Rating: NC-17
Summary: follows straight on from 'Sick'. Larry has a date, and asks for Kenny's help.
*****
It’s been nearly two weeks since he last had his hand on Larry’s dick. And now, in Larry’s bedroom, he’s asking Kenny to blow him. Wide-eyed and hopeful, like he’s asking for help with his homework, and all Kenny can do is stare at him.
Larry has a date tonight, and he’s fairly certain that Chelsea’s going to want to go further than just kissing. But he’s still embarrassed by his ‘lack of endurance’ as he keeps calling it.
Kenny’s spent the last week and a half trying to avoid Larry as much as possible. But since they’re in all the same classes and live right next door to each other, there’s very little time when they don’t see each other. He tells himself that intention is half the battle, though, and it’s not his fault if Larry’s always there.
“So will you help me?” Larry’s fussing with the cuffs of his shirt, still waiting for an answer.
“You really want me to…” A dozen euphemisms run through his head, but he can’t seem to say any one of them out loud. Not to Larry. Especially not about Larry.
Larry just nods and fidgets some more.
Kenny thinks he might have dreamed this before; sliding to his knees in front of Larry, resting his hands on Larry’s thighs. It all has a weird déjà vu kind of feel to it.
“So,” he says, uncertain and nervous as hell, “how’d you wanna do this?”
He looks up to see Larry biting his lip.
“I guess I’ll pretend you’re Chelsea, and then you start…doing what she would do.” He breaks off to giggle at that thought. “And I’ll see how long I can last.”
Then Larry unfastens his pants and slides them and his underwear down to his knees. And then there it is. Larry’s penis. Right in front of his face, all soft and unsuspecting.
“You’re not ready yet.” It’s such a stupid thing to say, and he realises he actually sounds disappointed. Luckily, Larry doesn’t seem to notice.
“Of course not! I’m not thinking about Chelsea yet.” Larry shakes his head, like that should have been obvious, then shuts his eyes and braces his hands on the bed.
Kenny watches Larry’s dick, waiting for some sign of arousal.
Nothing happens.
Eventually, Larry opens up one eye and looks down.
Kenny shrugs apologetically, like it’s his fault.
“Want me to give you a hand?”
Larry just looks confused, so Kenny leans in and runs his wet tongue over Larry’s soft cock. Larry jumps and cries out, startled, but then he lets out this breathy laugh, and Kenny thinks he actually sees Larry shiver. Feeling bold, he wraps a gentle hand around Larry’s cock. His hand is kinda sweaty, but Larry hisses a breath like it’s ice-cold. He squeezes, feeling the blood pulse. Watches with fascination as Larry’s cock grows and hardens. Licks his lips.
Then remembers Larry’s watching him.
When he looks up, Larry’s got his eyes shut again, and he’s muttering “Chelsea, Chelsea, Chelsea”. Kenny’s mouth opens and closes a couple of times, and he’s about to protest - how dare Larry pretend this has nothing to do with him? He thinks about just walking out and leaving Larry like this.
But if he says anything, Larry’s going to figure out what’s up.
And Larry’s cock is in his hand, because Larry wants Kenny to blow him. When is that ever gonna happen again?
All those dreams, all that wondering and imagining. It all has to be good for something.
He takes his time, going for the slow build-up. Lots of long licks and soft kisses, hand stroking softly around the base. He worships Larry’s cock, treasures it, adores it. Listens to Larry’s stifled moans as “Chelsea, Chelsea, Chelsea,” turns into “nnngh and Larry’s hands land on his shoulders. It’s like he’s had every second of this planned - how many times has he grown hard thinking about this, then jacked off thinking about Larry doing the same for him?
Larry groans, and he decides to kick it up a notch. The swollen head of Larry’s dick slips past his lips, and when Larry starts to pant, he starts sucking. Larry’s grip on his shoulders tightens, almost painfully, and there’s a grunt and a groan and his mouth is flooded with come, and Larry’s shuddering and Kenny has to pull back to keep from getting knocked in the teeth.
He rests his hands on Larry’s thighs, vaguely wishing Larry wasn’t still wearing jeans, and tries to catch his breath. Above him, Larry is sucking in air and blinking rapidly, his face flushed. Kenny watches Larry’s softening cock, already kind of sad it’s all over. There’s still one last dribble of come shining from the tip of Larry’s cock, and he takes hold of it, intending to lick the drop away, but Larry winces and pulls back. Kenny jerks away, hurt and annoyed with himself for not figuring that Larry might still be too sensitive for him to touch again. He wonders if that might be the last time he gets to touch Larry, and wishes he hadn’t done it.
“Oh, man!” Larry’s laughing, leaning back on the bed. Kenny sits back on his heels, wondering what he’s supposed to say. “Wow. You really…”
Kenny licks his lips, and suddenly can’t help grinning.
“Kenny, you really made that tough! I mean, I almost came about a dozen times.” Larry runs a hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up comically; Kenny wants to reach out and smooth it back down.
“Really?”
“Yeah!” The bedsprings clink as Larry drops on to his back. “Man, I hope I can last that long with Chelsea!”
Suddenly Kenny’s on his feet, turning away from Larry and tugging down his shirt to cover his own hard-on. He paces to the window, then over to the door. Oblivious, Larry still lays on the bed, one arm slung over his eyes.
