Author's note: Tony and Maxxie (aka "Taxxie") are a slash fan's dream. My thanks to the writers of Skins for hooking them up at all, if too briefly. Here is my lustful take on what could have been for these two, but sadly, was not. Bear in mind that this is a multi-chapter story, so please remember to read on ...

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations owned by the creators of the British tv series Skins. I claim no copyright or ownership.

Warning: Explicit slash (if you consider that a warning) as well as naughtiness ahead.

Reviews are welcome and greatly encouraged ! Please let me know what you think !


Miracles Never Cease – Chapter 1

It's 3am when Tony stumbles through the door, pissed and reeking and muttering to himself, no matter that I'd been dead fucking asleep.

I keep perfectly still, determined to ignore him and get some badly needed rest. It's my very first day in Russia for god's sake, and has proven an unbelievably stressful one. First, we flew 6 hours through two storms during which I threw up twice. When we arrived, in the dead of winter mind you, there was no transportation to be had and so we were escorted to our 'hotel', a former jail it turns out, via the back of an open dump truck. Then, depressingly enough, Anwar, my best friend of 5 years, informed me that he thinks gays are "sick" and "wrong"; I mean, can you believe that shit? I then stupidly confessed this to Tony, who, out of the completely clear freaking blue, came onto me, which I cannot believe even as I lie here. Wanted to try something new, he said. Too quickly, now that I think of it, he had offered up Sid as my replacement- not himself, opening up the room to just he and I. I mean, it's well known Tony gets around, but never in a million years did I imagine he would've swung both ways. Tony the ladies man? Come on! The problem, I've come to realize, is that brain of his- he's so bloody intelligent that he bores almost instantly, and so is always up for adventure, for putting a new twist on things and here I had unknowningly presented him with one. A challenge. Can Tony Stonem get off with a boy? Great. Fantastic. He's supposed to be my friend for fuck's sake. And I'm supposed to be his, and Michelle's. So thanks, Tony, thanks a lot, for tempting me, for putting me right in the goddam middle.

Ya, I said it. Tempting. It's not like Tony isn't tempting for fuck's sake- of course he is. Temptation personified. He's crazy good looking, with those lips, gigantic blue eyes, perfect pure pale porcelain skin that has never known a zit or a blemish, the highest set of cheekbones maybe in the universe, that gorgeous head of thick, dark hair, and then to boot he's tall as a motherfucker and his body is perfectly porportioned, exactly as I like it- swimmer's build, with plenty of small muscles and bumps. Really, in conjuring up my dream male, Tony, physically speaking, is pretty much it. Physically. Personality wise however, he can be a right cunt.

He, meanwhile, the drunken adonis opposite me, is stumbling around, hopping on one leg as he removes his trousers, and falls backward onto the cot.

"Bitch ... fucking bitch ..." he mutters.

Michelle, then. Wonder what she's done, or rather, what Tony wanted her to do at 3 in the morning.

"Y'awake?" he croaks into the room.

As if! Nope! I'm squinting at him but lying completely still, awaiting the moment when he stops fidgeting and goes the fuck to sleep. Then, finally, just as it seems as though he's about to ... oh shit, oh holy bleeding fucking christ ... he's not going to ... not with me right here? Yes ... oh shit ... oh fuck! ... as I watch in the dim light, a hand slips straight down past his waistband ...

Okay. Okay. This is officially too much. The motion of his hand ... the quiet rise and fall of his chest ... that unmistakeable sound ... fuck ... of skin on skin ... Oh fucking christ ... I literally can't believe what I'm seeing. And that's it; instantly, I'm hard. Not a chance in hell I was gonna survive that.

It all makes sense, then: He stumbled into Michelle's room just now eager for a quickie, even with Jal right there, and the two girls have kicked him out on his arse. And now, here am I, the only gayboy in the group, forced to room for a whole week with the beautiful randy bastard ... Why god, why? What I wouldn't give to have just a teeny tiny piece of him ... However, there is no way he's gonna find that out. Nope. Give Tony that sort of power? No.

Yes, I fancy myself a principled being ... but it doesn't mean I have to close my eyes, now does it? Not when Tony Stonem is beating off right in fucking front of me.

Mercifully, it's over quick. He inhales sharp and sudden, and then stutters out the most amazing ragged gaspy moan ... fuck! ... wow! Dead hot! ... dead fucking wicked! ... As if I'm not hard enough, I mean, I now actually know what Tony sounds like when he comes. I've actually been in the same small room with him! Something I've yes, thought of, okay, beat off to a few dozen times or so ...

