Page 17 of The Last Guy On Earth
Or with a slightly drunken massage.
“God, you are good at that,” Clay mutters.
The praise lights Jethro up, even more than usual. He redoubles his efforts. But after another minute, Clay sort of twists to the side.
“I’m good now.” Clay starts to sit up.
“What about the other side?” Jethro playfully pushes him back down again. “Dude.” He pins one of Clay’s thighs down with his own knee.
Clay goes very still, looking up at Jethro with heated eyes. He doesn’t seem to be breathing.
For a second, Jethro doesn’t get it. But then he looks down and sees why Clay is being weird all of a sudden. He’s tenting his boxers, and when Jethro notices, Clay’s body goes solid under his hands.
Their eyes lock, and Clay’s are upset.
Seriously. Some people are too tense abouteverything. “Drunk, tense,andhorny. You hit the trifecta.”
Clay gives a strangled laugh.
“Relax. Jesus.” Jethro lets go of him and flops onto his back beside Clay. Then he tugs down his own briefs. “Some problems are easy to fix, yeah?” He takes out his own cock, which is already thickening. Honestly, it’s a surprise they haven’t done this already. They share a tiny bedroom, after all. And a guy has basic needs.
At first, the silence from Clay’s side of the bed is so deep that he wonders if he read the situation wrong. But Clay lets out a hot breath as Jethro drags a thumb over his own cockhead. That feelsnice. So he starts stroking himself.
That’s when Clay kicks off his boxers.
“There you go,” Jethro narrates as Clay takes his own cock into his fist.
It’s no surprise that Clay is beautiful down there, too. He’s straight and long. And awfully engorged. Yeah, and Clay is already spanking it like there’s a medal for the winner.
“Hey—bet I can outlast you,” Jethro says, because hockey players can turn anything into a competition.
A horny grunt is Clay’s only comment.
Jethro grins up at the ceiling. The beer is still fizzing through his bloodstream, and this contest is way more fun than beer pong. Seems like cheating would make it even more fun. So he reaches over and grabs Clay’s stroking hand, causing him to gasp and lose his rhythm.
With a chuckle, Jethro raises Clay’s hand to his own mouth, where he licks a generous stripe down Clay’s palm. Then he replaces Clay’s hand on his dick.
Clay says “nnngh,” and the sound heats Jethro up a few degrees.
“Get it, man. You know you want to.”
Clay wants to, all right. As he watches, Clay strokes faster, chest rising and falling on pace with a sprinter’s. Jethro strokes himself slowly and rolls onto his side, enjoying the view.
“F-fuck.” Clay locks his eyes with Jethro’s for a split second before looking quickly away. Then he erupts like a fountain in his own hand and all over his T-shirt.
“Fuck,” Jethro echoes just as his balls tighten. Because that was seriously hot. “Look what I made you do.”
Clay just gapes at him for a second. It’s a rare moment when he doesn’t seem to know what to say. Then he grabs his messy T-shirt and pulls it over his head, wiping his hands on the balled-up fabric. He tosses it off the bed and sinks down onto his back with a satisfied sigh.
“Oh sure,” Jethro grunts between strokes. “You’re all chill for once. And I’m…” He bites his tongue and concentrates. It’ll suck if he’s gotten himself all boned up when he’s too drunk to close the deal.
For a moment, Clay just stares at Jethro’s fist, where his cockhead keeps appearing and disappearing. The scrutiny isn’t helping all that much, suddenly.
But then Clay—the guy who somehow always knows what another guy needs—flicks Jethro’s hand away. He leans over, and before Jethro can guess what’s happening, Clay licks him from base to tip.
“Fuuuuuuck,” Jethro rasps.
Now it’s Clay’s turn to snicker. And Jethro can’t even take a breath before Clay is swallowing down his cock.
