you to spend some time with different people: you know, hang with your
buddies.  Even if Todd won't be there."

   "He won't?" Chris pushed his bangs back and looked at him, intent.

   "You said he'd be at church, remember?"

   "Oh.  Yeah." Chris picked up a knee-protector.  "I forgot."

   Out of the corner of his eye, Randy watched his little brother fiddling
with the straps, longing to ask what the trouble was.  Chris had
practically slept in his skating gear at one point: when they partnered, he
and Todd could read each other so well that they almost seemed to be one
creature on four skates.  They'd rapidly learned all kinds of acrobatic
skating tricks -- to the point where Mom had refused to watch them
practising, saying they were turning her hair white.

   Now Chris was tugging at the knee of his baggy jeans, his little face
drawn and sad.

   Randy cleared his throat.  "Did I mention I packed our swimming gear?"

   Chris nodded, listlessly, still apparently absorbed in his thoughts.

   "Well, uh, I packed your short-shorts too." Randy stared out through the
windscreen, waiting for the explosion.

   Chris sighed.  "You really do want me to go skating, don't you?"

   Randy shrugged.  "You like it, you're good at it, and I want you to have
fun.  But you don't have to if you don't want."

   "Okay, okay!  I'll go skating!" Chris looked out of the window.  "What
are you doing, Randy?  This is the wrong side!"

   "This" was the wooded side of Memorial Park.  Favored by dog-walkers,
joggers and the older citizens who preferred a quiet walk to frenzied
activity and kids yelling.  Or _"The Dead Zone"_ as Chris and Todd
described it.

   "I only thought," Randy said, as he pulled them into a secluded parking
space, "that you'd want to change into your short-shorts without flashing
your butt at all your buddies.  Even if it is cute," he added with a grin.

   Chris didn't answer directly, but folded the seat down so that he could
climb into the back.  "No peeking!" he said, and Randy was pleased to see
that the cloud seemed to have lifted from over his little brother's head
somewhat.

   "Awww," he said, teasing.  "Not even a little?"



   Chris seemed in a much better mood by the time he'd gotten changed and
strapped all his gear on - well, all the gear except his "sucky" helmet,
anyway.

   "It's too hot!" he complained.  "And it scratches my arm when Toddie...
uh, we do the overhead swing," he finished, more quietly.

   Randy opened his mouth to point out that Todd wouldn't be there, and
then closed it again.  "Okay," he said.  "I'll carry it.  But you put it on
if you pair up with anyone.  If I have to call you on it, I'll put
sun-screen on you, too: right in front of your buddies."

   "You wouldn't!" Chris was open-mouthed with shock.

   Randy nodded.  "Like a pre-schooler." He left Chris contemplating the
total destruction of his street-cred, and walked round to the rear, where
he opened the tailgate and hefted out his book bag and the cooler.  He
paused, surveying the collection of sports gear Chris had thrown in the
back.  "Is there anything else you want to take?"

   "My Frisbee!" Chris said at once, and then proceeded to change his mind
about seven times.



   It actually proved much easier to study in the park than Randy had
expected.  With a lot of families being in church, there was a choice of
picnic tables to be had.  He spread out his textbooks on the one furthest
from the swings and the teeter-totters and closest to the wide smooth
cement area that the kids used for socializing and hanging out, and dumped
the coolbox beside it.

   Chris zoomed off immediately, his earlier reservations about skating
seemingly forgotten.  Randy smiled.  His little bro' looked beyond cute in
his metallic blue Spandex pants and floppy mesh _"swoosh"_ top.  The bulky
elbow and knee pads just served to emphasize how slender his arms and legs
were.  He really was an excellent skater, Randy thought: lean and hungry,
if too ambitious: his competitive streak again.  It was a real pity they
couldn't afford the ice-skating lessons he'd wanted.  Randy felt a pang of
guilt, remembering his study camp, and wondering where his folks had found
the money.  He really hoped it wasn't some dumb loan or something that
would take forever to pay back.

   The next couple hours passed pleasantly.  Randy focused on his studies,
enjoying the breeze ruffling the back of his neck, and the sun warming him.
The squeals of the pre-schoolers on the swings and play-equipment faded
into the background, and when Chris and his friends came by for sodas or
snacks or cold water he just let them root in the cold-box for themselves.
It was good to see how popular Chris was.  A lot of his pals seemed to be
boys from the _"Little Peaches"_ baseball team, and he found himself
thinking kindly of dad and his summer sports project, before remembering
what he'd learned this morning.

   "Hello there, Randy."

   Randy looked up to see the large figure of Mrs.  Sanderson, clad in a
formal, navy-and-white dress.  She was watching him with a thoughtful
expression while gently jigging the handle of a black baby buggy.

   "I saw your Mom in church today." She smiled.  "Mind if I sit?"

   "What?  No -- I mean, of course, uh, Angie." Randy hastily shoved some
of his study materials out of her way.

   Her smile broadened.  "Still half wantin' to call me 'Mrs.  Sanderson,'
huh?" She sat down and settled comfortably, still jigging the handle of the
buggy.

   Randy shrugged.  "It's what I called you every time I went round your
house with a banged knee."

   Angie gave him a direct look.  "And you know you still can, right?" She
leaned a little closer.  "Your mom and me, we talked a little after the
service.  Now, now," she patted his hand, "don't think you've gotta break
any confidences.  I just wanted to drop by and let you know we're still
here." She nodded toward the skating area.  "That and to let _the
Conjoined_ have another session."

   Randy turned and scanned the crowd of boys.  Sure enough there he was:
it was always easy to spot Todd.  It wasn't just his fiery red curls, or
his habit of wearing every neon color he could find -- he said that on him,
they were pastel -- it was the fizz and energy he continually gave off.  As
the older by just over a month he claimed the right to be the leader, and
Randy sometimes thought that the boys' entire relationship consisted of one
continual wrangle to decide if that was, in fact, the case.

   Now, Randy breathed a sigh of relief as he watched Todd, his red curls
bouncing as he skated backward, turning as Chris circled him, effortlessly
partnering each other, oblivious to everything but the conversation they
were having; their hands and arms dancing as they talked, weaving in and
out of the other skaters as though they didn't exist.

   "Well, they seem to be getting on all right," Randy said.  "For a while
I wondered if I'd wasted my money."

   Once he'd discovered that Todd was just dying to have a cellphone, the
idea of giving a conjoined present: a cell for Todd and wrapped with it, a
cell for Chris, had been irresistible.

   "Oh?" Angie ran her fingers round her collar and fanned herself.

   "Come on.  Mom mentioned it, and if she saw it you would have too."

   She raised an eyebrow.  "So you haven't banned Chris from having
sleepovers or anything?"

   "No.  We've been kinda busy getting my schedule sorted out, but that's
all.  I'll talk to him."

   Angie heaved a sigh of relief.  "Good.  Todd was kind of hurt.  And the
present?  I really wish you'd let us pay.  It is Todd going to be giving
it; well, half, after all."

   Randy shook his head.  "Nope, it's all sorted.  I get staff discount at
the store, and it's pay-as-you-go.  Don't think of it as kindness, think of
it as me planting a location bug on my little brother."

   She laughed, and Randy was just going to ask her if she was sure Todd
would like the dayglo monstrosity she'd picked out, when he became aware of
raised voices behind him.

   Todd was shouting something, his face as red as his hair, the sense lost
in the hubbub of other voices.  Randy was sure he heard his name in amongst
whatever it was Chris shouted back, just before he threw a punch.

   Randy was already on his feet, moving toward them as the boys fell into
a scuffling heap.  He elbowed members of the gathering crowd aside,
ignoring the calls of "Fight!  Fight!"

   Todd happened to be on top when he got there, and Randy grabbed his
slender arm and dragged him off, immediately having to grab a swearing,
spitting Chris, too.

   "Ass-breath!" Chris yelled, his voice shaking.

   "Go fuck yourself, Pelaski, you _faggot!"_ Todd's voice echoed loud in
the sudden silence.

   "Break it up, you two!" Randy let go Todd's arm.  "I think your mom
wants to say something, Todd."

   Todd's head swiveled round to where his mom stood at the edge of the
crowd; a small, white and navy thundercloud.  He paled, his jaw dropping.

   "And you," Randy said, addressing Chris, "can go wait by the car.  Go
on." He let go Chris's arm and headed back to the picnic table.  The baby
was crying in her buggy, which mercifully made it difficult to hear what
Angie was saying to Todd, who looked like he wanted to sink into the
ground.