He's panting over there, just feet from me, slowly getting his breath back ... all while I lie here in absolute torment silently begging: please god, is there no way I can be permitted to crawl over and lick the remnants off his hand, his chest, ... cock?

Principles, what principles?

After a beat he flips onto his side, facing my direction. My lids slap shut. Suddenly he's speaking to me, voice gruff and worn.

"Pervy gay boy."

I freeze. Bastard! He didn't see me ...?

"Max, you can quit pretending. I know you're watching."

"Huh?" I answer, trying to sound groggy. "I'm trying to sleep, can you shut-"

"-Liar. You're hard, aren't you?"

How does he ...? Bastard !

"I'm trying to sleep, Tony!"

"But you can't- not with that woody in your trousers."

"Fuck off !" I flip over in embarrassment, facing the wall. "Go fuck yourself!"

"If I could fuck myself, Max, I wouldn't need to toss off. I'd be quite sexually satisfied in fact."

I hate how calm and assured he sounds- that he can even convey this quality when drunk is especially maddening.

"Great! Fine!" I snap. "Just shut up and go to sleep, then."

"Nope. Not unless you let me give you head."

"Will you fuck off ?"

"Why not, Maxxie?"

"Why not ?" I'm practically shouting. "How about, I'm trying to sleep? How about, you're straight, for starters!"

He whispers. He actually sounds a little hurt.

"So unstraighten me a little. Seriously Maxxie, you're hard, I'm bored; can you think of a single reason why we shouldn't do this? You fancy me, don't you?"

Oh boy, not touching that one.

"Michelle," I offer quickly. "Michelle is my friend, and your girlfriend. There's a damned good reason."

"Nips just kicked me out of her bed. I think she actually wants to break up."

Ahh, well come to think of it, she has seemed unusually frosty towards him of late.

"Well ... what did you do, though?"

"Thanks, Max; just assume I did something."

"Well ..."

"She wouldn't fuck me in the boiler room just now."

"Huh? The boiler room?"

"Well it was either that or in front of Jal, which I would have totally dug-"

"-Tony she's not gonna fuck you in front of her friend!"

"Fine, so why not in the boiler room then?"

"It's not exactly romantic, you twat! Why the fuck did you even suggest it?"

"Chelle's a shrieker for fuck's sake- that's why. Plus, doing it amongst all that oily Russian machinery ..." he chuckles, "wouldn't've been boring."

"What, you find sex with her boring?"

He sighs.

"I just ... I need new things, Max. I need to mix things up, try shit on. Boiler room'd been something new."

"But she's a girl, Tony. She's not gonna wanna get herself all greasy and smelly in there."

I can hear in his voice that he's cracked that devious smile.

"Perfect segue, spot on, bringing us back to the central topic."

"Which is, let's shut up and go to the fuck back to sleep ?"

"Which is: 1) you're not a girl, 2) you like boys, and 3) you could teach me head. Totally new !"

I groan out loud. He ignores me.

"Max, I've been fucking girls for 5 solid years—"

"Since you were 12 ?"

"Yes- is there something wrong ?"

"You lost your virginity when you were 12 years old ?"

"Yes, Max."

"How old was the girl?"

"16."

"You got off with a 16 year old when you were-?"

"-I was always both overly tall and extremely dashing for my age. Anyway, point is, I've had bucketloads of pussy, every which way you can have it, pretty much."

"So? Your problem with that is? Most guys would-"

"-I'm not exactly most guys, am I ? It's been good, but I really do think I'm getting a little bit bored."

I sigh in exasperation.

"You're drunk, Tony. What you probably need is less sex. Why don't you try that for a change? That way you'll stop taking all the pussy you're getting for granted, for fuck's sake."

"No, that is not what I need. Believe me, my sex drive is ... What I need is more variety. That's the motherfuckin' answer."

"Variety."

"Yes. Which is where you step in."

"Tony, I told you, I'm not a hobby."

"No, but you're my friend, and the only poof I know, so maybe you could stop being such a sanctimonious twat and help me with this."

