"Straight" College Boys in Vegas 02: Butt Stuff (Patreon)

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Chapter 2: Butt Stuff

"Hell of a blowjob," I said, narrowing my eyes at him. Are we joking about this? Is he gonna pretend it was all just for giggles? He kept eating, his big jaw moving, his shoulders relaxed under the wrinkled suit shirt from last night.

"I just... don't really get why you did it," I said.

"I just wanted you to feel good," he said with a shrug.

"You're gay?"

"For you, sure." He shrugged again and forked a large hunk of food into his mouth.

"Well I guess..." I started, hesitating, "you can blow me all you want, bro."

"Cheers," he said, lifting his orange juice at me.

I clinked him back, and, weirdly, we didn't have to talk about it anymore after that.

····[]····

We were walking back through the shops under the hotel to kill time when Pete stopped dead in front of a sex shop. It was an actual sex shop, wedged in between a watch store and a candy place, with a mannequin in a leather harness posed in the window.

"No," I said.

"Vegas rules," he said, already walking in.

A girl behind the counter said hi without looking up from her phone. Pete went up and down the aisles touching everything, flipping boxes over to read the backs, holding a pair of fuzzy handcuffs up against my wrist to check the size. I kept my hands in my pockets and studied a shelf of candles very hard.

He found a whole wall of butt plugs and planted himself in front of it, arms crossed, big jaw working side to side while he browsed, genuinely comparing.

"Bro," I said.

"This one has a jewel on it."

"Why would it need a jewel?"

"So your butt looks rich." He pulled two matching ones off the hooks, black, medium, identical, and held one out at me. "His and his."

"Bro," I said.

"What?"

"You're not buying those."

He headed for the register, snagging a bottle of lube on the way without checking what kind it was.

At the register the girl rang everything up with a straight face. Pete paid with a hundred and told her to keep the change, and she finally looked at us, back and forth, me in my wrinkled suit and him grinning with his whole dumb face.

"Enjoy," she said.

Outside, he dropped one of the plugs into my jacket pocket and patted it flat.

"Souvenir," he said.

"It's a butt plug."

"It's a matching butt plug," he said. "That's real friendship."

"What girl would want me to put this in her?"

He just shook his head. "Yeah... good question."

····[]····

We rode back up to the suite to shower and change before the flight. I got the water hot and had shampoo in my hair when the bathroom door opened. Pete wandered in, took a leak, and wandered out. A minute later he was back, brushing his teeth over the sink. The third time he didn't even pretend to have a reason, he just leaned there in his boxers and talked at me through the fogged glass about where we should eat at the airport.

"I'm showering."

"I can see that."

When the glass door slid open again, he was naked. He stepped in with me, big and casual about it, steam rolling off his shoulders, water flattening his hair. I stood there and stared at him, half expecting him to drop to his knees and blow me again. My dick flickered at the thought of it. 

He didn't kneel. He bumped me out from under the spray with a nudge of his bare hips, warm and solid against mine for a second, grabbed my body wash, and started scrubbing his chest like I was in his way.

I stepped out and dried off, grinning at nothing.

Pete packed in true rich-boy fashion, everything stuffed into the bag unfolded, and came out of his room in gray sweatpants and a t-shirt. He threw a second pair of sweatpants at my chest.

"Flight uniform," he said. "No boxers."

"What?"

"Commando, bro. Sweats and nothing under. It's first class, let the boys breathe."

I just looked at him for a second. 

"Trust me," he said.

I stood there holding the sweatpants and waited to hear myself argue, but nothing came. He just said things now and I did them, and he knew I would, which is probably why he'd stopped bothering to explain himself. In my head I thought, he could tell me we're wearing the jockstraps to the gate and I'd ask which bag they were in. Vegas had made me easy to convince.

Or maybe Pete had.

I changed in front of him, throwing on the sweats with no boxers.

He was right about the sweatpants, honestly. In the cab I felt every bump come straight up to me, everything loose and swinging freely. And the soft fabric felt nice on my balls. I kept my jacket folded flat on my lap, partly for decency and partly because the souvenir still weighed down one pocket. 

The tickets got us into a fancy lounge, and we ate again. He stacked a plate with more food than he could eat, including little pastries. His big jaw worked steadily as he filled himself up, completely at peace with the world. At some point he disappeared toward the bathrooms and stayed gone long enough that I finished my food and started picking at his.

When he came back his hair was damp at the edges and his t-shirt stuck to his chest, and he smelled like hotel soap all over again.

"They have showers in there," he said, dropping into his chair. "Marble everywhere. Almost as nice as our suite."

"You showered again?"

"Well. I spent some time in there."

I squinted at him over my orange juice. "You jerked off? Horny boy."

"Eh... kind of," he said, and he smiled into his plate and forked up another mouthful.