   * * *

   When Randy arrived back in the parking lot, sweating under the burden of
books, cooler and sports gear, Chris was waiting, leaning against the hood
of the car, his arms folded, staring down at his bare feet.

   Randy walked straight up to him and dumped the gear on the ground.  "I'm
sorry-," he began, but Chris turned away and hurried round to the other
side of the car, apparently oblivious to the gravel and stones he was
walking on.

   Randy thumbed the key and heard the locks pop open.  "Get in," he said.
"I'll stow away the stuff." He picked up his books and the cooler, and then
the lonely little pile of skating gear Chris had heaped on the ground.

   When he got into the car, Chris was already buckled up, and staring
sightlessly out of the window.  "I just want to go home," he said, his
voice shaking.



   * * *



   The afternoon sun felt pleasantly warm on Randy's back as he strolled
along the neat, flagged path across the campus grounds.  The lecture,
_Elementary Rules of Evidence_ had been interesting, and Chris had sat
quietly beside him, writing in his English Studies workbook and copying out
his spelling practice.

   Now Chris hurried alongside him, his heavy chestnut colored hair
flapping as he skipped to keep up with Randy's longer legs.  He was wearing
his favorite red canvas-topped sneakers and skinny jeans, and his
long-sleeved sweat-shirt was so fashionably oversize it would probably have
fitted Randy.  Not that Randy would have worn a shirt with a blond boy
wielding a huge sword on the front, and _"Gate of Heaven"_ printed across
the back in crimson gothic lettering.

   "And was I good in the lesson, Randy?" Chris was asking, bright-eyed and
eager.  "I tried real hard!"

   "You know you were," Randy replied.

   Chris had been nervous and anxious to please ever since his fight with
Todd.  He'd hugged and kissed Mom, and blown off Randy's apology with a
crooked, unhappy smile.  He'd even gone out the front door and headed
toward the open garage where Dad had set up temporary camp, but Randy,
watching through the window, had seen how his little bro's feet had slowed,
and he'd stood there shifting from foot to foot, his hands clasping and
unclasping by his sides before he'd turned back.

   Now Randy squeezed his kid brother's shoulder, reassuringly.  "You were
really good, Chris.  I'm sorry we've got to go to the library, but I'll be
as quick as I can."

   "'S okay." Chris grinned up at him, wrinkling his little freckled nose.
"It's nice seeing your university, and all the people."

   Randy chuckled.  "Scoping out the guys, huh?"

   Chris looked blank, and Randy suppressed a sigh.  He still hadn't had
_"that talk"_ with his little brother.  Although Chrissie was plainly gay
-- looked to be growing up a real flamer, in fact -- he didn't seem to have
made the connection between what he and Randy did together, and all the
names Dad had yelled that night, and what Todd had said on Sunday.  To
Chrissie, queers and fags were just "bad" and it seemed that was all he
understood.  Randy was grateful for that while he hunted for his courage.

   "Never mind," Randy said.  "Look: Sophie's waving to you." They paused
while Chris waved back to her, jumping up and down and using both hands. 
His kid brother had certainly been a hit with the female students, who
_awwww-ed_ over him and gave him candy whenever they arrived at the
lectures early.

   "Sophie likes you," Chris observed as he took Randy's hand again.  "I
can tell."

   _That would certainly make Dad happy,_ Randy thought.  "Well," he said,
"seeing you with me, I guess she's thinking about kids a lot."

   "Yeah, being a mom with _you,"_ Chris replied.

   Randy took his brother's hand.  "You don't need to worry about that," he
said, smiling into Chrissie's beautiful eyes.



   * * *



   The library building was modern: tall, sleek windows in a red-brick
facade that blended with the other, older buildings on campus.  The
construction company must have had strict instructions to work around the
existing vegetation, for although the building was barely five years old,
the grass nearby was shaded by mature oaks and maples as though it had
stood there a generation.

   They climbed the steps to the big glass doors, and Randy showed his
student pass to the security guy.  Chris held his up too.  It described him
as a _"Research assistant":_ the only unqualified, unsalaried category the
university's security scheme contained.

   "See?" Chris said, pointing at Randy's photo, mounted next to his own on
the pass.  "It means I'm Randy's helper!"

   The big, buzz-cropped security guard smiled.  "I'll be sure to remember:
Mr.  Pelaski -- assistant to Mr.  Pelaski," he said, and was rewarded with
Chris's biggest, proudest grin.

   They took the elevator to the top floor, a quiet zone of muted beige
carpet and cream walls.  Tall shelves full of old legal journals filled
most of the space, and small tables were set here and there among them for
study.  Few were in use though; most students used the computers on the
other floors, but that sort of research Randy could do from home.

   Randy found seats near to the law reports, right beneath a big hanging
sign reading _"Silence."_

   "I just need to find some books and look up some case references," Randy
said, keeping his voice low.  "You sit here and finish your schoolwork,
okay?"

   "Okay Randy," Chris replied in a stage whisper probably audible over the
entire floor.

   Randy returned, laden with textbooks and case reports, to see his little
brother writing in his workbook, carefully copying out sentences in his
round, child's script.  He spread his materials out and settled down to
check the cases referred to in the lecture, obscurely pleased to have
Chris's company while he worked.

   After about half an hour, Chris patted one of the big, heavy volumes to
get his attention.

   "I need to pee," Chris whispered.

   "Okay," Randy said.  "The restroom's just around that corner, behind
those shelves.  See the sign?" He pointed.  "Do you need me to take you?"

   "'Course not!" Chris said.  He clapped a hand over his mouth, looking
embarrassed, and then continued in a whisper: "I'm not a baby, Randy!"

   "Okay, but come straight back, right?" Randy watched the boy hurry off
toward the restroom sign and then returned to his studies; flipping through
the cases, taking notes.  It seemed though, as if Chris was barely gone a
moment before he was back, tugging at Randy's sleeve.

   "Randy!" he whispered.  "Randy!  There were guys in there!  I couldn't
go!"

   "What?" Randy marked his place and gave his brother a small smile.  "Too
shy?"

   "No!" Chris leaned close to whisper in Randy's ear.  "They were doing
private baseball stuff!" He bounced on his toes, looking anxious.

   "Oh." Randy could have kicked himself for not checking out the restroom
first.  He hadn't known that this restroom was a tea-room, but it made
sense.  Quiet, out of the way: an ideal place for guys to meet up for sex.
"You still need to go, huh?  Right now, or can you wait a minute?"

   "I can wait some," Chris said, screwing up his little pixie face and
shifting from foot to foot, "but not _too_ long."

   "Okay." Randy closed the law reports.  "I'm pretty much done.  Put your
things in your bag, and we'll use the restroom next the check-out desk."
That restroom entrance was in full view of the staff, so there should be no
"unofficial" activities.

   They didn't wait for the elevator, but hurried down the fire escape. 
Chris seemed to enjoy clattering down the echoing concrete stairwell,
though once when he jumped down three steps at once, he crouched a little
and looked up at Randy with desperation in his eyes.  They both hurried
after that, and exited directly opposite the staff desk.  Chris raced
across to the restroom, and Randy smiled a weak apology to the librarians
behind the desk as he followed.  This time Randy stood sentry outside the
cubicle while his little brother peed.



   * * *



   Chris was quiet all the way home, and his brows were still creased in
thought as they walked up the front path together.

   "Randy," he said as his brother unlocked the front door, "do a lot of
guys play couch baseball together?"

   Randy felt the sweat break out on him, and cursed.  He'd known this
conversation was invevitable.  Now it was here and he was still unprepared.

   "Well," he said, "that depends what you mean by 'a lot.' Most guys
don't, but that still means there's a lot of us, all over the world."

   Chris eyed him, chin on shoulder, as they went inside.  "You mean, like
maybe a hundred?"

   "Oh, a lot more than that." Randy swallowed and tried to calm his
nerves. He was desperately afraid he was going to mess this up, and Chris
would end up hurting and confused.  "The trouble is, see, that those guys
-- and women too -- who don't play together like we do, they say it's bad.
But it isn't."

   "Course it isn't!" Chris looked surprised.  _"You_ wouldn't do anything
bad, Randy!"

   "Uh, yeah." The trust in Chrissie's gaze made him feel like a toad. 
"But that's how it is: because they don't want to do it, they say it's bad
when we do it." Randy let the front door close behind them.

