ToolUser

Boy Batter

Chapter One

So Randy had done his best, spending more time at the library, and other times just driving around the neighborhood, or out to Broadview or Wayport enjoying the new freedom his driver's license allowed. To help his Law studies, Dad fixed up for him to go to a work-experience-cum study camp just outside Lafayette, and he'd restricted himself to just three letters home all summer.

Randy hadn't expected to miss home so much. Now as he pulled into the shabby driveway, just the sight of that cheaply built, aluminum sided house was enough to lift his heart.

He didn't care that the walls were thin and the bedrooms were cramped; he blessed Mom and Dad once again for moving their bedroom downstairs so he didn't have to share with a hyper kid anymore. It didn't matter the street door entered directly to the living room, and the open archway to the kitchen let noise and the smells of cooking through. It was home.

Not that Mom did so much cooking; except for holidays and special occaisions, she was queen of the Lean Cuisine.

Randy popped the door and got out, but he had barely time to open the trunk before he heard the front door crash open.

Suddenly he was fighting off an affectionate little octopus squealing in his ear: "Ran-dee! You're home! You're home!"

"Sure I am, Chrissie!" Randy prised away the skinny arms wrapped round his neck and turned to look at his little brother.

He had to smile. Evidently little Chris's summer campaign to be allowed a 'cooler' haircut had met serious Mom resistance: he still had the hated 'little kid' bowl-cut. Personally Randy thought it suited his little bro's pale, freckled little pixy face – besides, somehow Chrissie wouldn't be Chrissie if he wasn't continually brushing those long brown bangs out of his eyes.

His little bro' did look different: a little taller and kid-skinny. Over the summer he'd lost the little bit of puppy fat he'd been carrying.

Chris was jumping up and down, excited. "Please come to my baseball game tomorrow, Randy? I want you to see me, Ran-deee! Pleeease!" He stared at Randy hopefully, begging with those beautiful hazel eyes that always melted Randy's resolve.

Randy smiled, pleased that one of Chris's ambitions had succeeded. "You made the team, huh?"

Dad spoke from behind them. "Only the practise squad," he said.

"It's the after-season game," Chris said, defensively. "Everybody's on the team for that game. Will you come, Randy? Please! I want to show you something: it's important."

Randy grabbed his bags out of the trunk. "Sure," he said, as he stood up. "I'd like to see you play, Chris."

"Wouldn't we all," his father grunted.

Randy turned to look at his father. Dad just seemed so angry all the time, lately. He could remember a time when they'd been buddies, almost. Then Dad had taken to working all hours: weekends and evenings. He was still big-built and strong from all his years working construction, but the extra office hours had added a belly and faded his outdoor tan. His short-cut hair had a lot of gray in it, and Randy suddenly noticed how tired he looked.

"Are you working tomorrow, sir?" Randy had meant it as an invitation, but Dad glared at him.

"Someone's got to pay your summer-camp bills!" he snapped.

"Yeah, I guess." Randy shifted uncomfortably, knowing how tight the family finances were. "Sorry. Is Mom home?" he asked, trying to fill the sudden, awkward silence.

Chris nodded eagerly. "She's got the afternoon off, special! She's done a pot-roast!"

"Really? I hadn't realized my home-coming was such an event." Randy looked over his father's shoulder and saw his mother, beaming and freshly peroxided, hurrying down the path to join them. He shifted his bag and held out his hand to his father. "I'm glad to be home, sir."

His Dad shook it. It seemed to be a truce, of sorts.

Randy suppressed a sigh as he turned off the ignition. Just ten weeks of the peace and quiet at study camp had apparently made him totally forget just how much noise one single nine-year-old could make. He'd hardly set the parking brake before Chris was jiggling the door lock, still chattering non-stop from his celebratory post-game sugar high.

"Coach Pederson was real impressed! I can be on the team! Well, sort of – but he said maybe! Maybe even permanent! Oh darn it!" Chris frowned at the lock, rattling the handle. "Why won't this darned thing open?"

"Hey, easy on the fittings, kid!" Randy reached past him and pulled up the locking button. "There you go."

Chris flung the door open and bounded out like a gangly jack-in-the-box.

" 3;and did you see how I hit that ball? – VwooosHH! It was the best evahh!" Chris whirled round and round on the scrubby lawn, his heavy, chestnut-colored hair flapping, miming his home-run shot for at least the twenty-fifth time. His borrowed little-league uniform hugged his slender figure, and Randy paused uncomfortably to shift his hard-on to a less obvious position before he got out the car.

Chattering non-stop on the way back from the game, Chris had told him how the junior baseball team was now sponsored by the local ice-cream parlor: Hank's Total Tootie Peach Melba Brainfreeze Emporium. The parlor was a landmark in the town; everybody gave directions referencing it because the huge, gaudy, illuminated plastic sundae atop the store and the flashing tag-line, "Good enough to eat!" were so hard to miss.

Chris had told him how, after a slew of crazy team-name suggestions (for a brief while the team were the 'Tutti Fruttis', before some wiseacre called them the 'Tooting Fruits') Hank had put forward his suggestion. Sponsors being sponsors, they were now the 'Little Peaches,' the name emblazoned on each boy's back above Hank's trademark tag-line.

The new uniforms were as gaudy as the store: the team jackets were pastel blueberry blue; the lettering – of course – in peach. Their pants were mint-green Spandex and their knee-socks were coconut white.

The first sight of those perfectly packaged Little-League peaches as they ran out onto the field in their cute little uniforms had nearly given Randy a coronary. Oh sure – like a kid in a candy factory, he'd scoped them all out, but after twenty-something pulse-hammering seconds it had been his little brother's skin-tight pants he'd spent the match trying to burn a hole in by eye-contact. He couldn't say exactly how it had happened, but somehow he'd gone off to summer Law camp leaving an affectionately-remembered nuisance behind him and returned to find a dazzling, slender boy-god.

Never before had he paid such total attention and seen so little of a game.

Randy thunked the car door shut. Chrissie skipped round the hood of the car and continued his monologue:

" 3;and coach Pederson said it was a record high-hitter for the whole season, maybe the whole of Little League, but I reckon it was the best just because you were there to SEE it!" His little, pointy face seemed eaten up by the huge grin splitting it in half.

"Aww," Randy said, uncomfortably. "Don't do that guilt thing, Chrissie! You know I had to go to study camp."

Chris looked stubborn. "Yeah, well. It's just not the same without you there! I know I don't run as fast or catch as good. I would've made the team by now if you'd been there, I would! Then this would be my uniform, not just a loaner! I had to beg them and beg them!"

"Yeah." Randy looked appreciatively at his little brother's figure as he ran about on the lawn, miming hits. "That uniform sure is a beauty. I wish it was yours, too."

The end-of-season team party in Hank's ice-cream parlor had been memorable, in fact, Randy was sure his ears were still ringing. Overexcited kids loaded to bursting point with sugar and caffeine had turned the place into a war zone. It had left Chris too buzzed for any sort of quiet pursuits; right now the kid was running round and round in circles on their scrubby front lawn as though demented.

Randy opened the front door and a yelling, Spandex-clad tornado raced past him, throwing his glove and practise bat clattering down by the couch as he passed. Randy sighed. So much for his study plans.

"Hey Chrissie," Randy said, eyeing the way his little brother filled out those tight pants, "wanna rassle?"

Chris paused to stare, wide eyed. "Wearing this?" He gestured at his borrowed uniform. "I've got to give it back like new, you know."

"Oh. Yeah. Tag then?" Anything to wear the kid out.

"Tag's for babies." Chris wrinkled his freckled nose adorably.

"Okay – strip tag! Dare you!" The words just seemed to jump out of Randy's mouth.

"Dare taken! Tag!" the little imp tapped his arm and then cackled as he skipped out of arm's reach. "Got you!"

"Done!" Randy threw his jacket on the couch.

"Hey! No fair! You were only carrying it!" Chris dodged sideways round the couch, heading for the archway to the kitchen.

"O-kay." Randy caught him in two long strides. "Tag!"

Chris scowled, but removed his jacket and folded it neatly, putting it on the kitchen table.

Randy found himself admiring his little bro's smooth, boy-muscled arms. "Hey," he said. "All that net practice is really paying off. You look good in that tank-top."

"Yeah, but I mean – orange sorbet? Gross." Chris stuck out his tongue and crossed his eyes, extending his arms dramatically like a catwalk model.

"Tag!" he yelled suddenly, leaping forward and slapping an artfully extended hand across Randy's wrist. "Too slow!"

"Smarty-pants!" Randy unbuttoned his sports shirt and dragged it over his head as fast as he could, hearing Chris rattle the lock on the yard door as he did so. He tossed his shirt aside just in time to see Chris fling the door open, crashing it against the kitchen countertop. He gave chase as Chris ran out into the yard, the boy screaming with excitement.

Chris was quick, but tactically the open expanse of the rough-cut grass was a mistake, allowing Randy's longer legs and reach to tell. "Tag!" he yelled, slapping a fleeing, green-Spandex asscheek.

"Hey! Mind the merchandise!" Chris giggled. "Back to the kitchen – table's pax, okay?"

"Sure!" Randy would have followed those hot little cool-mint peaches anyhow.

As he reached the doorway, he saw Chris reach up to begin pulling his tank-top off.

"Hey – not like that!" Randy exclaimed. "You'll stretch it all out of shape."

Chris paused in mid-pull. "It's the only way I know to take it off."

"Look," Randy said, "if I help you out of it, you can't tag me straight away after, right?"

Chris rolled his eyes. "Whatever, mister rules-lawyer. But no fair the yard, okay?"

"Sure." Randy stepped close. "Look, do it like this. You get the hem, see, and roll it."

The horny teenager couldn't help himself, stealing a touch here, a stroke of smooth skin there, making the boy giggle as he rolled the orange material up his little brother's lean belly. His heart beating loud in his chest, Randy risked more touching and bolder, undeniable stroking as he held each overlarge arm-hole and helped Chris fold his slender arm through.

"Okay, Sport," Randy said as he lifted the vest over Chris's head. "Pax,'till you got it folded on the table, okay?"

Chris flipped his head, shaking his hair back into place. "Deal." The watermelon grin flashed on again. Chris watched him, head on one side, his hazel eyes wide.

Sure enough, Randy had barely turned and taken a pace before he heard a whipcrack sound and then 3;

"Tag!" Chris slapped him firmly on the buttock.

"Hey!" Randy spun round. The unrolled vest lay folded – some would say thrown – on the table.

Chris shrugged theatrically, hands at shoulder level. "Did I hear neat?"

Randy was startled. Did that pose scream 'fruit,' or what? "Uh 3;" He lost his train of thought. "Okay – got me." He toed off his penny loafers and began to unbuckle his belt, glad he'd decided on tight, jersey-knit undershorts that morning. He'd sure lucked out with that choice given the hard-on he'd been sporting all the match.

He saw Chris start to edge toward the open yard door and then stop, staring and stretching his eyes. Randy figured the kid had plenty to stare at. He could feel his dick was swollen iron-hard, stretching diagonally across to his hip, the head pushing at the elasticated waistband.

"You got a stiffie!" Chris giggled, pointing.

"Yeah, you're real smart, spotting that." Randy indicated Chris's groin as he shucked his pants down. "'Course, your little dink's so small I couldn't tell if yours was hard anyway."

"Is not!" Chris yelled.

Randy chuckled. "Isn't what? Small, or hard?" Hearing no reply, he looked up from folding his pants.

Chris was red-faced and he looked upset, like he was holding back tears.

"Hey, Chrissie, I was just messing with ya, okay?"

"It's not small! It's growing!"

"Sure it is." Randy made a calming gesture with his free hand. "Look, you want to quit this?"

"I'm not quitting!" Chris immediately looked stubborn, and Randy knew he'd made a mistake putting it that way. His little bro' was competitive to the brink of crazy – and beyond.

"Okay then." Randy hung his pants neatly on the chair. "I think we agreed: no yard?" He stretched his arms wide, demonstrating how he could easily reach to either side of the table between them. "Shall we just say, tag?"

"Maaan!" Chris complained. "You rules-lawyer!"

Randy couldn't help it. He could feel the huge, shit-eating grin bending his own face. That was his little Chrissie: maybe not a winner every time, but a competitor. For a heartwarming, competitive brotherly moment, Chris stood there, looking genuinely ticked off. Then 3;

"O-kay." The boy turned his back, his shoulders in a strangely dejected slump. For a flicker of a moment Randy came alert, sure his little brother was up to something, but then Chris knelt down to untie his sneakers.

The green Spandex stretched tight around the boy's trim ass, dimpling in between his slim cheeks. There the moss green shadow seemed transparent, as though Randy could see right through the shiny material to the boy's tightly puckered ring beneath.

Was Chris wiggling his ass? Of course: taking off his sneaker. Still, it looked very erotic. Randy felt suddenly light-headed; he guessed it must be all the blood draining to his crotch. He felt his cock twitch as Chris switched to the other foot: he was sure he could hear the slip and slide of material over the boy's taut little rear and he flashed on the conjunction of green material and the boy's pale, milky smooth skin.

Still crouching, Chris lifted both hands to the hem of his pants and began rolling the material down, trying to avoid stretching it.

This time Randy couldn't suppress a gasp as a broad moss-green waistband appeared, encircling the boy's slender hips. There was something odd about the jockstrap though; instead of straps curving down diagonally over each asscheek, a single padded string laid in the delightful, shadowed valley between them. Drawing his eye down, it rested perfectly across the rosy, tight-folded center of his brother's little ass.

