I'll Remember for a Long Time

They kissed soft and sweet, and then with more abandon, quick and dirty and wet. Paul pulled back first, Bob looked at him confusedly, "Did I do something wrong?"

Paul's quiet for a moment, "No, I just..."

"You what?" Bob wiped Paul's saliva from his lips.

"I don't know..." Paul's face turned a light red, Bob's confusion grew worse. "You don't know what?"

"Anything." Paul shrugged. To be nineteen and have never touched himself.

Bob glanced up, met Paul's eyes. "You mean you've never..."

Paul was silent. Bob's eyes widened and he started to speak, but was apparently dumb struck with awe. Finally he said, "What have you done?"

"Nothing."

"Jerk off?"

"Not really."

Bob shook his head slowly, marveling. "I'd be dead in a week if I didn't do something."

Paul shrugged.

"Well-" Bob shifted slightly, "I would show you. If you wanted me to."

"Bobby?"

He looked up. His eyes were full of doubt and desire, enormously pupiled.

"I don't even know how to say yes."

Their hands found each other and intertwined. Bob squeezed Paul's fingers, brought them to his lips and kissed them. His tounge slid over the ball of Paul's thumb, soft as velvet. Paul felt something uncoil deep inside of him, some unfamiliar warmth seeping like liquor through his innards. Only it didn't dull his senses, it heightened them, he could feel desire seep from his every pore like sweat, his mind fuzzy with excitement.

Bob shifts, half on top of Paul, pressing his lips to Paul's jawline, sliding his tounge across the shorter man's skin, salty and sweaty, he smelled like cigarettes and laundry detergent and the ghost of Jack Daniel's, courtesy of the pungent stains on the mattress. The older man looked at Paul, studied the beautiful sight of Paul coming undone underneath him. Wanting him as no man had wanted him before.

Bob wanted a shot in that moment, but when didn't he? He wanted Paul more, wanted Paul in his veins and on his tounge and seeping in his bloodstream.

He craved this feeling, the one he could feel right at this moment, the heat of Paul's skin and the sound of his nervously quick breath.

"Bobby..." Paul let out, with no real words to follow it, breathless and quiet.

Bob hummed against his skin, Paul grabbed at his shirt almost whimpering with need.

'Too quick! Too fast! You're going too fast!' A voice in Paul's head screamed. 'He'll dig into your mind, crack your skull open like an egg and drink the juices of your soul, Paul!'

'Hell, I think I want him to do all of that.' Paul thought, closing his eyes and raising his arms so Bob could dispose of his shirt. Bob pulled it off quickly, throwing it in the pile of broken glass accidentally, which smelled of burning stinging vodka.

The smell of liquor was harsh, blanketing over them thickly, but in this moment neither wanted a drink, just each other, just to stew in their own sweat and listen to each other's little gasps and pants.

Bob kissed down Paul's chest, wrapping his lips around Paul's left nipple plugging into nerve endings Paul didn't even know he had, making him feel like millions of little white sparks, sending tendrils of arousal into his brain and the pit of his stomach and his semi-hard erection, his heart lurched; Paul choked back a throatful of saliva, "Don't!"

Bob looked up, pulling away reluctantly, "Why not?"

Paul searched for a reply, "It hurts," he said at last, though it was not precisely what he meant.

"You mean it feels too good?"

Paul closed his eyes and nodded.

"Sometimes you just have to ride it. But we can slow down if you want." Bob shrugged. "I'll kiss you all day if you want." He lowered his face to Paul's, brushing their lips together.

'Do you really wanna do this? You just got out of rehab, you're already having a hard enough time not drinking and if you do this you'll be around this drunk a lot. You'll both wanna drink. Do you fucking want this?'

Paul was tired of listening to the voice in his head, he pulled Bob closer.

They kissed dreamily, then searchingly, then with increasing urgency.

Never mind the last time Paul had a boner, he couldn't ever remember having one that felt like this, cradled in the juncture of Bob's thigh, pulsing and straining in the confinements of his jeans.

Bob slid a hand down, cupping him through those damn jeans, Paul let out a soft noise that could've been a moan, just from that, just from Bob's touch.

"Christ, Paul, you really haven't been touched by someone else, huh?"

Paul reddened, shook his head, pressed into Bob. To have been nineteen and never have another man touch him like Bob was doing right now, he might've been embarrassed.

Bob yanked Paul's jeans open, licking his bottom lip and sliding them down his thighs, throwing them on the floor.

Paul looked up at him, legs spread, hard-on evident against his boxers, eyes lidded with want.

He pulled Bob on top of him, pressing their lips together, languishing the feeling of someone above him, Bob's erection pressed against his own, sending tiny sparks of arousal into the pits of their stomachs.

"Bobby," he breathed out, "Bobby... I want..."

"What Paul, whaddya want baby?" Bob nuzzled into his neck, soft excited breath brushing Paul's skin.

"I... I don't know..." He wrapped his legs around Bob's waist, pressed their clothed erections together. He let out a breathy virginesque moan.

