Tucer and Bud

"Ohmygod I'm

so

sorry!" Tucker said, almost shouting, "I don't know why..."

Bud cut him off: "Don't be sorry. It was great."

Tucker and Bud

By RalphyNJ

[This story is fiction and includes depictions of unsafe sexual practices. Such practices would be reckless in real life, and the author cautions strongly against them.]

==========

When Tucker floated up out of sleep, he found himself sitting upright with his head resting against a meaty shoulder. A supporting arm was around his back, and a blanket was wrapped around him.

He looked up and saw his friend Bud smiling down at him.

He was on Bud's lap.

He had no idea why he was there, how he had gotten there, or even when he had fallen asleep.

Bud brushed a vagrant lock of hair from Tucker's forehead and said softly: "Hey, Tucker. You gave me quite a scare. How are you feeling?"

Now that Tucker thought about it, he was feeling very cozy. However he said only: "Hi, Bud. Pretty sleepy."

Tucker and Bud had been friends since high school. The friendship had mystified their classmates, because Tucker was a handsome jock and although Bud was equally good-looking and athletic, he was widely rumored to be gay. In that school, straight-gay friendship was an alien concept. In fact anyone who was even suspected of

being

gay did not have an easy time of it.

Except for Bud: Refusing to deny or confirm the rumors, he parried the occasional taunt with laughter and a stinging rejoinder, and he responded to inquiries by asking why his orientation was of such great interest to his would-be interrogator. His attitude frustrated and angered some of his classmates but no one dared attack him physically, because he was bigger and stronger than any of them and knew how to use his fists when it was required.

Bud had no known relationships other than his friendship with Tucker, so all the curiosity was left unsatisfied.

Tucker wasn't put off by the rumors. On the contrary, he admired Bud: For one thing, Bud never took advantage of his size and strength to bully anyone. For another, his supreme self-confidence was never manifested as arrogance. And perhaps most important, when not forced into physical conflict he was a truly gentle person.

Following high school, Tucker and Bud had gone to the same college, where their friendship had grown closer. After obtaining their degrees, they pursued separate careers, which limited their contact during the week, but the friendship remained solid and they spent almost every Saturday together. The question of Bud's orientation remained unresolved in Tucker's mind, but that did not lessen the fondness he had developed for his friend. And now, drowsily looking up into Bud's smiling face as Bud held him, Tucker was feeling not just fondness but affection.

Nonetheless, he was perplexed. "Uh ... Bud? What am I doing here?"

"I'd say offhand" Bud replied, "that you're just waking up."

"No I mean ... how did I get here?"

"Don't you remember? I guess you're still half asleep. Your car is in the shop so I drove you."

"Yeah, I know all that. I mean ...

here

."

"Oh. On my lap."

"Yeah."

"I carried you from the guest room" Bud told him, and grinned as he added: "You know, you're heavier than you look."

"Carried me from the guest room? What happened? How did I get

there

? The last thing I remember is we were sitting and talking."

"That's right, we were, and you didn't say anything about not feeling well but all at once you got a funny look on your face and you keeled over. I couldn't rouse you; you were out cold. I panicked and called a friend who's a physician. I told him you had passed out and were unresponsive. I asked if I should put you in the car and rush you to the emergency room or if it would be better to wait for an ambulance. He got me calmed down and told me how to check your vital signs. Based on those he said you weren't in any immediate danger. Then he walked me through an examination so he could decide what should be done next."

As Bud was talking, Tucker became aware that he could feel the fabric of the blanket on his skin.

Everywhere

on his skin. He was naked. "Who undressed me?" he asked. "The doctor?"

"No" Bud said. "The doctor wasn't here. I told you, he guided me by phone.

I

undressed you to do the exam."

Bud did not notice the emerging color on Tucker's face as he continued: "He had me look you over for bug bites or anything else that might have injected a toxin and made you pass out. He was very thorough; he even told me to look between your toes. After that he had me take your temperature and listen to your heart and lungs."

By now, Tucker's face was quite pink.

Bud finally noticed. "Hey, no need to be embarrassed" he chided. "We both have the same equipment."

That didn't help. Tucker's face became almost red, and suddenly Bud understood the fundamental cause of his unease: "Oh, the high school rumors. Are you afraid I might have done unspeakable things to you while you were unconscious?"