All through this exchange, my cock has been pounding, pounding ... eating away at my resolve. On the one hand, I'm in total disbelief that we're even having this absolutely mind blowing conversation; on the other, despite my friendship with Michelle, if they really are going to break up- if that's genuine (and I don't doubt it- she's lasted longer than most) ... then the prospect of some sort of sexual encounter with Tony, even if he is a bastard, even if it's essentially meaningless to him, an experiment ... is so balls-out exciting I can barely fucking stand it.

Still, I give it one more pushback, just to be sure, and to relieve my pending guilt ...

"Michelle ..."

"Nips wouldn't find out, Max. Nobody would. We're in Russia- what goes in Russia, stays in Russia. Tony will guarantee it."

Christ, he knows how to close a deal. When I don't respond, his feet hit the floor. A second later he's sitting on my cot. Mother of sweet jesus. He rests a hand on the edge of my hip and I jump in surprise, and again when he slides it straight downward.

"Christ," he whispers. "You couldn't be any harder."

"Fuck off," I whine, mortified, and slap at his hand.

He then slides down directly behind me, spoon style, pressing his body close ...

"Tony- fuck!"

He presses his lips into my neck.

"Come on, Max. Your cock ain't lyin'. Let's just try something. Please ? I really want to."

"But ... what do you ... I don't-"

"-It's okay," he whispers seductively into my ear, "it'll be alright, I promise. Okay ?"

... and without further ado, slithers a hand under my waistband.

I stammer like a 6 year old.

"I-I th-thought you w-wanted to-"

"Gotta start some place."

And so ... I give in. Who am I, after all, to spit in the face of a minor miracle which has fallen quite literally, quite magically into my very lap?

And now it's for me to lie comfortably in his arms and ...

Oh god. He moves slow at first, thumb teasing ... neck, head, caressing the seam, gripping sweet and tight, and it's virtually unbearable. If I can stand 15 seconds of this ...

For some reason, despite the situation, despite my embarrassment that I've been so easily conquered ... I'm still trying to maintain some sense of decorum. My mouth however, has popped open and from it comes my first laboured breaths which I can sense he's intently listening to, as a guide.

Fucker! I can't hide, and what would be the point? To save face, yes, which is a complete joke. Tony's wrapped himself round me and is quietly jerking me off, okay? Can you top that? He knows more about me right at this moment than all of my family and friends combined. And to boot, as if all of this isn't enough, he's got The Actual Goods pressed right into my backside- we are each only wearing thin underwear.

Surely this is gay torture.

His pace quickens, drawing me into a steady pant, and then the bastard flicks his tongue against my ear.

"Good ?"

I can't possibly respond ... I'm losing my fucking mind ... sweating ... muttering ... the whole world reduced to the soft, smooth motion of his hand ... the knowledge of that warm body, that cock up against me ... and exactly how close I am.

He bites down, pulling gently on my lobe and whispers.

"Teach me head?"

With that thought, I erupt, quaking in his arms.

It's several seconds before I surface, gasping. My eyes open to find him reaching for the first of several tissues.

"Fuck, Max, when is the last time you ... I mean, has it been 9 months or something?"

What does he expect? He just jerked me off! I scramble for cover.

"No", I blush. "It's just ... um, y'know ... not so, y'know, easy finding ... um, a boyfriend." No lie there.

"Boyfriend- who needs a boyfriend ? You're good looking, you're blonde, you're fit- use that, ya twat. You don't need to get married for fuck's sake. Stop being such a girl."

A part of me flushes with pride, a part of me is insulted. Typical Tony.

I flip over and face him, still in utter disbelief over the turn of events.

"Tony, what is going on? Seriously. Why in fuck did you do that?"

He squints.

"What, did you not like it?"

"No- that's not the point."

"Ya, cuz you just jizzed like a maniac-"

"-Yes, I know! I meant ..."

He shrugs.

"I think I explained myself. If 'chelle doesn't want me, if I've pretty much had every other girl in town and my cock's still ragin' all the time... maybe it's time to let it, y'know, wander."

It strikes me that Tony puts to words and to actions, what all of us feel and want but wouldn't dare admit, let alone set into motion. In other words, he's the only one of us with any balls.

"Okay," I inquire, with a smirk,"well, so I have to ask ... what was it like?"

He laughs.

"I don't know. It was weird. Familiar but weird."

"Well have you ever, y'know, touched a guy, ever?"

"Fuck no. Not even close. Very first time. Other than my own cock, my hand's a right virgin." He grins that grin and holds it. His eyes sparkle with mischief. "Mouth, too."

