It was probably nerves. He’d wanked over Dylan before, he’d even had to hide erections when Dylan looked at him. but they’d been snogging for ages now, and Jack still wasn’t hard.
It was probably nerves, almost definitely was, but Jack was still embarrassed. What if Dylan thought he was having second thoughts? Dylan’s hands were on his arse, something Jack didn’t know if he liked. Jack has tried pressing in too close to be touched, and discovered, but the contact had pushed Dylan into his leg, and Jack jerked away. Dylan’s eyes opened and he tried to ask, but before he could rumble a word, Jack reached down and squeezed.
Winnie had felt Jack, explored with her fingers almost critically, but Jack had liked it when there was pressure, hates having that pressure taken away when she stopped and waited for him to undo his trousers. Jack was undoing Dylan’s now.
The taller boy made an impatient noise, but Jack didn’t look up. They weren’t boyfriends. Besides, Jack didn’t want to lose his nerves. He did want Dylan. He had to prove it.
Jack tugged down trousers, boxers, belt, and then Dylan could spread his legs, and did. It wasn’t that he had a cock, it was everything else that made it real. Cut hips and a rectangular chest too hard to be Winnie’s white softness. There was hair on Dylan’s thighs, which Jack would have preferred gone, but he didn’t know it if was normal.
It was odd to see a cock from this angle. Jack flushed at that word in his head. Cock. Dylan didn’t look much different than Jack. Shorter, maybe, but thick and curving, and Jack stroked it up, Dylan watching and Jack tugging until Dylan was completely hard. It seemed to follow his hand and he let go when his hand felt damp. Dylan reached down for himself and pushed his foreskin back on his own, stroking down until Jack couldn’t see it, only the head and a curiously defined ridge and Dylan sat up on the couch, pulling away, and Jack understood that he was to be on his knees.
Should they be using a condom for this? Jack couldn’t remember if he had with Winnie. How could he not remember? Well, this would be memorable for Dylan. Jack didn’t get a condom.
Technically, Jack knew what to do. He didn’t know what to expect, though. Would it hurt? Would he be expected to swallow, and how would it taste? How would Dylan even taste?
Like skin, Jack discovered, licking and then carefully sucking on the tip of Dylan’s cock. Only different. He didn’t have adjectives for it yet, but this wasn’t supposed to be a literary experience. Dylan arched up and Jack pulled his head back. What? Had that—actually felt good?
It was stupid, but Jack was proud of himself. He licked again and--power. There was an unmistakable rush of it when Dylan moved again, and Jack wanted to taste that more than he was afraid to taste Dylan, and he moved his mouth further down this time. And he licked—was licking okay? Apparently. Dylan made a sharp noise and reached for the back of Jack’s head, but Jack shook it off. No. He could do this.
After that it became experimentation. Jack felt everywhere and squeezed and then sucked hard in an attempt to recreate that pressure. It worked, and Jack was surprised into nearly gagging when Dylan pushed hard into the back of his throat and came.
Jack’s throat felt shut and he cleared it on reflex, realizing a moment too late that he had swallowed. His mouth still felt warm and he let Dylan’s cock slip out of his mouth gracelessly and—reluctantly? But Dylan was still dangerously quiet, Jack still had power, and he’d done it, and wanted to do it again, but right now… Jack stood up.
He was hard.