The Game: First Down (2 page)

He cast a furtive glance at Paul beside him.
If he had noticed, he wasn’t saying anything. His eyes were fixated
on the screen, watching those scrumptious sluts writhing around
beneath their shimmying pom-poms. Vince lowered his gaze, curious
to see if Paul was getting hard, too. He wasn’t.

“What’s a matter?” Vince slurred, his
inebriation getting the best of him. “You don’t like girls?”

Paul looked at him, his eyes wide.
“W-what?”

“I knew it!” Vince declared, slamming his
beer down on the coffee table like a gavel. “That’s why you don’t
like talkin’ about girls back home – you never had any!”

“That’s – that’s not true,” Paul stammered,
his face reddening again. “I just… they’re not my type, is
all.”

“Not your type?!” Vince gestured to the
screen. “Look at ‘em! They don’t make ‘em much hotter than that!”
He grabbed his dick through his pants, making it twitch visibly.
“Or is
this
your type?” he asked, a little chill running
down his spine. What the hell was he doing?

Paul opened his mouth to answer, but no words
came out. His gaze caught on Vince’s pulsating cock, lingering.
Then he met his eyes again. “It’s jus’… I usually have to touch it,
is all. Y’know, t’get it goin’.”

Vince looked back to the screen, to the girls
dancing across it. He had the sneaking suspicion that Paul was
lying to him, and after every other humiliation he had endured
today, being lied to wasn’t one he was willing to add to the list.
He picked up his beer from the coffee table and took a long swig,
wiped the excess from his stubble, and then looked into Paul’s
eyes.

“Then touch it,” he said, his voice almost a
growl. “Show me.”

“You can’t be serious!”

“Oh, I’m serious.” Vince wet his dry lips
with his tongue, watching Paul squirm uncomfortably under his
scrutiny. “Take it out and show me how much you like these ladies,
or I’m gonna tell all the boys at the site that Paul North is a
fuckin’ faggot.”

Paul let out a little sound, something
between a squeak and a hiss, like tires screeching on hot asphalt
during a hard brake. He looked away, staring at the ground for a
moment and tapping his index finger against the neck of his beer
bottle. He took a drink, swallowed hard, and then slowly
nodded.

“All right,” he said. “I’ll do it.”

“Yeah?” Vince asked, having second thoughts,
but they seemed so far removed, lost in the fog of… what was it now
– five, six beers? “Well – good.” He took another draught of his
liquid courage and let it filter into his throat through his teeth,
gulping it down hard. “Go on, then. Show me you’re a real man.”

Paul set is beer down on the coffee table and
stood up. He was nearly Vince’s height, but not quite, and not as
heavily built. At first, he thought Paul might be sizing him up.
Instead, Paul unbuttoned his jeans and began to unzip them. He
wasn’t wearing any underwear.

Vince studied him briefly. Paul was
golden-haired and sapphire-eyed, tan, and had a swimmer’s body;
lean, sleek muscle that any woman would find attractive. Why was he
single? Had he been right? Was Paul
really
gay?

As if in defiance of this, Paul pulled his
dick carefully past the teeth of his zipper. It was only half-hard,
but as he turned his head to watch the cheerleaders on screen, it
began to swell in his hand. He lowered his grip to the base, giving
it a series of short, slow strokes. A little bead of precum
glistened at his tip.
Goddamn,
Vince thought.
He must
really be a gusher.

A few moments later, Paul’s creamy white cock
was fully erect, and his strokes were becoming longer and faster.
Its head was turning red, precum now freely bubbling from it,
little drops that dripped onto his fingers as he jerked himself in
front of Vince. His face began to flush and his breath began to
quicken, and Vince saw him open his stance a little, balls
beginning to swing with the force of his stroking. He bit his lip.
Vince grew worried that he might cum all over his carpet.

“All right, all right,” he said. “That’s
enough. I guess you were right. Ya really do like those girls.” He
watched as Paul reluctantly let go of his cock. Immediately it
throbbed for more, the tip hitting his pelvis and creating a
glistening thread of precum that stretched across the space between
his dick and his hips. Vince felt his own prick start to pulse,
biting his lip as his underwear suddenly got wet. His cockhead was
sticking to it.

Paul looked down at Vince’s crotch. “Well,”
he said, “looks like you enjoyed the show.”

