Page 36 of Proof Of Life

He sucks and slurps like a noisy whore, like he’s done this a dozen times, or more, and I’m convinced the beating of my heart is louder than the filthy sounds he's making. All of my senses exist in the space between my legs, in the parts that are covered by his mouth. I can’t think of anything else—of this being awkward, of this being wrong—only how good it feels and how right.

He slides his fist up and down in sync with his lips, and I’m positive I can’t take much more. “Fuck…fuck, your mouth. Ungh. Yeah.” He grins and releases his hold on my gaze to continue with his task—sucking my soul out through my cockhead. He’s going to do it too, any second. My abs burn with the effort it takes to hold my release back. Is he going to swallow me? I have a burning need to see him do it. To know my cum is pooling inside his stomach. I don’t know why that seems so important to me right now, but I know it has to happen.

Grabbing his head, I slide my fingers into his hair and hold him steady as I push into his mouth. My eyes roll back in my head when I feel the head of my cock hit the back of his throat, and the sound of his gagging pulls my load from me in a hot rush.

“I'm coming. Fuck, I’m–” I don’t even give him a chance to pull off, and he swallows every drop without a fight.

Even after my head drops on the pillow, he takes his time with me with slow, soft, teasing licks and gentle suction that feels as if he’s pulling my balls out through my shaft. Every sensation is amplified by a thousand, and it’s the best head I’ve ever received, by far. It’s been sixteen years since my first bj, and I can’t recall a single one. I can’t even spare a moment to grieve the loss of those memories because Brandt eviscerated them with his wicked mouth.

He pulls my sweats back up, drops a kiss to my belly, and lays his head on my stomach. The breath of his words whispers over the fine hairs of my trail.

“Thank you for trusting me,” he murmurs, then he squeezes my hip and climbs off the bed, making his way to the shower.

As I listen to the sounds of the rushing water, I realize this is the second time he’s taken care of me that I haven’t offered to do the same in return. I just don’t know if I can. I’m not ready for that.

“Brandt,” I call out.

“Yo?”

“How did it taste? How did my cum taste?” I have to know what he thought of it. Whether he liked it enough to do it again.

I don’t get anything back until he shuts the water off and appears in the doorway with a towel wrapped around his waist. Drops of water roll down his chest, and for the first time, I look at his body in a different way, in a way that—I fucking want him.

At the very least, I want to taste his nipples.

“It tasted slightly bitter and salty. Kind of like my own.”

“Did you like it?”

“No, I didn’t like it, Wes. I fucking loved it.” He moves towards the bed and plants a knee on the mattress, crawling over my leg to settle between my thighs. “And I can’t wait to get another taste of you.”

I swallow hard, and keep silent because I have absolutely no fucking clue how to respond to that.

“Do you need me to–”

“Are you offering?” I panic a bit because really, I’m not offering, I’m just trying not to be a dick. He chuckles, putting me at ease. “Relax, I’m fine. I took care of it in the shower.”

Thank fucking Christ. If we were playing a game of gay chicken, Brandt would win, hands down.

“Damn, those are some huge balls!”

Shaking my head at his seemingly endless supply of ball jokes, I watch West stare out the window of the Jeep at the enormous white stucco building that houses the NC mountain region branch of BALLS.

“Yeah, well, let’s go fondle them. Get your ass moving.” I can make ball jokes too.

Reluctantly, he trails after me. In the lobby, an older woman standing behind the desk greets us with a warm smile.

“Welcome to Beyond the Army Legion of Love Soldiers! I’m Margaret Anne, a volunteer here. How can I help you, gentlemen?”

“Afternoon, Ma’am. We’re meeting with Navarro Riggs.”

“Oh, Riggs! Such a lovely man.” The doubtful look on West's face indicates he disagrees about the loveliness of Navarro Riggs. “I haven’t seen him yet today, but you’re welcome to wait right over there.” Margaret Anne points to the reception area with grouped seating and a wet bar that holds a mini fridge stocked with bottled waters and a coffee maker. “If you’d rather not wait, I can give you a tour myself,” she offers.

Her chipper personality isn’t in line with West's brand of miserable sarcasm, and before he can chew her up and spit her out, I step in. “Thank you, Margaret Anne, but we don’t mind waiting.”

“No problem. Take this and look it over while you wait.”

She hands West a black nylon drawstring bag that I assume is filled with promotional swag and brochures. He accepts it without thanks and walks away, and I follow after assuring Margaret Anne we’re grateful.

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