A World of Difference

This little PWP starts out het, but don’t worry: it gets around to what you came for.

Pushing a woman’s legs apart and sliding his cock into her had once been the most wonderful feeling Hutch could think of. He’d ease her to the edge of his bed and get on the floor so he could lift her legs onto his shoulders, long lovely legs. Oh, the smooth thighs that tensed and trembled as he bent down and licked her, moved his lips over her clit and sucked it just enough. Or he might just finger her and help her along with warm words and watch her loving it. Some of them would run their hands over their breasts and sort of pinch and tug themselves. That turned him on because he knew how good it felt. He’d always liked doing something like that to himself when he jerked off.

So many of them seemed to think their only part in the play was to lie still and try to look sexy, maybe make little moany sounds if they were good enough actresses. He had loved making women like that let go of themselves and really come. It was a better show than anything they could make up, and had felt so good to him, too. When his girl was way into it, really hot and swollen and wet, he’d take it slower because he knew how high she was, and that he could keep taking her higher.

When the time was right, or he just couldn’t hold back anymore, he could rise up on his knees and pull her onto him and when he was inside, he could still see it all. Touch everywhere and feel her react. If she liked it, he’d use his other hand to play with her asshole, even get a finger or two slick and go in there, too. He could feel the contour of his cock inside her from in there and sort of rub hard against it with his fingers and that was wild. He loved feeling her feeling that, moving his cock inside her, thumb floating lightly over her clit, fingers trailing down to play with his balls or circle the base of his wet cock and squeeze while he worked himself in and out. They could both watch it, too. God, so pretty. So fucking beautiful.

But now — and it had taken a surprisingly short time to realize it, once the idea took hold — there was nothing he liked more than taking Starsky’s cock up his ass. It had taken all the love he had for him, all the trust, to let him even think about doing such a thing, but once they’d started, he couldn’t imagine sex being anything but that, for as long as they could make it last.

It was nothing like having a woman. He loved it when he felt him all the way in, liked he’d nailed himself to him. He felt fever and cold all over, all at once, and his cock was the only thing in the world. Made him break out in a sweat. He got this prickly feeling everywhere. When he really relaxed, was stretched wide and they’d made sure everything was slippery, every move Starsky made, he felt, down to the smallest flicker. He loved it when he started to slide out, then pushed into him again real slow, then started doing more long strokes like that in a slow rhythm without stopping. Jesus, it was so sweet. Starsky always took his time, but he could tell when he needed more. The strokes seemed to go deeper then, and he pushed his ass up against his cock to get even more of it. He started to be aware of Starsky’s balls there, too. Full, stretched to the limit, almost as tight as his cock. It was incredible how hard they got, like a baseball, he thought one time. Ha! That’s why they call them balls, Brainiac. He’d stifled a burst of laughter and the jolt to Starsky’s cock made him growl and clutch his hips tighter for the answering thrust.

His own swollen balls would ache so sweet and sometimes he just ran his fingers over them from underneath. That’s all he could take. And his cock! Jesus, it was like steel charged with electricity — he couldn’t touch it at all or he might set off an explosion that he really believed could kill them both. Any time Hutch wanted to get it up, he could think about Starsky’s hot mouth on it, his tongue, before they’d gotten this far, how the longing felt when he stopped sucking him and said that wasn’t going to be enough, that he needed more of him, and wiped oil on him, and in him, and on himself and then did this. He could think of that, and come just imagining Starsky’s voice telling him to.

And a lot of times, Starsky did tell him to. He’d lean down over him close, and order him in a voice he never heard him use except when he was fucking him like that, this feral groaning voice that he loved so much. He’d say get ready and he would, and he felt him swell up more, filling him up so he couldn’t move. Then the urgent movement would stop and he’d get even stiffer inside him, like some huge fucking fist. He would sense the head flaring first, and then felt the whole cock flex, starting way deep inside him, then jerking along the whole length, so thick and hard, and he want to scream it hurt so damn good, all over. His own balls would be ready to blow and his cock was like rock then, too. He’d chew down on his hand, his tongue, on anything, to hold back so Starsky’d come first because he want to feel it all before he let go himself.

And yes, he could feel him shoot his load. Yes, he could feel it, especially the first jet. Couldn’t tell if it was hot or cold, but he could feel it spread through his gut while he held his breath and Starsky cried out his name. His name and God’s. It felt like it went on forever and then he lost myself in it when he came, too. His cock connected with all the good sensations in the world, of pleasure and letting go, of courage, and love. And love, and love all over everywhere and he was gone. His ass clenched tight around Starsky’s cock, again and again as his own cock pulsed out a river of life.

When the tremors calmed after the last time they’d done it that way, he realized he was breathing hard like he’d just run a mile on the beach and thrown himself down in the sand and waves were breaking over him. But it was Starsky’s body over him, covering him, keeping him from drowning, holding onto him to make sure they both stayed on land. Held him hard. And then they laughed, deep and crazy because it was nothing but crazy and it felt so goddamn good and yes, they were fools and for a long, beautiful, out-of-this-world time, they didn’t fucking care.

And a little later that time, Starsky petted some damp hair back from his forehead, kind of shy, and asked, “You really don’t miss all the girls?”

He looked through Starsky’s darkened eyes into the place where Starsky judged liars, and shook his head just enough to get through.