Randy heard himself groan. He had to clench his hands tightly behind his back, so badly did he want to touch his throbbing, leaking dick.

At the sound, Chris half-stood, pushing the material down his legs with sudden haste. He swung round, hopping on one leg. "What?"

"Nothing," Randy answered. "I've just never seen a jock like that." The pouch was dark green too, cupping Chrissie's neat little package. He could just see the outline of the boy's soft little dick. "Want to call this a draw?"

"Oh no." Chris shook his head, his hair flying out side to side as he finished pulling his pants off. "I won 'cos I can keep my undies on, but," He pointed dramatically at Randy's bulging crotch, " 3;you messed yours so you gotta take 'em off, so you're bare first! Loser! Loo-oo-ser!"

Randy snorted laughter. "Hey! I thought I was the rules-lawyer!"

"Undies off!" Chris crowed, hopping from foot to foot like a little cheerleader. "Off! Off! Off!"

"Okay, okay, pipe down!" Randy hooked his thumbs into the waistband and shucked them down, glad to get the gooey things off his body.

Chris jumped up and down, his hair flopping, clapping his hands. "I won! I won! I won a prize! I want a soda!"

"No more sugar! Jeez! I'd have to scrape you off the ceiling." Randy crossed to the fridge and opened it, glad to have a distraction from his nakedness. It had never been a big deal before, but now his hardon just would not quit. He felt the cool air wash down over his stomach and hard dick. "Looks like OJ or milk." He took out the carton of juice, but it felt too light. He shook it next his ear. "Nope. Just milk, then."

"Aww." Chris came up and stood right next to him, so close that Randy could feel the heat from his sexy little brother's bare skin. "Milk's not a prize. I want a proper drink."

"No booze," Randy said. "Mom's never let me hear the last of letting you have that sip of beer. Hey," he said, trying for a distraction, "You've been growing again, Chrissie. Look, your head comes nearly up to my tit, now."

Chris frowned up at him. "Well if you hadn't gone off all summer you would have seen before!"

"All right, Chris! That's enough!" Randy shut the fridge and returned the boy's frown. "I get the message!"

"Sorry," Chris said sullenly. He folded his slender arms across his chest and stared at the floor, sulking.

"Yeah. And any more of that attitude mister, and I'll send you to your room!"

Chris sniffed loudly, his shoulders sagging.

"Aww," Randy said. "Don't do that. Look, d'you just want to sit on the couch and watch cartoons, like we used to?" He ruffled his brother's heavy, dark hair and stroked the silky back of his neck. "We used to have milk and cookies, remember?"

"'Course I remember!" Chris's voice sounded choked and thick. "It's you who forgot!"

"I'm sorry, Chrissie." Impulsively Randy put his arm round the boy's narrow shoulders and pulled him close. At once Chris wrapped both skinny arms around his waist and hung on tight, crying hot tears against his skin. "What is it, Chrissie? What?"

"I thought you didn't luh-love me any more!" the boy sobbed. "You didn't want to play, an' I tuh-tried and tried but you juh-just shouted." He hiccoughed and sniffed, wetly. "Before you went, you wouldn't even let me suh-sit quiet with you."

Yeah, well. A nine year-old's idea of 'sitting quietly' was several ball-parks away from his own definition of it. Still, there was no getting around it: that whole 'giving him space' thing had meant his little bro' had been hurting a lot more than he'd thought.

Randy squatted down so he could look at Chris eye-to-eye. The boy's face was streaked with tears. His lower lip jutted stubbornly, but his little chin was trembling.

"I'm really sorry," Randy said. "I never guessed you'd think that." He leaned close and kissed Chris softly on his pouting, soft lips. "Don't ever think I don't love you again, okay?"

"No, Randy," Chris said in his high, child's voice. "I won't. I'm suh-sorry."

"I know." Randy leaned close and kissed him again. Somehow it was partly like kissing a stranger: the suddenly slender boy his little brother had become. "Kiss me back, Chrissie," Randy whispered, sliding his arms round the boy's back and spreading his knees so that he could hug him close. "Come on."

Chris evidently didn't know about opening his mouth, but Randy let the boy wrap his skinny arms round his neck and hug him tight, bussing him enthusiastically. The boy pressed his warm, firm little body against his big brother and sighed.

"Open your mouth, Chrissie," Randy said, nudging the boy's chin with his thumb. "Come on." When the boy obeyed, Randy leaned his head down and kissed him again, licking his soft lips and stroking his silky neck.

Randy felt Chris jump when he first put his tongue in the boy's warm little mouth, but he murmured reassurance, licking his smooth teeth and then stroking his little boy-tongue with his own. They tongue wrestled for a little while, Chris growing steadily bolder and more adventurous until he was happily poking his tongue into Randy's mouth, who sucked on it.

"There," Randy said, breaking the wet kiss at last. "You liked that, didn't you?"

Chris looked dazed, but nodded obediently, blinking. His eyes seemed all dark pupils, the green and brown flecks crowded into narrow multicolored rings around the black. His lips glistened red as berry-juice and he breathed like he'd been running the outfield.

Randy patted his little brother's face. "Who'd have thought it, huh?" he said, smiling a little. "The first person I got to first-base with, would be you."

Chris blinked, and looked puzzled. "First base? Like in baseball?"

"Yeah," Randy said. "Couch baseball. You know, boys going out with girls? For fun? They call kissing like that "first base." There's other bases too." He felt his cock twitch at the thought.

Chris's expression brightened. "I'm glad you're having fun, Randy. I was scared you were bored of me."

"Come on, Chrissie – we've said all that. I'm not bored with you." Randy stroked his thumb back and forth across Chris's cheek, teasing a smile out of him.

"Okay. You want to play more?" Chris asked, looking hopeful. "Only I don't know these bases. Not for couch baseball, anyway."

"I'll teach you. Come on – let's sit on the couch." Randy slipped his arm beneath his brother's little butt and stood, lifting the boy up. He staggered.

"Lord, you're heavy! You sure have grown!" Randy said. "The last time I did this you were eye level with me when I carried you." All he could see now was the boy's chest.

Chris giggled, looking down at him. "That was ever so long ago. You said I was heavy then, too."

"I did?" Randy had to lean his head sideways to look around the boy as he carried him out of the kitchen.

"Uh-huh. You said I had a fat butt."

"Yeah?" Only two more steps to the couch, thank god. "Well, I'll check your butt for fatness later, 'K?" He turned his head and kissed one of the boy's nipples.

Chris squeaked in surprise. "What was that for?"

"Just to get your attention," Randy lied. "I'm going to drop you onto the couch, okay? Don't want to mess my back up."

"'Kay." Randy saw Chris twist his head around to look behind himself, and patted the boy's back.

"Not like that, you might hurt yourself. Look at me, Chrissie."

When the boy looked back at him, Randy leaned forward slightly and let go.

"Wheee!" Chris exclaimed, sounding like a three-year-old. He landed flat on his back on their old brown velour couch, bounced once and lay there, spreadeagled.

"You'd better take your jock off," Randy said, pointing.

"Oh? Why?"

"Well, it's a loaner too, isn't it? Besides, being green like that it makes you look like Mowgli. You know?" Randy added as Chris creased his brows in puzzlement, "from the Jungle book?" He laughed. "Though I guess that makes me Baloo. Too bad."

"Oh, no!" Chris shook his head. "You're not heavy like Baloo." He paused, fiddling with the waist-band and looking thoughtfully up and down Randy's body like he was seeing it for the first time.

"So who am I then?" Randy could feel his dick stirring again and hastily sat down on the couch near the boy's feet.

"Don't know." Chris broke his gaze and looked away. "Somebody nice," he mumbled. "Bagheera, maybe."

"Not the monkey king?" Randy sat up and flexed his muscles, posing. "C'mon," he said, reaching for the boy's jock-strap. "I wanna see all of you-hoo-hoo!" He hooked his fingers beneath the waistband and pulled.

Chris grabbed too late and missed: with only a string in back and no material for Chris's ass to trap against the couch, the jock slid easily down the boy's slim legs. He hunched, cupping both his hands protectively over his groin.

"Hey, what's this about?" Randy asked.

"I don't want you to see!" Chris squeaked, embarrassed. He pressed his knees together and hunched up further, both hands hiding his little jewels.

"Hell, you can see mine," Randy said. "What's the big deal?" But Chris shook his head stubbornly.

"Come on, Chrissie – don't be silly." Randy reached out and stroked his little brother's arm. "Come on. It's nothing dirty."

"No! I don't care!" Chris turned his face into the cushions. "I just don't want to!" he said, his voice muffled and a little hoarse.

Randy gripped both the boy's thin wrists and pulled his hands away from his groin by main force.

"Stop it!" Chris shouted, his face red. "I don't want you to look!"

"I'll stop it if you stop it, Chrissie!" Randy said. "Now stop that crying and tell me what's going on. I keep telling you it's not a big 3;"

"Stop saying that! Stop saying that! I know, okay?" Chris yelled. "It's not big! It's a teeny-tiny baby dick, and I know!"

Randy looked down. His little brother's soft dick looked perfectly normal to him, if more beautiful than he remembered; lying there curled over those little grape-sized boy-balls. "It's bigger than it was," he said. "You're probably just a "grower," not a "shower" like me."

"Wuh – sniff – what's that?" Chris looked up at him, wet eyed.

"You probably get a lot bigger when you get stiff," Randy translated. He let go of Chris's wrists. "Have you had a stiffie yet?"

"Sometimes," Chris mumbled, his cheeks flushing. "In the mornings. But I don't get big like you! Even when you're soft you're bigger than me!"

Randy sighed and patted the boy's smooth thigh. "I'm nearly ten years older than you, remember? Look, do you want to get it hard, and then I'll tell you – honestly tell you – if it's normal sized? I won't laugh at you, Chrissie, honest."

Chris looked at him dubiously. "Make it hard? I thought it just did that by itself."

"Well sure. But you can make it get hard yourself, if you want. You've never done that?"

Chris shook his head, no. His expression was one of deep suspicion.

"Well, you can. Just a minute." Randy stood up from the couch and headed for the kitchen.

"Where are you going?"

Randy looked back over his shoulder at the sexy boy spreadeagled naked on the dark couch. "I'll be back real quick, don't worry!" he said. He hurried over to the sink, grabbed his mother's strawberry hand lotion and headed back to the sitting room, his hard, throbbing dick bouncing as he ran.

"You're all big again," Chris said, scowling at him and looking down meaningfully at Randy's crotch. "I don't like it when you're big."

"W-what?" Randy stared at him. "Why not?"

"My friend Denny says when guys get big, it's 'cos they're thinking about girls. It's not fair!" Chris said, hotly. "I've been with you all afternoon, and the whole time you've been thinking about girls!"

"Yeah?" Randy said, amused.

"Yeah! Denny knows all about girls, he's seen 'em in the shower."

Randy couldn't believe it. "You mean he peeks – at school?" Lurid fantasies of small boys perched on trashcans, peeking in through ventilation grilles danced through his brain.

"'Course not!" Chris was scornful. "At home! Anyway, I don't want you thinking about girls when you're with me – it's not fair!"

"No?" Randy sat down on the couch again, feeling the laughter tugging at him. His little bro' was just too cute. "Exactly how isn't it fair?" he asked, gravely.

"It isn't, that's all." Chris sat up, looking tense and upset. "I've missed you all summer and the first time you're home you're only thinking about other people instead of me!"

"Oh, right." Randy tried to think of ways to explain that the situation was in fact the exact opposite and gave up. "How about we do a little more first-base instead, huh?"

"Yeah!" Chris leaned forward, pursing his lips.

"Not like that," Randy said, slipping his arm around the boy's slim shoulders and stroking down his back. "That's just ordinary kissing. Mouth open, remember?" He nudged his brother's chin with the back of his index finger, and obediently Chris parted his red lips.

The boy's mouth still tasted sweet: of the candy Chris had eaten at the season-end feast. Randy slid his hand up behind his little brother's neck as they kissed. Chris had a better idea what to do this time, and eagerly licked and sucked at Randy's tongue, wriggling with excitement. Randy pressed him back into the couch, stroking his smooth body, rubbing his thumbs across Chris's little nipples. Chris hummed his pleasure, arching his small hot body against his big brother as Randy's hands strayed, stroking the boy's ribs, his waist.

Randy licked at Chris's lips as he squirted lotion onto his fingertips and then slipped hia hand between them, stroking the sweet-smelling pink liquid over Chris's little dick.

"Hey, Randy?" Chris broke off the kiss, startled. "What -?"

"Shush. Randy murmured, sliding his fingers over his brother's little boyhood. "Just kiss me some more while I stroke you, okay?"

"It's cold," Chris complained, trying to peer down between their bodies. "And it feels funny."

"Stop being a baby, I'm not hurting you." Randy tickled the boy's little balls and then returned his attentions to his already stiffening dickie.

Chris looked uncertain, but allowed himself to be kissed again and soon seemed to relax, wrapping his arms around Randy's neck and enthusiastically wrestling his tongue once more. Randy paid careful attention to both kissing and fondling and when he broke the kiss a few minutes later the boy was excited and humping his little hips into Randy's hand.

"See?" Randy said, fondling his brother's hard fingerlength of boy-flesh. "I told you there were ways to get your dickie stiff."

Chris looked from Randy's face down to what he was fondling and back again, his expression nervous. "And 3;"

"It's lovely," Randy said, stroking the slick, silky length. Reluctantly Randy let it slip from his fingers, and at once Chris's dick sprang up until it almost pressed against his stomach. The bare head came a scant couple of fingerwidths below the boy's belly button. "You're about as big as my finger, see?" Randy said, holding his finger alongside for comparison.