····[]····

We boarded early and our seats were ridiculous, first class, just the two of us tucked behind a short wall, in basically its own little cabin with two big recliners in it. Nobody could see us unless they leaned around it, even the flight attendants. Pete took the window, kicked his shoes off, and spread blankets over both our laps before we even took off. 

Right as the captain came on about leveling off at cruising altitude, Pete nudged my elbow and turned his phone toward me, shielding the screen with his hand like a poker hand. It was a picture of him in that marble lounge bathroom, bent over in front of the mirror, one hand pulling his butt cheek open to the side, and the black plug from the shop sunk into his ass, all the way to the base. He was grinning over his shoulder in the shot. I choked on my ginger ale and coughed into my fist. 

"So that's what you were doing in there?" He nodded happily and pocketed the phone.

He looked way too pleased with himself, slouched against the window with the blanket pulled up over his stomach.

"It's still in your ass?" I whispered, leaning over the armrest even though nobody could see past our little wall.

He shifted his weight in the recliner, slowly, and his eyebrows jumped. "Yep. Still there."

He stretched back out with one arm up behind his head, his t-shirt riding up off his stomach where the blanket had slipped. He'd stood in the boarding line with it in him, smiling at the gate agent, and I had no idea.

"What does it feel like?"

He thought for a second, eyes on the seatback in front of him, big jaw working side to side. "Full," he said. "Weird at first. I couldn't stop clenching on it." He rocked his hips once under the blanket and pulled a slow breath in through his nose. "Now it's just kind of there. Every time I move, it moves on the inside."

I pictured it, and I felt myself stir under the jacket on my lap.

"And you like that?"

He took his time with that one too.

"I don't hate it." His grin said more than that." I didn't know guys could actually do that. I thought it was a joke."

"It's supposed to make orgasms ten times better."

"Says who?"

"The internet. Why would they lie to me?"

I pressed my fist against my mouth to keep from laughing out loud. "Did you jerk it with it inside when you were in there?"

"Not yet." He settled deeper into the seat, hands folded on top of the blanket, looking out at the clouds like they belonged to him. "I'm saving it."

We snickered about it like a couple of little boys, heads bent together over the armrest, trying to keep it quiet behind our little wall. While I was still laughing he dug into the jacket on my lap, fished the souvenir out of the pocket, and cracked the lube open under his blanket. I heard it squirt into his palm.

"No way, dude," I said. "You can't put in two."

"This one's for you," he said, a wild look in his eyes, his hand working the lube over it under the blanket.

I froze as he reached under my blanket. He hooked the front of my sweats, and tugged the waistband down under my balls, his forearm heavy across my lap, his knuckles dragging past my dick on the way. I was already half hard. I caught his wrist and held it. He didn't fight me, he just waited, his hand flat and warm low on my stomach, grinning at me. I leaned out and checked our little wall once. Nobody. I let go of him, pulled my knees up toward my chest, heels hooked on the edge of the recliner, and the blanket tented over everything, my heart racing. 

The cold wet tip pressed against me and I clenched hard. He eased it in anyway, slowly, with steady pressure, his wrist holding my balls to the side. He must have known what to do with my body, because he had already sunk his own into himself. The stretch built and built, more pressure than pain, a slowly spreading tension that made my toes curl against the footrest. I huffed a little, a breath coming through my teeth, as the widest part slipped past. The whole thing sank deep inside me as my hole closed itself around it, holding the toy tight, like an instinct. I felt every ounce of its weight settle while I gripped the armrest with both hands and breathed through my nose.

I brought my heels down off the edge of the recliner and set my feet flat on the footrest, carefully. Every small shift rolled its weight to a new spot, forcing a deep pressure that lit up new sensations on my insides. My sweats were still hooked under my balls, and I smoothed the blanket down flat over my lap to cover it all, trying to look like a normal passenger.

"Well?" Pete said. He was turned toward me over the armrest, blanket across his lap, his big jaw forming a grin.

"It's..." I breathed through it. "Full."

"Yeah."

"Every time the plane moves, it moves."

"Yeah." He shifted in his own seat and his eyebrows jumped again, riding his matching souvenir. "Welcome to the club."

I laughed once into my fist, quietly, and even that tiny flex squeezed down on the fullness, and my dick thickened against the blanket. I sat there stuffed and half hard in a first class recliner while my best friend watched my face.

Pete picked the lube back up off his thigh. He squirted a fresh palmful into his hand without breaking eye contact.

"What are you doing," I whispered.

"The internet made us a promise," he said. "Ten times better. We've gotta, um... verify."

"Pete."

"We've got like four hours to kill, bro." He rubbed his palms together slowly under his blanket, warming the lube up, and his eyes dropped to my lap and stayed there. "And I've got nothing but time, and two free hands."

I checked the little wall one more time. Nobody. When I turned back, his hand was already drifting toward the edge of my blanket.

"Vegas rules," he said.