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While the other boys played football, Layne Matthews was lying on his belly in the grass, waiting for the PE period to be over so his boyfriend could come and fuck him.
Till then, he was entertaining himself watching the grass grow.
Layne didn’t understand how other kids could be bored. For him an infinite multitude of worlds were only a blink, a thought away. All he had to do was close his eyes and he was there.
For instance, down there in the ground, when you took the time to really look, the roots of each blade of grass were anchored in little islands of tawny sunbaked dirt, which, if you shrunk yourself to the scale of an ant, would be like tall rocky crags; he could just imagine a party of adventurers wending the narrow paths between. Like that weird movie he’d watched recently, Arthur and the Something.
Or, if he looked up and out, beyond the church with the stained glass window depicting a saint who he could never tell if it was meant to be a man or woman (but he knew they had some cute boys in the choir, some of whom went to their school, a few even in their year, and two of whom he had once seen wanking each other off behind the back wall of the church one sunny afternoon, below that very window)—but if he uplifted his eyes above its copper-green steeple, to the thick-forested hills surrounding the city and the tall snow-sprinkled mountains beyond, upholding the endless blue horizon, like the foundations of the walls of the world, his spirit surged, his mind maddened with such suggestions of grand adventure, epic romance, formless and inchoate but therefore bottomlessly rich with possibility.
This was the kind of thing that had always made other kids see him as weird, the way he preferred the company of his own made-up characters to them and their judgement, the constant stress of trying to be like them; preferred to stay in the comfort of his own mind, rather than the shitty world of suck everyone else tried to force him to be part of.
That is, or was, before he got hot, hot enough to get fucked by someone even hotter, none less than Breckon Fane, all-star quarter-back and the hottest boy in school (and it wasn’t just Layne who thought so). Being hot gave you a free pass for just about everything, he was finding, not just with other kids, but teachers and parents too, even though they were supposed to be different. ‘Mature’. Serious, not superficial.
He still yearned often for that other world, that wonderland of mystery and danger that beckoned from just around every corner, glimmered from over the brow of every hill. But for now, for the first time in his life, he had plenty to live for and enjoy right here in the ordinary mundane world he had loathed for so long.
It stood about six feet tall and nine inches hung of strawberry-blond hair and muscle and Layne might just have been in love with him. Though that may have just been because he made him see stars when he fucked him.
The warm sunshine soaking Layne’s back felt pleasantly like a hot bath, and his bare legs, with his shirt riding high on his back and his shorts rucked up around his butt made him feel vaguely sexy, like their neighbour who used to sunbathe naked on her front lawn where everyone could see. He knew he had a nice butt because Breckon told him so every time he fucked it.
That neighbour, even though women lay on their front when they were sunbathing so as not to show people their breasts, her vagina—her cunt, as Breckon always called it, as he always called Layne’s asshole when he was sticking his cock in it—was just out and bare, uncovered, defenceless, as if inviting any passing male to sink his prick into it, easy as pissing.
Other people around were few and far away enough that Layne felt sufficiently bold to try something similar. Without turning over, he reached around behind him to slip his shorts down under the cheeks of his ass, leaving them bare in the warm afternoon air. He was mooning the sun, he thought, and chortled into the grass.
It felt so deliciously naughty his cock started to get hard and he humped it gently against the soft tickly grass. A weird sensation, but doing this out here, right in the open, on the school field before school was ever, where anyone who came close could see the plump pale mounds of his ass displayed, almost as an invitation, waiting to be mounted, as it were—it felt so daring, made him so horny he couldn’t think straight—could hardly think at all.
He splayed his legs out wide as they would go and imagined Breckon was behind him, on top of him. He could hear his perpetually-husky voice that turned Layne on no matter what it was saying, just from the sound of it, the vibrations running through his bones; see his eternally-mischievous smile, never wider than when he was about to do something deliciously dirty, that would have Layne squawking with outrage and concern, but deep down would have his boy-cunt quivering with delight.
Happily, he didn’t have to imagine for long. He was just about to subject the innocent asexual grass of the field with a rather unusual fertilisation—a fresh seeding, if you will, when he heard a whistle blowing and an even more satisfying sight than any mountains, or anything his mind’s eye could conjure—his boyfriend, Breckon Fane, a veritable young mountain of a man, all sweaty and glowing from football practice, bounding towards him from over the field like a golden retriever on two legs, his big sweet dick bouncing up and down in his pants.
Layne’s heart and his asshole clenched. He rolled over onto his back to greet him. He thought about pulling his shorts up, but feeling for some reason unusually bold today he chose not to, and left them down, deciding to give his boyfriend a particularly warm welcome, let him see just how happy he was to see him.