"It's only little 3;" Chris began, but Randy interrupted.

"It's exactly right for you," Randy said, firmly. "You're a boy, so you've got a boy-dick. When you're like me, and you've got hair, it'll have grown to be bigger, don't worry." He smiled. "It looks just like mine did, when I was your age."

"Yeah?" Chris looked from his own dick to Randy's. "Cool!" He reached out to Randy's dick and then hesitated.

"It's okay," Randy said. "You can touch it if you want." He shuddered at the first butterfly-delicate touch of Chris's small fingers on his cock. "That's nice," he said, gently stroking the boy's little length. "I like your dick."

"You do?" Chris brushed aside his bangs and looked up at Randy earnestly. "You really like it?"

"Sure I do," Randy said, putting his arm around Chris's shoulders and squeezing. "You've got a big brother with a big cock, and I've got a little brother with a little one. You like my cock?"

"Uhuh." Shyly, Chris reached out and wrapped his little hand around his big brother's cock, trying to copy what Randy was doing to him.

"That's nice," Randy said. "Still mad at me because my dick's all big?"

Chris flashed him a puzzled look.

"Still think I'm thinking about girls?" Randy prompted. "Or you think I'm thinking about you?"

Chris looked from Randy to the big hard cock he was rubbing and back again. "I think," he said, coloring a little, "maybe Denny doesn't know so much. Just 'cos I didn't like how his sister all shook about!"

Randy smiled. "She was real heavy, you mean?"

"No, I mean up here 3;" with his free hand, Chris cupped a large imaginary boob at chest level. "And her ass, too. Not fat really, just, you know, big. Denny went on and on about it. It was soooo boring!" Chris rolled his eyes. "And then he wanted us both to rub our dicks, but all I could think of was all that jiggling, and I didn't want to." He looked down, uncomfortable.

"And it stayed small because you didn't want to," Randy finished for him, squeezing Chris's shoulder companionably.

"He said it was a baby wiener! And I was a baby!" Randy could hear the hurt betrayal in Chris's voice.

"Hey!" Randy said, stroking his brother's cheek with his thumb, feeling wetness. "I think you can forget about that baby stuff, right now, huh? You've got a proper boy-dick – and a real pretty one too." But he could tell his little bro' was still upset, remembering.

"Hey, Chrissie," Randy said, tickling gently beneath his brother's balls and making his little wood bob to and fro. "You want me to show you something nice? Something I bet Denny doesn't know."

Chris pushed his hair aside, peeping out from behind his bangs.

Randy slid down from the couch, so that he was sitting on the floor. "Come here," he said patting the cushion. "One leg this side of me, one leg that side. Come on Chrissie – you'll like this, I promise."

Chris half sat up. "You promise?"

"I promise. Any time if you don't like it, I'll stop." Randy patted the couch again right next to his face. "Come on. Park your cute little butt right here."

Chris giggled as he shuffled into position. "You think my butt's cute too?"

"I think all of you got cute somehow, while I wasn't looking." Randy leaned forward and kissed the boy's left knee, which happened to be closest.

Chris laughed out loud. "You think my KNEES are cute?" he squealed, "You're crazy! I'm dialing 911!"

"Not before I've kissed all of you!" Randy knelt up and kissed Chris, right over his breastbone. Then he moved a little lower and blew a raspberry on his stomach.

"Hey!" Chris protested, laughing. "No fair! You only said kissing!"

"Rules lawyer!" Randy laughed. "Okay, only kissing." He leaned forward again, and kissed the boy's warm, firm stomach. He wanted, oh, he so wanted to just touch his tongue to that little oval innie, but he figured it would freak Chris out. He kissed a little lower, and Chris quietened down some. He stroked his brother's smooth, lean thighs, slowly and gently, like you would some frightened little animal.

Slowly, oh so slowly, he bent down, smelling the sweet, artificial scent of strawberries. Softly he kissed the red tip of Chris's little boy-dick.

"You kissed my wiener?" Chris didn't sound freaked, or disgusted, just like he couldn't quite believe it.

"Sure. I said all of you, didn't I?" Randy looked up at his brother's incredulous expression. "And it's your dick," Randy corrected him. "You haven't got a little baby's wiener, remember?"

"Oh," Chris said, softly. "Yeah."

Randy smiled wickedly. "Want me to kiss it again? How about if I did one of those special kisses – you know? First base? You think that would feel nice?"

"On my dick? You want to?" Chris was wide eyed with curiosity.

"Sure I want to." Randy said.

"Why?" Chris said, directly.

Randy looked his brother straight in his lovely hazel eyes. "You know why."

Randy never thought anybody could blush so beautifully. The red washed upward from Chris's chest, flushed his slender neck and blossomed in his cheeks.

Chris looked down. "Yeah," he mumbled, awkwardly. After a moment, never a quitter, he looked up again. "Me too," he said, clearly.

Randy patted the boy's leg. It took him a moment to find his voice again. "So how about it? You want to? I'll stop if you don't like it."

Chris nodded, suddenly shy. "I know I'll like it if you say so, Randy. I want to!"

"That's my little ace batter!" Randy laughed as Chris sat up, straight and proud, his cheeks flushed almost as bright as his sparkling eyes.

"Your little bat's hard and ready, isn't he?" Randy was smiling so much his face hurt and his chest felt full; for a moment, he couldn't breathe.

"Yeah." Chris ran his finger down over his lean little belly, following the faint hint of his muscle-line, down to his dick and along it. "I'm glad you like my little bat."

Randy just couldn't help himself. He leaned forward and gently, ever so gently took the smooth little head into his mouth. The lotion wasn't flavored, but it wasn't unpleasant, either. He didn't suck, not yet, nor move his tongue. He felt Chris jerk, heard him gasp, felt his hard little boy dick twitch in his mouth.

"Ohhh, Randeee." Chris's voice was high and trembling.

Randy closed his lips more firmly around his brother's little shaft, moved them gently down to the base, then up again. When Chris's dick was fully inside his mouth, the tip just reached the soft back of his mouth. Gently Randy repeated the process, enjoying the feeling of the boy's hard bone sliding past his lips. Gently he added a little bit of suction.

Chris gasped again when Randy transferred his attentions to the smooth, red little crown, then groaned when Randy used his tongue for the first time.

"Ohh," he moaned. "Randy, I like it – ohh!" Chris shifted to and fro, excited, and Randy had to hold the boy's hips to keep him still enough to continue.

Randy mouthed his brother's stiff little bone harder, enjoying the boy's excitement as much as the sweet little dick in his mouth. He felt happy, certain that Chrissie liked what he was feeling; the boy was urging him on, asking for more with every excited squeak, twitch and breathy little moan.

He felt Chris put his hands on his shoulders. The boy's jittery attempts at stroking told Randy more clearly than words how intense the feelings were little brother was having. He wasn't surprised when he felt the boy begin to tremble.

"Randy," Chris sounded worried. "I feel funny!"

Randy let the hard little prick flick out of his mouth and looked up. "In your dick?" he asked, "is that where you feel it?"

Chris nodded. "Like I want to pee, sort of." His eyes were huge and anxious. "I don't want to pee in you, Randy."

"It's okay, you won't," Randy said. "This isn't peeing, it just feels like it, a bit. It gets much nicer, later. Unless you want me to stop?" He patted Chris's leg, reassuring him. "I'll stop if you want me to."

"It's not peeing?" Chris cocked his head, looking at Randy seriously. "I, I'll try it a bit more, if you're sure it's okay, and not peeing."

"It's okay. It sometimes gets really intense, but it's okay – your dick's meant to do it, it's not broken or anything." Randy spoke softly, reassuring Chris with the sound of his voice. "Any time it gets too much, you just squeeze my shoulder, got it? I'll wait a little." He stroked the boy's smooth thigh. "Don't worry, you're not going to hurt me, or do anything bad." Randy smiled. "I'm looking forward to showing you this."

Randy leaned down and kissed the tip of Chris's dick. When he heard no protest, he kissed it again and let it slide back into his mouth. The sound of Chris's moan seemed to shiver through him too.

"Ahhhh, Randy, it's just- ooohhh!"

Chris's clear boy's voice cooed a note of pure pleasure as Randy gently suckled him, sliding his mouth easily up and down that sexy, bone-hard boy-dick from root to tip. Randy licked it, kissed it and teased it, listening to his little brother moan his pleasure.

"Oooh! I can feel it!" Chris squeaked, excited. Randy felt the boy's hard little nail twitch in his mouth, and he ran his lips and tongue up and down that hardness, treasuring every lovely smooth bump.

"Oooh! Randy, it's – oooh! Oooh!" Chris wriggled, and Randy speeded up his sucking, licking and slurping on the little pole. He let the sensitive tip brush across the roof of his mouth, and then swirled his tongue beneath the boy's red little berry.

"Oooh! Oooh! Oohh" Chris jiggled his little hips. "Randee – eee!"

Randy could feel Chris's hands on the back of his head as the boy humped up into his mouth. He did his best to keep sucking as his brother squeaked and twitched, whimpering as he see-sawed his little dick faster and faster in and out of Randy's mouth, bashing his bare little mound against Randy's lips, humping his little butt right off the couch.

"Eeee – eee!" Chris squeaked. "I – eee!" He pressed himself against Randy, trembling.

Randy could feel Chris's warm, smooth stomach fluttering against his face as the boy half crouched, half leaned over his back. He could feel his little dink twitching in his mouth, bouncing against the length of his tongue. He reached up and stroked Chris's back, letting him know it was all okay, smoothing his hands over the boy's trembling skin, just holding his little dick in his mouth, not stimulating it any further.

"Ahh – ahh." Randy felt Chris sag and let him slump back onto the couch. Suddenly Randy's mouth felt very empty.

Randy chuckled, and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. "Liked that, huh?"

There was no answer. Chris lay spreadeagled on the couch limp as a doll, a beatific smile on his face. His long bangs had flopped in his eyes, and he was staring up at the ceiling, his eyes blank with bliss, panting like a bellows.

Randy moved up onto the couch, but didn't touch him, not wanting to call him back from boy-heaven. He was content to look, for a while.

"So," Randy said when Chris finally rolled his head to look at him. "How did you like second base?"

"Wow." Chris still looked a little dopey. "That was neat!" He blinked again and a little animation seemed to come back into his small frame. "Can we do that again?"

"Sure. You like couch baseball, huh?" Randy grinned and settled himself back more comfortably on the couch. His dick felt like an iron bar.

"Yeah!" Chris nodded definitely. "It's cool."

"So," Randy said. "You want to try out for the team, Ace?" He tensed his muscles to make his dick lift off his belly and bob in the air.

Chris eyed it nervously. "I don't know, Randy. It's awful big."

"Oh well." Randy shrugged. "If you don't want to play properly 3;"

"I do!" Chris protested. "Only it's too big!"

"You only have to do as much as you can," Randy said, feeling the excitement flutter along his nerves and his cock throb in response. "Come on, Chrissie – don't you want to make me feel good?"

Chris hesitated, looking from Randy's face to his cock, and back again. "What if I do it wrong?" he asked, worried.

"It's okay. You're not going to hurt me, Chrissie," Randy said, stroking his brother's arm. "I'll tell you exactly what to do, and we'll go as slow as you like."

"Will I like it?"

"Sure, when you've learned how. It's not like being sucked, but it's still fun. I liked sucking you," Randy said, reminding him.

Chris blushed. "You're nice, Randy. Okay, I'll do my turn." He made as if to get down from the couch, but Randy stopped him.

"Look," Randy said, slipping his arm around Chris and pulling him close. "Why don't you just play with my dick first, huh? Just so you get used to it."

Chris looked up at him, sideways, out of the corner of his eye. "I got to?"

"'Course not." Randy put his finger to Chris's chin and tilted his head up. "I just thought if you tried sucking right away, you might get scared." He smiled, and got a little smile in return. "Don't you like my dick?"

"Sure I like it." Chris reached out and touched Randy's cock about half way down. "I hope mine grows this big."

"Just enjoy what you've got," Randy told him, stroking the boy's side. "I like how yours is so slim and neat."

"Yeah?" Chris looked up from walking his fingertips along Randy's hard length. "Well yours is neat, too." He grinned, "and I get more bat to play with than you!" He wrapped his hand around it as much as he could, and rubbed gently up and down. "Is that right?"

"Yes, that's lovely," Randy said, relaxing against the cushions. "You've got to be gentle though; remember there's no lotion on it, so it's dry."

"Oh." Chris looked nervous. "Should I put some on?"

"You don't have to," Randy said, "and I wouldn't want the taste to gross you out, later. There's a different way to get it wet."

Chris grinned impishly. "I bet I can guess!" He stuck out his little pink tongue and wiggled it at his brother. "I guess it's kind of stealing a base," he giggled.

Randy chuckled and patted his brother's neat little ass. "Smarty pants," he said. "Go on, then."

Chris wriggled closer, so that his hip was next to Randy's waist, and then leaned down over his groin. Even his back was beautiful, Randy thought. He resisted the urge to reach out and trace the angular outline of Chris's shoulderblades, not wanting to distract him. The boy's hair hung down for a moment, obscuring the view, but a heartbeat later Randy felt his brother's soft lips touch his cock, kissing it, and then he felt wetness as the boy licked him.

"Start near my balls, and work up," Randy instructed.

