The Raw Prawn

by Connie Bailey

  Russ nodded. “I’ve got a clue now. You like to go to new places and learn about them.”

  “Bingo. Once I got my head around the idea that sex with you was just new territory to be explored….” Jarold’s voice trailed off as his gaze dropped to Russ’s lap. “Is it okay if I touch you?”

  “Mate!” Russ threw open his arms and legs indicating his complete willingness to be touched. “Do your worst.”

  Jarold’s brows drew together in the beginnings of a frown. Looking like a man trying to remember an important phone number, he gingerly put a hand on Russ’s flat belly. Russ managed to tone down his reaction, but just barely. He didn’t want to do anything that would startle the other man, but he couldn’t suppress the shiver that ran the length of his long, supple frame. Jarold looked up, as though the Australian’s eyes were gauges that measured the effects of his touch. As gently as a snowflake settling to earth, Jarold rested a palm against the inside of Russ’s thigh. Russ’s cock twitched and a bead of pre-cum formed at the tip. “Whoa,” Jarold breathed.

  Russ chuckled nervously, his smooth veneer cracking a bit. “Unlike you, I never claimed to be straight, sport. I’ve been pashing on you since you walked in, and if you touch my willie I’ll probably go off. Just a friendly warning.”

  As though he’d been dared, Jarold reached for Russ’s arousal. His fingers just met around the circumference as he rubbed his thumb curiously over the studded foreskin. Russ shuddered, groaning at the exquisite sensation as Jarold’s thumb flicked across the weeping slit at the tip of his cock, smearing the slick fluid around.

  “I gotta tell you,” Jarold gave a sheepish little laugh, “it’s quite a feeling to know I make you this hot.”

  “Does being in charge turn you on?” Russ asked.

  Jarold shrugged, sliding his fist down Russ’s length to the thick base. “Not particularly. You?”

  “At the risk of shocking you,” Russ grinned, “I’m dedicated to the giving and receiving of pleasure. It’s like an addiction with me.”

  “That’s handy, considering your line of work.”

  “This isn’t my job, sunshine, more like a hobby.”

  “Should I be asking about condoms?”

  “Do you want me to put one on?”

  Jarold shook his head. He knew this was the worst kind of recklessness, but he’d never been able to back down from danger, whether it was walking alone into the favela slums of Rio de Janeiro, eating food from a street vendor in Delhi, or getting into a cab in Rome. If he was going to die, he wanted it to be while he was doing something he loved where he considered the risk to be worth it. It wasn’t an altogether wise philosophy, but he was only twenty-three and the moving finger of impersonal Fate had not yet underscored his mortality for him. He was still Teflon-coated, bulletproof, with a big red S on his chest and no idea that he had just stumbled upon his kryptonite.

  “I’m trying my best not to misbehave,” Russ said breathlessly as Jarold squeezed his balls like a man testing a piece of fruit for ripeness. “I’d really like to touch you as well though.”

  Jarold shrugged again. “Knock yourself out.”

  “Would a kiss be too much to ask?”

  “We can always give it a try. If I don’t like it, I can stop. It’s not like I’m a hundred-pound girl you can take advantage of.”

  Russ ran his gaze down Jarold’s lean-muscled form again. “You’re not lying,” he said, as he sat up and put a hand on the back of the other man’s neck, pulling him forward.

  “On the other hand, you’re no weakling,” Jarold said, his face inches from Russ’s.

  Russ stopped, feeling Jarold’s warm breath on his cheek. “Are you scared I’m going to fling you down and have my way with you?”

  “Is that something you normally do?”

  “Not bloody likely,” Russ grinned. “My kink is that I can’t get off if my partner doesn’t.”

  Jarold laughed softly. “So we do have something in common. Tell you the truth; it’s weirding me out a little how easy this is for me. I always thought I’d puke or run if some guy seriously tried to kiss me, but that’s not what I feel at all.”

  “Tell me.”

  “You have really… nice lips. They look soft, as soft as….”

  “Lips?” Russ suggested.