Bob smiled softly, pressing his lips to Paul's chin, and then sliding his tounge down into the hollow of Paul's throat, across his collarbone, over his right nipple. He left a trail of shiny saliva down the concavity of Paul's stomach, stopping just above his fabric covered cock.

He hooked fingers in the waistband of Paul's boxers.

"This is gonna feel so fucking good," Bob said, "you won't even believe it."

He tugged the cloth away, and kissed the tip of Paul's dick, then took the whole throbbing burning thing into his mouth.

He was right. All at once there was no more building, no more room, no more Jack Daniel's stained mattress beneath Paul's back. There was only this moment and this boy, only the smooth glide of saliva and fingertips and tounge, only the deep silken tunnel of Bob's throat surrounding him. It was like nothing else ever.

He felt a stream of pure white energy blazing along his spine, sending twin bolts into his brain and his cock, filling his every cell with light. His scalp tingled madly, so did his fingertips. He felt his pores open and bead with sweat, he heard himself moaning and Bob's moaning muffled encouragement back at him. 'Does he really want me to come in his mouth?' Paul wondered. 'Can I do that- can I- OH MY GOD.'

Thought deserted him once again. He felt like a man made of television static, of a million roaring, hissing silver dots. Then the stream of energy filled him up completely and husked him out clean. A years pain seemed to leave his body as he came hard, ebbing from his dick, leaking out of his watering eyes and expelling from his lungs in harsh gasps.

Bob continued to work his mouth and hands slowly, stopping only when Paul was no longer hard, his lips stained with semen and sweat.

Bob brought himself back up next to Paul. Paul could taste his own come when they kissed, a fresh, faintly bitter some-what organic flavour.

He wondered if that's how Bob's come would taste too.

He realized he wanted to find out.

He pulled Bob close to him and rolled on top.

The feeling of Bob's body beneath him was exhilarating, this complex, delicious bundle of blood and bones and thoughts and nerves and muscles captive in his arms, willingly so, gladly so. He rested his hands on Bob's shirt, hiking it up.

Bob lifted his arms and let Paul pull it off of him quickly. He laid his forehead against Bob's chest, daring to graze his teeth against Bob's nipple.

"Yeah... do that baby." He threaded a hand in Paul's hair.

"Can I bite?" Paul said softly, looking up at him with lust blown eyes.

"Hell yes." Bob nodded.

Paul wrapped his lips around Bob's nipple, nipping and gnawing. Bob groaned and arched into his mouth, rubbing handfuls of Paul's hair against his skin.

He figured Bob would've told him to stop, yelled and said it hurts, but he didn't. If Bob wanted his nipples sore Paul was eager to comply.

"Put your hand on my dick. Please." Bob gasped, grabbing for Paul's hand.

Put your hand on my dick.

Paul flushed red, he'd never touched another man's cock before. He wondered how it would feel, pulsing hot and heavy in his hand.

Bob grabbed his hand and pushed it down, making a low urgent, growling sound. "Please."

Paul's fingertips skated over the cloth of Bob's jeans, popping them open and pulling them down.

His hand closed over the pulsing shape beneath Bob's underwear, pressed his lips against the cloth and heard Bob's breath sobbing in and out. Paul hooked his fingers in the waistband of Bob's underwear, pulling them down his thighs.

Bob's cock bobbed up and brushed softly against Paul's lips. Paul cupped his hands around it, felt Bob's heartbeat throbbing between his palms. The skin of the shaft was textured, slightly rippled beneath the surface. The head was as smooth as satin, as rose petals. Paul rubbed his thumb across it, squeezing gently, heard Bob suck air in between his teeth and moan as he let it out. He could see blood suffusing the tissue just beneath the translucent skin, a deep dusky rose delicately purpled at the edges, crowned with a single dewy pearl of come.

It was as intimate as raw as holding someone's heart in your hands.

"Please suck my dick, Paul." Bob said faintly.

"I-" Paul searched for the right thing to say. "I'd love to," he whispered at last, and slid his hands down to Bob's thighs, and very carefully took Bob's cock into his mouth.

It seemed to nestle against his tounge and the walls of his throat as if it had been made to fit there. Bob was tossing his head and moaning, trying not to buck his hips too hard.

Paul tried to will his throat open, let Bob farther in and not choke. After a while it got easier to breathe through his nose, easier to take Bob deeper into his mouth.

"Oh fuck- Paul!" Bob groaned loudly, Paul looked upward in supplication through his lashes, Bob's face was one of pure, raw pleasure: mouth half open, eyes wide, a deep blush covered his cheeks.

Paul felt Bob's come spilling hot and thick over his tounge and down his throat. Bob was panting heavily as Paul swallowed it all down; it tasted a lot like his own, with spicy undertones courtesy, he guessed, of all the cajun food Bob had been so fond of.

He kept sucking softly until Bob was no longer hard, no longer panting and gasping for air. He used his tounge to clean up the rest of the come and stretched out next to Bob, burying his face in the crook of the taller man's neck.

The fell asleep entwined in each other's naked bodies, stewing in their own sweat and come as the sun came up.

It was an experience Paul would never forget.