Tucker didn't reply, but his silence gave the answer.

"Oh Tucker, I would have thought you knew me better than that. You're the last person in the world that I would take advantage of, in that way or

any

way. My activities were confined strictly to collecting medical information. I gathered the data the doctor asked for, and that's all."

Tucker's blush began to subside.

Bud went on: "When I told my friend I didn't see any bites or scratches but you had a fever, he said you've got a virus that's been going around. He told me that ordinarily his advice is just to let it run its course, but in view of the fact that it knocked you out it should be treated. He called my local pharmacy and they delivered some things I need to give you. He said you should be fine in about a week if you get enough rest."

Tucker was baffled: "I've got a virus? I don't

feel

sick."

"You have a fever of almost a hundred and three, aren't you hot?"

"Yeah, but I thought it was the blanket."

Bud reached over to a small nearby table, picked up a mirror, and said: "Look at your eyes. See how glassy they are?" He put his hand on Tucker's face. "Now feel your face and then feel mine."

Tucker looked, and felt.

"See?" Bud asked.

"Oh. Yeah. Is the fever why my head feels ... I don't know ... cloudy, and I'm groggy?"

"Your fever is the reason for the cloudiness, but you're groggy because of the sedative I've been giving you. It's one of the meds the doctor had them send."

"You've been giving me a sedative when I was asleep already?"

"At first you were unconscious. It's not the same thing. He said to wait until you showed signs of coming around and then begin the medication. When you began to move, I gave you the first dose of sedative.

That

put you to sleep. I also started you on an antiviral drug. You get them every four hours, day and night."

"I don't remember taking anything" Tucker said.

"I give you the medicine each time as you're just starting to wake up" Bud told him. "You're barely conscious. You wouldn't remember."

Tucker thought for a moment. "Bud?"

"Yes?"

"Can I ask you something else?"

"Sure."

Tucker hesitated, and then said: "This is really nice, so please don't think I'm complaining. I'm just curious: Why do you have me on your lap?"

"Originally, I put you to bed in the guest room" Bud told him, "and I planned to be there when you woke up so that when you opened your eyes the first thing you saw would be a friend. That way it wouldn't be so scary waking up in a strange place and not knowing why. But then it occurred to me that if you turned in your sleep, the first thing you'd see would be the wall. So I decided this was a good way to make sure."

"That was really thoughtful."

"I wanted you to have as easy a time as possible."

"Well I did. It was really good waking up this way."

Bud took mental note of two things Tucker had said: That being held on Bud's lap was "really nice," and that it had been "really good" to wake up there.

Actually, the first word that had come to Tucker's mind had not been merely 'nice' or 'good'. Instead, the word he had been thinking was '

wonderful'

. He didn't say it because he was afraid to admit having such strong feelings for Bud. In fact, he was disconcerted to realize that he had them.

Notwithstanding his concern, he would have been happy to stay where he was. He tried to think of additional questions so that Bud would continue to hold him. But as he was thinking, Bud consulted his watch and said: "Time to check you over."

"Check me over?"

"Every four hours I have to examine you for a rash and take your temperature, before I give you your medication."

Bud stood up, necessarily lifting Tucker off his lap. Then he laid him back down and made sure he was well covered. "I'll be right back" he announced as he left the room.

Tucker was impressed by the ease with which his friend had lifted him. It showed that Bud had not let his muscles decline after graduating from college.

A few minutes later Bud returned, carrying two plastic prescription bottles and several other items, all of which he put on the table that held the mirror. "Do you need to use the bathroom?" he asked.

"Yeah" Tucker told him. "Now that you mention it, I have to pee."

"All right. You know where it is. Keep the blanket with you so you don't get chilled. And put those on" he added, pointing to a pair of slippers in front of the couch. "Be careful walking. I gave you a reduced dose of sedative this morning but you might still be a little bit wobbly."

"Ok" Tucker replied as he rose from the couch and started toward the bathroom, holding the blanket against his front.

Bud watched in case Tucker were to need help, but his walk was steady and his balance stable. Bud could safely look away.