   Chris threw his schoolbag on the floor.  "That's stupid!"

   "I know.  But that's how it is.  Some people _are_ stupid." Randy took a
deep breath and knelt down in front of Chris, taking his hands.  He had to
say this as clearly as possible.  "Chris, I want you to listen, and not be
upset.  When stupid people say a guy's a _'faggot'_ or any of those bad
names, they mean they think he likes playing couch baseball with other
guys."

   Chris's eyes got huge, his eyelashes dark fans against his suddenly pale
face.  "So Dad...  he knew-"

   "No." Randy squeezed his brother's hands.  "He only guessed, and not
that you'd actually done it; only that you might like to."

   "But, but--" Chris gulped.  "Then I _am_ a fag!"

   "Gay, Chrissie.  That's how we say it.  People like you -- and me. 
We're gay."

   "You're not a fag!" Chris sounded tearful.  "I'll hit anyone who says
so!"

   Randy pulled his brother close.  "Hush, Chrissie.  You remember we said
before about not doing stupid things?" He waited for the boy's tentative
nod of agreement.  "Good.  We'll just keep quiet, and not tell people,
okay?"

   "But we're bad people?" Chris pushed half out of the embrace to stare at
his brother, his eyes brimming with tears.

   "No.  We're different, that's all," Randy said.  He brushed Chris's
bangs back out of his eyes.  "It's okay," he added, "if you don't want to
play couch baseball with me any more, I'll understand."

   "A-and then we wouldn't be, you know, - gays any more?" Chris was
trembling, and he gulped again.

   "It doesn't work like that, Chrissie." Randy wondered how many people
would claim he should have answered _yes._ They would say it was out of
kindness, or because the boy was too young to understand.  But he couldn't
lie to Chris.  "It's what you _want_ to do, Chrissie, not what you're
actually doing, that matters.  Even if we never do it again, then I'll
still be gay: because I want to."

   "Oh." Chris ducked his head, then looked up again, his gaze intent.  "I
like it, too.  It feels nice and I like playing with you, Randy.  I don't
mind being a gay together with you."

   "Well, you think about it, huh?" Randy squeezed his little brother's
shoulders again; wondering if he should let go, but Chris didn't seem
uneasy.



   * * *



   "'Kay, Randy." Chris stood close against him, frowning.  "Randy, in that
story, is the stuff the Pretty Prince does with his guy -- the ass stuff --
is that faggot stuff too?"

   Randy nodded.  "Yes, that too," he said, as gently as he could.

   Chris nodded.  "I thought so.  Back at the library, the cubicle door was
open and it looked kind of like that, only standing up."

   "You saw that?" Randy felt his cock perk up at the thought of his little
brother witnessing such a hot scene.

   "Only a bit." Chris shivered, and Randy rubbed his little brother's
shoulders; smooth firm strokes until his trembling quieted again.  "I came
back right away, because you said that kind of stuff was private and I
needed to pee."

   "Sure.  You did exactly right, Chrissie.  You weren't scared, were you?"

   "Well, a bit.  It looked kind of like fighting, and the big guy was
calling the other one nasty names." Chris shivered again.  "Like in the
movies."

   "The movies?" Randy swallowed, his mouth dry.  Chris was allowed to play
games on Randy's computer while Randy was at work.  He'd done his best to
be careful with the file permissions, but Chris was no dummy.  "You mean
you saw something on my computer?"

   Chris ducked down a little, watching him nervously, but he didn't say
anything.

   Randy squeezed him.  "I know: Mom thinks that nanny software is keeping
you safe, but I know you're smart enough to get around it.  Don't worry. 
I'm not going to tell her."

   Chris watched him a moment longer, and then nodded.  "I looked," he
said, "but all I could find was girls.  It was boring so I just went and
played _Gate of Heaven_ some more.  But I didn't mean on your computer,
Randy: I meant on late TV.  I came downstairs for a glass of water and Dad
was watching.  It had all guys hitting each other real bad." He shivered
and huddled close to his big brother.  "I don't like guys hitting each
other, Randy!  Why can't they play together like us?"
"Well," Randy said, stroking Chris's hair, "there are movies like that,

but don't tell Mom and Dad."

   "Couch baseball kind of movies?" Chris's voice was muffled against his
shirt.

   "Yes, like that." Randy kissed Chris's neck, just below his ear.  "Do
you want to come upstairs and look at some guys _not_ hitting each other?"

   "With you?" Chris nodded eagerly.  "Sure, Randy!"

   * * *

   "See?" Randy said, clicking on a different folder.  "Funky, huh?"

   "Yeah!" Chrissie was leaning on the desk, his nose practically touching
the computer screen.  The position really showed off his cute little ass,
Randy thought.  "Neat!  Though I like the basketball guy best."

   "Size queen!" Randy chuckled.  Chris flashed him a puzzled look.  "It
means you like guys with big dicks," he translated.

   "Super big dicks!" Chris said, giggling as he held his hands apart as
though he was measuring.  "I mean, _wow!"_ He shifted from foot to foot,
tugging first at the hem of his overlong shirt and then at the waist of his
jeans.  "Can we look at the other stuff now?" He flushed.  "You know: like
the Pretty prince?"

   Randy laughed.  "Sure.  I don't recall it was me who kept saying 'What
about this guy?' or am I wrong?"

   Chris giggled again.  "But some of them were so funny!" He struck a
muscle pose and made his voice deep as he could.  "My thingie's _soooo_
big!"

   "Yeah, some guys do kind of have their heads up their own asses, huh?"
He saw Chris shoot a questioning glance aside at the screen, and felt
himself grinning.  "I didn't mean _really_ with their heads up their asses.
I meant you're right about some guys being silly.  But you're okay now? 
You're not scared any more?"

   Chris nodded.  "It's just guys - but they're all alone." He looked up at
his big brother and Randy could still see he was uneasy.  "But I want to
see 'em not hitting each other; you promised."

   "Sure, I promised.  But it's happy stuff, okay?  It's not for worrying
about."

   Chris wrinkled his brows.  "So what's it _for,_ then?"

   "It's for looking at while you rub yourself.  You know?  Tingles?" Randy
smiled at Chris's look of wide-eyed interest.  "Did you get any tingles,
while we were looking at the posing guys?"

   Chris ducked his head and looked up at Randy out of the corner of his
eye.  He shrugged a small shoulder, obviously nervous.

   "What's up, little bro'?" Randy stroked Chris's arm.  "C'mon, you can
tell me; or not, if it's private." He waited patiently as Chris looked back
and forth between the screen and himself.

   "It's okay?" Chris said, at last.  "Tingles and looking?  It's okay?"

   Randy nodded and stroked Chris's arm.  There was more to come, he could
tell.

   Chris gulped.  "But I don't want to do it with anyone but you, Randy!"

   "Uh-" Randy blinked, gathering his wits.  "You don't have to do
anything. I told you: if you don't want to, you don't have to -- ever." The
impatient expression on Chris's face told him that he - Randy - had
completely missed the point.

   "I know!" his little brother exclaimed.  "You keep saying, Randy!  Over
and over!  I get it!"

   Randy turned his hand palm up on his thigh.  "Well, I don't.  What's
bugging you Chrissie?"

   "You won't be mad?"

   Randy reached out and pulled his little bro' into the crook of his arm.
"I won't be mad," he said, nuzzling at Chris's hair.  "I promise."

   "I, I got a tingle, before." Chris gulped, and then twisted to look him
in the eye.  "At your school."

   "Oh, a real guy, not a picture, you mean?" He rubbed Chris's arm,
holding him close and reassuring him.  "It's okay.  You just like guys,
that's all.  You want to talk about it?  You don't have to." He grinned as
Chris frowned at him.  "Yeah, I know you get it: I'll try not to go on
about that so much.  This guy, he looked nice?"

   Chris nodded.  "He had a shiny black ponytail, and a real nice smile,
and he looked kind of like Lee?  You know: Chin-Lee?  From my class?" Randy
just nodded, not wanting to interrupt.  "Well, when he smiled at me, I
thought about, you know: cuddling with him.  Only for a moment, Randy!  I
didn't mean it!"

   Randy leaned his head against Chris's.  "It's okay to want to, Chrissy.
It's normal.  You'll have more boyfriends, but later, okay?  Just keep it
'friends-only' for now: 'til you're a bit older."