"Huh?" Chris looked up, hooking his hair back. His other hand was lightly curled round Randy's hard meat.

"Lick the head last, just before you're going to start sucking, okay? You remember when I did it to you?"

"Oh, sure." Randy felt Chris shiver with the memory. "Don't I have to get down for sucking though? On the carpet, like you did for me?"

"Sure, later." Randy ran his hand along Chris's back, enjoying the feeling of his smooth skin. "This is just practice, remember? Don't worry, I'll tell you what to do."

"Yes, Randy." Chris nodded submissively and went back to licking Randy's cock.

With his hair hooked back out of the way, Randy could now see as Chris gave his cock a thorough tongue-bath. The boy licked along it from base to tip, the pink point of his tongue tracing sexy patterns over Randy's sensitive skin. Randy couldn't remember ever being this hard, for this long. His whole cock ached, and his balls too.

"Mmmm," he murmured, "That's nice, Chrissie. Keep doing that."

"It's nice?" Chis said, looking up and licking his lips. "I'm doing it right?", he asked, hopefully.

"You're doing great, little team-mate," Randy said. "Handling that big bat real well: your lips are lovely and soft. Come here a minute." He beckoned, leaning up. "Let's kiss a while, huh?"

"Mmmm," he said, tasting his brother's soft lips, excited by the knowledge that the last thing they'd touched had been his cock. Chris pushed his tongue in, excited, and Randy slid his hand up the soft nape of Chris's neck, feeling his little brother get more excited still as they kissed, deeply, wriggling his smooth, hot little body against him and panting into his mouth. His little hand squeezed and rubbed at Randy's aching cock; they both moaned in excitement together.

Randy arched his hips up off the couch as Chris squeezed and rubbed him, moaning into his brother's warm little mouth, pushing his tongue into that hot little cave, excited beyond endurance as the boy sucked on it, he couldn't help it 3;

"Uhh!" He tried to give his little bro' warning, but his cock pulsed and squirted. "Cmmmng!" he grunted, moments before he felt warm spots land on his arm and shoulder. "Unnnh!" He felt Chris flinch, but all he could do was hug his brother hard as his cock bucked and spurted again.

"'S okay, 's okay!" Randy gasped. Spasming, he came again, hugging the boy tight; it was all he could do; he kissed Chris's cheek as he subsided onto the couch, half blind; his cock pulsing and twitching into quietness.

"Randy!" Chris was wide eyed and scared, "You okay, are you sick?" he panted. "Did I hurt you?" he asked, wriggling up in Randy's arms and leaning over him.

"'S okay! I'm fine." Randy reached up and patted his little brother's cheek. "It's just – hah – you remember yours, at the end?"

"Yeah?" The boy's expression brightened. "I did it?"

"You did fine! Best ever!" Randy gasped, reaching up and hugging him again.

He'd never seen a grin that big on a boy's face; Chrissie glowed. "Was I really the best ever?" he asked as he settled down next to Randy again, leaning on his chest.

"Yeah." Randy ran his knuckle down Chrissie's flushed cheek. "The best ever."

"But 3;" Chrissie turned his head to look down at Randy's stomach and what felt to be a positive lake of cum.

"Yeah, sorry. I should've warned you," Randy said, rubbing Chris's arm. "It's just cum, don't worry. I was going to tell you, only it got a bit sudden, because you're so good."

"Yeah, I got a bit sudden, too, at the end." Chris said, remembering.

Randy looked down and saw the boy had a line of cum over his forearm. God! He could feel splashes as high as his shoulders! His dick still ached from the force of cumming that hard. He reached out and wiped the splash off Chris's arm.

"Lord," he said, grinning up at his little brother, "you must have my cum all up your back!"

"Yeah, feels like." Chris squirmed and Randy saw him look at the splash of cum on his shoulder. "It's cum? Like sperms?"

"Sperm, that's right." Randy agreed, still gently stroking his brother's arm with his thumb.

"Oh." Chris moved a little, and Randy relaxed his arm, thinking the boy wanted to get up, but he didn't, he just settled comfortably again, leaning against Randy's chest, looking thoughtful.

"Randy," he said. "Would you have done that 3;" Chris paused uncomfortably, looking worried. " 3;you know: sperms, in my mouth?"

Randy swallowed: his throat felt dry. "Not without telling you first, and not if you didn't want to." He knew he'd been lucky, and blessed whichever love-god had prompted that kiss.

Chris stared at him, wrinkling his brows in astonishment. "You thought I might want to?"

Randy tried his best, but couldn't help but smile at the boy's horrified expression. "I take it that's a "No" then," he chuckled. "Honestly though, Chrissie; cum's nothing bad, and it doesn't taste, hardly at all. Look." He wiped the splash off his shoulder and licked it off his finger. "See?"

The boy was bug-eyed. "You swallowed it?"

"Sure." Randy shrugged. "It's all me; don't be grossed out."

Chris still looked unconvinced. "I don't know," he said uneasily. "It's from where you pee out of."

"Well?" Randy reached up and cupped Chris's cheek, stroking his thumb across the boy's lips. "Kissing's from where you spit up from, isn't it? Or are you giving up kissing too?" Randy felt breathless as Chris looked at him so thoughtfully.

"I could never stop kissing you, Randy," Chris said, pressing his cheek against the palm of Randy's hand. He looked down at Randy's sticky chest, breaking the moment. "And you said you liked all of me, so 3;" He looked up at Randy and then down again.

Randy waited. After a moment, Chris sat up a little more, and Randy let his hand fall back to his side. Chris fidgeted, and turned a little, and for the first time Randy could see the boy's back clearly.

"Wow," Randy said. He'd blasted at least two good ropes across his little brother's back. Streaks and blobs of his cum glistened in the afternoon light, spraying from the boy's hip up as far as his shoulder-blades. "Man, did I cum hard! You're just too good!"

"Yeah, I could feel it splashing." Chris shivered. "I thought you were peeing on me!"

"Well, I wasn't, I told you. It's because I like you so much." Lazily, Randy curled his arm around Chris's hips and patted the smooth globe of one little asscheek, enjoying the feeling of his little brother's warm body pressed against him.

"Here. Let me clean you up a bit." Casually, Randy scooped some of his ball-juice off the boy's back and ate it.

Chris watched him as Randy sucked his finger clean. "That stuff really means you like me?" he asked.

"Uhuh," Randy wiped more of his spooge of Chris's slender back. "You don't make it yet, so I guess I'll just have to take your word for it you like me," he said as he licked it off his finger.

"Of course I do, Randy!" Chris hesitated. "You want me to clean you?"

"Sure," Randy said. He expected – and his dick tingled from just the possiblity – that Chris was going to feed him his cum. But the boy scooped up a little load and after examining it minutely, slipped his glistening finger between his own beautiful lips and sucked it clean.

Randy felt the tingling in his cock intensify as Chris tasted his cum and swallowed, his little face thoughtful.

"Doesn't taste of anything, really," was the boy's verdict. "Just kind of gloopy. But I don't mind, now I know what it means." He leaned comfortably across Randy's hips, facing him, then wiped up another fingerful and sucked it off. "Hey! Your dick just poked me!"

"Hey, yourself!" Randy stroked his hand down over Chris's waist and the boy shifted his little butt and spread his legs comfortably, allowing him access.

"I see your little guy isn't exactly sitting this out on the bleachers, either," Randy said as he ran a teasing finger down the join of Chris's thigh toward his cute little balls, carefully avoiding contact with his hard, jutting boyflesh.

"You want to try something a little different?" Randy asked as he tickled Chris's balls.

"What, sucking?" Chris looked interested.

"If you like," Randy said, feigning indifference. "Though I was thinking a bit more first-base, just for some fun."

"First-base, huh?" Chris shifted as though something had poked him. "I gotta say though, I think your dick's thinking more second-base. Ow!" he added, grinning.

"Well, it's up to you. Are you okay with sucking, now you know about me cumming?"

Chris looked a little cautious. "Do you have to? I mean, in my mouth?"

"I can warn you, just before. You might get a little in your mouth, but that's okay, isn't it? I thought you didn't mind, now you know what it means."

"Oh, yeah. It's just, just there was such a lot!" Chris looked worried. "I was thinking maybe it'd be like when I bet you I could drink that whole Big Slurpee – you remember?"

Randy laughed, then sobered up when he saw Chris's hurt expression. "Oh, little dude," he said, rubbing Chris's shoulder. "Guys' balls don't make that much. It just looks like a lot because I sprayed it all over. The most a guy makes, ever, is like a sixth of a juice-glass. But I don't mind – you can spit my juice out, if you want."

Chris nodded, looking happier, and Randy pulled his face closer and kissed him. "I don't think I could ever stop kissing you, either," he said. "You ready to taste my ball-juice again, now?"

"Uhuh!" Chris murmured, in between kisses. "Only I wish I could do your dick and be up here kissing you too!" He climbed astride Randy. "Hey!" he exclaimed, "stop poking me with that!"

"It's your own fault." Randy pulled the boy down to lie on top of him, stroking his back. He groaned as he felt Chris's hot little dick pressing against his stomach. "Mmmm, you're so lovely."

"You too. I can feel the tip of your dick nudging my balls, sort of." He smiled shyly. "I'm getting a little bit of that peeing feeling, just from wriggling about on you. You're nice, Randy."

Randy stroked Chris's back, from his shoulders down to his little, curved butt and back again. "Well you can wriggle about, if you want," he said, "but you'd better move your little balls off my dick or there's gonna be another accident."

"Yeah? You like my balls on – ooo!" Chris was suddenly round eyed. "You do!" He shifted his hips forward and Randy felt his cock spring up, released.

"You want me to help you with your tingling?" Randy asked, though his throbbing, hard cock already ached for release again.

Chris looked down at him, shrewdly. "Yeah, but I reckon I'd end up with more of you all over my back, like last time." He sat up, and Randy's gaze was immediately drawn to the boy's hard little cock, twitching against his stomach.

"I'll tell you what," Randy said, "how about I show you how to make your dick feel nice, and then you can do that while you suck me?"

"Neat!" Chris wiggled his hips in excitement, squeezing Randy's chest between his knees.

"Come on, then." Randy patted the boy's ass, and with only a little more kissing and touching, Chris got off him and then climbed down onto the floor.

"Now, hold out your hand," Randy told him. "You need a little bit of lotion. That's it." He squirted a small dollop of the strawberry hand cream onto the boy's fingertips. "Now just spread that over your dick and make it slippery." He couldn't help but sigh as he watched Chris's fingers smooth up and down his boy stalk. He'd hoped that this little pause would give his own dick time to calm down some, but he was just finding his little bro' more and more sexy.

He smiled as Chris looked up, catching him watching him, and grinned as Chris's gaze cut right, checking out his dick. "Still there," he said.

"And real big, too." Chris looked back at him. "I guess I better not touch, huh?"

"Better not. You don't mind it being big now, eh?" Randy said, his voice teasing.

"Not now I know it's me." Chris's brows shot up. "Hey, was it me all the time?"

"Sure it was."

"Wow. Even in the car?" Chris kneeled up in his excitement. "You've really only been thinking about me all day, Randy?"

"Yeah." Randy reached down and stroked his brother's slick little bone. "Only you." He leaned forward for a kiss, but Chris pushed him back.

"Uh-uh," he said. "It's your turn now." He stroked down Randy's arm and squeezed his hand, moving it off his little dick. "We can do me later."

Randy shifted himself until he was perched right on the edge of the couch, and Chris settled himself between his brother's spread legs.

"Wow," Chris said. "Awesome." He looked up. "Do I suck it right away?"

"Well, lick it and get it wet again first, but pretty soon, unless you want more mess, yeah."

"Okay." Chris knelt up, nerving himself, licking his lips. "Can I lick your balls?" He shifted, nervous and shy. "Because they've been making your juice," he explained, "all the time you've been thinking about me."

Randy felt his dick throb. "Sure you can." He smiled as Chris leaned down and got to work.

This was not going to be a long suck, Randy already knew that. The feel of Chris's little tongue teasing his balls was exciting enough, but the sight of his hard meat laying right across the boy's upturned face and the feeling of his soft cheek and brow brushing against his cock as the boy moved, licking first one of his nuts and then the other; it was so hot, he just had to look away and think about something else or spray jizz into Chrissie's hair.

"Is it nice, Randy?" Chris asked, his voice slightly muffled.

"Sure," Randy replied, desperately trying to recall the capitals of Europe. He looked back. "I told you, you're really good."

Chris nodded, then sat up and took hold of Randy's cock. "And you're really nice, Randy," he said. He licked the stalk, just below the head, nuzzling the big cock with his soft little lips. Randy saw the boy work his lips one over the other, making both wet, and then he opened his mouth wide.

Randy had a glimpse of tongue and teeth before Chris took him into his wet little mouth.

"Oh, that's good," Randy said. "Careful of your teeth okay, little dude?" He stroked the boy's shoulder. "That's it. Suck on it a little, and make more spit, okay? Ooh, yes," he added as he felt his little brother's tongue squirm against the underside of his cock-head. "That's good, but can you lick a bit lower?"

"Oh, yes!" Randy said as the boy leaned closer, taking a bit more cock into his hot little mouth. "That's good. I know you're having to stretch your mouth wide, Chrissie, but you're doing good. Slide up and down on it now, and suck it, like a popsicle."

Chris was now taking maybe a fourth of Randy's cock into his mouth, bobbing his head slowly, his dark hair swinging back and forth, brushing against his cheeks. He was stretching his little mouth as wide around Randy's fat cock as he could, wrinkling his freckled little nose and grunting with the effort. Saliva pushed, glistening, out of the seal the boy's pink lips made around his big brother's swollen, veiny cock, trickling down its hard length.