Bud did not look away. He had never seen Tucker naked until he undressed him, and even then he had not looked with an appraising eye because his concentration had been entirely on Tucker's illness. Now, however, he took approving note of the smooth, muscular back, the slender hips, the shapely rear end, and the well-formed legs.

Although Bud would like to have continued savoring the view (yes, the high school rumors had been true), his top priority was Tucker's recovery. As Tucker's form retreated down the hall, Bud called: "Put the blanket all the way around you! Keep it there until you sit down. And see if you can have a bowel movement too."

When Tucker returned, Bud asked if he had moved his bowels. He nodded bashfully.

Noting Tucker's response, Bud said "I'm sorry, I need to know these things. But I forgot that you're bashful. Will it be better if I say 'took a dump' next time?"

Tucker nodded.

"Alright I will. Now lie down."

Tucker lay down and started to cover himself, but Bud stopped him: "Don't cover up yet. I told you, I have to check you for a rash."

With a returning blush, Tucker pulled the cover aside.

Bud began examining the front of Tucker's body, starting at his shoulders. As he worked, using both his eyes and his hands, he continued the appraisal he had begun earlier from the back, now noting the broad chest and slightly curving belly as his hands moved down over them.

When he began to move further down, he heard a sharp intake of breath. "Are you ticklish?" he asked.

Tucker said he was not.

Bud looked at Tucker's face, noticed that he was blushing again, and understood that the blush was undoubtedly in anticipation of where Bud's gaze, and his hands, would be going next.

After running his fingers slowly through Tucker's bush, Bud lifted his penis, provoking a gasp. Holding the limp organ, he imagined taking that soft flesh with its light purple helmet into his mouth, feeling it stiffen and grow, caressing it with his tongue and running it in and out until the slit at the front flooded him with warm surges of Tucker's semen.

Breaking free of the daydream, he proceeded to Tucker's plump testicles. He looked at them admiringly for a moment, then lifted and held them cupped in his hand longer than was necessary to confirm that they did not hide a rash.

Eventually he continued to Tucker's legs, and scrutinized the fronts before moving them apart to inspect Tucker's inner thighs.

When he reached Tucker's feet, the blush paled somewhat, but it intensified again a few minutes later when he finished examining the toes and said "Good. Now turn over."

Shyly, Tucker obeyed.

Beginning once more at Tucker's shoulders, Bud proceeded downward on his smooth back.

Reaching Tucker's behind, he stopped momentarily. He wanted to knead and kiss those alluring cheeks, and when he spread them and saw the little pink pucker he was powerfully tempted to lick the rim and then push his tongue inside.

With difficulty, he successfully resisted the temptation and moved on to examine the backs of Tucker's legs.

The embarrassment that Tucker had felt as Bud began his examination had since given way to other emotions: Bud's gentle hands were doing disturbing things to him, exciting things. His penis was hard. He couldn't understand why his body was reacting this way. He was confused and troubled.

Bud finished his examination and declared: "Both sides look good," recognizing only afterward that the statement could be taken as a double entendre.

He covered Tucker, went to the table, picked up two items, and started back toward the couch.

Tucker had turned onto his back and was adjusting the blanket.

"Turn over again" Bud directed. In response to Tucker's questioning look, he explained: "I need to take your temperature and give you your medication."

"Why do I need to turn over?"

"Well for one thing, this is a rectal thermometer."

"Don't you have any another kind?" Tucker asked, his face returning to full pink.

"I do" Bud told him as he shook down the instrument, "but while you were asleep, this was the way I had to take your temperature and the doctor wants an accurate comparison with those readings, good to a tenth of a degree. The reference location has to be kept constant, and the initial readings were rectal so the required reference location is inside your tushy."

With some reluctance, and a deepening blush, Tucker turned over, his discomposure increased by Bud's use of the juvenile's term 'tushy'.

Bud lubricated the thermometer and went to the foot of the couch, where he folded the blanket up. Then Tucker felt Bud's fingers spreading his buttocks and the glass thermometer sliding in. He tensed slightly as the bulb was forced through his sphincter muscle and entered his rectum.

"Ok" Bud said, keeping a hand on Tucker's upturned behind, "Now we wait a few minutes."

Tucker's profound sense of indignity at having his temperature taken rectally was mixed with the troubling pleasure produced by the feel of Bud's hand.