   "Why?"

   The dreaded word.  Randy paused, trying to disentangle his own pressing
need for secrecy from what _Chrissie_ needed.  His little bro' was a damn'
smart little guy, and suddenly that "when you're more mature" speech
sounded like the load of crap it was.  _Years_ didn't magically make you
"more mature;" experience: _learning stuff_ did.

   "Because it won't freak people out quite so much." He shrugged. 
"There's a lot of stupid, frightened people out there, Chrissie, but the
older you get, the less power they have over you." Chris was looking blank,
so Randy tried again.  "You remember Miss Fisherbrook?  When she wouldn't
let you change your seat, because you didn't ask first?"

   Chris nodded.  "I got a real bad headache."

   "Well, that's what I mean.  It didn't matter that you were right, and
she was wrong - you were just a 'dumb little kid', right?  She didn't
_have_ to listen to you, and she didn't."

   Chris grinned.  "She sure had to listen to Mom, though!"

   "Just about the whole rest of the school, too, I heard." Randy squeezed
his little brother's shoulders with his arm.  "But that's what I mean, see?
She didn't have power over Mom, because Mom's a grown-up, not just because
she's Mom." _And where her kids were concerned, something that could make a
pissed-off Grizzly back off and turn vegetarian._ He realized his little
brother was frowning.

   "But Miss Fisherbrook's not _bad."_ Chris looked worried.  "She isn't,
is she?"

   "No: she didn't know that car windshield was shining sun into your eyes,
because she wasn't sitting in your seat -- but I'm saying it didn't make
any difference that she was wrong.  She made a mistake not listening to
you, but I think she learned different, huh?  But until then you were stuck
with her stupid _no-talking-back_ rule.  That's what it's like for us gays,
Chrissie.  We've got people making the rules who aren't seeing the world
from where we're sitting."
He was pleased to see that Chris was now looking thoughtful, rather than
scared.  "So really," Chris said, "you're just saying 'be careful,' aren't

you?"

   "Yeah.  I guess I am." He kissed Chris's head.  "Hey, you want a proper,
lap cuddle?"

   Chris brightened.  "A couch-baseball cuddle?"

   "Only if-" Randy began, and then shut his mouth.  "See?  Even big
brothers learn stuff sometimes.  Well?" He wiggled his eyebrows, making
Chris giggle.  "I won't mind if you're pretending I look like a guy who
looks like Chin-Lee."

   "Yeah?" Chris's walked his fingers up the bulge in Randy's jeans.  "Who
am I gonna be?"

   "You, of course.  Why?"

   "Nothing." Chris reached down and began to tug his oversize shirt over
his head.

   Randy stroked his hand up over Chris's smooth chest.  "You okay,
Chrissie?" he asked as his brothers little, freckled face popped out of the
neck-hole.  "You seem kinda quiet.  Did you see Todd at school today?"

   Chris looked upset.  "Why do you want to know about Todd?"

   "It's just if you're unhappy..."

   "I don't want to talk about it, okay?" Chris smiled a rather wobbly
smile.  "Can't I just be nice to you?  Please Randy; you've been nice to
me. It's important."

   "Yeah?"

   "Yeah!" Chris said, stepping close and stroking his fingers up and down
the length of Randy's jeans-clad erection.  "You've been all big all the
time since we looked at the pictures, but you stopped to do talking - you
know?  Because _I_ wanted to."

   Randy felt like his face could barely stretch around his smile, but he
shrugged.  "Sure little guy.  Talking comes for free, but you can be nice
to me, if you want."



   Chris unbuckled his big brother's jeans, and Randy lifted his hips off
the chair as his little brother eased them down, pausing to kiss his hardon
as it popped up through the fly of his boxers.  Then he pulled those down
too.  Randy watched fascinated as Chris concentrated on unbuttoning his
shirt, the tip of his pink tongue poking between his lips the while.  He
longed to lean forward and push it back in using his own tongue, but didn't
think Chris would appreciate having his focus broken.

   Still, very soon he was naked, and Randy stretched out in the
comfortable office-style swivel chair, elbow propped on one arm rest as he
watched Chris hopping around on one foot, his hair flapping as he tugged
his own pants off.

   His brother's slender little body was as beautiful as always, slightly
sun-freckled across his shoulders, but elsewhere as pale and smooth as
milk. Randy longed to lick and kiss his brother's smooth, hairless
underarms, to tease the little pink nubbins on his chest, and stroke the
lean, dimpled cheeks of his little ass.  "Don't worry," he said.  "I won't
start the movie without you."

   Once naked, Chris backed up and perched on Randy's lap, and to the
teenager the feel of his little brother's smooth skin and his firm warmth
was more erotic than a dozen rampant gym-bunnies.  His brother's back was
too beautiful, Randy thought: his chest tapering down to a tiny, slim
waist; his narrow hips seemed hardly wider.  He was very conscious of the
firm warmth of those little boy-buns pressing down on his thighs.

   "Which movie are we going to look at?" Chris asked eagerly, scanning the
titles on screen.

   "I don't mind," Randy replied, stroking his hand down Chris's smooth
back, tracing the line of little bony nubs with his fingertips.  They were
in the "vanilla" section of the website, so there shouldn't be anything too
scary for the boy.  "You choose."

   "Uh - _'Restroom Trick'?"_ Chris said.  "Look: just like at the library
today!"

   "Okay." Randy clicked on the link and they both waited for the movie to
load.  It took a while, but he wasn't bothered.  It was pleasant to sit,
stroking Chris's silky skin and admiring the smooth globes of his small
boy-ass.

   "You got any lotion?" Chris asked, suddenly.

   "Sure.  Bottom desk drawer." Randy nudged it with his foot.

   Chris scooted back on Randy's lap so that he could lean down; pressing
his little butt against Randy's hard-on.  He wiggled against Randy as he
reached down to open the drawer.  "I can't see any lotion," he said.

   "It's more of a cream: in a gray pot," Randy told him.  "Mmm," he added
as Chris poked around in the drawer.  "That feels nice."

   Chris twisted to look over his shoulder, his dark bangs hanging down
into his eyes as usual.  "Are you thinking about my butt again, Randy?"

   Randy stroked Chris's shoulders and tickled his underarms.  "You're
sitting here wiggling it against my hard dick, what do _you_ think?"

   Chris giggled and leaned over to look in the drawer again.  This time
there was no doubt about it, he was deliberately wiggling his little ass
against Randy's throbbing cock, rubbing the hairless valley between his
boy-buns back and forth along Randy's hard length.  He seemed to be taking
a remarkably long time to search such a small drawer too.

   "The movie's ready," Randy said, reluctantly, and a moment later Chris
sat up holding a large gray plastic tub.

   "Found it!" he said, widening his beautiful green-brown eyes, his
expression artificially innocent.  He turned a little sideways, so that
both his legs dangled down to one side of Randy's lap, and leaned back,
half against Randy's chest, and half against the armrest.  "Your dick feels
real hard, Randy!" he said, pressing his hip against it.

   "And you look like you're having fun," Randy replied.  He slipped one
arm around Chris's back and with the other hand he stroked down his silky
chest to his hard boy-dick.  "But I guess tormenting your brother is kind
of traditional."

   Chris giggled, wrestling with the tub.  It was wide and squat, and his
hands were too small to grip it effectively.

   "Here," Randy said, taking the tub and pulling the lid off.  "Help
yourself.  I know it looks thick," he said, as Chris scooped out a small
finger-full of creamy white ointment, "but the grease melts with your body
heat and so it stays slippery for a long time.  It doesn't soak in like
hand-lotion." He put the tub on the desk, near to hand, and reached for the
mouse.  "You ready?"

   Chris gave him an eager, bright-eyed look, so Randy clicked "Play."



   * * *



   At once the screen was filled with the gym-toned bodies of two
thirty-something guys.  They were both supposed to be in a restroom
cubicle, but the flat lighting shouted "studio."

   "Aww!" Chris complained.  "They're both guys!"

   "What?" Randy was surprised.  "You wanted guys and girls?"

   "No, 'course not." Chris fidgeted, delightfully, his warm body rubbing
against Randy's.  "But I thought one of them was going to be a boy, like
me."

   "Oh." Randy kissed Chris's hair, inhaling the rich, sweet scent of baby
shampoo.  "This site doesn't have any movies like that.  I told you: other
people say guys and boys doing friendly stuff together is wrong.  You still
want to look?"

