Talker's Graduation Read Free Page A

massaged
    again and again with Brian‟s lips and….
    Talker was moaning, needing, begging , and he was hardly
    aware of it. Brian‟s weight was on his good shoulder, and his weak
    hand came up to grasp Tate‟s cock. He couldn‟t tighten his fingers
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    the way he used to, and the pressure was almost… teasing. Tate
    moaned again, thrusting his hips into Brian‟s hand harder, and
    Brian pulled back and gave the head a casual swipe with his
    tongue.
    “Not hard enough, is it?” he said dryly. Tate turned his head
    and looked at him. Brian was still fully dressed, but he was
    wriggling his hips with enough urgency to let Talker know that he
    was really turned on, just from touch.
    “My dick?” Talker joked. “Yeah, plenty hard.”
    Brian‟s smile was gentle. “My hand, genius—maybe instead of
    abstracts, I should spend all my time making dildo sculptures, see if
    I can get my grip back.”
    Talker giggled, and Brian kept up that not-quite-hard-enough
    grip that was driving him insane. “Well, practice makes perfect!”
    Brian kept stroking him and carefully bent and placed a kiss on
    Talker‟s hip. “Or maybe I can practice this way,” he said, and Talker
    looked down his body and saw those amazing, clear, guileless
    eyes, gazing at him with absolute devotion.
    “Yeah,” Talker rasped. “I‟m good with that. Go ahead and
    prac- tice ….” Brian‟s hand tightened, and his grip was almost hard
    enough now, and Brian chuckled, the sound strained. Tate reached
    down with his own damaged hand. “Here,” he said, and tightened
    his fingers over Brian‟s. Brian “hmmmd” and then opened his mouth
    over the crown and started swirling with his tongue. Talker kept
    stroking, and the pressure, between the two of them, was exquisite.
    Talker‟s nuts tightened up under him, and his whole body
    started to tremble, and Brian kept up that pressure with his mouth
    and their hands oh God! Both their hands, kept stroking and… “Oh,
    Brian!”
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    His other hand, his sound one, knotted in Brian‟s hair, and
    Brian moved their hands to take Talker all the way down to the
    base. Talker squeezed his eyes tight and came, watching in
    wonder as the black and red behind his eyes exploded with
    shattered fragments of white brain-fish. “ Gawwwdd ….” He
    convulsed, turning to his side and holding Brian‟s head, not to
    control but just to… just to hold him, as Tate‟s whole world went
    whiteblind, shattered fish and all.
    The aftershocks went on forever, long enough for Brian to pull
    himself up even and fold Tate in against his still broad shoulder. He
    reached over with a grunt of discomfort and dragged their top-quilt
    over Tate‟s shoulders, because the room wasn‟t that warm, and
    Tate shuddered in his embrace for a good long time.
    Tate looked up and kissed the side of Brian‟s neck, and then
    pushed up some more and kissed his cheek, his ear, and the
    corner of his mouth.
    “What?” Brian asked, closing his eyes and giving himself into
    the kiss.
    “You didn‟t come.”
    “I did a little.” Brian smiled, and Tate shivered, kissing down
    his neck. Yeah. Brian loved him that much.
    “Help me take off your shirt,” Tate muttered, and Brian did,
    careful not to move his shoulder too much. As it peeled over his
    body, Talker saw the things that he‟d tried hard not to see those
    first months when he‟d had to help Brian dress on a regular basis.
    (It was a good thing they had more pairs of sweats than anything
    else between the two of them, or Brian would have had to wander
    around the apartment naked just to take a leak.) Brian‟s shoulder
    was… damaged. It would always be. It looked like it had been used
    by a psychopath for pumpkin-carving practice. There were surgical
    scars on top of surgical scars, and swelling and weakness. His
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    muscle had deteriorated, in spite of his best