When Breckon reached him, he pulled off his helmet to reveal the rich red gold of his hair, usually swept up in stylish disarray, but now weighed down by perspiration. As he jumped on Layne, salty droplets flecked down onto his face and he flinched back. ‘Urgh!’
Breckon crowed and made a sound like he was tryna scare a little kid, and deliberately shook his sodden metallic mop all over Layne, spattering him with a warm rain of salty sweat.
Then for a moment he stilled astride him, catching his breath, and they gazed at each other. His eyes wondered down to see Layne’s shorts crumpled down his creamy thighs, his perky little prick leaking dewdrops onto his bare belly.
‘Holy shit. You just been lyin out here like that?’
‘Thinkin of you’, Layne said dreamily.
‘Fuck. You fuckin slut.’
Breckon found himself breathless for a whole different reason that had nothing to do with football. It took his breath away every time he stopped to really look, how beautiful his boyfriend was. The sweet little circle of his face, all flushed and freckly under his demure grey-brown hair, smile edging up the corners of his mouth despite the wrinkling of his cute round nose. Breckon’s own darling dickslut. He disturbed himself sometimes with how hard he got over those sharp little foxlike features. It took but a twitch of an elfin ear or that button nose, and BAM! His cock was all at once sitting hefty and hard, steely and dangerous a like a weapon in his jockeys, something that could do some serious damage to some slut’s gash, and wanted to; something that could leave permanent pain in its wake but would still keep the whore coming back for more.
Everyone knew Breckon was a chill guy, but Layne Matthews made him feel anything but chill. He made him want to do things that were borderline illegal and definitely immoral. He’d fucked plenty of girls in the past, even dated a few. None had ever made him feel much above the belt and nothing like this, this thing he still didn’t even know how to name. It felt sometimes like a cancer eating away at his insides, the obsession, the need, the low burn in his gut, the tightness in his chest, an initial burst of breathlessness, almost like panic, or like rage. More than just the need to fuck him, breed his holes, a desire to wrap himself around him like a human suit of armour, a bulletproof vest made of meat and never let him go.
His brain stopped working right when there were so few inches between the hard eight inches of his cock and Layne’s face. What little he had of reason when right out the window. Like right, now, for instance, when it was broad daylight, the school day not yet done, other kids around, teachers not yet far away. And he was about to stick his cock up Layne’s ass, right out here in the grass.
Breckon pushed his pants down to let his dick spring free, and when Layne levered himself up on his elbows to look at it, his favourite toy, most priceless treasure and dearest nocturnal companion, Breckon hawked and spat right between his eyes.
Layne yelped and made to wipe his face, but Breckon was too fast and too strong—he pinned Layne’s wrists to the ground by his sides and ahahed in triumph. Layne didn’t even try to escape his grip. In moments like these, he felt like a doll in the hands of a child, or a little child in the hands of a grown-up.
He poked his tongue out the corner of his mouth and tried to reach his squinted-shut eyelid, but it wasn’t that long.
Breckon let out a taunting heh-heh, then leant down and laved out Layne’s scrunched-up eyesocket himself. Layne flicked his tongue down to lick a drop of Breckon’s sweat or saliva off his chin.
Layne’s tongue made contact with Breckon’s, a wet slick meeting of muscle like Breckon’s cock up his ass, the scaleless serpent among his innards.
Breckon stopped laughing. All at once this was serious.
Layne relaxed himself and let the plush pink circle of his mouth fall open, lips parted, tongue poking slightly out.
Breckon thought it looked like a girl’s pink cunt turned sideways, ready to be penetrated, fucked and bred by a big hard cock. And boy horny was he about to. He had just the tool for the job.
Layne lay in breathy anticipation with his eyes half-closed, expecting any moment to be kissed.
Instead, he found himself flipped over onto his stomach and his shorts yanked all the way down to his knees.
Apparently Breckon wasn’t in a kissing mood today. He was skipping straight to reaming his ass raw. On the school field on a Friday afternoon. Layne’s love was nothing if not romantic.
Aided only by a little more of his spit and their mutual sweat, and his always-plenteous precum, Breckon worked his fat footballer’s cock up in him with expert ease, while boys laughed and called across the field and birds darted and chirruped among the trees over the fence and a choir sang faintly from within the church rising above them and the beautiful big-dicked boy sang into his spirit as he insinuated himself inside him, with every throbbing inch he slid into his greedy, gasping, grasping sphincter, sinking into the heart of him with hardly a sound, just a rhythmic breathing that rattled through the core of Layne’s being.
Once fully and thoroughly anchored up his ass, Breckon pushed down on his shoulders and his hips snapped back and forth, up and in, like the movement of a machine, a clean, perfect motion, executed as flawlessly as any game-winning touchdown. Their eyes met, unblinking, as Breckon roughly rooted himself over and again in the supple rawness of Layne’s insides, the meeting of their bodies in that moment something profane yet sacred, too true and tender for words.