   Chris pouted and humped a shoulder.  "Yeah.  But it's not fair!  It's
like they're making me invisible!"

   "Yes," Randy said, surprised.  "That's exactly what they're doing.  But
at least you get to look at the guys, and I'll stroke you and make you feel
nice, huh?"

   "Okay Randy; thank you," Chris said.  "You're so nice to me." He settled
down on Randy's lap and turned his attention to the screen.

   Randy helped himself to a large finger-scoop of the lubricant cream. 
"You may be wanting to look at boys, but your little fella seems peppy
enough," he said as he stroked cream over his brother's hard little dick.

   Chris giggled and rubbed his back against Randy's chest.  "It's mostly
being with you," he said, although Randy noticed he didn't look away from
the screen.  There, a tall, muscular, crop-headed dude with an earring was
getting a blowjob from a similarly muscular Latin-looking guy with tattoos.

   "Nice big dick," Randy commented.  "Would you like to suck him off,
Chris?"

   Chris looked up at him, and his cheeks colored.  "Well," he said,
hesitantly.  "Maybe."

   Randy nuzzled his ear.  "It's okay.  I'm not jealous -- and he's just a
guy on the screen, anyway."

   "It is a nice, big dick," Chris said, with longing in his voice, "like
yours.  But I don't know; they haven't done any cuddling or anything." He
sighed happily and wriggled in Randy's arms.  "It's why I like being with
you, Randy.  You always stroke me and make me feel special." He looked down
at where Randy was stroking his dicklet.

   "Well, you _are_ special," Randy said, stroking Chris's side with one
hand and his slick little boydick with the other.  "Look, I think they're
going to start now."

   Sure enough, the scene was following the standard formula: now that both
models had sucked each other, the Latino guy put his hands against the
cubicle partition and was sticking his round, muscular ass out.

   "Look!" Chris said, excited.  "He's rubbing that guy's butt!" On the
screen, earring-guy growled, demanding to know if the other guy "wanted it
hard."

   Randy felt Chris stiffen on his lap.

   "That's what the big guy was saying in the restroom!" Chris said.  "Kind
of angry, like that." He sounded alarmed.

   "Oh," Randy said, now stroking the silky perimeter of Chris's little
hole.  "I suppose he'd seen this movie, or one like it.  A lot of guys say
things like that." He noticed that Chris had stopped stroking himself. 
"Are you okay, little dude?  It's only play-acting.  We can pick another
movie if you don't like it."

   Chris looked up at him, and then back at the screen, his face unhappy.

   "Okay," Randy said.  "Bad choice." He wiped his finger on Chris's ass;
reached for the mouse and closed the window onscreen.  "It's play-acting,"
he repeated, patting his little brother's butt.  "It's not for real."

   Chris shook his head.  "No," he said.  "It was different, in the
restroom.  The other guy looked kind of pretty, but the big guy sounded
real mean, like he hated him."

   Randy felt Chris shift unhappily, so he stopped playing with his little
brother's ass and gently stroked his smooth chest and arms.  "It's okay,"
he said, leaning down to murmur in the boy's ear.  "I'm sorry you were
scared, Chrissie.  You want to watch another movie?  Or we can mess about,
you and me."

   "You and me," Chris said.  "I don't want to look at guys any more.  What
were you doing with my butt?"

   "Playing with it.  Why, didn't you like it?"

   "It's okay, I guess, but I was supposed to be being nice to _you,_
Randy, remember?" He hesitated.  "Randy," he said.  "Who gives you
tingles?"

   Randy looked at him, surprised.  "You do, of course."

   "No, I mean when you're looking around," Chris said.  "I know it's boys,
but is it short boys, or lanky kind of boys, or nice butts, or, or red
hair, or..." he trailed off, looking anxious.

   Randy could see Chris was serious, and wondered what was bugging him. 
"Well, uh, it depends." He flashed Chris a wide smile.  "All kinds of
things.  I mean, you know I like a nice butt, so all you skater boys better
watch out.  And yeah, I like lean boys, like you -- you're pretty sexy, you
know?  And I like your hair, the way it kind of flops-" he caught Chris's
impatient look and laughed.  "Yeah, sorry, I know: pretty boys that aren't
you--"

   "You like my hair?" Chris still looked anxious.  "Would you like me more
if it was prettier?  A different color maybe?"

   "Oh no!" Randy laughed.  "You're not getting me into that!  One
red-head's enough!  You know what Mom said."

   "I didn't say red!  Why did you think I meant red?" Chris was visibly
upset, tears brimming his eyes.

   "Hey, calm down, little dude!  I didn't say anything.  I like your hair
just fine, honest." Randy hugged Chris tight, concerned - it really looked
like Chris was about to cry.  "Tell you a secret," he said.  "All the time
I was at study camp, I was scared you were gonna get your hair cut." He
brushed Chris's bangs back out of his eyes.  "If you had, I wouldn't have
said, but I sure would have missed playing peek-a-boo with those pretty
eyes of yours." He leaned down and kissed Chris's soft lips.

   His little brother opened his mouth, and Randy licked at his lips,
kissing gently until he felt Chris's tongue tease against his own,
inviting. He held Chris close, focusing on making him feel loved and
protected as he played tongue games, nibbling and teasing until he felt his
baby brother relax.

   "You really like my bangs?" Chris said, when they stopped for air. 
"Really truly?"

   "Oh yeah," Randy said.  "Really truly.  You know, there are a whole lot
of things I like about you, little dude, but your bangs are just - _it,_
for me."

   "Better than my ass?" Chris said, and Randy was pleased to see a little
grin in there, somewhere.

   "Well, I don't know," Randy said, teasing.  "That's a really nice little
peach of an ass you got there.  Are you asking me to disrespect your ass?"
He stroked his hand down and gave one smooth cheek a little squeeze.

   Chris giggled.  "You be nice to my ass."

   "I will," Randy promised.  "I'll kiss your ass."

   "Yeah!" Chris laughed outright.  "Yeah: _kiss my ass!"_

   "Would you like me to?" Randy asked.  "I will, you know."

   "I didn't mean it, Randy!" Chris said, looking up at his big brother,
anxious again.  "Not mean like that, I didn't!"

   "I know, Chrissie," Randy said, cuddling the boy's firm warmth.  "You're
not mean like that.  Anyway, I meant couch-baseball style of kissing."

   "On my _ass?"_ Chris looked totally dumbfounded.  He looked down between
his legs and then up again, visibly working out the implications.  "Really,
on my actual, you know...  _uhu?"_ He blushed scarlet.

   "Yeah," Randy said, softly.  "And then maybe you'll believe I like _all_
of you, huh?  It's okay," he added.  "It's nice for me -- and it feels
really nice for you, too.  Want to try it?"



   * * *



   Chris looked so sexy, sprawled in the chair.  Randy had put a pillow
against the back, so that his little brother could sit half-way to the
front and still lean back comfortably, his legs spread and hooked over the
armrests.  The double-dip curve of that sweet little pale ass was giving
Randy such a case of the aching hards that he was seriously considering a
little hand-relief before they started.  Only the fact that he knew Chris
would insist on administering it prevented: he really wanted to kiss that
pretty little heiney hello as soon as he possibly could.

   Chris looked curious and excited - a never fail combination, although
his little bro' was still frankly dubious about how Randy could want to do
anything so "oogy." Once it had dawned on Randy that Chris was worried
about "turn-about", however, things went just fine.  He could have kicked
himself for being so dumb: forgetting how fair-minded and, well,
_honorable_ his little brother was.  But once reassured that he, Chris,
didn't have to "kiss ass" in any sense whatsoever, and yes, he promised he
could do something else nice for Randy later so that it would be "fair,"
Chris relaxed and his natural boyish curiosity came to the fore.

   "It's only my ass, Randy," Chris said, wrinkling his nose.  "How can it
feel nice?"

   "It's made that way, like your dickie," Randy said.  He hesitated.  He'd
promised to show Chris "guys being nice to each other," and so far, he'd
failed.  It was important: he didn't want Chris going around scared of guys
or something.  He drew a deep breath, deciding to risk it.

   "I, uh, I have some other movies, and there's one -- it's all kissing
and nice, I promise," Randy said.  "Honestly, Chris, there's no shouting or
anything, it's really friendly.  Do you, uh, want to watch while I kiss
ass?" He said the last two words teasingly, confident Chris would now pick
up on the joke.