Jesus fucking christ.

It slams home: Tony, a very willing, very open and experimental Tony, is lying in my bed, right here, all but naked. What am I doing arguing with him, fighting him for fuck's sake, hell, talking to him when I could be ... besides, he may very well disappear into a puff of smoke and I'll wake up in a sticky puddle.

I push him back and climb over, twisting my hands into his hair and claiming that virgin mouth. He may reek of vodka and coke, but I'm happy to report that he tastes like cinnamon and sweet, hot mulling spices and I'm suddenly flushed with jealousy – Michelle turns this away ?

Thrillingly, he kisses back, seemingly unfazed by his very first encounter with stubble (though I'm not all that hairy). We go on, messy, open-mouthed, and it's steaming me up something fierce. I lower my pelvis, press towards him ... and am stupidly disappointed to find him unresponsive.

Well ... he is straight, jackass. Maybe this isn't going to go any further, after all. Maybe he's changed his mind already- an experiment that didn't work- at least for him.

I pull back.

"Is this ...? Sorry, I just ..."

He lowers a hand and hooks his thumb into his waistband. An eyebrow raises.

"Teach me head?"

And it hits me ... bastard! It's all been a ruse. A door to a free blowjob. Classic Tony-style manipulation.

"You motherfucker. I thought you wanted to-"

"I do, Max. I wasn't kidding, I swear. You can teach me both ways. Maybe first, by example, like." He flashes that grin again and I instantly soften.

"Ya but ... something tells me you've already had plenty of example."

"Most girls don't know what the fuck they're doing down there. Rumor has it it takes a man."

I laugh.

"So I need you to shut up and be a man, already. Okay?"

I laugh harder.

"Okay."

"Teach me. Seriously."

I peck him on the lips.

"Yes. If I must."

As I lower my face and nibble and kiss my way down his beautiful perfect pale neck, collarbone and chest, a wave of nervousness and disbelief begins to overtakes me.

I ... one small and meek Maxxie Oliver ...

am about to

give

Tony fucking Stonem

a

b

l

o

w

j

o

b.

In fact, I'm heading there right now.

Only problem being ... simply by virtue of the fact that I like cock, he's expecting miracles, and here I've only ever done it about 3 and a quarter times.

I stop dead, take a few deep breaths to calm myself, and before looking down, look up.

"Absolutely dead sure about this?"

He grins.

"You're not goin' pussy on me?"

"I'm just nervous, Tone."

"You're not gonna bail on me though ?"

I spy those full soft lips, which, against the milk-white of his skin are an eerily natural ruby red ... and have a sudden flash of them completely enveloping my cock.

I look at him ...

"No."

... and kiss him again. Slower, more intense, before pulling myself away.

And now the dilemma ... go right for it, or savor this most incredible of moments? Ahh, such a conundrum. Well, what would Tony prefer? Right to it, undoubtedly, but this isn't entirely about him, is it? In fact ... it's not about him at all. This is me, Maxxie, living out a fantasy, one that every single gay kid I know would literally give their left nut for. This is me stepping inside of my own daydream, wet dream to be precise, and finding it alive, well, full colour, pulsing.

Still, my jitters aren't abating- not exactly conducive to ... Calm down, arsehole, or you'll ruin it.

What the fuck do I ... how exactly does this work, again?

Suddenly my brain is flushed with the memory of those amazing times with Jake, some months back. Maybe the first real and certainly best oral I've had. What made it good ...? Okay, yes ... he, well ... he took his sweet time. He just did. He made it seem like he'd been waiting all his life for it. He essentially made love to my cock.

Yes.

I shimmy down his body and take my first real look at the glorious, rather promising looking mound encased as it is in clean white cotton. Yes, it's quite evident that Tony is a decent size, but then that's hardly surprising- he's tall as anything, long of limb and has huge feet. Not that size has ever meant much to me; I'm more into the beauty of the male organ rather than it's dimensions, but ... I do feel a bit of a thrill at this confirmation. If Tony had been small, it just wouldn't have been right.

And so I lean down and plant a kiss over the highest part of the mound, which represents only the most desireable, nibble-able, cream-inducing part of Tony's cock- the ridge, the rings of Saturn surrounding the head ... which I imagine as the moon to it's sun ... ahh, bollocks. Concentrate, arsehole! I plant a second and third kiss, then another further down- nestling my face into the small orbs underneath. Yes, I have for a long while now had a particular lurid fascination with balls ... which I immediately satisfy by cupping them in one hand.