"That's good," Randy murmured, captivated by the sight of his throbbing meat sliding in and out of the boy's stretched mouth. "Can you get more in, Chris?" he brushed the boy's bangs back out of his eyes, and Chris looked up at him, questioning. "Not all of it, just maybe half, huh?" He slipped his hand down to rest on Chris's shoulder, just stroking his neck with his fingertips, and smiled as his little bro' pushed down.

Randy groaned aloud at the sensations. Chris sure had a hot, slippery little mouth! He felt more of his cock engulfed in that tight wetness, until the tip of his cock pushed against the back of the boy's mouth.

"Mww?" Chris mumbled a query, and Randy smiled.

"Well, if you like, but I reckon you're pretty full up, huh?"

"Mm!" Chris was definite.

"Okay then. Just suck and lick like you were before, then. Ohh," he groaned as Chris began again. "That's right, little buddy – uh! Just like that."

Chris wrapped both his hands round the base of his big brother's cock, cradling his balls, and began sucking with steady, even strokes. Now he was taking more of Randy's thick cock than before, maybe a bit less than half, sliding the hard teen meat in and out past his lips, almost down to the wetness that marked his best effort.

"Mmmmnnn, that's nice," Randy groaned, feeling the back of the boy's mouth bumping against his cock-head. "Moan if you're having fun too, huh? So I know."

Chris hummed, bobbing his head up and down on Randy's glistening cock like a little yo-yo, his hair flopping, sucking hard.

"Mmm, that's nice. You like sucking on my big dick, huh?" He smiled as Chris hummed assent. "I'm glad you like it. Think about it now, all hard in your mouth, and try to tell me how you like it, huh? Like cuddling it with your tongue?"

"Ohhh yeah!" Randy felt the difference immediately as Chris got the idea, squirming and rubbing his firm little muscle against Randy's hard cock, and using the roof of his mouth, too.

"Mmmmm!" Chris moaned, a deep, guttural groan that throbbed along Randy's cock and made him groan too. The boy slurped and licked, and Randy caught his breath, gasping from the intensity of the sensations as his little brother teased his captive, aching cock.

Randy felt a stirring of need. It wouldn't be long, now, and he managed a warning: "Gonna cum!" he gasped as Chris groaned again, licking and slurping up and down his glistening pole.

He tapped Chris's shoulder, urgently. "Dude!" he gasped, feeling his balls tightening. "Look out!"

His brother's slippery mouth was still wrapped hot around his meat as he felt his cock swell, and then 3;

"AaaaAAAhhh!" Randy yelled as his cock erupted in Chris's mouth, spurting cum.

"Jeezus! Urrgh!" His hips jerked as he felt the boy swallow, and Chris coughed at the second spray of cum, his cheeks bulging and his face reddening. White leaked past his lips and then he let the pulsing big cock go, spurting ball-juice across his pretty face before the boy could grab it again and gobble the broad head past his red, cum-smeared lips.

"Uhhh!" Randy grunted, his fingers digging into the cushion as he spurted again into Chris's mouth, and again, shaking as his orgasm tailed off in weaker dribbles and squirts. "Uhh! Man!" He flopped back onto the couch, breathing heavily.

He just about had the strength to smile as Chris climbed back onto the couch beside him, grinning like he'd won a medal, his face still decorated with his brother's cum.

"I did good, yeah?" The boy's eyes sparkled; he already knew the answer. "Did you like it? Huh? Tell me, Ran-dee!"

Randy reached out and squeezed Chris's knee. "Yeah. You know I did, Chrissie. How, how about you?"

"Yeah! It was neat!" the boy squeaked, grinning, bouncing on the cushion. "Can we do it again?"

Randy groaned. "In a while, maybe," he said. "But first we'd better clean ourselves up some. I feel stickier than an all-day sucker."

"Yeah." Chris wrinkled his face up, nodding. "And we better clean the couch, too." He pointed.

Randy twisted his head to look up at the couch back and saw the spots and streaks against the dark velour. "Man! I did cum hard that first time, no wonder you were scared about swallowing!"

Chris giggled. "Yeah. I would've got it all this time though, if you hadn't poked me."

"Sorry about that." Wearily, Randy pushed himself up off the couch. "Come on," he said, extending his hand. "We'll go shower, then clean up, okay?"

The microwave bleeped, and Mom smiled as she lifted the ready meal out. "Well, it certainly was a nice surprise," she said.

"It's okay," Randy said, leaning aside to let her place the plastic tray on the plate in front of him. "Chris did a lot of the cleaning too." He looked across the table to where his little brother sat, scarfing spaghetti Os like they were going out of fashion.

"Good to see him eating again," she said, turning back to the counter and stabbing the plastic foil over her own portion. "He must have really worked up an appetite. I mean, even cleaning the couch!"

"Oh we had to!" Chris said, grinning, his lips smeared with spaghetti sauce. "Randy spilled his juice all over it." He widened his eyes mock-innocently as Randy choked on a bite of lasagna.

Chapter Two
The New Student

Randy rubbed his temples, wincing as the letters in his textbook seemed to blur and double in front of his eyes. He sighed and looked at the clock on his desk: an hour yet before his late shift at the grocery store. He stood up, stretching; maybe coffee would help. He'd only been at university a week, but the course schedule was relentless and he was determined not to fall behind in his studies.

He could hear the TV as he came downstairs. Mom slumped on the couch, her eyelids drooping, half-watching some sanitized soap version of the American Dream. Chris sat next to her, leaning close and drinking a glass of milk. He was already in his favorite old Ninja Turtle pyjamas, and his clear, smooth, boy's skin glowed like pearl against the fuzzy green cotton. His Mom looked up as Randy passed behind the couch, and he patted the back of it and smiled as he headed for the kitchen.

He was filling the kettle when he heard his Mom's heavy tread behind him.

"Sit down Randy," she said. "We need to talk."

Randy jumped, feeling the cold water splash his hand. He stood for a moment, his heart racing, trying not to blame Chrissie for blabbing about what they'd done together on the couch: he was, after all, only a kid. Since that Saturday they'd fooled around some, but now Chris was back at school they'd had hardly any time alone together. Chris had seemed happy enough with just a snatched kiss or two and an innocent cuddle. Randy, – or at least, he thought ruefully, his cock – had wanted more, but he'd just been too busy preparing for university.

And now it was all going to come crashing down. Some innocent remark had started Mom questioning, and Randy could just hear Chrissie's light, guilt-free little voice chattering about the exciting new game he played with his big brother. He should have said that it was secret; impressed on the boy how 'telling' would get them all in trouble, but afterwards Chris had been so happy Randy hadn't had the heart to burden the boy's innocence. So he'd just smiled when Chris whispered in his ear, asking if Randy was thinking about him now and making sperms, and reminded his little bro' that the game was private.

Now his hand shook as he took the kettle from beneath the faucet, but when, heart thumping, Randy turned and faced her, his Mother was just sitting quietly at the table, her expression weary.

"I've got some bad news, dear," she said. "Crystal Demont has quit the salon. She's decided she's got to go nurse her mother over in Iowa City."

"Oh." Randy tried to hide his relief. This was not about himself and Chris. Chris hadn't blabbed: Mom still didn't know. He raised his brows, pantomiming incomprehension and trying to stop his hands shaking. "So?"

His Mom waved a hand, tired. "So because she's leaving the salon, they're taking the chance to cut back. Instead of two five-hour posts, there's only going to be one full time beautician."

Glad of an excuse to turn his back, Randy moved to set the kettle on its base, and flipped it on. He took a deep breath to calm himself before turning back to face his Mom. "And they want you out?"

"Oh no." His mother managed a smile. "Word is, they're going to offer it to me." She patted her blonde curls, pantomiming smugness. "Of course." Then, abruptly, she stopped clowning and her smile faded. "Wish I could take it," she said. "We could sure use the money."

"But-" Randy began, and then understood. "Oh. You wouldn't be home in time for Chrissie when he gets out of school."

His Mom nodded. "Worse; the new hours are ten until six, so after travel, I'd barely be home for his bed-time." She stood up and came over to put her hand on Randy's arm.

"I'm sorry," she said. "You knew we were stretched about as tight as we could go. Without my salon money, there's just no way we can pay the loan instalments on your school fees."

Randy nodded, his heart sinking afresh. His parents had managed to get him on the new 'Road to Learning' placement scheme: instead of a family needing enough savings to pay all the fees up-front, the government paid the university, and his parents paid monthly instalments on the low-interest loan to the Department of Education. The trouble was, the Republicans and their tame media had screamed about liberal hand-outs to 'deadbeat student spongers' and ruthlessly used the toxic-loans crisis to hamstring the scheme. Now the D. Ed. had no discretion: a single missed payment put you in default, and the university was compelled to expel the 'fiscally irresponsible' student.

"I understand," Randy said. "I guess I'll have to start looking for a job, and then go to night school. How long do we have?"

"Two weeks yet," she said patting his arm, her sweet perfume enveloping him like a hug. "I'm sorry, dear. I know you'd barely gotten your class schedule."

"Look," Randy said. "We'll think up another explanation for me quitting university. I don't want to mention the school supervision thing, or Chris'll get to thinking this is his fault – you know how he can be. So don't tell Chris, okay?"

Chris's high voice sounded behind them: "Don't tell me what?"

Randy turned to see his little brother standing in the doorway, cradling his empty milk glass in his hands.

"Just money trouble, little dude," Randy said. "We didn't want to worry you."

"Oh." Chris looked from one to the other of them. "Well, I don't know why you wanted to stay longer in school anyway. I sure don't!"

"It's that bad?" Randy asked. Behind him, the kettle boiled and clicked off.

"It's boring," Chris said, carrying his glass over to the sink. "They're making me learn all these fractions. I mean, what will I ever need to know multiplying five-eighths by eleven-sixteenths for?"

"Ask Dad, sometime," Randy said, smiling. "You heard about me quitting college, huh?" He moved aside to allow Mom to get to the kettle.

"Yeah." Chris reached up to put his glass on the drainer, and then looked up at Randy seriously. "Dad won't like it, and I don't like you being a quitter either, Randy."

Ouch, Randy thought. Team or no team, his little brother could be a straight-hitter sometimes.

"I'll see if I can think of something," Randy said. "I don't want to quit."

"I'll do more chores," Chris offered. "Even stuff I really don't like."

Randy reached out and ruffled Chris's hair. "What, like extra school?" he asked, affectionately.

"Sorry," Mom said, looking up from spooning coffee powder into a couple of mugs. "I already checked. There aren't any after-school clubs that run any longer than an hour."

"Hey!" Chris said, indignant. "You didn't ask me! Those clubs suck!"

She smiled, picking up the kettle. "And if I'd asked you to do it for Randy?" Her smile broadened as Chris shrugged, flushed and uncomfortable.

Randy looked from one to the other as the burned-caramel odor of cheap instant coffee filled the air. "I really will try to think of something," he promised.

"Will you tell me a bedtime story, Randy?" Chris asked. "Like you used to?"

"Sure," Randy said. Suddenly squeezing in an extra hour of study didn't seem so important. "Go brush your teeth, huh? I'll come up in about five minutes." He felt his heart do a flip at the boy's suddenly happy expression.

"Well, that's me off the hook, I guess," Mom said, offering Randy one of the mugs of coffee. "Thanks."

"It's okay Mom," Chris said, moving close to her and turning his face up to be kissed, "It's just nice having Randy home again, is all. Oh, yeah -" he looked around the kitchen and then pointed at the pile of laundry. "Will you wash that baseball uniform for me? Coach Pedersen wants it back – it was only a loaner."

"Sure I will." She bent down and kissed the boy's hair. "Maybe you'll make the team next time, huh? Goodnight then, dear. Go wash up and get ready for your story."

"Okay, Mom!" Chris turned and scampered across the kitchen.

"And no running on the stairs!" Randy yelled after his brother's rapidly diminishing back. He turned back to his mom. "Don't worry," he said, watching as she started sorting the brightly colored Spandex from the rest of the dirty clothes, "I'll think of a way. We've got two weeks, right?"

It felt odd, stepping into Chris's bedroom again. Despite it being right next door to his own room, Randy couldn't remember even glancing inside since Mom and Dad had moved their bedroom downstairs and he'd moved out. The room seemed much the same as when they'd both shared it, though the Pokemon stuff which had covered Chris's half had gone. Now posters of film stars and cartoons decorated the walls. He-Man flexed his arms on one wall; Batman in his rubber muscle vest hung opposite; and the poster above Chris's bed showed an androgynous boy wrestling trolls who looked more horny than angry.

The overhead light was off, the room lit only by the small 'Sky Projector' bedside lamp, and Chris's slender, pale little face glowed in the dim-lit space like a fine ivory sculpture.

"I'm ready for my story, Randy," Chris said, his eyes bright with excitement.

The boy was lying with his much-washed, once-gaudy Indiana Jones coverlet pulled right up to his chin. As he wriggled beneath it, Indy, whip raised and shirt half-unbuttoned, seemed to flex his muscles ready for action.

"Yes?" Randy moved a pile of folded laundry and pushed a low chair close to the bed. "What's Mom been reading you?"

"Oh, I don't want one from a book," Chris said. "I want a proper, made-up one like you used to tell me."

"Aren't you a bit old for Scratch and Sniffles?" Randy asked, settling in the chair. It was the kind that unfolded into a guest-futon, and was so low he could rest his arm comfortably on the bed, his head almost level with Chris's own.