   "Yeah?  You really think I'll like it?" When Randy nodded, Chris
frowned. "So why didn't you show me before?"

   "Because these movies are real secret, Chris.  I could get in a lot of
trouble.  It's not I don't trust you," he continued, as Chris drew breath
to speak, "-it's only I didn't want to worry you, okay?"

   Chris looked at him a moment and then grinned.  "Okay Randy; I'll look,
if you say it's nice."

   "Okay." Randy went over to his computer and clicked down a few folders,
finally selecting _"BandR.avi"._ "It's got kind of a long start before any
sexy stuff," he said.  "Kind of like a home movie." He returned and knelt
down in front of the chair.  "What do you think?"

   On the screen, the camera was panning around kids of all ages splashing
in a public pool.

   "It's okay." Chris sounded distinctly unimpressed, and Randy grinned.

   "Watch out for the boy in the yellow swimming hat.  That's his boyfriend
-- see?"

   Chris sat up.  "He's not a boy, he's older than me!  He must be
fifteen-sixteen!" He frowned at Randy.  "You like him?"

   Randy shrugged, uncomfortable.  "Yeah.  He's got a real nice smile,
you'll see.  But look: see the hairstyles?  This movie is _waaay_ old,
Chrissie.  That kid's probably older than me, really.  So, you cool?" He
squeezed Chris's knee.  "Look, is that what this has all been about?  I'm
not going to dump you for some stranger, okay?"

   Chris still looked unconvinced, so Randy leaned in and kissed the smooth
skin of his little brother's knee.  "Remember?" he said.  "That first time,
on the couch?  Even your _knees_ are cute, to me."

   Chris's expression softened.  "Yeah," he said.  "I'm sorry, Randy."

   "'S okay," Randy said, kissing a little further up Chris's leg.  "Now
you just relax and have fun, huh?" From the sounds on the screen, he knew
it was the birthday party scene: often too dark, and the colors all wrong
from the indoor lighting.  Briefly, he wondered if Chris and Todd would
make up in time for Todd's party, and then dismissed the thought in favor
of more pressing matters.

   He kissed along his brother's silky thigh, enjoying the feeling of
smooth, cool flesh beneath his lips, breathing deep and enjoying the milky,
slightly spicy tang that was his little brother's own scent.  It never
failed to make him feel the particular way he did around Chris: horny as
hell, but fiercely protective too, and with a deep reserve of strength that
he didn't feel anywhere else.

   The flat, chemical smell of the lubricant drowned out Chris's sexy scent
as Randy kissed further down his brother's thigh, but he didn't care; the
absolute necessity of Chris's comfort swept his own preferences aside. 
Besides, the joy of being able to tongue first one of his brother's little
nuggets and then the other was nearly as exciting as hearing his giggle.

   He felt Chris's stiffie harden further as he licked it, and wished he
could linger for a bj, but that lovely little butt was calling him.  He
stroked along Chris's legs with both hands, finger-tickling and making him
giggle, until he was cupping both cheeks of those sexy little boy-globes in
the palms of his hands.  He kissed Chris's balls again, gently massaging
his brother's still-slick ring with one thumb, and then licked the firm
triangular bulge below: the pathway pointing to his brother's most private
place.

   Chris cooed as Randy licked at the tight-folded flesh of his little
pucker.  Gently, Randy kneaded his brother's firm little buns, spreading
them a little further apart, although because Chris's little ass was so
lean, it wasn't really necessary; it was simply he loved the shape and feel
of Chris's cute little butt.  In the background he could hear the off-key
chorus of "Happy Birthday to _youuuuu..."_ and smiled to himself.  The
movie was just about to get hot.

   "Oh!"

   Randy felt his brother's interest and smiled.  That first shot of the
guy in the mirror: built!  And for his size-queen little bro...

   "Oooh!"

   "You like, huh?" Randy asked, but then, smiling to himself, went right
back to licking Chris's little hole; enjoying the sound and feel of his
giggle.  He spread his thumbs and tongued deeper into Chris's ring, knowing
his brother would be seeing the kneeling teen's neat ass shot; hearing and
feeling Chris moan as he tongue-massaged his tight, rubbery little ring.

   Randy pushed his tongue deeper, tasting his brother's salty muskiness;
wanting Chris to feel pleasure now, for his favorite shot: the slow pan up
the teen's sexy body, and the first proper face shot.  He just loved the
way the boy flicked his long, curly red hair back from his face; it was
such a natural gesture, and reminded him achingly of Chris: the exact, same
gesture that showed off his pretty neck.

   "What?" Randy mumbled, then withdrew his tongue a moment.  "Yeah, it's
the angle: makes it look odd." He tongued again at Chris's entrance,
already regretting the pause: his little bro' had tensed up.  Randy pressed
in close again, tonguing that delicious little hole, massaging and pushing
his tongue deep into that firm-warm pocket.  He was rewarded with another,
longer moan and smiled.  Hearing his name groaned that way sent electric
jolts straight down to his own aching balls.

   His jaw muscles were tiring, so Randy carefully began massaging Chris's
ass with his forefinger, slipping it inside the boy's slick warmth as he
withdrew his tongue.  Chris was still saying something felt "odd," but he
evidently wasn't complaining.  Randy pushed his finger a little further in,
guessing the screen was showing that long, first penetration.  He'd kind of
lost track.

   Chris's relaxed little ass accepted his finger easily, so Randy turned
his hand, stroking the warm, silky insides of his brother's little butt,
feeling for his joy-spot.

   "Oooh!" Chris tensed as his finger found a little bulge.  "Tingles,
Randy!"

   "You okay?  Say if it gets too much, okay?" Randy took Chris's moan as
assent, and kissed his balls as he began gently moving his slick finger in
and out of his brother's slick slippery-gripping warmth.  He stroked his
free hand up over Chris's thigh and then lightly ran his fingertip down his
brother's twitching stiffie, letting him know his dickie was now going to
get some attention too.

   He licked along Chrissie's stiff length, slipping a second finger inside
the boy's ass as he did so.  Chris's low, guttural moan told him how much
he liked it.  Onscreen, they must be into the steady fucking now.  He
recognized the moans and soft endearments, and he lifted Chris's dick up so
that he could take it in his mouth, running his lips up and down his boy's
hard stalk.

   Chris began humping up into his mouth -- or maybe humping down onto his
fingers -- getting more excited as Randy sucked him.  Randy could hear his
light voice getting higher, breathier; he began to fidget, squeaking his
excitement as Randy tongued his dick and pushed his fingers deeper, and
then he was shuddering.  His muscles clamped down tight around Randy's
slick fingers, and his hard little boy-dick twitched and throbbed in
Randy's mouth.

   Chris pushed up hard against Randy's lips, squealing and gasping,
arching his back as his orgasm hit.  Randy held him tight, concerned he
might twist off the seat, but otherwise deeply content: soaked with
happiness, knowing the pleasure he'd given.  He waited until Chris's
breathing had returned somewhat to normal, and then let his still-hard
dicklet slip out of his mouth.  He straightened up, only now conscious of
aches in his neck and back.

   "I think somebody liked that," he said, smiling at the glaze-eyed look
that was evidently all Chris could muster by way of a reply.  He kept his
slick fingers inside Chris's ass as much to make sure the boy didn't slip
off the seat as for the companionable, slick warmth.

   He waited awhile, knowing without looking that the camera had swung
away, penduluming unfocused and catching only the occaisional whispered
gasp and endearment before cutting off.

   "Still think your ass is a no-fun zone?" he asked, teasing, once Chris
had recovered a little.

   "Nuh-uh!" Chris's smile still gave him a dazed look.  "Oh, Randy!  That
was so cool!"

   Randy smiled, just enjoying the moment.  Behind them, the movie looped,
and the off-key strains of "Happy Birthday" sounded again.

   "You think he liked his present?" Randy laughed as he saw Chris make the
connection.

   "Yeah!" Chris exclaimed, bouncing on the seat.  He groaned as his
actions made Randy's fingers push deep inside him.  He looked at the
screen, and then at Randy, looking pointedly at his big brother's big, hard
cock.

   "Randy," he said, "will you fuck me?  Please?"

   "What?" Randy leaned back, startled.  "No, Chris -- that's a bad idea.
That guy's a teenager: much older than you.  He's bigger than you, inside."

