Clean Shaven
As usual, Brent was the last one out of the showers. Even on a night when most of our teammates stayed around late to celebrate, he still came out after most of them were nearly ready to go home. He walked out of the showers, wrapping a towel around his hips, another draped over his shoulders, and glanced up at me. I was standing at the sink, in front of a mirror, with shaving cream smeared on my jaw and a razor poised over my skin. His lips curled into a smirk and he burst into laughter.
"What in the hell are you doing, Andy?"
I glared at him, pressing the razor just below my cheekbone, muttering, "I'm shaving."
"Shaving what? All three hairs you sprouted during the playoffs? Jesus, there's nothing to shave."
"Fuck you, I've got stubble."
"Oh yes, stubble. My twelve year old brother is jealous."
"You're so not getting any tonight," I vowed, my eyes narrowed. I did have stubble.
Kind of.
It was just a little patchy.
Really patchy.
Okay, so it was more like peach fuzz. Still.
...Dammit.
I finished shaving anyway; at that point it was a matter of pride more than any real necessity. I rinsed my face clean and grinned back at him, wickedly. "Aren't you excited? Now I can give you a blow job without the stubble burn."
He arched an eyebrow, smirking. "That was a huge problem. No, really, Andy. I was terrified to let you near my cock. That damn rash was just painful as hell." He laughed, shaking his head at me, drying his hair and face with the towel at his neck. "Or were you just trying to give me a hint to get rid of my playoff beard?"
Brent was the polar opposite of me. I'd tried since my birthday to grow a playoff beard. In two and a half months, I barely had a five o'clock shadow. Brent, on the other hand, looked like a lumberjack in less than two weeks. By now, his beard was thick and full, putting mine to shame. It looked good, but frankly, I wanted to kiss him again, not his beard. "Maybe..." I said softly, pulling my shirt on.
"Well then," he said, glancing over, grinning. "You got some practice on yourself...want to shave my beard off?"
He held a razor up for me, nodding at the can of shaving cream on the bench next to me. I wanted my Brent back, and this was an awesome way to get him. "Sure," I replied, smiling a bit shyly as I stood up, taking the razor from him.
He walked over to the sink, still wearing just the towel, and lifted me up to sit on the counter, him standing between my legs. I ran my hands under the water, wetting his face, then squirted a mound of shaving cream onto my fingertips. He rubbed his hands along my thighs, up to my hips, squeezing gently. I massaged the foam over his beard, then smeared some on his forehead, giggling.
"Freak," he said, crossing his eyes to look where I'd wiped the excess cream, making me laugh even more.
"You love me," I answered, kissing the tip of his nose, lifting the razor to his cheek. I shaved carefully from one sideburn down to his jaw, biting my lower lip. Pausing after each stroke to rinse the blade, I shaved along his jaw, underneath it towards his neck, the tip of my tongue pressed to my upper lip in concentration.
"So focused," he said softly, mumbled so as to avoid moving his mouth too much.
I blushed faintly, dragging the razor lightly over his upper lip, smiling when I finished, thrilled to have made it through the ordeal without cutting him. "All done," I said with a grin, rinsing my hands and the razor, grabbing his towel and wiping the remaining shaving cream away, even the blob I'd left on his forehead.
He smiled, glancing into the mirror behind me, running a hand over his newly clean-shaven jaw. "Much better, I look human again..."
I cradled his cheeks, nuzzling his nose, and whispered, "Very much better. Maybe you'll get some tonight after all."
"That so?" he asked, grinning, rolling his hips lightly against me. "It is the only way to celebrate properly..."
I laughed softly, hooking my legs around his waist, rubbing my foot along the back of his thigh. Kissing him slowly, leisurely, I tugged his towel loose, then slipped my shirt off, never taking my lips from his. "And who am I to prevent you from celebrating properly?"
He smiled into the kiss, deepening it, his arms slipping around my waist, pulling me closer, shoving my boxers down. My breath hitched as his dick rubbed against my thigh, hard and thick. Arching his back, he ground his hips against me, biting at my lower lip, tugging it when he pulled away. Eyes dark with lust, he stared at me, and with his voice hoarse, murmured, "Congratulations."
"Congratulations," I whispered in reply, pulling him back for a deep, rough kiss, my legs tightening around his waist. One of his hands slipped over my hip, down under my thigh, a fingertip tracing down the crack of my ass, teasing my opening for a moment before thrusting quickly into me, making me gasp for breath.
He nuzzled my neck, nipping at it, his finger working slowly deeper, wiggling inside me. He gently eased a second digit inside, scissoring them. I clutched my hands at his shoulders, whimpering, head falling back. "Fuck, Brent..."
"Feel good, Andrew?"
I nodded, moaning faintly, clenching light around his fingers. "Really good..."
He thrust his fingers slowly, curling them up a bit, sucking the skin over my collarbone, coloring it with faint pink marks. "Ready?"
"Please," I begged weakly, arching into him, tightening my legs around him. He slipped his fingers from me, spitting into his hand, stroking it quickly over himself. He positioned the head of his cock at my opening, kissing me softly as he pressed gently inside.
So big. So hot. So fucking perfect.
I might've moaned it, I might've only said it in my head. Hell, I might've tried to say it, but it was too damned muffled in the midst of pleasured groans for him to understand it. But no matter what, he kept going, rocking his hips slowly, his dick making its way deeper into me, stretching me, so fucking hot I couldn't think of anything except how amazing it felt. When he finally thrust to the hilt, I cried out, my head lolled back, my nails digging into his shoulders.
He moved slowly at first, letting me get used to him, giving me more than enough time to adjust. Long after I was ready for more, he kept thrusting achingly slow, shallow, just enough to drive me crazy.
More. Deeper. Faster.
Gradually he increased his speed, a bit deeper with each thrust, a little harder if I clenched just right. I rubbed my hands over his shoulders, down his arms, up his back, nails scraping here and there. Moving with him, I tightened my legs around his waist, pulling him closer, begging without words for him to stop being so careful. I wanted more. I needed him to lose control.
"More," I whispered hoarsely, scratching lightly over his chest, nails grazing his nipples. He groaned softly, thrusting hard for a moment, then again when I tightened around him, holding it, trying to keep him deep. He cursed softly, speeding his pace, moving past steady, bordering on rough. "Let me feel it, Brent," I murmured, breathless, clenching hard with each thrust, rolling my hips against him, pinching at his nipples.
"Fuck," he growled, thrusting harder, erratic now, gasping for air. His nails bit into my hips as he moved, arching his back as he lost it, shooting deep inside me, every muscle in his body tensing as his cock throbbed, pushing me towards the edge, luring me away from reason.
He trembled slightly, still hard inside me, one arm slipping back around my waist, laying me back, shifting the angle of his cock, so that he pressed against my prostate. His free hand curled around me, fingers encircling the head, stroking slow, tight, my precum making his movements smooth and easy. "So close," I whimpered, arching back, thrusting into his hand. He leaned down, swirling his tongue over my nipple, and I lost it, head falling back, banging against the metal of the sink. I never noticed the pain, too caught up in the passion of orgasm, vision going black before bursting in brilliant white light, leaving me dizzy and breathless.
Fuck.
Brent laughed hoarsely, "Yeah...fuck."
So I did say that out loud.
He nuzzled my neck, hugging me close, rubbing a hand over the back of my head where it smacked against the sink. "I love you so much, Andrew."
I smiled, clenching light, arms tightening around him. "Love you too, Brent."
He paused, then bit gently at my neck, and softly, teasingly, added, "Even if you can't grow a playoff beard."
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