Bud began to engage Tucker in small talk. As they chatted, he absently fondled a pliant cheek, an indulgence he had allowed himself while Tucker was asleep. He would have been more discreet now, but he was preoccupied by worry over the fever, which had remained high throughout the night.

Tucker felt his penis hardening again.

After several minutes, Bud eased the thermometer out and covered him. "Your temperature is down slightly" he said as he made a note of the reading. "That's a good sign."

Tucker began to turn onto his back, but Bud placed an impeding hand on him: "Stay there. I have to give you the medicine."

"Why do I have to ... You mean

that's

...?"

"The doctor had it sent in suppository form so I can administer it on schedule whether you're awake or not."

He went to the small table, and Tucker saw him pick up one of the two prescription bottles. Holding it up, Bud said: "Antiviral." He poured out a suppository. Then he picked up the other bottle. "Sedative" he stated as he opened it. "The doctor wants you to get a lot of sleep."

He slipped a latex sheath over a finger and applied lubricant. Then he came back to the couch with the two suppositories.

Tucker grunted as the first and then the second suppository was pushed into his rectum, and he grimaced when he felt Bud's finger follow the second suppository all the way in.

Bud kept the finger in place, the rest of his hand nestled between the cheeks. He explained that he was preventing the suppositories from being expelled before they could melt and release their drugs. "But it won't take long."

The surprise intrusion of Bud's finger had been very uncomfortable, but once Tucker had adjusted he found that he actually liked having Bud's finger in the grip of his rectal sphincter.

As Bud was withdrawing the finger several minutes later, it pressed on something that produced an ecstatic shudder. Tucker huffed involuntarily.

"I'm sorry" Bud said, "I didn't mean to hurt you." But he knew it wasn't pain Tucker had felt, because he had pressed that spot on purpose. He knew that he had caused not pain but an intense erotic thrill.

He removed the latex sheath and said "Alright, you can turn onto your back if you like."

After Tucker had gotten comfortable, Bud sat down near the end of the couch. "You'll sleep for a while now, but then I can drive you home. We'll need to arrange for twenty-four-hour care so you get your medication on time, and they'll have to prepare your meals since you won't be in any condition to cook. If you'd rather, though, you're welcome to stay here and

I'll

take care of you."

"That would be

terrific

!" Tucker blurted out, and was immediately abashed at the effusiveness of his acceptance. He had reacted so strongly because the unexpected prospect of being in Bud's care was very appealing.

Then it occurred to him that the offer might have been made too hastily: "Hey, don't you have to be at work the day after tomorrow?"

"The day

after

tomorrow? Oh, you think this is still Saturday. It's Sunday morning."

"Sunday? I've been passed out since yesterday?"

"If you mean unconscious, no, you weren't passed out except at the beginning. You were unconscious for a little over an hour, then you started to come around and I began giving you the sedative per the doctor's instructions. That put you to sleep, and you slept through the night. Anyway, to answer your question, I don't have to be at work tomorrow. Or for the next few weeks: I've got lots of unused vacation time and no particular plans. I can't think of any more worthwhile use for the time than nursing my best friend back to health."

"That's really generous."

"Then you'll stay?"

"Yeah, sure, thanks" Tucker answered, careful this time not to be so demonstrative.

A minute later, he asked: "Did you have me on your lap all night?"

Bud laughed. "No, that would have gotten very uncomfortable after a while. I didn't bring you in here until I saw signs that you were about to wake up."

As he spoke, he took a shirt from a nearby chair. He helped Tucker to sit up, and handed him the shirt. It was a pajama top.

Tucker put it on and waited for the pants, but none was forthcoming. "Aren't you going to give me the bottom?" he asked.

"Nope" Bud replied. "I need easy access to

your

bottom so I can take your temperature and give you the medicine. You can keep the top on if you don't button it when you're lying down; then I can lift it to check you over. But keep it buttoned while you're sitting up."

"I could just take the pants down whenever you need me to" Tucker insisted.

"You'll be asleep most of the time, so

I

would have to do it. In fact I would have to take the pants completely off you to examine for a rash. That much activity would wake you."

The explanation did not fully satisfy Tucker, but by now the latest dose of sedative had made him too drowsy to argue as Bud wrapped the blanket securely around him.