"Oh, I didn't mean them!" Chris said. "I'm not scared of mice any more. I just liked the way the stories were about us, really. I was Scratch, wasn't I?" He grinned at Randy's nod. "I liked him best. Sniffles was so stuffy sometimes."

"Hey!" Randy poked Chris's middle, through the coverlet. "So you think I'm stuffy, huh?"

Chris giggled. "And bossy! Always telling me what to do!" He wriggled under the covers again.

"I don't recall it making much difference," Randy said. "Seems to me you only do what I tell you if I really, really insist."

"Yes, Randy." Chris wriggled again, seeming even more flushed and excited than before.

"Just what are you doing under there?" Randy asked.

Chris giggled and held up the coverlet so that Randy could see. Beneath it, the boy was naked, and his little dickie stood up hard, glistening between his fingers. A tube of hand-lotion rolled against his hip. "See?" he said. "I've been practicing!"

"Could we have a couch baseball story?" he pleaded as he let the bed covers drop again. "Please, Randy!"

Randy struggled to keep his face deadpan. "What, actual baseball?"

"No. I mean," Chris flushed. "You know: kissing, and like that – like we did. I don't mind about the rest; it can be in space, or olden times, or anything you like, just so long as it's men and boys."

Randy chuckled. "I'll give you stories, little minx!" He patted the coverlet above his little brother's leg. "How about Red Riding Pants – the boy who instead of visiting his granny goes and finds the big muscly woodcutters?"

"Ooo, yeah!" Chris grinned widely. "That sounds neat!"

"Or maybe the Prince, all lonely in his tower, who finds a lamp and wishes for -"

"A genie with a big cock!" Chris giggled. "Magical so it could get bigger and smaller!"

"Yes." Randy slipped his hand beneath the coverlet and stroked the boy's smooth legs. "Or maybe he just wished for a handsome prince."

"Oh yes," Chris breathed, his hand movements making the coverlet bounce. "Tell me that one."

"Well, just quickly then," Randy said, settling himself comfortably. "I've got to go to work soon."

"Once upon a time," Randy began, "a king had two sons. The older one, Hipparos, was big and muscular, a tough, proper knight. The younger son, Amarus, was slender and pretty. The king was very happy until the oldest reached manhood and went away on a quest and he didn't come back. The King was in despair, because he needed a tough, proper knight to rule the kingdom after him. "What use to me are you?" the King said to his pretty son, and he consulted the court magician, Venarian.

"Venarian announced that if the king banished the boy to the secure room in the tallest tower of the castle, then the older son would return, and the kingdom would have its strong king after he was gone.

"So the king allowed the spell, and banished his pretty son to the tallest tower in the castle until his first son returned home. And Venarian smiled behind his beard, for he knew the older son was cursed, and could not return home. Now the dynasty would end, and the nobles who had bribed him would divide the kingdom amongst themselves after the king died.

Venarian knew that the secure room was a magic room, built for the old Emperor's concubines, so that they couldn't escape, but he'd forgotten it had other enchantments too. As the years sleeted by everyone got older except for the banished Prince, who stayed young and slender and pretty."

Randy slid his hand under the coverlet and squeezed Chris's knee. "Oh," he said, "Amarus enjoyed himself with the guards: big, strong men that the King changed regularly. "

"Ooo, yeah," Chris said, his eyes gleaming. "Did he have lots of boyfriends?"

"Well, yes – and no." Randy leaned closer and began to massage the smooth skin of the boy's slender thighs. "You see, Amarus was lucky he liked hairy men with big dicks, and the King never could work out why there was a waiting list for that particular post, and the Pretty Prince was getting plenty of loving, spending all day being held and kissed by those big strong men and gulping down their ball-juice and getting fucked at least four times every day," Randy slid his hand up and stroked his brother's little balls, feeling Chris's hand brushing against his own as the boy jerked himself off.

Chris moaned, wriggling wantonly beneath the coverlet. "Big dicks?" he whispered, "like yours, Randy?"

"Yes," Randy said, shifting in the chair and grinning at the way his little brother's eyes went to the big hard bulge in his jeans. "Just like mine."

"But you see every time he was just getting to know a guy, the guard would be whisked away." Randy grinned. "Usually to light duties until his strength returned, and another big, muscular stallion would arrive to take his place. The years went by, and although the king kept trying, he had no other children. But now the Pretty Prince was a prisoner in the tower because of the spell, so all he could do was enjoy the men his father sent to guard him."

Randy stroked his fingers down between Chris's legs, and felt the boy spread them apart, the coverlet still jerking above where Chris was rubbing his hard little rod. Randy stroked his fingertips across his brother's velvety little close-folded pucker, and Chris groaned, humping his hips. "Mmmm, the boy moaned.

Randy leaned closer. "So Amarus the Pretty Prince was lonely. But one day, he looked up from sucking off one of his guards, and as he licked the man's cum off his lips, he thought he looked very familiar. The guard looked nervous too, and when Amarus asked, the guard admitted that he'd used a magic ring to appear young again just for the day and visit the Prince once more in his tower. He was anxious, he said, because the old king was dying. "After the King dies, there will be great danger for you, my prince." He showed the Pretty Prince the ring: it had only one wish left. "Take it my prince Amarus, – a gift," the man said. "Wish yourself free," he added, and hurried out, fastening his pants as he left.

Amarus sat, turning the pretty ring over and over. It was nice of the guard, but the Pretty Prince wasn't stupid. He knew Venarian's spell of banishment used the enchantments in this room, and they were old and powerful. This ring was just a toy by comparison.

"What could the ageless Pretty Prince do? Call the other guards and let the story get out? That would be stupid.

It seemed he thought for a long time, but in his heart there was only one thing Amarus really, truly wanted. A perfect husband, who would love him."

"Mmm," Chris moaned, rubbing his little ass against Randy's fingertips.

"So he put the ring on and wished aloud," Randy said: "wished with all his heart. At once there was a glow of pearly light and a man appeared. He was broad-shouldered, handsome, and richly dressed."

Chris giggled. "I bed he didn't stay dressed for long."

Randy laughed. "No, he didn't. But there was a problem," Randy said as he wet his finger and then slipped his hand back under the covers. "The moment the Handsome Man was naked, the Pretty Prince gasped. He'd never seen such a big, hard cock! It was enormous – half as long as the man's arm! Surely it would hurt?

"Oh," Randy continued as he rubbed his big finger against his brother's elastic, rubbery little asshole, "sure, he'd sucked dicks nearly that big before, and loved it when some of his rougher guards fucked his mouth, but the magic room had kept him a boy: he'd never been ass fucked by a dick that big before."

With his free hand, Randy pushed the coverlet aside and began stroking the boy's slender hips. Chris lifted his knees, allowing Randy easier access to the pink rosette of his little hole.

"But he knew this was his perfect Husband," Randy said, squirting a little lotion onto his fingers. "The Pretty Prince couldn't stop looking at him. He was tall and strong, and he picked Amarus up in his big arms as though he was a feather."

Chris sighed and closed his eyes, his fingers still rubbing his little dick.

"The Pretty Prince could feel the handsome man's huge cock pressed against his side, and he was looking forward to sucking it," Randy said. "He just knew the guy would shoot his sperm everywhere, and the Pretty Prince loved licking that up with his little pink tongue." Randy massaged his slick fingers against his little brother's hole.

"Mmm," Chris agreed, smiling.

"But then the handsome man said: "Alas that we cannot be together! For although my memory is stolen away, I know that I am rich, but a wanderer, cursed to never return home until I have fucked the one person who truly loves me. Many women have offered to let me fuck them, but they are all grasping, calculating bitches who want me only for my wealth. I would rather be dead than be used like that."

"The Prince doesn't want his money!" Chris exclaimed. "He's not like that!"

"You're right!" Randy said. "So, when the handsome man laid the Prince on the bed, the Pretty Prince got out the special bottle of Royal Jelly he'd never used yet. He spread it all over that nice big cock, and then he laid back on the bed like this." Randy lifted Chris's legs up so that the boy's knees touched his chest.

"Amarus was frightened," Randy said, massaging the pink ring of Chris's little ass with his slick forefinger, "but he was very brave. "Put your cock in me," the Pretty Prince said to the man, "and then you won't have to wander and be lonely any more."

Randy pressed on Chris's little asshole, gently at first, and then more firmly.

"That hard cock felt very big as it started to go inside him," Randy told the wide-eyed boy, "and when he looked down, he couldn't believe that he was ever going to get anything that enormous inside his little ass." Randy pushed a little harder, and felt the tip of his finger spread the muscle of Chris's asshole open, just a little. The boy whimpered, but kept listening, absorbed in the story.

"But the Prince was determined to help his handsome man, and so he told the man to push harder." Randy suited the action to the word, and heard Chris squeak again as his finger squeezed up into the boy's warm, slick bowels.

"It hurt, but the boy was brave and didn't complain or cry." Randy said as he pushed his finger slowly inside his brother's pale little ass. "He could feel it all big and hard inside himself, filling him right up." Randy pushed until he felt his knuckles press against the boy's asscheeks.

Randy smiled, leaning over Chris, watching him just lying there, his knees pressed against his chest, looking up into Randy's eyes.

"In only a little while, the man was right inside, and the Pretty Prince could feel that lovely big cock stretching his insides and spreading his asshole wide open. It still kind of hurt, but as the man began moving his cock in and out, fucking him, the Pretty Prince couldn't have been happier."

"Ooh, yes," Chris whispered, staring up at him. His little bottom felt delightfully tight and hot around Randy's finger.

"So his man began fucking him," Randy said. "Pushing and pulling that big hard cock in and out of his asshole. Soon Amarus was gasping and moaning as the big man folded him in half and fucked him really hard," Randy said, pressing Chris down into the bed and sawing his finger in and out of his little brother's tight-gripping ring.

Chris gasped, hugging his knees with one arm and rubbing his cock with his other hand. "Ooh," he gasped. "Oooh, it's -"

"Amarus could feel his handsome husband's cock ramming up his little bottom, and he just tried to wriggle closer on the bed, making sure he got as much of that lovely hard cock as he absolutely could inside him. He loved the feeling as the big man bent over him, kissing and nibbling his neck, his big body pressing down on top of him."

"Oooh!" Chris moaned, humping his little ass on Randy's finger. "All big and muscly and stern!"

"Yes, strong and stern, too." Randy agreed, enjoying the hot, tight glove of boy's little ass around his finger. "He held little Amarus close, telling him what to do and fucking his sweet little prince harder and harder. And all the time it seemed to the Pretty Prince that the man's cock was getting bigger and harder than ever inside him. It began to throb, and the man gasped, and then all of a sudden Amarus could feel hot spurts of cum inside his ass."

"Mmmm!" Chris groaned, flopping his head from side to side on the pillow. Randy felt the boy's ring tighten round his finger. "Up his ass!" he gasped, rubbing his little dick. "Oh, yeah! Uhhh!" He squeezed his eyes tight shut, and Randy felt his finger gripped and squeezed as his little brother wanked his dick.

"Oh, Randy!" Chris squeaked. "Randee-eee!" His tight asshole squeezed tighter, and all of the boy's lean body twitched. Chris bashed his head against the pillow, rolling his whole body back and forth on the bed; gritting his teeth; shivering and squeaking as he came.

"Well," Randy said, once his little brother was listening again. "At the very moment Amarus felt those hot squirts inside his ass, the walls of his tower prison room shimmered. A moment later, he felt rough, scratchy embroidery beneath his back, and he and his husband were lying on a big, wide bed. It wasn't empty though, an old man with a gray beard lay in it, staring at them. "Amarus!" the old king gasped. "Hipparus! My sons!"

"You mean it was the Pretty Prince's big brother who was fucking him?" Chris laughed, squeezing his ass around Randy's finger. "I should have guessed!"

Randy smiled, "Sure it was," he said, stroking Chris's little balls with his thumb, and wiggling his finger inside the boy. "And the two brothers ruled the kingdom together. Nobody was quite sure which one was the king, because they always sat on the throne together. Well, Hipparus sat on the throne itself, and Amarus sat on his brother's lap. Whichever one it was though, everyone was agreed that the country had never had a stronger, wiser or happier king."

Chris giggled and pushed his bangs back out of his eyes. "I just bet they were happy! I wish I could sit like that during class! Uh! Uh! Uh!" he chanted, squeezing his ass muscles round Randy's finger with every grunt.

"Horny little beast," Randy murmured. He leaned forward and kissed first one of Chris's pink little nipples and then the boy's flushed face as he reluctantly slid his finger out of his little brother's tight, gripping warmth. "The End. You go to sleep now, huh?"

"Okay Randy." Chris sighed and stretched. His glistening little ring looked plump-lipped; a little redder, but evidently not too sore. "That was a lovely story," he said, massaging his little asshole.

"Glad you liked it." Randy pushed the boy's knees down and covered him over with the bed covers.

Chris blinked sleepily. "You want me to do you now, Randy? I can see you're all big."

Randy adjusted his hard-on to a more comfortable angle in his pants. "I'll take a rain-check on that, okay little stud? Got to go off to work now." He leaned forward, intending to peck his brother on the cheek, but Chris turned his head and kissed him deeply, sliding his smooth little boy-tongue into Randy's mouth.

"Hey, horny!" Randy said, reluctantly breaking the kiss. "You'll make me late! I've got to go to work, right now. Sexy dreams, huh?" he whispered. "Good night."

