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Andrew doesn’t fit in here.
In the background the television drones, game announcers a constant thrum of noise punctuated by cheers or booing from the assembled couch warriors. Glass of water in one hand, Andrew dispassionately watches them watch, sipping from his cup when he can think of nothing else to do.
“Yo, baby bro!” a shout comes from the living room, arm waving above the couch, Greg not even bothering to turn all the way around. “Grab some beers!”
“Fuck yourself,” Andrew replies back, his face burning as three of Greg’s friends look back in surprise. Two of them turn back around to the television, but one keep up his gaze. He’s huge, easily the biggest guy there, and probably the oldest, too. Greg is five years older than Andrew, but this guy looks to be a decade older than that, even. His tank shows off his muscles and his tattoos, and Andrew bets they’re a drunken mistake. Brawn, not brains.
With a roll of his eyes, Andrew heads to his room and slams the door.
##
The living room is silent, every one passed out after the game and drooling on cushions or blankets. Except for Cliff.
As if it’s his own house, Cliff walks to the door and makes sure it’s locked. He checks all the first floor windows, too, except for the ones in that brat’s room. Andrew.
He thinks about the kid’s pale skin, his long lashes, the soft tummy he’d been showing off before they’d all arrived unannounced at the house. Andrew had gone scarlet, hastily pulling on a tshirt and glaring at his older brother with the light brown eyes their whole family shared.
Cliff should check on him.
He raps softly at Andrew’s door, waiting for the thud of feet on the ground, the annoyed “what?”
“Let me in.” Cliff rests a hand on the white door, waiting.
It opens only a foot. Andrew pokes his head out, looking the four inches up to Cliff, his cheeks a rosy pink and his lips bitten. It stinks in his room — salt, arousal, boy.
“Whad’you want?” From under his lashes, Andrew glares.
“Am I interrupting something?” wonders Cliff, making his appreciative glance obvious. Like his eyes are his hands, he trails them down Andrew’s neck, clavicles, the sweet skin at his chest. He’s still wearing the v-neck tshirt from earlier, and Cliff notes that he’s hairless on his chest. Still new, fresh.
“No,” Andrew replies with no conviction. It’s painfully obvious he’s been beating off, and he knows it. He blushes again under Cliff’s stare, ducks his head, then snaps it back up like he’s shown a weakness. The glare he shoots at Cliff makes Cliff want to laugh, but he holds it in. There’s nothing so easily shattered as teenage pride.
“Let me in,” Cliff commands. “I need to check the windows.”
“The windows?” Andrew scoffs. “We don’t do that here.”
“Well, Greg is passed out, so I’m responsible for you now.” Cliff lets his shoulders bulk up a bit, nothing that Andrew will notice consciously.
“I’m old enough to take care of myself,” Andrew says, pride and annoyance mixing to create the perfect teenage cocktail of uncertainty.
“Are you?” Cliff leans in, subtly pushing the door open more. “Are you old enough?” Cliff watches Andrew swallow, Adam’s apple bobbing slowly in his throat as his lips part at the innuendo.
With a gentle shove, Cliff opens the door all the way and slips in.
##
Once he’s in the room, he puts his hands on Andrew, trying to get his boy used to touch. Roughly Cliff pulls Andrew to him, kissing him. At first Andrew is rigid, body all tight with nerves. But the kisses do what they’re supposed to, relaxing the boy more and more, until Cliff is running his hands all over Andrew’s body like he owns it already.
He doesn’t, not yet, but he will.
“You ever given a blowjob?”
Andrew bites and his lip and glances down at the bulge in Cliff’s jeans. “No.”
“Wanna try?” Cliff never stops running his hands over Andrew’s body, skimming them under the boy’s white shirt, pawing at the soft skin there.
Andrew shrugs, and Cliff laughs, putting enough of a dismissive tone in his voice to make it a challenge. “I’m not going to make you. If you want to try, you’re gonna have to get on your knees.”
A long second passes, Andrew deliberating. Then he starts to go to his knees, nerves making him gangly and awkward. When he looks back up at Cliff from the ground, Cliff has to grab his stiffy through his jeans and hold back a moan.
Kid looks good down there.
“I saw you grab that beer you weren’t supposed to, earlier,” Cliff says, hand on Andrew’s face, tracing his lips. “When you wrapped your mouth around it, I had to grab a pillow and put it on my lap so Greg wouldn’t see how hot his kid brother had me.”
Emotions rage naked on Andrews face: self-assurance, at being told he’s sexy, annoyance, at being considered an object, maybe even naseau, at thinking about his brother at such a time. “Whatever,” Andrew settles on saying, displacing Cliff’s fingers.