“Bullshit!” Vince spat, glancing down to
follow Paul’s gaze. But he was right – the front of Vince’s jeans
was sporting a little wet spot. He felt his own cheeks redden this
time. “That – that was from the girls!”

“Yeah?” Paul looked like he wasn’t buying it.
“I didn’t see you lookin’ at ‘em. As soon as I took my dick out,
your eyes stayed on
me
.”

“I was hard before you were,” Vince reminded
him, trying to keep the desperate edge out of his tone. What the
hell did he have to prove to this little shit, anyway? “But fine.
You wanna see a man’s cock?” His hands lowered to his belt almost
before he even told them to. “Take a good, hard look, then.”

Vince unhooked his belt and fumbled with the
button on his pants a moment. Ever since he stood up, those five or
six beers felt more like ten or twelve. He could hardly get his
jeans undone. Finally, through some miraculous boost of dexterity,
he was able to pull both his pants and his underwear down enough to
let his fat dick spring out, spilling a trail of precum down his
shaft. He let out his heavy balls for good measure, watching Paul’s
expression. He swore he saw the boy’s cock twitch.

“I got an idea,” Vince said, manhandling his
wide chode under the guise of adjusting it. “Halftime’s almost
over, and your team’s been wipin’ the field with mine. I wanna make
a friendly wager.”

“What’s that?” Paul asked. He was cupping and
lightly caressing his balls. Vince chose not to call him on it; he
was horny as fuck too.

“I say we both keep jerkin’ our dicks. Not
touchin’ each other or anything gay like that – just ourselves.”
Vince watched as Paul started to stroke his base again, clearly
relieved that he would be able to keep touching himself. “We sit on
this couch and jack off until one of our teams scores. If your team
scores first, you get t’cum. If my team scores first, then I get
t’cum.”

“Uh-uh,” Paul breathed, shaking his head.
“That ain’t good enough.”

Vince frowned. “Whaddya mean?”

“You called out my manhood,” Paul said,
rubbing his tip in circles with his thumb and smearing his juice
everywhere. “Now I’m gonna call out yours. My team scores first,
you suck my dick, Vince Cooper. And I get to fill up that loud
mouth’a yours.”

Vince snarled and made a face. “What if my
team scores first? You gonna blow me, Paul? Huh? Is that what you
want?”

Paul snorted. “Please. Your team hasn’t
scored all day. You’re gonna be slurpin’ my cock within ten
minutes’a halftime endin’.”

Vince narrowed his eyes. Paul was arrogant,
and Vince knew that his team
always
made a comeback by the
third quarter – almost always, anyway. He was willing to bet it
would happen again this time.

But what if it didn’t? What if Paul’s team
scored again and he had to swallow his pride – and Paul’s cock?

No way
, he thought determinedly.
You’re no fair-weather fan, Vince Cooper. You either believe in
your boys, or you don’t.

“All right then, ya mouthy fuck,” Vince said.
“Yer on.”

Sitting bare-assed on the couch in
preparation for victory, Vince jerked his dick with a nice, tight
fist, staring anxiously at the TV screen. Beside him, with one
cushion between them, Paul sat doing the very same thing, his free
hand teasing and pulling at his wire-haired nuts.

Both of them were practically naked. Paul had
forsaken his shirt, having stained it with precum while teasing
himself to the point of squirming. Vince had caught him thrusting
into his own hand a few times, eyes closed, and had reminded him
not to cum just yet. Paul had nodded, opened his eyes, and focused
back on the screen.
Young, dumb, and full of cum,
Vince
thought with a small smirk, looking down at his own eager dick
reveling in his attentive strokes.

Neither team had scored yet, and Vince could
tell that Paul was getting just as close as he was. The next time
Paul closed his eyes, Vince reached up and starting playing with
his nipples, sending little lightning bolts of pleasure down into
his balls. He rarely admitted to enjoying nipple play – he always
thought it was too girly – but when he was alone with his laptop,
he teased his pink little nubs until he shot all over himself. No
need for that now, of course – Paul would be gulping his cock any
time now.

As his toes curled, Vince began wondering why
he wanted that so badly. Was it only to win the bet? To retain his
pride and dignity by stuffing Paul’s throat? Or had it been so long
that he’d take any pair of lips around his swollen, purplish
head?

Looking over again at Paul, he could see the
boy’s eyes were fixated on his dick, watching as Vince jerked and
teased it. Paul was playing with his taint now, caressing the short
hairs that ran from his balls to his asshole. Vince smirked.