  Jarold laughed again. “Yeah, just like lips.” With no further preparation or warning, Jarold closed the small distance between them and covered Russ’s mouth with his. He discovered that a man’s lips don’t feel all that different from a woman’s, though it wasn’t exactly the same. Following up, he leaned in, putting a hand under Russ’s chin in one of his few “moves” that had seemed to find favor with past girlfriends. Russ’s lips parted in tacit invitation, but he kept his tongue to himself for now, letting Jarold decide how far to take it. Feeling nothing but receptiveness in his partner, Jarold moved his mouth against Russ’s, running his tongue along the other man’s bottom lip. Of its own volition, Russ’s tongue emerged to greet the visitor enthusiastically. The tips of their tongues brushed and each felt a bone-deep jolt that galvanized them into immobility for a moment before they lunged at one another in a mindless spasm of sudden lust. Jarold bore Russ back against the futon, leaning into the kiss, delving deep into the hot wet velvet of the other man’s mouth. Russ joined the tender wrestling match, pulling the American even closer, wrapping him up in a full-body embrace.

  “Holy shit,” Jarold breathed as their lips parted.

  “Isn’t it amazing what a simple kiss can do?”

  “Nothing simple about that kiss,” Jarold said. “What do you practice on?”

  “Guys like you,” Russ smiled.

  “Guys like me, huh?” Jarold trailed his fingers down Russ’s ribs.

  “Easy now, sport. You’re treading on thin ice.”

  Jarold tightened his grip a little on Russ’s sides.

  “Shit! Stop it!” Russ convulsed in breathless giggles. “You rotten ratbag. Stop!”

  “Sure, I’ll stop, as soon as you stop giving me attitude.”

  Russ grew still, gazing gravely at Jarold. “Attitude?”

  “You know what I’m talking about: that smug slightly superior I-know-something-you-don’t attitude. It’s incredibly irritating to be treated like an ignorant kid.”

  “I do that?”

  “Yep.”

  “Well, maybe in this one area, I do know more than you.”

  Jarold rolled his eyes. “Maybe I haven’t had as much sex as you, but I have had it.”

  “You’re a good-looking bloke; I’m sure you’ve done your share of fucking,” Russ answered. “But I doubt you’ve been fucked.”

  “Nope, but you can help me correct that oversight, am I right?”

  “You’re straight, not bent, remember?”

  “Maybe I’ve got curves.”

  “It’s not nice to tease.”

  Jarold took a deep breath. “I’d regret it the rest of my life if I passed up this opportunity. I’ll probably never meet another guy that I feel this comfortable with… physically.”

  “Let’s be really clear about this, sport. I’m talking about putting my willie in your bum; is that what you’re picturing?”

  “Um, not so much picturing it….” Jarold swallowed. “Okay, I just did. Yikes. Not a very dignified pose.”

  “Sex and dignity are mutually exclusive terms. If you don’t want to get messy, you shouldn’t be on the playing field.”

  “Can’t argue with that. So… where do we do this? Right here?”

  Russ sat up and shook out the duvet folded over the back of the cushion. “Kneel on this and you can lean over the futon.”

  Jarold did as Russ said, feeling incredibly vulnerable with his back to the other man, naked as the day he was born, with his ass sticking up in the air. Russ opened a drawer in the side table and retrieved a bottle of lubricant. “I’m going to grease you up,” the Australian said. “And loosen you a bit. Just do your best to relax.”

&n
bsp; Jarold was thinking that this just might be a little too embarrassing after all when Russ circled a fingertip around the sensitive skin of his perineum. “Wow! That feels amazing.”

  “I was wondering before, when I was giving you head, if any of your girlfriends had ever touched you here.”

  “Neither one,” Jarold said. “Never really thought of it as a place… ohhhhhh, God, that feels good. But no, none of the girls I’ve been fortunate enough to have sex with offered to stick a finger in my butt. Now I know what I’ve been missing.”

  Russ eased his finger in to the second knuckle, caressing Jarold’s thighs, balls, and ass with the other hand. Jarold reached down and slowly stroked himself back to hardness as Russ pressed firmly against his joy buzzer. The American made a small sound of protest as the finger withdrew, but it returned almost immediately, joined by a second digit. The pressure was uncomfortable, but nothing he couldn’t bear, and he reminded himself to relax.

  Russ crossed his fingers and corkscrewed them into the tight passage. The resilient muscles yielded grudgingly but gradually, and the small sounds Jarold made gave Russ incentive. “How ya goin’?” Russ asked again.

  “Swear to God, if you keep doing that, I’m gonna come again.”