"G'night, Randy." Chris smiled and licked his lips, then obediently closed his eyes.

Randy worked the switch, turning the bedside lamp into a night-light, and left his little brother curled beneath the sparkling stars of a projected night sky.

Randy shifted on his stool behind the cash register, listening to the subliminal buzz of the strip lighting and the distant whoosh-whoosh of tyres on the blacktop outside. God, he'd never felt so horny. The store was quiet: it was on a feeder road to the turnpike, and night trade was almost entirely from the gas pumps out front.

Late-night service was only through the service hatch. At ten p.m. Randy had locked the public doors and switched off the main lights over the fresh foods and the meat chillers, and three-fourths of the store became a gloomy cavern lit only by pale emergency lighting and the violet-blue glow of the insect zapper.

Occaisionally a customer would want groceries – usually just candy bars or a bag of chips, and Randy would fetch them, putting the merchandise into a deep drawer below the hatch and pushing it through, like a prison cell in reverse.

All through his shift, Randy tried to think about ways to raise money, but he kept being distracted by images of Chrissie writhing on the bed, his little red ass-ring gripping Randy's finger. Despite jerking off in the restroom ten minutes after the start of his shift, Randy was as hard as steel.

Two firm strokes were all it had taken in the bathroom before he was pumping his cream into a wad of tissue. He was glad – well, part of him was glad – that he'd had to leave right after telling Chris the story or be late for his shift, otherwise he knew he'd have succumbed and fucked the boy, Mom downstairs or not.

It was frightening. Randy had always been proud of his self-control, but now that slender little body was burning it all away. It was worse because he knew Chrissie would do anything for him. He smiled. Even more schooling – you couldn't ask more devotion of a kid than that!

Randy frowned, feeling a connection, an idea somewhere at the back of his mind. He knew there was an answer somewhere, he could feel it.

A sudden tapping of coin on glass. Startled, Randy turned and smiled at the impatient fat man glowering at him the other side of the window, feeling the half-idea unraveling into nothingness again. He checked the pump readout and rang the money into the till, and then sat, leaving his textbooks in his bag, watching the headlights sweeping by and listening to the tick-tick-tick of the clock slicing wasted seconds off his life.

His shift relief showed up promptly at two a.m., and Randy drove home through the cicada-haunted night, still hunting for that elusive connection.

Randy paused, listening, on the threshold to his own bedroom. Was that Chrissie he could hear, or just his own wishful thinking? No, there it came again. He tiptoed to his brother's room and looked in.

The ceiling glowed with a half moon and star-sparkles of projected light, but Chris was just an indistinct dark hump beneath the coverlet. As Randy listened, he heard his little brother mumble something and then gasp as if he were crying.

"Hey, it's okay," Randy whispered, moving closer. As he knelt down beside the bed he got a clear look at the boy's face. A pale blur beneath the stray tendrils of his dark hair and thick, fluttering fans of black lashes: the boy was still asleep.

"It's okay," he repeated. "I'm here, you're safe." Randy felt his stomach knot, but kept his voice calm and soft. "You're safe." Except from me, his mind added.

Chris sighed and seemed to relax. He rubbed his face deeper into the pillow and Randy leaned down and kissed his hair, smelling sweet baby shampoo and soap.

As he straightened up his foot kicked against something. The hand lotion. Randy picked it up and took it back to the bathroom. He felt like a murderer disposing of the body.

Randy jumped, jerked rudely awake by the alarm. Six hours sleep: all he was allowed. He forced himself out of bed and stood there looking down at the rumpled sheets, wondering if it was worth torturing himself like this. Two more weeks – maybe three, since the university's defaulter-expulsion procedures would probably take a little while. He should just go back to bed.

Chrissie's voice sounded in his mind again: I don't like you being a quitter, Randy.

Randy turned and stumbled out to the bathroom. Later, sat in the kitchen with coffee working its everyday miracle inside him, he realized he didn't know the day's classes. The schedule was too recent; he hadn't learned them yet.

The click as he stared at his class schedule was so loud, for a moment Randy thought he'd actually heard it. He looked at his watch and stood up. If he started now, there might just be time before his first class.

The Dean tapped her pencil against the blotter, pursing her red-painted lips as she read over Randy's notes.

"Well," she said, "I certainly do sympathise with your predicament, and the we appreciate your early advisement." She looked up, her eyes cool blue. "Unofficially though, it wasn't in your best interest – you would have gained nearly an extra ten days tuition while our procedures worked through."

She sighed, reversing her pencil and bouncing the eraser end thoughtfully on the cardboard file cover.

"You realize it would be revocable at any time?" She asked, abruptly. "Without notice?"

"Yes, Dean!" Randy sat up straighter, feeling a surge of hope.

"If there's the slightest trouble, we will have to cancel the arrangement. We cannot have teaching disrupted. You understand?"

"Yes ma'am! Thank you!"

She stood up, slim in her fitted dark business suit, and extended a neatly manicured hand. "Good luck. It's a lot to ask of a nine year old, especially a boy." She smiled as Randy stumbled to his feet. "The letter will be ready for you by lunchtime. You will have to return it to the office with all three signatures by the day after tomorrow. After informing us about your finances, that's the longest we can possibly delay. I'm sorry."

"Three signatures? Shouldn't that be four? I mean," Randy stuttered as the dean raised a polite, pencilled eyebrow, "Chris has got to agree too."

She shrugged. "He's below legal age, so it's irrelevant to us. But if you think it would help? Okay then, four signatures, by the day after tomorrow."

Randy left, walking on air.

Randy drove home with the letter in his pocket, but his good mood didn't last past the front door.

Yelling, from the kitchen: his Dad's bellow, counterpoint with Mom's shriller anger. His mouth dry, Randy ran to see.

Dad stood with his back to him, purple with anger, his big hand wrapped round Chris's shoulder. "Faggot!" he was yelling as he shook the boy, "I'm fucking ashamed of you!"

Chris was sobbing something, his face shiny with tears. As Randy watched stupefied, Mom came round the table, trying to get between them. "Matt!" she shouted. "He's just a kid! Stop it!"

"I didn't mean to," Chris sobbed. "I didn't know!"

"Don't you give me any of that crap!" Dad yelled, shoving his wife away. "why did you keep going back then, you little shit? Eh?" he yelled into his son's face, "tell me that, if you didn't like it!"

"Stop it!" Randy ran toward his father, but his father swung round, surprisingly light on his feet for such a big man. Randy didn't see the fist coming, but it felt like being hit with a bag of concrete. The world exploded in pain and Randy spun backward, slamming into the fridge. His head snapped back, he felt it bash against the handle, but half his face felt numb, like dead meat. Then the floor tiles were cold against his hands, and how had he got there? Pulses of violet light exploded across his vision. He could hear running feet; his Mom's scream drilled through his head like a dentist's drill, but all he could think was that it was very important not to be sick.

He was dimly aware of something banging; a metallic crash like an auto accident, over and over, and more running feet.

People yelling, above his head: he shivered at the exchange of hate. And then a big hand with skinned knuckles on his shoulder.

"You all right, son? God, I'm so sorry."

Randy snuffled, suddenly aware he was drooling crimson onto the kitchen floor. He nodded, dumbly, and got his shaking legs under himself. He wasn't going to be sick, and he wasn't going to cry, either. It hurt. A gut-deep numb hurt.

"I'm sorry, son." His father was just a blurry shadow above him.

Now Randy thought he might cry. His father's voice sounded raw. He looked up, and saw his father flinch. "Bad, huh?" Randy mumbled, tasting blood and feeling how only half his mouth moved when he spoke.

"Come on," his father said. "Up."

Randy wasn't sure he was ready, but his father lifted him, hand like an iron claw beneath his armpit. Randy staggered backward and half-fell into a kitchen chair, blinking, feeling the tears run down his face. His mouth was still numb, but he could see better. His father, blocking most of the view and behind him, in the archway, Mom holding a skillet like a squash racket, her face like the grim reaper. Randy was glad none of that expression was directed at him.

"Chrss," Randy mumbled, looking round for his brother, but the boy wasn't in the kitchen. He realized why Mom was standing guard in the archway like that and managed a swollen half-smile. Relief swept through him as he realized Chrissie was safe and he blinked, feeling more wetness on his cheeks and not caring.

"I want you out of this house, Matthew Pelaski," Mom said, her voice a flat monotone. "Right now. Don't stop to pack."

"Nwhh!" Randy mumbled, gripping his dad's sleeve, and staring at Mom, shaking his head. He spat, a shocking red stain. "No," he said. It wasn't just the signature: he could see his whole family ripping apart. "Please!"

Now Mom was glaring at him. "I need you to back me on this, Randy!" she said.

"Pleasshe!" Randy swallowed, tasting iron. It felt stupid to be sitting here, his teeth hurting and blood drooling down his chin, pleading for a second chance for the guy who'd hit him, but that was life: stupid sometimes.

Beside him, Randy heard the freezer door crackle open. Thump closed again.

"Here," his father said, handing him a bag of frozen peas. "Against your face." He held Randy's gaze, but there was a flinch in his eyes, like a dog waiting to be kicked.

"'Nk you sir," Randy slurred. The ice felt good against his jaw. "Would you sit?" he nodded at a chair, and groped the envelope out of his inner pocket. He put it on the table. "Mom? W'll y' read it? Both've you?" He pushed himself to his feet. "'M gonna go see Chris. Make sure he'sh all right."

The universe had a tendency to revolve, but he was all right, he decided. He smiled at his mom. "Don't kill anyone, huh?" he mumbled past the bag of peas he still held against his face. Randy saw his mom swallow, her face collapsing like a drowning sandcastle. Even in her last days, dying by inches in a rest-home, he knew his mother would never look as old as this. He squeezed her shoulder as he passed by, suddenly unable to contain his fear for Chris.

The front door was closed. Relieved, Randy stumbled up the stairs, but at the top came face-to-face with a bloodstained crazy, clutching a bag of peas to his face. Laughing shakily, he stumbled into the bathroom and splashed his face with cold water. He dumped the peas in the sink and headed for Chris's room, trying to comb his hair with his fingers as he went.

There was no sign of Chris: not in his bed; not under it; not in his wardrobe. His heart in his mouth, Randy turned back to the door. Maybe his little brother had run? He felt hot and cold: now he was angry. If anything happened to Chris -

"Chris," he called, trying to stop his voice shaking. Softly: no shouting. The kid had heard enough shouting. "Chris," he called again as he stepped into the hall. "It's me, Randy. Are you there, Chrissie?"

A sound: from his own room. Randy pushed the door open. His closet door wasn't quite closed.

"Chrissie, it's Randy. It's okay – it's me." He pulled open the closet door. A jumble of clothing on the floor, and a small, sneakered foot showing. "Are you okay, Chrissie? Please talk to me, I'm scared!"

As Randy knelt down, the mound of clothes moved. A glimpse of brown hair, and then two small arms wrapped around his neck and the boy was pressing against him, trembling. He was panting, his breath coming in short jerks, and his grip was painfully tight, his fingers digging into Randy's shoulders.

"Hey there. Hey there." Randy kissed his brother's cheek; regretted it when he saw the smear of blood he left. "Come on, honey," he slurred. "Come on. It's okay now. I've got you."

Chris shuddered and began to sob, gasping unintelligibly into Randy's neck. Randy just knelt there, profoundly glad that his little brother was okay. He wasn't angry with anyone now, not even his father: the aching gratitude just pressed everything else into insignificance.

"'M sorry, Randy, 'm sorry!" the boy sobbed. "I juh-just wanted to show you the u-uuuh-uniform. I didn't know it was buh-ah-aad!"

"Uniform?" Randy murmured, mystified, stroking Chris's hair.

"I di-uh-didn't want yuh to be sh-shamed, Randy, I duh-didn't!" Chris sniffed wetly against Randy's neck, crying uncontrollably. "I juh-just wanted to shu-uh-show you!"

"Shh now, Chrissie, shh." Randy patted his brother's back, holding him tightly, feeling him gasp, struggling to breathe through the crying. "You just cry it out."

Behind him, Randy heard the door squeak. Chris stiffened in his arms, clinging desperately as Randy looked around. Mom stood with the door half open. Her expression became a little less defeated, and as Randy smiled at her, he saw a faint echo of that smile warm her face. She stepped back into the corridor, pulling the door closed, and at that moment Randy truly understood how much she loved Chris: she'd go downstairs, hurting and alone, rather than interrupt the comfort her son needed.

Randy sat down on the carpet and leaned against the wall, pulling Chris down with him. He didn't attempt to speak, he just stroked the boy's back and his hair, interspersing it with kisses until Chris's sobs wound down into aching silence.

"So," Randy said, eventually. "What was all this about? You want to talk about it?"

Chris sniffed, and Randy felt him sigh, a huge gasp that racked his small body. "Sorry," he whispered, his wet face pressed against Randy's neck.

"It's okay," Randy murmured. "But what are you sorry for? Did you break something? Say something? Do you want to tell me?" He rubbed Chris's shoulders. "You don't have to, but I think you'll feel better, don't you?" He felt Chris's breathing catch; a sob that he suppressed. He felt Chris turn his head, his hair rasping on Randy's neck.

"For being a faggot," Chris whispered, his breath wet-warm against Randy's skin.

"Oh, Chris." The guilt swelled and ached inside Randy until he thought he must be sick. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done it." He would have said more, but his throat closed up. He would not cry, he told himself. He'd been selfish enough.

"You?" Surprise sounded clear in Chris's high, boy's voice. "No, it's me! I wore the uniform!"

