Why Walk When You Can Fly?
Lightning, flashing white across the sky, ripped Jeff Hardy from the womb of sleep. Instinctively, he clutched the warm, strong arms around him, seeking comfort, succor. His lover's arms tightened, muscles becoming defined and tensile.
"Sleep, Jeff," Mark soothed, his voice Southern Comfort, an attempt to soothe his nerves. But instead, his blood rebelled, and vomiting up the comfort offered to him, Jeff sat up, throwing Mark's arm off of his prone body. He hyperventilated in the darkness.
"Wah?" Mark asked, his eyes slitted in confusion. Lightning lit up Jeff's panicked face, the sweat cascading down his face, hovering above Mark. His mind snapped into focus, "The storm." He responded. Jeff nodded imperceptibly, then gasped loudly when the lightening came again.
Mark amended his first internalized comment about Jeff. His love had one fear; electric storms.
Mark extended his arms, wrapping the long, tattooed limbs around his lover and murmuring in a soothing way. Jeff gasped, teared up, tried to calm his own breathing and failed.
Jeff connected, deep within himself, storms like these to the night his mother passed away. He had been only a baby at the time, a young child incomprehensive of what had caused the sadness in his little world. Worshipping Matt as he had, everything seemed all right after a very long time.
On nights like these, he and Matt would crawl into their father's bed, seeking the total safety that his father and brother brought him.
Now, in Mark's arms, Jeff's paternal memories melted as his brow was kissed, his nose, and cheeks. His chin.
"OK?" Mark asked.
Jeff tipped his lips and indulged in a kiss.
Like strands of hair, their tongues entwined lazily, inexorably; Jeff moaned in adoration, the storm passing further and further from his field of consciousness. Mark's fingers tangled into his blue hair, pulling him closer, tongue brushing his tonsils.
Jeff pulled his bruised mouth away to suck on Mark's neck, leaving a strawberry hickey near his Adam's Apple. Mark's fingers found the hem of his own shirt, pulling it up and, arching his back painfully, he pulled the tee-shirt away. Jeff's bare chest rubbed silkily against Mark's skin; freshly harvested ivory, still bloody from the beast it emanated from. He kissed his stomach tat; each one looked enormously painful, but each marked a passage in Mark's life. Jeff smiled to himself as he removed Mark's black silk boxers; the latest and hopefully last tattoo flashed up from his lover's left hip; a nude fairy, bathing in a waterfall, it's hardened pink cock standing rapt against the plane of Mark's thigh. It wore Jeff's elven features. He lowered his matching pink lips to Mark's erect nipple.
"Lube", Mark murmured, after a few long moments of watching Jeff lap his sensitive nipples, darting to and fore frantically . Jeff's free right hand (The other was entrenched in Mark's silky red pubic hair, winding and unwinding, achingly close to Mark's rising prick) groped into the piles of sheets and clothing, searching for his duffel. It was stuffed, as to be inconspicuous, with shirts and regular toiletries. After a moment of digging, Jeff surfaced triumphantly, a bottle of Wetx3 in his hand. Smiling wickedly, shifting his torso so that he could better handle Mark's goods, he tipped the open bottle upside down, allowing a stream of lube to coat Mark's tumescent cock.
Mark shivered and groaned; Jeff felt it throughout his body and sighed. His mouth recaptured his nipple and his right hand occupied itself with Mark's firm cock.
Jeff thought, for a moment, that Mark was the best thing that had ever happened to him. His first experience with a man was at summer camp when he was sixteen, a very willing seduction by a fellow counselor only a year or so older. He worshipped the councilor in an intense, sexual way; dissimilar to the way he felt about his brother, but it had it's matching sensations. The counselor had rejected him, however, in such a way that it drove him into the closet for the next three years. Matt had been accepting from the beginning, and watching Jeff punish himself with this forced bleaching of character didn't set with him. Matt got him to open up, helped him out of the closet, helped him tell their father, so that, a few scant months after he felt truly comfortable with himself, Mark could be with him. Then all thoughts faded away, and he satiated himself with playing Mark's thick pink flute like a virtuoso.
A few minutes of loveplay, another bolt of lightening, another boom of thunder; by then Mark could stand no more teasing. He stilled Jeff's playful hand with his own, pulling it away. Jeff slid up Mark's body smoothly, kissing his lover. Gently, Mark wrests control from him, sprawled his beautiful lover over the sheets, and unlimbered him of his underwear. It was natural; Mark was the top. Jeff usually slept in the buff, willing and sweet, and his already hard cock rose proudly, relieved of the cotton, blooming.
Mark's strong fingers plucked Jeff's nipples; not roughly, not teasingly, but lovingly. Jeff's eyes fell closed; he felt the sensations run through the network of his nerves, his cock rising, his body aflame.
"Good," Jeff whispered huskily. Mark smiled as he sucked on Jeff's abs, the little sensitive crease where his pec met his ribs, leaving his fingers to work their magic with the nipples. Good was one of Jeff's favorite words; whispered post-coitus after a loving sex session; said in relief after a match that passed without broken bones, grunted after a good meal. All had their nuances, their meanings. It was his job to interrupt them. Now "Good" meant "More".
Mark's left paw enveloped Jeff's cock; he rubbed Jeff's love tube against his cheek and chin, smearing pre-cum across his lips. For a second or so, he simply surrounded the head of Jeff's cock with his lips and sucked. Jeff whined, reached for red-gold hair. Mark slipped slowly down the bulging tube, enjoying immensely the feeling of firm flesh spreading the walls of his throat.
Mark admitted to himself that many bottoms simply didn't give head, but he couldn't resist it; he lusted the sensation of pubic hair tickling his nose and musty, warm balls against his chin. Gently, but firmly, he bobbed his aching neck as he sucked Jeff prodigious rod. He kept his eyes on Jeff's beautiful face, watching his forehead tense, his jaw loosen, his eyes flash. Suddenly, he grasped Mark's shoulders, cried out softly, and flooded Mark's mouth with salty, warm cum.
He swallowed, licked his lips. Jeff smiled knowingly, handing him the discarded lube.
Mark pressed his fingers into the smooth, warm indent of Jeff's asshole, feeling it flower open for him. He smiled, loosening him with one finger, two, three....Mark's still lubed cock sank home easily. Jeff arched his back, sighing on a musical trill. Mark laughed; Jeff sobered him by locking long, muscular legs around his waist and humping his hips. Mark sucked his breath in.
Jeff rolled his hips lazily, erotically charged, yet perfectly sated. He languorously accepted Mark's strokes into his sensitive hole, not quite sure he would cum again, but drowsily charged with pleasing Mark.
He became more viggerous; Jeff responded in likewise, feeling his haunches bruise a bit, but thrilled, his prostate being stimulated.
Suddenly, Mark stopped, lowered himself, thrust his tongue into Jeff's mouth, and shouted in concert with the dissapating thunder, pouring his hot, sticky cum into Jeff's willing vessel. Jeff shuddered, coming to a smaller climax.
The storm piddled away, just as Mark's cock shrank and softened. He withdrew his tongue from Jeff's sucking mouth, pecking his forehead, lips and cheek with kisses, and rolled off of his blue-hared baby as not to crush him, landing directly beside him. They both shivered in the refreshingly cool air, smiling like fools and absorbed in eddies of satisfaction.
"Good?" Mark asked sleepily, burying his face in his pillow by Jeff's ear.
"Good." Jeff echoed. One little lightening bolt echoed through the night sky, the storm's last gasp. Jeff Hardy's snores covered the thunder that followed.