About halfway through this strenuous extracurricular exercise, Breckon decided he wanted to see Layne’s face. He pulled his cock out, briefly, Layne’s body barely having time to register the gaping absence in his ass, before Breckon flipped him over and jammed it back in, all the way up to the hilt in one savage stroke. Layne buried his squeal in Breckon’s sweat-soaked jersey. He found himself with his shorts gathered in a narrow band about his knees and shirt bunched up under his arms, barely covering his tiny brown nipples, so his whole lithe, pale form, still almost hairless, despite being nearly seventeen, was practically naked as Breckon fucked him.
So far nobody else had noticed them going at it on the grass, till a certain Brandt Hooley, one of Breckon’s teammates, looking for where his classmate and captain had gone, spotted the two making it on the turf. Though he considered himself strictly a ladies’ lad, mostly, his cock plumped and jumped at the sight. Goddamn, they were a pair of horny hard-fucking rabbits. No shame at all and seemingly no fear. He was surprised he hadn’t caught them doing it on their desk in the middle of class yet, though he wouldn’t put it past them, at least if the teacher was out, or was even just especially short-sighted. He grinned and trotted over.
‘Sup.’ He greeted Breckon with a fist-bump even as his friend continued to thrust into Layne’s ass with long destroying strokes as Layne whined and writhed in the grass.
‘Layin’ Layne, huh?’ Breckon grunted, piping it to Layne’s pucker thick and fast. The only time he wasn’t talkative was when he was in the middle of Layne’s guts.
‘Damn, I wish I had a piece a that tail…’ Brandt crouched down at Layne’s head so no one could see the long slim hard-on that was poking out the front of his pants, mostly concealed from view of anyone but Layne, who had Brandt’s schlong looming large in his upside-down vision, able to trace the twist and turn of every blue vein with his eyes, and almost, if he just craned his neck a little, with his tongue.
Layne knew Brandt wanted to stick it in him, but Breckon only ever let him jerk off on Layne’s ass or face, or, if he was in a good mood, he sometimes let Layne give him a quick handy. Even then, he’d get kinda jealous after and give Layne a double-hard railing to make up for it, leave no doubt in his mind (or his ass) who he belonged to.
‘Fuck, that’s so fucking hot, bro. You’re fucking wreckin that bitch. Tear that fucking pussy up, bro.’ Brandt reached over to pull Layne’s asscheek, reddened from where Breckon’s hips had been smacking it, away from the pile-driving pillar of his cock, showing how the fat dimpled around that thick hammering hack, how the skin of Layne’s boytwat stretched white where Breckon’s ruddy purplish shaft sawed in and out, living lining of his insides clinging to Breckon’s cock like a condom. As he leaned over Layne the head of his dick knocked against Layne’s forehead, his balls nesting in his sweat-wetted hair. ‘Fuck, look at that…’
Breckon knocked his arm away, ‘Hands off, bitch.’
Brandt settled back in the grass with his legs framing Layne’s head, pumping his cock fast against Layne’s scalp as he watched Breckon pound him. ‘Damn, that’s one pretty pussy. You’re a fuckin freak, man, giving it to him out here where anyone could see. Just had to get your load off, huh? Fuck, I wish I had a bitch who’d just roll over for me after practice like that. Adrenaline gets me so fuckin horny…’
Breckon just groaned again, still plugging away persistently, Layne’s hole so slick and sloppy now with sweat and precum Breckon cock ploughing into Layne’s hole made truly disgusting noises.
Layne snorted. ‘Sounds like you need to fuck one of the guys on the team.’
Brandt let out a surprised uneasy chuckle. ‘Yeah, maybe.’
After that he went silent for a bit, just huffing and stroking away. But Layne liked to think it was the forbidden thought of banging one of his football buddies’ big bubble-butts that made him finally swear and shoot a web of white ropes all over Layne’s face and neck, from his fringe down to his collar. He even got a stray jet of spunk on Breckon’s cheek, which normally would have made him freak out, but he just swiped it away with a distracted air and carried on porking him. Layne thought it was kind of hot. Brandt was about a half-inch taller than Breckon and almost as handsome with bright curtains of hair that shimmered like cloth-of-gold, and a studly jaw that could crack concrete. Layne had imagined them kissing as they stuffed him from both ends, but sadly that hadn’t happened yet.
After the fast fat jets had subsided down to a few slow dribbles, Brandt sighed and frotted his cockhead gently into the pert curve of Layne’s nose, which was kind of a funny to think about him doing, but in the throes of lust, any contact between cock and skin was sexy. He stretched his tongue up as far as it could go and found he could just flick the tip of it against the tip of Brandt’s dick, and was rewarded with a gasp and another hot burst of jizz.