Wow. I mean ... wow. I absolutely cannot believe ...

They feel warm and solid, weightier than I'd imagined ... perfect. I lean further and open my mouth to pull gently at them, even if it's through the material, even if Tony is right now watching.

From his mouth there is a sound ... is it? Yes. A small breathy laugh, a giggle, almost. Is Tony ticklish ?

I look. He's got that annoying self satisfied grin.

"What?" I inquire.

"Nothing. Proceed."

I blink.

"You'd just better not be laughing at me, mate."

"Nothing of the kind, Max. It's just that I always sort of knew boys wouldn't skip out on testicles like girls always do. So much potential there."

"Yes, we loathe wasted potential."

I drop back down, wondering exactly how much thought Tony has put into boys and testicles, and take them completely inward this time, in tandem, applying pressure, to which he reacts immediately, with a muted half-moan.

The sheer, unadulterated glee that I feel at this moment at the knowledge that I, alone have actually caused Tony to moan, causes me to stop and look up at him, just to be certain I wasn't imagining it, because in so many ways it's too fucking good to be true, isn't it? But this turns out to sort of be a mistake, as he seems embarrassed to have been caught reacting ... which is absolutely brilliant, and which explains this:

"What, are you gonna fucking suck through the pants all night?"

I laugh and lay a palm flat over the center of the mound, swirling it in a slow, firm circle as I talk, dropping my voice for effect ...

"Maybe. I mean ... you obviously like it."

... which puts an immediate end to the discussion.

I don't look up at him, I'm not that cruel, and say nothing further ... when what I really want to tell him is just how magnificent he looks in these form fitting unders, which just happen to be my all time favorite type: white, cotton, and going part-way down the thigh. Wicked.

The reality though, is that I'm fantastically nervous, and so I suppose perhaps I'm buying time before The Reveal, although yes, it is fun, and sexy as all living fuck, caressing him and flicking my tongue at him in this teasing manner. Has Tony never been teased before? Most likely he's just used to being in charge and having things his way, in the bedroom and otherwise, and here he finds himself laid out, vulnerable, essentially prey.

Fuck.

With that thought, I lean up, kiss the small bumps of his abs, press my tongue into his navel, and pull ever so slowly on the waistband, mouth following as I do, until there is just me, a tangle of dark curls, and the tip of one hard cock immediately adjacent.

Okay, steady yourself ... take a breath ... keep sliding 'em down, all the way to the ankles and past, the whole while staring, staring ...

Tony's ...

cock ...

Tony's naked motherfucking cock ...

Beautiful! Perfectly formed! Fat. Wicked! We're talking, hello! Emergency! I'm putting that in my mouth, right now.

Wait! Wait! Savor the moment, remember? Make love. This is a teaching exercise, after all.

I clear my throat. I'm having a hard time keeping my eyes in their sockets.

"Um, Tone."

"Ya, mate?"

"I know you already know this, but ... you gotta beautiful package."

He smirks.

"Yep."

I climb up and move myself close, inspecting, admiring.

"So right about now I sorta need you to start paying attention. Okay?"

He nods.

I dive.


Round about the third, or is it the thirtieth lap round and over the tip and back again, I swear I can see steam rising off his chest, but mostly it's when I revisit the aforementioned orbs that he twists himself especially into the mattress, fists clenching, those gigantic blue eyes either gripped shut or swelling in his head, the whole while gasping, half-laughing, muttering, cursing in a near shriek, so that I am caused several times to have to smother him with my own pillow lest he wake up the building. I gather girls have simply avoided this area entirely, for Tony is obviously crazy-delirious-ecstatic at this apparently brand new sensation- that of a mouth intent on educating a very straight boy ... perhaps in fact, on driving home the message that boys are an awful nice alternative that you might actually want to consider for real ... not just a one-off, not just the boredom-induced use of your gay friend's sorely deprived mouth ... that you might perhaps be encouraged to make the genuine and very happy leap to the other side (where, yes, I admit, I will be waiting).

Failing all else, it's certainly new. Not boring.


Tony is very close. It certainly hasn't taken long, though it's not like he's been granted a moment's rest. Okay, I tried not to ravish him, I really did. It's not like I want him feeling attacked, but it isn't like he's fighting me, either. Still, I will slow down now, partly because my neck hurts, jaw is aching, and I'm getting that tingle in my gums from extensive suction.