“Eyes on the screen,” he reminded him. “I
don’t want you to miss it when my team scores.”

“Uh huh,” Paul acquiesced, barely capable of
speech anymore. He wondered how long it had been for him, too.

Just as he was beginning to edge toward his
peak, Vince watched his team go for the interception. He sat
upright, eyes widening as the play progressed. Paul was watching
too, still slouched with his long cock wrapped up in his palm,
half-lidded eyes glazed with lust. Vince wasn’t sure he even knew
what was happening.

“That’s it!” Vince urged, watching his team’s
player sprint across the field like a powerful locomotive. “Go, go,
go, go, go!”

And then it happened: Vince’s team finally
scored.

He almost leapt up from his seat, shouting
with vindication as Paul bit his lip and stopped stroking himself.
Vince clapped his hands together and pushed him.

“Did ya see that?” he demanded, pointing at
the screen. “I told ya! I told ya my team’d pull it off!”

Paul half-smiled. He looked up at Vince. “I,
uh… I guess that means ya won the bet, huh?”

“Damn right I did,” Vince said, taking a swig
of his warming beer. “And you know what that means.”

“Yeah,” Paul said, his smile fading. “I
do.”

Vince leaned back against the couch cushions
and looked at Paul, his dick still clenched in his hand. Paul was
staring back at him, breathing hard, supporting his cock at its
base so that whenever his chest heaved, so did his prick. Neither
of them moved.

Vince wasn’t sure he had ever considered them
actually going through with it. It had been a bluff, mostly – a
dare. But now there they were with their bare dicks out, watching
each other jack off with the intent of getting a blow job after the
next touchdown. Vince’s team had taken that honor, just as he knew
they would. Should he make Paul adhere to the rules he himself had
set? Or should he laugh it off as some stupid game and let him off
the hook?

“Hey, no big deal,” he started to say,
letting go of himself. His dick pulsated in protest. “I was just
kiddin’ when I agreed to it. Just wanted to putcha in yer place, is
all…”

“I wasn’t,” Paul said, getting down on his
knees on the floor. Vince watched as the handsome boy crawled over,
shuffling off his pants from his ankles and then pulling off
Vince’s the rest of the way. His heart began to hammer and his
breath caught in his throat. Was this really happening?

“A deal is a deal,” Paul said adamantly,
fitting himself nicely between Vince’s spread legs. His balls
clenched reactively as Paul grazed them with his chest hair. He
looked up into Vince’s dark eyes and said: “I always settle my
bets.”

“Paul – wait,” Vince protested just as his
friend began to tease his frenulum with his fingertip. He groaned
despite himself, part of him elated that someone else was touching
his dick for a change. Before he could argue again, Paul began
licking him like a lollipop, and it was all over.

Trying not to drool, Vince moaned loudly, his
wet dick getting the royal treatment from Paul’s suspiciously
talented tongue. Although the boy was only teasing him, he could
already feel that pressure mounting at his base, the urge to unload
all over his pretty face nearly overwhelming him.
Stop it
,
his brain commanded.
You ain’t no faggot. Don’t you dare let him
make you cum like one.
Vince gritted his teeth and held on to
the couch.

Now that Paul had coated Vince’s chode in a
thick layer of spit, he began working the shaft with his hand while
the very tip of his pink tongue danced all around his swollen tip.
Vince stiffened and felt his toes curl. Paul was twisting his wrist
on the way up – no girl had ever done that before. It felt
incredible, and his hazy thoughts drifted momentarily to being
inside a warm, wet cunt. He found himself thrusting without really
meaning to.

“P-Paul,” he stammered, gasping in a breath.
“That’s good enough, man. You can stop now…” Vince almost whimpered
at the prospect. He didn’t really want him to.

Thankfully, Paul instead closed his lips over
Vince’s oozing tip and began his first hard sucks.

Vince was in heaven. Paul knew just where and
how to roll his tongue, and just when to slurp. He wasn’t shy about
it, and the sounds of his sucking began to fill the apartment even
louder than Vince’s TV. He looked down, watching as Paul took him
in deeper and deeper, spreading his lips wide to accommodate his
sizeable girth. Paul never missed a beat, and soon Vince felt his
spongy tip pressed against the back of Paul’s throat.