‘Oh, shit, you fuckin slut.’ Then his head snapped up and alarm entered his cool grey eyes. ‘Shit, is that Mr. Bragson? I’d better bounce…’
And bounce he did, his softening cock laying one final, satisfyingly meaty smack on Layne’s face before he tucked it, still sweaty and sticky, back inside his pants and jogged off.
The gooey sperm sliding slowly down Layne’s face tickled slightly, kind of like getting a moustache of warm milk when you were a kid. It was wild to think of how he went from the innocence of that to what they were doing now, sticking their parts deep into each other’s guts, spraying hot body fluids all over each other. Sex really was a wild thing when you stood back and looked at it objectively. He could only imagine how aliens would feel if they were watching them go at it from their flying saucer...
He ran a finger down the bridge of his button nose, scooping up a glob of cum and popped it into his nose. He made a humming sound of appraisal. ‘Mmmm. Saltier than yours. A lot saltier. You need to tell him to drink more fluids.’
Breckon grunted louder and cursed. He was nearing his peak now, and barely had breath for thought, let alone words.
‘You don’t mind that he came on my face?’ Layne asked, curious about his boyfriend’s oddly inconsistent possessiveness.
Breckon shrugged. ‘All cum looks the same. I can just pretend it’s mine. An extra big load. I’ll never let him fuck you, though. Never let anyone.’
‘Who says it’s up to you who gets to fuck me?’, Layne retorted tartly.
In a flash there was Breckon’s hand cramping tight around his throat. Breckon made a face that was as close to a snarl as a human could come, as close to rage as his boyfriend ever got and bucked his hips upwards so it was like he was trying to punch his cock right out through Layne’s stomach, like he was trying to gouge his prostate right out of his ass. There was a dangerous light in his eyes, like a distilled intensity of passion, like Alexander the Great surveying a new country he meant to conquer. ‘This dick says, bitch. This is the only cock that greedy, slutty little cunt of yours will ever taste. So fuckin taste it.’
‘Oh!’ Just like that all of him, cunt and heart, clenched up yet again at this so-sweet romantic declaration of affection, fit for Shakespeare. Breckon made a sound like Layne’s constricting cunt had snapped his dick right off at the root, and fell on top of him, chest heaving, hips helplessly jerking, rutting against him, grinding up into him with his prick buried nuts-deep inside him as he nutted. The tangible burning proof of his love, stronger and deeper and more sincere than any song or sonnet.
And Layne lay back and released himself to the first alarming, then enjoyable, sensation of his prick spewing a hot mess all over his belly, a self-defiling total loss of control, surrendering all to himself, matter over mind, in tandem with the gradually spreading warmth and wet inside him. A mind-wiping wave of pleasure washed over him from his crotch outwards, cock and colon spasming in sync. He felt like Breckon’s bubbling spunk was inundating not just his ass but every inch and atom of his frame, flooding him to the fingertips with restless tingling electricity, filling him with fire.
As the urgent blaze died down to a steady pleasant smoulder, the two lay tied together like two dogs in heat on a scorching city sidewalk, like two halves of a mathematical equation, a scientific formula. Layne’s calves locked behind Breckon’s knees, Breckon’s mouth panting wet and open against his ear, all his boneless bulk resting upon him and weighing him down, sweeter than sunshine, hotter than fire. All he needed in life or death right here, right there, right then, on top of him, inside him, as much a part of him as his own pounding heart.
Somewhere a universe away there were voices and padding feet coming their way as the came; a teacher’s gravelly grown-up voice and the shrill ringing of a bell drilling into Layne’s consciousness, but, trapped in each other, neither of the two boys neither moved, their love-making forming around them a perfect, fragile shield of self-contained life, as if they were become one pure, harmonious organism, a single cell, isolating them from all outside sounds or intrusions, preserving this instant forever intact, a shard of untouched space and time etched in the unfading memory of eternity.
Breckon could no more have dragged himself, his pulsing cock out of Layne’s sopping pussyhole in that moment than he could have pulled the molten core from the planet, pulled his own heart from his chest.
Layne let his head fall to the side, and closed his eyes and time stood still, the earth was erased, the globe stopped spinning, for this above all was what he longed for, more even than the heady rush of orgasm, the tender moment after, of inseparable conjunction, unassailable peace. The moment that he wished would never end. In all his days of wondering he had dreamed of nothing grander than his lover’s body grinding him into the ground, shielding him from all that dared to judge them or condemn, his swollen manhood trembling helpless, spitting his seed inside him, his shuddering exhalations half-forming mindless confessions, wordless vows that bypassed his brain and pierced him straight to his heart.
And for as long as it lasted, for once, Layne wanted no other world than this.