Mostly though, I'm going to slow down because we're reached the final lesson. A boy excited as this, who would not right now be able to quote you his own name, is best taken across the threshold in the most delicate and careful manner possible, for he is in that foggy, floaty head-state in which penis and brain are one; a newborn, vulnerable, never more impressionable. Meaning the method with which you bring him there will dictate whether this entire experience is, to him, something routine, or spectacular; same-old, might-as-well-have-been-a-girl, or blisteringly ethereal. Do you want angels fluttering around his head, or the feeling that he might as well have beat off to porn?

I lean up and momentarily survey the scene. He is, I'm happy to report, a total mess, which is especially amazing considering that Tony is nothing if not impeccably groomed and controlled. Right now by contrast, he is damp, flushed, naked, and overall hanging by the skin of his bloody teeth. A more breathtaking, sizzling hot sight I don't believe I've seen.

"What the fuck are you lookin' at?" He spits between gasping pants, stressed. "Why'd you stop?"

I climb up and brush my lips against his.

"Lesson number one: Savor."

"Just blow me, already, wanker."

I laugh.

"Maybe I'm enjoying this. Maybe I don't want it to end just yet."

"Who the fuck cares what you want? This is about what I want."

I grin into his neck.

"Tony, I think it's generally understood that the one with the dick in his mouth is the one in charge."

He grins back.

"So what are you waiting for? Put that dick back in your mouth, poofboy."

I laugh. We both do.

"And don't take it out again until I finish."

Christ, even in jest, this statement is ... but I'm not done fucking with him. I slither my lips down to his left nipple and speak earnestly.

"Well ... actually, I'm not sure what you were expecting Tone, but contrary to what you may've heard, most of us don't swallow- me included. It's disgusting. We generally finish by hand."

After a beat, I look up. His mouth has swung wide open.

"Are you ... are you fucking serious ?"

I ignore him and drag my tongue across his navel.

"I want my money back, then."

I laugh.

"Oh ya?" I ask, lathering his abs, his hip bones, "Why don't you wait til the end before you decide?"

I grasp the base and slither downward, dipping my tongue into the slit from which there exists the most incredible and delectable and exciting thing in the world: a small pool of pre-come, Tony's pre-come ... ... I mean, how is it that I'm actually doing this? Tasting him for real? Am I tripping ?

Who cares ! Just ... I lick my lips, which for the record are trembling, and carefully pull him inward, slow and deep, far as it will go, immediately working on a rhythm which I know from experience is an absolute brain-scrambler ... sucking softly on descent, then harder on retreat; soft on entry, hard on retreat, swiveling my head and delicately swirling my tongue.

Sure enough, he's writhing like a jellyfish, cussing and burying his face in the pillow.

After two seething minutes, I pull completely off, intent on trying out the torture Jake visited on me those times: exhalation. Sure enough, soft, carefully placed warm bits of breath combined with the lightest whisper stroke leave Tony a squirming, jibbering, blathering mess, barely capable of conveying even single syllable words.

"... fu ... ck ..."

No question, he's on the precipice, which is why I choose this moment to drop below and revisit those beautiful, magical orbs, betting that no matter how insane in may drive him, it's incapable of making him come ... or at least, I don't think it will ... but then one can't know for sure ...

It strikes me that Tony thinks what we're doing is his little experiment, when in reality it's me doing the experimenting.

I take the small globes, one after another, sucking them into my open mouth, and on contact, he dances around like he's been plugged in, to the point where I have to hold his legs in place with both hands. It takes two pillows now, to muffle his wailings which, if you can imagine, have just shot up by an octave.

Finally I pull off and away, allowing us both a moment's rest, before returning to finalize things ...

I create a flat plane with my tongue, with which I apply a straight, wet, wide line upward, over the veins, along the seam, and back again, momentarily ignoring the tip, before returning to engulph each orb ... then the slow return trip up the shaft, higher now this time ... then back to the orbs ... then the return trip upward ... to the point where he is pouring sweat and pleading with me ... which is when I give in and go for the kill: sucking the entire head fully inward, one hand caressing below, the other stroking and twisting firm and smooth. And here we go ...

In split seconds his body goes rigid, back arches and hips lurch. I glance up to see that the pillows have dropped to the floor. I throw out an emergency hand and clamp it tight over his mouth exactly as it sucks in that last giant gulp of air ... followed by a long strangled exhalation ... a gorgeous, incredibly sexy shuddering cry as his body jolts, quaking over and over ... emptying itself into me.