   "But his guy, he's uh, I mean..." Chris swallowed, blushing fire-engine
red.  "He's bigger than you too, Randy!" He pushed on as Randy opened his
mouth to argue.  "You promised, Randy!  You said I could do something nice
for you, and you _promised!"_

   Randy shut his mouth.  His brother did have a point, size-wise.  The guy
in the movie was way above his own, comfortably average self.  More to the
point though, this was important to Chris, who put great emphasis on "being
fair." He recalled how hugely upset Chris had been when he first learned
Randy wanted to be a lawyer.  _"Those guys are cheaters, Randy!"_ he'd
said. _"I don't want you to be a cheater!"_ It had taken a lot of careful
explaining, and showing him how complicated "being fair" was in the real
world, before his little bro' was satisfied.

   "Okay," Randy said.  "But--" he found his lips twitching as Chris rolled
his eyes.  "Yeah, you totally know I'm gonna say we stop if you say stop.
But also, we're not gonna do it the way in the movie." He held up his hand
as Chris opened his mouth to protest.  "It's better if I sit in the chair,
and you sit on my dick.  I'm not doing it any other way for your first time
so..."

   "Like the Pretty Prince?" Chris said at once, excited.  "On the throne?
Yeah!" He slid forward off the seat, dislodging Randy's fingers from his
ass, and wrapped both arms tight around his brother's neck, peppering his
cheek with kisses.

   h2.oOo



   It surprised Randy that Chris not only wanted to keep the movie running,
but wanted to face the screen rather than himself, too.

   He told himself it was stupid to be jealous of a goddamn' movie, and
anyway, having Chris's perfect little peach-ass on view was no hardship at
all.

   That ass was slick and shiny now, spread for his enjoyment.  Chris was
kneeling astride him, bending forward and balancing himself by gripping
tight onto the plastic armrests of the office chair; moaning as Randy
worked his middle and ring finger in and out of his tight hole.

   "I'm gonna put another finger in," Randy said.  "You ready?" His little
brother grunted assent, and Randy carefully worked his index finger in too.
"How's that?" he asked, admiring the way Chrissie's red-rimmed little hole
looked.

   "Kinda -- okay," Chris gasped, and Randy put his hand on Chris's hip to
steady him as he worked his fingers in and out, feeling the ring of muscles
relax.  i "I think you're ready," Randy said, feeling the excitement pulse
through his own body, concentrating in his aching hard cock.  He slipped
his fingers out, struck again by how beautiful his brother was.

   But he didn't have time for sightseeing - the sight of Chris's
slowly-closing little ring reminded him to hurry before those muscles
tightened up again.

   Randy took hold of his cock in one hand and slid his other hand around
to rest on the boy's tummy.  "Okay, Chrissie," he said, "start sitting
down."

   As Chris began to sit, Randy aimed his big, hard cock at that glistening
little red flesh donut.  His cock throbbing in his hand, Randy lodged the
broad, red head between the boy's asscheeks.  He could feel the tip was
just touching Chrissie's slick, rubbery ring, and despite all the careful
stretching that Randy had done, there was no avoiding the fact that his
cock was much fatter than his two fingers.  It would still have to stretch
his brother's little ring quite a bit.

   Chris squeaked at the first contact.  "I can feel you, Randy!" he said.
"You ready?"

   "Sure I'm ready," Randy said.  "Don't you worry about me.  Just you sit
down, now.  Really slow, okay?" His cock ached, it was so hard.

   "Okay." Chris squatted down.

   Randy felt his brother's little boy-hole spread open slightly, squashing
the tip of his cock.

   Gingerly, Chris pushed down a little more.  "I can feel it!" he said. 
"Can you see it going in?"

   "Yes, you're doing fine.  A bit more now?"

   Excited, Chris sat down more firmly.  This time Randy felt his cock-head
push half way into that tight little boy-ring.  He could feel that little
circle of muscle was still tense, and guessed that stretching it must have
hurt, because Chris halted, gasping.

   "You okay?  Don't rush it." He stroked Chris's side, admiring the sight
of his cockhead lodged between those small, white cheeks and wondering if
Chris really would go for it, or back off.

   "Happy Birthday" sounded again, and Randy saw Chris concentrate,
hunching his shoulders as though deciding to do it _now._ He rested his
hands on Chris's hips to encourage and reassure him.

   Chris sat, gasping aloud.  He really did go for it this time.  Randy
felt the boy's ring, now tightened with worry, squeeze down over the head
of his cock.

   _"Ow!"_ for a moment it seemed Chris would have straightened up again,
and Randy relaxed his grasp the boy's hips, but then he heard Chris take
another deep breath and force himself down, whimpering.

   Randy felt his cock squeeze up into incredible warmth and tightness. 
Then, as Chris grunted, he felt his cock-head pop inside the boy's ring,
and his cute little brother's asshole slid further down his shaft, spasming
around it and gripping tight.

   "Ow!" Chris said.  _"Ow-ow-ow!_ Your cock's really hard!  It hurts,
Randy!"

   "Just sit still," Randy said.  "You're squeezing with your ass; that's
why it hurts." He could feel Chris's ring gripping tight: hard muscle
around his hard cock.  "Just stay like you are, okay?  You've done the
tricky bit: you've got the big head of my cock up inside you now.  It's all
easier from now on."

   "Yeah?" Chris was trembling, but Randy could feel the spastic grip of
the boy's asshole slackening around his cock as the muscle tired.

   "Yeah.  You're doing really good, Chrissie."

   "Is there a lot more to go?" Chris sounded frightened.  "Only it's all
making my asshole hurt.  I don't want to do it if there's lots."

   "It's okay," Randy said, resisting the urge to push more cock up between
those pale globes.  "You only do as much as you want, see?  The only thing
is, if you want to do less right now, it means you're gonna have to pop
that big cockhead out through your ass muscle again.  It's okay, it's
okay," Randy said as he felt the first clench of fear.  "Only if you want
to."

   "Yes, Randy." Chris said, trembling.  "I, I think I'm going to go down a
bit more."

   He sat down again, giving a little gasp, and Randy saw nearly a thumb's
length of his thick, glistening cock slide inside the straining red ring of
his little brother's tight ass.

   Randy groaned.  "Ohh, Chrissie, that feels just - ahhh!"

   "Ahh!" Chris gasped, and then pushed down again.  "I feel all full!" he
whimpered.  "Is there more; a lot?"

   "About half," said Randy, shading the truth a little.  "But how about if
I do a bit?"

   "Not pushing!" Chris said anxiously.  "Don't push your dick up me!"

   "Okay, I won't," Randy said.  "How about you just go up and down on my
dick for a little while?  Just while you get used to the feeling.  I'll
help hold you up," he said, sliding his hands down to cup those lovely
cheeks again.

   Chris laughed, shakily.  "You want to feel my ass again, Randy!  Okay,
I'll go up and down on your dick for a little while."

   "That's good!" Randy said, stroking him.

   Chris knelt up slightly, gasping, and the sight and feel of the ridges
of his hard, glistening cock easing out of the boy's stretched ring drove
all other thoughts from Randy's mind.  The boy's hot insides teased his
hard flesh as his cock slid past them, and he felt Chris's tight boy-ring
move up, up along the hard stalk of his cock, almost to the head.  Then the
boy gasped and began to sit down again.  Randy heard him whimper softly,
although this time Randy didn't think Chrissie's ring was squeezing him
quite so tightly.  Down and down Chris sank, his little ass gripping and
twitching around Randy's cock, slower and slower until he gasped and began
to move upward again.

   "Ahhh!" Randy gasped, then swallowed, enjoying the wet heat of Chris's
ass moving up and down his cock, his ring squeezing on occasion, his silky
insides teasing the sensitive head.  "Ohhh, you're so lovely, he groaned.
"You're all soft, and hot inside, and you're squeezing my cock - ohhh!" He
stroked his hands over Chris's body, enjoying the boy's closeness.

   "Is it really good, Randy?" Chris asked, worry plain in his voice.  "I'm
doing it right?  Only my ass keeps squeezing!"

   "You're doing it perfect!" Randy gasped.  "Just keep moving your hot
little ass!  That's it!  Up and down!  Ride my cock like a pony!"

   "Uh!  Like this?  You want me to do more?" Chris asked, trying to bob up
and down on his brother's thick cock.