  “Told you I could make it good for you. Ready to move on to the actual screwing?”

  “Yeah. Let’s do it. You’ve got me so worked up, I’d probably agree to anything right now.”

  Russ paused in the act of anointing his taut arousal. “Don’t say things like that, sport; you’ll give me a heart attack.”

  Jarold looked over his shoulder. “You know, your dick’s a lot bigger than a couple of fingers.”

  “It’s a good size,” Russ said dismissively. “Getting cold feet?”

  “Not my feet I’m worried about. I know this is gonna hurt. I just wanna hear you say that it’s gonna feel good eventually.”

  “Eventually,” Russ assured him. “I don’t want to sound full of myself, but my lovers call me the Thunder from Down Under.”

  Jarold laughed. “Seriously?”

  “Yeah, seriously. Why? You think it’s funny? What do your lovers call you when they come?”

  “Let’s see. Well, there’s Jarold, they call me that a lot, and Baby, I guess. Does Oh God count?” Jarold grinned. “Wait, I left out Raw Prawn.”

  Russ gave Jarold a playful swat on the ass. “I was going to guess they called you on the phone after they came.”

  Jarold groaned. “That was terrible.”

  “Then I’ll leave off the attempted banter and do what I do best.” Russ took himself in hand and ran the glistening head of his cock down Jarold’s cleft. Jarold hummed a yummy noise and obligingly widened his stance when Russ nudged the inside of his thigh with a knee. The Australian gripped a firm butt cheek, fingers sinking into muscle, as he exposed the target his shaft yearned toward. “Strewth,” Russ said thickly. “I was going to take my time and love every inch of you, use all the tricks in my bag, have you begging me to do this before I did it, but I can’t fucking wait to be inside you.”

  Jarold tensed when the blunt head prodded his entrance, and then it was over the threshold. He took a deep breath to beg Russ to go slow, but forward progress had already halted. Russ was fondling him with quick, light caresses that distracted him from the not inconsiderable pain of the penetration.

  “Breathe,” Russ said, flattening his palms against Jarold’s diaphragm.

  Jarold let out the breath he’d been holding and took another one. Russ’s hands moved down to frame Jarold’s crotch, urging him to resume stroking the wilting shaft. Jarold’s fist began to move as Russ slid his hands up to grip the other man’s slim hips. A sound like a sob broke from Jarold’s throat as Russ leaned forward, sinking another couple of inches before he stopped.

  “I don’t think I can do this,” Jarold panted, pressing his forehead against the cushion. “I’m not a quitter, but—”

  “Hang on. I think I know what’s wrong,” Russ said.

  “Yeah, me too. Somebody’s shoving a telephone pole up my ass.”

  Russ pulled slowly out. “Turn around, Jazza.”

  “Just a second.” Jarold pulled up a fold of the duvet and blotted his eyes before turning.

  “Trust me for just a minute,” Russ said. “I thought doing it pillow-biter style would be easier for you, so you wouldn’t have to see there was a guy behind you, but—”

  “How could I forget with your dick tickling my tonsils?” Jarold interrupted.

  “You game to give it another go?”

  Jarold looked at Russ for a long moment before he nodded. Russ took a large pillow off the futon and put it on the glass table. “Have a lie down here,” he said. “No worries about it being strong enough to hold you and it’s the perfect height.”

  Jarold was dubious, but he’d come this far and Russ had been right about everything else. Cautiously, he lowered himself to his back on the table, resting his shoulders against the cushion. Russ knelt in front of the table, lifting one of Jarold’s long legs to his shoulder as he pulled Jarold’s ass down to the edge. Seating the head of his rod, he sank into Jarold as slowly as ice melting until he had no more to give. His heavy sack lay warm and snug against Jarold’s cranny, and his aching length was ensconced in the sweetest berth imaginable. Jarold’s opening flexed on the base of the shaft that stretched it, interior muscles bearing down in an instinctive effort to expel, and Russ’s breath hissed in through his clenched teeth.

  “That feels pretty good to you, huh?” Jarold said in a strained voice.

  “Define good,” Russ groaned.

  “Guess I did ask a pretty subjective question,” Jarold answered, saying anything to keep from focusing on the pressure that brought involuntary tears to his eyes.

  “How does sublime sound?”

  “Kinda gay.”