Randy coughed a laugh that only just missed being a sob. "Uniforms again. Chrissie – what the hell? Tell me!" Perversely he wanted to smile, and felt his lip leak wetness again.

Chris sniffed, and gulped, and then the words came out in a rush: "Mom washed the Little Peaches uniform, ready for me to give it back. But dad, he saw it and said it was faggot gear!" Chrissie wailed. "And I was a little faggot, and had I been doing stuff in the showers, only we haven't got any showers, but he just shouted and he said he was ashamed of me, and," Chris sobbed, his face wet, "I, I don't want you to be ashamed of me Randy because faggots are nasty, bad people!" He leaned again against Randy's wet shirt, crying against his neck. "I only wanted to be pretty and show you about the team!"

"Oh. D'you know why they're bad, Chrissie?"

"No!" Chris sobbed. "They're just bad, is all – they do bad things!" He held Randy tight, crying into his shoulder. "I didn't know wearing pretty things was bad!"

Randy patted his brother's back. He'd no idea little Chrissie was so confused; there were obviously some talks that were way overdue.

"Listen, Chrissie," Randy said. "Dad just made a mistake. I don't care whether you're a faggot or not; I know you're nice, and not a bad person. You're my only little brother, and I love you, got that?"

"Uhuh." He felt Chris nod. The boy was gripping Randy's shirt, the material bunched tight in his little fists, holding on.

"So don't worry about it. We can talk about it all later, you and me." Randy ruffled his brother's hair, and made his voice matter-of-fact. "Actually, when I came home today, I was going to ask you to help me."

Sniff. "Me?" Chris looked up at him, his eyes huge in his blotchy face.

"Yes. Help me so I could keep going to university, and not be a quitter." He stroked Chris's cheek with the back of one finger. "See? I don't want you to be ashamed of me, either."

"'M sorry, Randy." Chris dropped his gaze. He swallowed. "It was a mean thing to say."

"No, I think it helped. It made me do a lot of thinking, that's for sure. Well, anyway – I thought of a way, but I need you to help. It'll mean more school for you, I'm afraid."

Chris looked up again, his eyes red, wrinkling his nose. "Those sucky clubs, huh?"

"No, not the clubs. Actually, you'd be coming to university, with me." Randy tried not to smile at the boy's dumbfounded expression. "Oh, not to study: just to sit along with me because you can't stay home alone. You see, I've got most of my classes in the morning, or after lunch. But there are late afternoon lectures, Tuesday and Thursday, at four o'clock. If you agree to be good, and sit quiet as a mouse in those lectures, then I can look after you every afternoon, and Mom can take that new job."

Chris's eyes were round. "Every afternoon! You'll play with me every afternoon, Randy?"

"Well, I'll have to study some, too, but sure. Every day, after school. Whoa!" He laughed, knocked back against the wall again as Chris jumped on him, wrapping his arms around his neck.

"Oh Randy! Yes! I'll do it, yes!" He kissed Randy and then drew back. "Your face! What is it, Randy? Are you okay?"

"Sure, I'm fine," Randy said. "You're just kind of a rough kisser right now."

"It was Dad, wasn't it? He bashed you!" Chris went red, pulling away from Randy. "He's so mean!"

Randy held on tight, stopping Chris from escaping. "It was a mistake, and he's real sorry."

"I hate him!" Chris shouted, his small body vibrating with anger. "He bashed you and he's mean and I hate him!"

"Hey now. That's enough shouting," Randy said. He could feel his face was stiff, swelling again as he tried for a smile. "I'm not going to have to worry about you two fighting, am I?" He pushed Chris's hair back from his face.

His little brother glared at him. "Don't laugh at me!" His face shone glossy scarlet and he sounded like he could barely squeeze the words out past his fury. "You think it's funny, me thinking of hitting a grown-up!"

"Chrissie, please don't," Randy said. "I'm not laughing at you; I felt exactly the same when I came up here looking for you. If anyone hurt you, I'd -" Randy broke off: the awful, choking hurt that thought provoked made it impossible to speak. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, angry with himself. "I'd do something stupid! I wouldn't care! I'd -"

Chris hugged him fiercely. "Yes! Me too!"

Randy dried his eyes on his brother's shoulder. "But," he said, "I'd rather have you here, hugging me, than in prison, or dead, or hurt. You see?" He thumped Chris's shoulders. "You see?"

"Yes, Randy." Chris's voice was muffled. "I won't; I promise."

"Good." Randy hugged the boy tight, then wearily pushed himself to his feet. "Come on. Let's go freshen up, then we'll go talk to the grown-ups."

The house was mercifully quiet when Randy had returned from his shift at the store. He'd expected to have to tiptoe past the couch, but his father had waited up for him, or just not run out of beer, or something. He'd apologized again for hitting Randy; painfully, drunkenly, and at length, and Randy had accepted a beer as a demonstration of truce.

Now his father sat hunched on the couch, staring sightlessly at the blankets and pillow piled on the coffee table in front of him. His big hands cradled his ninth or maybe tenth beer since Randy got home. The room was three-fourths dark, lit only by the flickering TV light. Chrissie and Mom were safe elsewhere, and he wondered if they were asleep or not.

Randy raised the gold beer-can to his lips and faked a sip. It was awful, sitting here like this. At least his father seemed finally to have stopped apologizing. The TV babbled game commentary in the silence, ignored by both of them.

"It was at the site, this morning," his father said eventually, his voice dull. "We got this fruit working there, you get them everywhere these days; gotta hire 'em. Seems they got rights now. 'Course the guys haze him: putting crap in his locker, stuff in his coffee." He shrugged. "It happens, we all gotta take it. Be a man, you know?" He turned his face to Randy, but his eyes were blank, unseeing.

His father sighed, looked down at the beercan he was holding. "Well, today some bright spark got this fruit's clothes while he was showering – I mean, trust me, when he showered, he showered with but nobody, right?" Again the blank, unseeing grin. "And the guys, they hoisted them up in the grab-crane: his clothes, I mean. Well, fruity Louie comes out and he starts shrieking like a girl, and the guys won't lower his clothes down, and he gets mad. He climbs the scaffolding buck-naked, and he jumps for the bucket like he's fuckin' Superman or somethin'. Misses by a fuckin' mile of course and lands – bang! – on a wheelbarrow and bricks and shit, just as I come on site. He's in intensive right now. Don't know if he'll live; dead certain he won't walk again." His big fist closed, crumpling the thin aluminum. Beer slopped over his hand.

"All because he's a fruit. So when I came home today, saw that lousy faggoty-colored baseball uniform, all of a sudden it was my kid lying like a smashed-up bunch of sticks in that yard, bleeding and screaming." He dropped the can and buried his face in both hands, ignoring it as it glugged a widening stain in the carpet.

"But-" Randy began.

His father looked over at him, and Randy was shocked to see the man's cheeks gleaming wet in the cold TV light. "You know he's a fruit," his father said. "God knows I never meant to be so harsh, but we both know, and we gotta make the best of it. I tried, all this summer while you were gone I tried to get him to act tough and be a man, and he fuckin' hated me for it. All that tryin' to get him to play sport, and it might as well have been fuckin' disco-dancing."

His father sighed, nudging the fallen beercan with his foot. "I know it ain't been easy for you, Randy. I mean, looking after him and then having him always around kind of screwed your luck with girlfriends. And now, new studies: new faces," he shrugged. "I thought at last maybe you might meet some girls – but you're stuck with him again. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Randy said, tasting his cowardice on his tongue. "I'm fine with having Chris around."

"You're a good kid," his father said, gruffly. "I know you don't hold it against him. I guess, later on, we're both gonna end up being polite to his boyfriends and trying to keep 'em away from the grandkids, right?" He smiled ruefully, man to man.

"Right." Randy nodded, ashamed of himself. He stood up. "Well, I've got to get to bed if I'm going to get to any classes tomorrow. Thanks for signing, Dad." He felt awful, but he made himself walk over and offer his hand. His father shook it, his hand rough and warm, his grip strong, yet careful. Randy felt like a traitor.

He climbed the stairs, feeling frightened and stupid and cowardly.

He looked in on Chrissie, and found Mom asleep in his bed next to his little brother. As he stood in the doorway Chris rolled over in bed next to her and looked back at him with haunted, frightened eyes. Randy went in and crouched by the bed.

"Not sleepy, little dude?" Even in the dim light, the boy looked exhausted.

"Don't want to sleep," Chris whispered. "Randy, can I come in with you?"

Randy hesitated. It was dangerous and stupid, given that dad was already on to Chrissie.

"I'm sorry," Chris whispered, blinking trickles of tears. "I shouldn't have said." He looked wretched.

"It's okay." Randy pushed back the coverlet, and was relieved to see his little brother was wearing his Ninja Turtle PJs. "Come along. But just to sleep, okay? No couch baseball."

One betrayal was enough for the evening, he decided.

Randy dreamed. He was underwater, drowned deep in the darkness. The weight pressed on his lungs and fish nibbled at him. Seaweed tickled his face. He opened his sticky eyes and it was Chris, lying on top of him, breathing his sweet breath into Randy's face.

"You got to get up now, Mom says," Chris told him.

It was full light, and the bedside alarm said he was way late.

"'S okay," Chris said, seeing him look. "Dad's taken the letter to your teachers, and Mom's phoned the school, saying I'm sick or something. She's real happy – they offered her that job, you know."

He smiled happily and wriggled on top of Randy. "It is really true, isn't it? You're going to look after me after school every day?"

"Really true," Randy agreed.

Chris got a serious look on his face. Not as though he was upset, just thinking about something else.

Randy raised his eyebrows. "What?"

"Oh, just seeing if you were big this morning." He rolled half off Randy and pushed the covers aside. "Thought so," he announced. "In the morning's when it happens to me, too."

"Uh, Chris-" Randy wasn't looking forward to having "that talk" with the boy.

"It's okay," Chris said. "I remember." He wriggled down the bed and slipped his hand into the fly of Randy's boxers.

"No, I meant -"

"You don't want me to?" Chris looked up, his hand curled firmly around Randy's morning erection. "Because of what Dad said?"

"Well -"

"But you said he was wrong!" Chris was starting to look hurt and upset. "Don't you like me now? I'm no good?"

"No, you are good, Chrissie. It's just – there's stuff I need to tell you."

"Oh. Like sperms, you mean." Chris shrugged. "You can tell me after, it's okay. I've already done it before, anyway, remember."

Randy smiled. "Remember? I don't think I'll ever forget!"

Chris giggled. "Yeah. You made a whole lot of stuff!" He squeezed Randy's cock.

"Randy," Chris said, "would you sit up, so I can be on the floor?"

"Sure," Randy said. "But you can just lie here with me on the bed if you like, it'll work that way too."

"No." Chris shook his head. "It's better if I'm on the floor. It makes it more – I dunno. More of you being my big brother." He flushed. "I know it sounds silly."

"Like when I was telling you the story? Lying on top of you, at the end?" Randy said, "Like that?"

"Uh-huh." Chris nodded his head, blushing.

"Well, get down on the floor then," Randy said. He waited while Chris scrambled eagerly off him, and then swung his legs out of bed and stood up.

"Come on then," he said. "Suck my cock, Chrissie." He encouraged the boy to get up on his knees, and then bumped the big head of his cock against those lovely red lips.

At once Chris opened his mouth. Randy stroked the back of his brother's head and guided it down onto his hard cock. "That's it, Chris. Suck it," he said. "I know you like it."

Chris slurped and licked at his cock, his mouth warm. Randy stroked his shoulders and his head, urging the boy to take more cock into his mouth.

"Uhh, that's good, Chrissie! Oh, you're good!" Randy groaned as he felt his little brother's firm tongue massaging him. "You remembered everything. Deeper, you can do it!"

Slowly he began fucking the boy's mouth, holding Chris's head still, and moving his hips. "That's it – ohh, yes. Is that good for you? Moan if you like it, huh? Like before?"

"Mmmmm!" Chris mumbled, sucking at Randy's big hard cock.

"God!" Randy thought. It looked so intense: seeing his fat, veiny hardness sliding in and out of his brother's thin, freckled little face. Feeling the boy obediently sucking him; pushing his cock in right as far as Chris could bear. He was so stupid thinking he could give up this warm, wet ecstasy. He groaned at the slippery, teasing sensations of the boy's mouth and writhing tongue and felt Chris groan in answer. His brother's little pixie face looked so much cuter with hard man-meat forcing his jaws wide, and as Randy fucked a little deeper his coughs and splutters were so sexy.

"Yeah, that's it, Chrissie," Randy said, thrusting strongly now. "You'll taste my cum in a minute. I'm going to cum in your mouth, and you're going to swallow it, because you like doing that, don't you? Huh?"

"Mmmh!" Chris grunted. He'd stopped sucking so much and just knelt passively, letting Randy fuck his little mouth. Drool ran down over his chin as his big brother's cock pistoned in and out past his red, stretched lips.

"Yeah, that's nice – ohhh! Your mouth is so nice, Chrissie!" Randy gasped, thrusting faster, deeper. "Ohh! I'm gonna cum -"

Randy groaned, feeling his muscles tense as came hard, spurting into the boy's mouth. Chris spluttered, and Randy groaned again as he pumped more thick cum into that hot wetness.

"Mmmm!" Chris moaned. "Mmmm!" as he sucked and slurped, licking every gobbet of white off his brother's cock.

"Oh, yes!" Randy murmured, running his fingers through his brother's heavy hair. "You're a quick learner, Chrissie. You're a real good student."

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