   Randy leaned back a little and looked.  Those small white cheeks were
moving a lot further down, closer to his groin.  "Actually, you _are_ doing
more.  Each time, you've gone down a little more than you've gone up, I
guess."

   "Neat!" Chris looked around, trying to peer over his shoulder.  "I'm
doing a lot?  I wish I could _see,_ Randy!  Is there lots more of your dick
to go in me?"

   "No, you're doing over half, easy." Randy stroked Chris's assring,
feeling where his hard cock pushed up into the boy, stretching him open.

   "That's what you said last time!  I wish I could do all of your cock,"
Chris said, sounding frustrated.  "But I can feel your dick-head kind of
bumping against something inside me.  If I try to push down more, it
hurts." He continued moving up and down, sliding more than a finger's
length of Randy's cock in and out of himself each time.

   "You're doing good," Randy said.  "Your ass is really learning this
fucking thing fast.  Have you tried the restroom trick?"

   Chris paused and looked over his shoulder.  "No, what's that?"

   "You make like you're going to take a dump," Randy said.

   "Ran- _dee!_ Stop teasing!" Chris deliberately squeezed with his ass and
moved slowly up and down again.

   Randy groaned at the feeling of hot interior flesh sliding past his
sensitive cock-head.  "I'm not teasing!" He gasped.  "It's like saying
'Open Sesame' to your ass."

   Chris paused again.  "I'm not gonna poop on you?" He sounded worried. 
"It's for real?"

   "It's for real," Randy said, laughing.  "Right now your ass only knows
how to squeeze and poop, see?  It's just learning how to get fucked.  So
you gotta say it how it understands, okay?  And as for actually pooping,
well..." he stroked the boy's asscheeks, admiring how his fat cock was
spreading them apart, and shifted slightly on the seat, very gently pushing
his cock in and out of the boy's tight, gripping asshole.  "You've got
something real big and hard filling up your little backdoor right now, so
somehow I don't think any pooping's gonna happen."

   Chris laughed.  "Yeah, my heiney does feel real stuffed up.  Mmmm, Randy
- I can feel your hard cock going in and out.  Is this fucking?  Are you
really fucking me now?"

   "I sure am!" Randy said.  "It's really nice for me; how about you?"

   "It's okay, I guess," Chris said.  "If it was like, I dunno, a big stick
or something I wouldn't like it.  But 'cos I know it's you, Randy, all big
and hard up inside me: that's what makes it cool."

   Randy leaned forward and kissed Chris's shoulder.  "I'm glad it's cool
with you," he said, "because it's really hot for me: especially my dick. 
Can you really feel it up inside you?"

   "Mmmm, yeah!" Chris said, adding a small up and down motion of his own.
"It's like, if I close my eyes I kind of see it!  It's neat!" He moved up
and down a little more, and Randy felt the little boy's ass relax around
his cock a bit more.

   "Mmmm, that's better, isn't it?" Randy said.  The little tyke was riding
maybe three-fourths of his cock like a rodeo pony.

   "Uh!" Chris said.  "I still can't get all the way down.  Okay, I'm gonna
try this pooping thing."

   "Okay, but you've got to really _do_ it, Chrissie; not just say to
yourself.  You've got to imagine yourself right in the can, and do it for
real."

   "I get it!" Chris said, nodding.  "It's like Coach Pedersen saying about
hitting the ball _in your head!"_

   He resumed moving his tight, slippery little ass up and down on Randy's
cock, moving right up until only the tip was still inside him, and then
down as far as he could go.

   It was about the third or fourth time Chris impaled his pale little ass
on his big brother's thick, throbbing cock that Randy felt the change. 
Chris grunted, and Randy felt a twitch of the boy's little ass-ring and a
shifting ripple of muscle movement inside his sticky ass.  Then Chris
groaned aloud as he was sliding down the last thumb-length or so of Randy's
cock.

   "Mmmm!  That's great!  I knew you could!" Randy kissed his brother's
neck and slipped his arms around him.  "And now I can hold you," he added.
"With all of my cock right up your little ass!" He nuzzled the boy's neck,
kissing up and down firm shoulder muscles.  "Can you feel me right up
inside you?" he murmured into Chris's ear.  "Your brother's big cock
stretching you inside your butt?"

   "Mmmmm," Chris said.  "All big and hard, right up inside me.  I feel all
full.  Yeahhhh." Chris sighed, wiggling his ass.  "I can feel your hair
against my butt!" he said, and Randy felt a ripple of movement, all along
his cock.

   "Ohhh," Randy said.  "That was nice, can you do that again?" He felt so
horny, excited in the knowledge that his cock was now pushed deep into his
little brother's guts, as far up inside his ass as he could possibly go. 
He stroked Chrissy's chest and nuzzled deeper against his neck, kissing his
throat; loving the feel of the boy's firm, warm body against him.  Just the
idea of his brother's warm gut muscles squeezing the whole length of his
cock the way they were now made him feel incredibly horny.

   "I don't know, Randy," Chris said.  "I just kind of thought about your
dick, all nice and big and -- _oooh!"_ He wriggled on Randy's lap, making
some of his big brother's cock slide in and out of his ring.  "Oooh!" he
said.  "Now I know why the Pretty Prince liked it four times a day!"

   "Tingles, huh?  Want me to fuck you now?" Randy asked, "because a couple
more wriggles like that, and it's going to be game over, all up your ass."

   "Mmmm!" Chris murmured, wriggling.  "Your stuff, shooting all up inside
me, all hot, and sticky!"

   "Yeah!" Randy said, humping up into that tight warmth, enjoying the feel
of the boy's firm asscheeks pressing against his thighs.  "You want my cum
up your ass, little Chrissie?"

   "Oooh!" Chris said.  "I can feel your cock, all big, right up inside me
as it's going in and out!  Do it more, Randy!"

   "Uh!" Randy surrendered himself to animal need as he humped upwards into
his brother's blood-hot, tight, slick ass.  Chrissie's insides teased him
unbearably as he pulled back and thrust in again, excited by Chris's
breathy little gasps, pushing against the armrests and lifting himself up
so that he could better fuck his little brother's adorably tight, hot
little ass.

   "Mh!" he grunted, in time with his thrusts: "Mh!  Mh!  Mh!" It wouldn't
be much longer now, god!  He needed to cum.  He thrust harder, humping
against Chris's cute little tailbone, his gaze fixed on the sight of his
brother's hole stretched around his thick, thrusting cock and his dark
pubes brushing those pale, round little cheeks.

   "Uh!" Randy shuddered, feeling his legs tense.  His balls hurt:
everything tensed, and his cock jerked as he jetted the first shot into
that slick warmth.  He managed to wrap an arm around Chris's waist,
grinding deep as he came again; a blissful, pumping release deep inside his
brother's bowels as he sank down, holding Chris tightly to him, feeling his
boy-ring tight-clamped around the base of his throbbing cock as it pulsed
again and again.

   He collapsed, gasping against the seat cushion, cradling Chris's
sweat-slick boy body against his own.  He forced his panting breath to slow
long enough to kiss beneath his brother's little ear, and then settled for
stroking his body.  "Thank you," he gasped.  _"Fuck,_ Chrissie!  you-hh,
you're awesome!"

   h2.oOo

   Randy lay, spreadeagled in the chair, contented, feeling the weight of
Chris on top of him, and wondering if he was ever going to get this stupid
smile off of his face.  "Have I mentioned how hot you are, little dude?"

   Chris sighed, echoing his content.  "About a million times, maybe." He
moved, restless.

   "Want me to take my dick out?" Randy asked.

   "Well, no -- 'cept I do want a shower," Chris said, wriggling.

   "Yeah, we are kind of ripe, I guess."

   "Stinky," Chris agreed.  "So I'm gonna get off, okay?"

   "Sure.  I'll come join you in the shower, yeah?"

   Chris gave him a bright-eyed look, and Randy groaned.  "I only meant we
better hustle: chores and homework before Mom gets home."

   Randy did momentarily entertain carnal thoughts as Chris slid off his
half-hard cock, but without the constriction of the boy's tight ring, it
shrank, and he acknowledged the deep weariness he felt.

   Chris, by contrast, seemed positively hyped.  He strutted across to the
computer and shut down the movie with such an air of triumph that Randy
found himself struggling not to laugh out loud.

   "Pretty pleased with yourself, huh?" he said, and then did laugh as
Chris did a little butt-shaking victory dance before clapping one hand to
his butt and exiting bathroom-wards at high speed.