  Russ smacked Jarold’s thigh again. “If you’re just going to play the fool,” he said as he began backing out.

  Jarold shuddered, rising off the pillow, clutching at Russ’s wrists as the blunt head of the pierced cock dragged across his prostate. Russ paused and pushed in a short shallow stroke. Jarold moaned, sinking back down onto the table as Russ rocked into him in barely perceptible thrusts, bumping against his trigger, the silver studs intensifying the effect.

  “That’s better, yeah?” Russ murmured. “How does it feel now, Jazza?”

  “Suh… sublime,” Jarold stuttered. “Guess you… earned… your nickname.”

  Russ chuckled softly. “I can do this all night, sport.”

  “I like it better when you… call me Jazza. Fuck, that feels unreal.”

  “Still hurt?”

  “Some, but I don’t care. I’ve never felt… anything like it.”

  “It gets better.” Russ rolled his hips, pushing deeper and pulling out at a new angle.

  Jarold moaned his approval, lifting his pelvis in response. Craning his neck, he looked down at the point where Russ’s cock entered him, his eyes burning like a man with a high fever. He reached for his resurrected erection that skated against his belly in a slick of its own making, but Russ’s hand was there first. Jarold yanked his hand back, but Russ caught hold of it and laced their fingers together.

  “It’s okay,” Russ said. “I won’t think you’re a poof.” Jarold relaxed again and let Russ hold his hand. The Australian stroked Jarold’s hard flesh with his free hand to the cadence set by his thrusting rod. Watching Jarold’s guileless face for cues, Russ varied speed, depth, and force until he found a rhythm that pleased his partner.

  “Oh… my… God!” Jarold cried out, raising his ass from the clear tabletop and moaning loudly at each stroke.

  Russ wrapped his arm tighter around Jarold’s thigh and leaned in, the globes of his ass flexing, hips churning as he lived up to his nickname. Jarold did his best to thrust, seeking greater friction as he fucked Russ’s fist, any lingering inhibitions canceled out by the need to climax, to break this sweet tension and
explode into a million pieces of joy. It didn’t matter that he was laying on his back, spread out like a picnic, moaning like a porn star, with a guy he’d met less than an hour ago about nine inches deep in his ass. Nothing mattered right now except for the incredible waves of pleasure that built and built, each new one an order of magnitude greater than the last until he wasn’t sure his body could endure any more without the flesh simply melting off his bones. His breath caught in his throat as the thick shaft drove into him again and pushed him over the edge. As his orgasm rolled through him, as powerful and devastating as a tsunami, his interior muscles clamped down on the invading piston of flesh, wringing a groan of ecstasy from Russ.

  Pulling out of the clinging sheath, the Australian matched his quivering arousal to the other man’s and pumped them together. Jarold made a mewling sound as his spurting, hypersensitive length rubbed against Russ’s hot, hard shaft. Russ moved a short distance away as his cock jerked and erupted, aiming the strong stream to spatter the backs of Jarold’s thighs in a gleaming scatter of pearl.

  “That was unbelievable,” Jarold murmured, as he let his head settle back against the pillow.

  Russ stayed on his knees, clutching his spent cock, his cheek leaning against the inside of the American’s knee, and watched his most recent conquest come back down to Earth. First, the haze cleared from Jarold’s vivid blue eyes, his breathing evened out, and then he moved restlessly, catching Russ on the side of the head with his heel as he moved his leg. Russ caught hold of Jarold’s ankle in a display of superior reflexes and lowered Jarold’s foot to the floor. The Australian knew with fatalistic certainty that in ten minutes time, Jarold wouldn’t be able to get out of the flat quickly enough. The reality of what he had done would hit him, and he’d need to get away from the scene of the crime.

  Turning away, Russ hitched up his trousers and went to the refrigerator. Opening the freezer, he took out a plastic bag and removed several one hundred dollar notes, twelve to be exact. It was five hundred more than they’d agreed upon, but with the footage from the camera under the glass table, Mr. Leith’s latest low-budget triple X would be the hottest thing going. The American boy in the thrall of pleasure was so compelling a sight that Russ had nearly forgotten the money shot. With this video playing on the big screens in the back rooms of Leith’s Oxford Street clubs, Russ’s sometime-employer would be able to fleece the patrons even more easily.