Mate That's Half a Pint!

This story was written for the 750 Word Project 2025, below this line are exactly 750 words.

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The rain hammered the tin roof, relentless. The outfield at the Gabba was a swamp, the third Test was officially called off, and neither of them had anywhere better to be.

Dan scratched at his belly, stretched out on the couch like a Labrador. "Well, this is shit."

Mick, sprawled in the beanbag, exhaled through his nostrils, deep in thought. Then, a shrug. "Could put some porn on."

Dan shot him a look. "What, just like that?"

Mick grinned, lazy, shameless. "What, you got a better idea?"

Dan didn't.

The laptop was set up on the coffee table, the screen a little cracked. Mick picked a video with zero hesitation, something with big tits and a lot of groaning.

Dan smirked. "You been fucken' researchin' this?"

Mick shrugged, unbuttoning his shorts. "Mate, it's about productivity. Can't waste a stiffy."

Dan sighed. "Fair dinkum."

His boardies hit the floor.

Dan looked down at Mick's cock and fucken snorted.

"Jesus Christ, mate."

Mick, already giving himself a slow stroke. "What?"

Dan grinned. "It's, it's like, fuck me, it's a little nugget, ain't it?"

Mick scowled, gripping himself pointedly. "Fuck off, it's thick. Fucken girth, that's what that is."

Dan, still grinning, let his own cock flop free, long, thin, with a pronounced curve.

Mick's eyes caught on it. He let out a slow breath. "...What the fuck you call that?"

Dan chuckled. "What?"

Mick points with his cock. "That fucken banana."

Dan held his hands up, mock offence. "Oi, it's got character."

Mick shook his head, muttering, "Yeah, it's got a bloody career in Cirque du Soleil."

Dan snickered. "Nah, girls love it."

Mick arched a brow. "Yeah? And how many of 'em stuck around?"

Dan scowled. "Irrelevant."

Mick chuckled, giving himself a slow, lazy pump. "Nah, mate. Gimme girth over length any day." He slapped his own cock against his thigh for emphasis.

Dan watched it bounce. Short, stocky, stubby, like a little beer can.

He laughed. "You got a handful of cock, I'll give ya that."

"Damn right. Built for business."

Dan smirked. "Short business."

Mick gives him the finger. "Oi, it's efficient."

Dan chuckled, spitting in his palm before gripping his own cock with an easy, practised motion.

The porn droned on, but they weren't really watching it anymore.

Mick worked himself slow, steady, fist rolling over his thick head like he had all the time in the world.

Dan was the opposite, long strokes, whole body shifting slightly, chasing sensation fast, like a bloke who needed to get it done.

Mick side-eyed him. "Christ, you in a race?"

Dan panted a little, focused. "Mate, I got a lot of cock to get through."

Mick chuckled, shaking his head. His own strokes stayed slow, methodical, like he was working a problem out in his head.

Dan let out a small groan, eyes flicking to Mick's grip. His stubby cock looked like it was bursting in his hand, blunt and angry red.

Mick caught him looking. "Oi. Eyes on ya own paper."

Dan swallowed. "Mate, I'm close."

"Yeah?"

Dan nodded, hips stuttering slightly into his fist.

Mick picked up his own pace, abandoning the slow build for something more urgent.

Dan grunted, hips jolting, and fucken exploded.

Thick ropes, messy, dripping down his hand, his thigh, a little onto the couch.

"JESUS CHRIST."

Dan, still catching his breath, blinked at him. "What?"

Mick gestured wildly. "Mate. What the fuck was that?!"

Dan glanced down at the mess pooling on his stomach. "What can I say? I'm a giver."

Mick, horrified, fascinated, vaguely impressed, muttered, "That's like, half a pint."

Dan laughed breathlessly, wiping himself off on the couch. "Your turn, ya stubby little legend."

Mick let out a deep grunt, strokes turning frantic, urgent, his thick cock bucking in his grip.

Then, he came.

A single, unimpressive dribble.

A silence.

Then Dan fucking lost it.

"That's it?!"

Mick, still panting, looked down at the pathetic bead sitting at his tip. Scowled. "...Shut the fuck up."

Dan wiped tears from his eyes. "Mate, I nearly drowned and you,"

"SHUT UP!"

Dan gasped for breath, laughing too hard to move. "Fucken' hell, go see a doctor."

Mick flopped back against the couch, grumbling, "Size takes more energy."

Dan, grinning, pulled his shorts back on. "Size my arse. That was a fucken' sneeze."

Mick shook his head, already reaching for his beer. "Reckon we don't talk about this?"

Dan smirked. "Reckon we don't."

Beat.

"Next Test match?"

Mick cracked his knuckles. "Yeah, alright."