He puts them right back, and with his other hand draws out his cock — thick, especially for a first timer, but Andrew is a smart boy. He’ll figure it out. “We’ll go slow,” assures Cliff with a condescending smile. He paints Andrew’s lips with his cock, the single bead of precome spreading over the boy’s pink lips.
Andrew gasps and Cliff takes his chance. He guides himself into Andrew’s mouth, and just like he’d hoped, his challenging tone has Andrew trying to take as much as he can.
“There we go,” encourages Cliff, hand threading through Andrew’s short brown hair. “Look at you with that cock in your mouth. Beautiful.” Blushing, Andrew glares up, looking like he wants to pull off and complain. Cliff lets his hand get a little heavier, pushing Andrew down farther, until his eyes bug out with the pressure slowly increasing at his throat. “That’s it, boy. You’re so good at this.”
A gargling sound comes up from below, Cliff pushing too far in for such a new boy, and Andrew’s eyes slam shut. Cliff lets him pull off, gasping. “Fuck,” says Andrew, voice wrecked. He coughs and wipes at the drool and precome running down his chin.
“It’s supposed to be messy.” Cliff takes himself in hand and runs it over Andrew’s face, tagging the boy’s chin, cheek, even his forehead until he's covered in the beginnings of spunk. “When it gets to the back of your throat, try to swallow.”
Andrew nods almost eagerly, and Cliff forces his jaw back open, sliding his cock deep into Andrew's throat again. This time when Andrew tries to pull back, Cliff grips the brown hair beneath his fist and fucks Andrew's mouth a few times, listening to the smack of spit. A few tears run down Andrew’s face from his gag reflex being ignored. “Jesus, kid,” Cliff says, voice unsteady. “Jesus, look at you, look at what a mess I’ve made of you.”
“Fu — fuck you,” Andrew says in a grating voice when Cliff finally lets him pull off. This time Andrew doesn’t bother wiping at the drool on his chin, only angrily swiping at the tears. Cliff catches his hands and replaces them with his own, thumbing tears off of Andrew's cheeks.
“It’s okay if you can’t handle it,” Cliff says gently.
With a murderous look, Andrew grabs Cliff’s cock and lines it up with his mouth. Without another word he sinks down on it, tongue still a little awkward on the underside but mouth warm and tight enough that it doesn’t matter. And really, half the pleasure is Andrew's face: annoyed, young, unsure, turned on, eager, tears and drool and precome.
Cliff moans when his cock slides an extra inch down Andrew’s throat. Almost immediately Andrew coughs and chokes, but even so it’s an amazing effort for a first timer, and Cliff runs an appreciative hand through Andrew’s sweaty hair. “One day you’ll be able to open that jaw up and swallow me down like it’s nothing, I promise.” Cliff makes it sound like a treat, something to be anticipated. “I’m going to fuck your mouth now. Okay?”
It takes a minute for Andrew to gather his courage and nod, but as soon as he does Cliff crowds his cock back into Andrew’s mouth, rabbiting in and out. He doesn’t go as far as the kid’s throat, because he doesn’t want bile on his dick, but a few times he let’s the head of his cock tease back there. He loves the way Andrew tenses up every time it happens, hands gripping Cliff’s hips meaninglessly.
“Gonna come in your mouth,” Cliff gets out, gasping as his orgasm rises inside of him. “Then on your face. Don’t spit – spit it out.”
Command delivered, Cliff starts to come, staring down at the red, puffy lips around his cock and moaning. He can’t help fucking deep into Andrew’s throat for the first spurt, and he keeps Andrew’s head where he wants it with a fist in the boy’s hair. He has just enough presence of mind to pull back and come a bit on Andrew’s face, some dripping down his closed eyes, the bridge of his nose.
When Cliff is finally done, chest heaving, he reaches down to palm at Andrew’s hard dick through the kid’s hastily buttoned jeans.
With a whine, Andrew comes, jerking in Cliff’s grasp like it hurts.
“Shit, kid,” Cliff says, a little awed. “You liked sucking my dick that much, huh?”
“Fuck you,” Andrew says again, a little quieter than before, his eyes fluttering still from the aftershocks. Cliff laughs, and Andrew looks up when his jeans are done being ruined, a wet patch growing on their front. “What’s your – your name?”
Cliff boggles. “You let me fuck your throat and you don’t even know my name?”
Andrew shrugs, awkward. The cooling semen on his face makes him look debauched, used and then let go. “Dunno.”
“How bout this?” Cliff asks. Andrew looks up. “Next time I come over, I’ll pop that ass cherry of yours, then tell you my name. You like the sound of that?”
Andrew’s jaw goes tight, but then he nods, flushing.
Cliff smirks, wipes the last bit of come from his dick and makes Andrew swallow it, then leaves.
Looks like he and Greg are going to be much closer friends, from now on.