Wow.

Wow!

WOW!

SO bloody hot ! !

I can't believe it, I absolutely cannot fucking believe it. I'm so caught up in the magic and wonder and confusion and arousal of the moment that I can't bring myself to pull off- I continue nursing the still-firm flesh for a good minute, until he finally begins to soften.

I lean back in a crouch, astonished, truly overwhelmed, as if I haven't been here all along, at what has just occurred, at what I've just caused. Tony has obviously come as as hard as he maybe ever has, and he looks so insanely beautiful, so completely spent, so thoroughly, fantastically, sensually wasted, I can barely stand it. This so wasn't supposed to happen, ever in my life time, like, not ever, do you understand? I'm tingling, giddy, floating, in utter disbelief ... There are I swear magical strobing electric currents swirling about, circling round and between us, filling the room.

Yes, I'm afraid I may be in love.

(It's happened to me over less ...)

The intense drive I feel to hold him at this moment in fact, the desire to cuddle up to him is nearly overpowering ... my heart, my brain, every corpuscle positively screams to connect with him right now, to make meaningful contact, it's just so unnatural not to, however, of course ... I don't dare. What's going on in my mind and soul vs Tony's are I'm sure two very different things.

Between soft gasping pants, he speaks in half-mocking tone.

"'We generally finish by hand'" He laughs wearily. "Fucking liar!"

I laugh with him.

He then proceeds to flash me the most dazzling eyes-closed smile, and positively gushes.

"Max, that was fucking ... absolutely balls out titanic."

I beam with pride.

"Seriously. Let's just say I now own your mouth and I'm gonna rent it out, first thing. I'm your bloody pimp."

We laugh.

He opens his eyes finally and looks up at me. The blue looks clearer and ... just ... cleaner, more intense, more vibrant, than maybe I've ever seen it. I swear it's true.

"I'm not kidding mate, that was without question the best blow job I've ever had."

My grin is miles wide, eons.

"Really? Seriously?"

"Come on, man, you almost killed me there."

We laugh.

"So it's true," he continues, "let it be known - it really does take a man."

We laugh more.

I rest a hand on his thigh. I allow myself that one prize, at least.

"Maybe," I offer with a grin, "but the main question is, did you learn anything? Am I a good teacher?"

"Well, I think I just learned how much I've been missing all these years. Seriously. How lame they all were by comparison."

I flush.

God almighty ... even if, yes, it wasn't meant that way ... it's about the most romantic thing that has ever hit my two ears.

He grins sly.

"Maybe tomorrow you'll let me try ?"

I finger the silky edge of the blanket. Before I realize it, it's come out of my mouth.

"You don't have to, Tone."

"Huh?"

I look up.

"This can be a no-recipro deal. It's alright. I won't hold you to it."

"Come on, mate."

"No, I'm serious. I enjoyed what we just did. You enjoyed it. We don't need to go beyond that. Plus I'm betting by tomorrow morning this whole thing will-"

"-Don't be such a pussy! This was my idea to begin with, remember? I said I wanted to try it and I will."

I'm not trying to wuss out. Of course I'd love to explore further with Tony, it's just that at the moment I'm in that foggy afterglow that makes it nearly impossible to see or think straight. What we just did feels so perfect I guess I want to seal it in an airtight container for safe keeping. I don't wanna mess with it. Also I'm afraid to relax into the idea of it happening, only to have him wake up and ...

Still, though ... He seems absolutely dead serious. And I know him damned well- when he's determined to do something he bloody well makes it happen. So ... do I really wanna stop him for real ?

"You're absolutely dead sure?" I ask.

"Max, what part of 'yes, ya twat ' don't you understand, arsehole?"

"Okay, okay", I laugh, "if you insist."

"Christ," he grins, "are you a gay man or aren't you?"

I laugh.

"Yes. Completely and utterly."

And thank jesus almighty for that. I'm so happy at the moment I'm a little frightened, but manage to keep my face mostly in check. I untangle myself from between his legs and before crawling under my own blankets, I turn at the last second- it can't be helped- and peck him on the lips; a quick goodnight kiss which, once again, doesn't cause him to flinch.

Miracles never cease.


(Remember ... if you're interested to read further, the story continues with chapter 2 ...)