It’s too much, and Kenny slips out of the room, dashing down the hall to the bathroom where he locks himself inside. He hates Larry for using him; hates himself more for being pathetic enough to let himself be used. It was a stupid, stupid thing to do, and he did it for stupid reasons. Who cares of he made Larry inarticulate with pleasure, if Larry was thinking about some girl the whole time? Some girl who’s probably going to dump him in a week anyway? If Larry doesn’t dump her. Chelsea isn’t going to be around in ten years, in five years, maybe not even in five months. Kenny’s the one who’s always been there, who’s always going to be there. It should be Kenny’s name Larry’s moaning, Kenny’s mouth that he thinks about.
His erection all but gone, he leans against the sink and tries to fight off a wave of nausea.
When he makes it back to Larry’s room, Larry is buttoning up his pants.
“You okay?” Larry gets up and crosses the room to stand by him, one hand on Kenny’s shoulder. His stomach churns again, and he shrugs Larry’s hand away.
“Fine,” he manages, folding his arms.
“Look, Kenny. I really appreciate all this. But if you don’t wanna do it again, just say so. I wouldn’t wanna make you do anything you didn’t want to.”
It’s so ridiculous he wants to laugh. Instead he shakes his head and shuffles away as much as he can without being too obvious.
Like he could ever say no to Larry.
That night, he recalls the taste of Larry’s cock, and when he’s so hard it hurts, he jerks off to the thought of Larry on his knees in front of him. He’s on the verge of coming when a tap on the window startles him and his heart begins, impossibly, to beat faster. Just as he begins to think he might have imagined it, a second tap confirms his suspicions. Trying to slow his breathing, he rolls out of bed, pulling up his pyjama pants and tugging the shirt down to hide his erection.
A third tap sounds just as he reaches the window. Down in the garden, Larry waves up at him. Motions for Kenny to let him in. He’s definitely had this dream before.
As he creeps downstairs, he tries to will his hard-on away, but no such luck.
When he opens the door, Larry’s all squirmy. He thinks it’s pretty obvious Larry didn’t get any.
“How’d it go?” He leans against the door frame, trying not to smile too wide.
“Awful.” Larry can barely keep still, and his voice is kinda loud. Kenny shushes him, then tells him to come upstairs and keep quiet.
Once in his room, Larry whispers through the story, how he’d heard at school that Chelsea gave great head, but how she told him she liked the idea of being with someone like Larry who wouldn’t rush her into anything.
“I mean, what is about me that says, ‘I don’t want sex’? ‘Cause I do! Really. I want to have sex. What is so wrong with that?” Larry’s pacing, and Kenny has to keep making ‘shhh’ noises, convinced that his father is going to burst in any moment and send Larry home. “I spent the entire night covering my lap so she wouldn’t think I was thinking about doing it with her.” He plops down on to the bed, sighing. “It’s so…frustrating.”
Kenny looks down; sees the evidence of Larry’s frustration.
“I can help you with that,” he says.
His hand is in Larry’s pants before Larry can protest. Not that Larry does protest. He lays back on the bed, hands fisting the sheets as Kenny deals with fastenings and fabric to free his cock. It just gets easier every time. Larry’s not bothered about making it last, and a few strokes are all it takes before Larry’s bucking his hips and Kenny’s licking up come from his hands. Again.
This time, when Larry finally looks at him, he makes no attempt to hide his painful erection.
Larry’s eyes are kind of glazed, and Kenny’s sure he’d find it cute if he weren’t so turned on.
“That was…unexpected.” Larry’s voice squeaks, and he brushes hair out of his eyes.
Kenny just licks his lips, savouring the taste that still lingers in his mouth.
The rest of the house is silent. His parents must have slept through the whole thing.
“Kenny, you’re, uh…” Larry points at his crotch, makes some vague gesture, then realises his own pants are still open. Embarrassed, he zips himself up again.
“Yeah.” Kenny stares at him, thinking, you gonna do something about it?
Larry squirms a little. Gestures at Kenny’s hard-on again.
“Should I…”
“Do you know how?” It’s a challenge, and he wonders if he does it because he’s sure Larry will turn it down. Sick, Kenny. Really sick.
“Show me?”
He blinks a few times, wondering suddenly if maybe Larry’s the brave one and he’s the naïve idiot. But his cock twitches at the thought of Larry touching him, and he moves to sit on the bed. Larry bites his lip, but his hands are reaching for Kenny’s pants, shaking as they tug at the waistband. He lifts his hips so Larry can tug his pants down. I’m helping, see?
Then Larry’s hand is inside his underwear, fumbling for a hold on his cock. He’s supposed to tell Larry what to do, he knows that, but suddenly his voice won’t work. All he can manage is a shuddering sort of gasp, breath catching in his throat, and he hopes Larry can figure it out himself.
Kenny bites his lip to keep from crying out as Larry begins to pump his cock, clumsily and not quite as tight as he’d like. But it’s Larry - Larry’s hand on him, sweaty and uncertain, and pretty soon he’s trembling, coming in spasms, struggling to stay upright.
When his breathing begins to slow, he realises Larry is looking at the mess in his hand, trying to work out what to do. Taking a little pity on him, Kenny reaches over to the nightstand and grabs for the box of tissues. Larry grabs a few gratefully, and cleans off while Kenny tucks his still-sensitive dick back in his pyjama pants.
He’s too exhausted to see Larry out. Actually, he’s not even sure he can get up off the bed. It’s enough of a struggle just pulling back the covers and slipping back under them. After a moment, Larry kicks off his shoes and crawls in next to him.
He decides it’s not really the best time to try cuddling with Larry. It’s a bit of a squash getting both of them into the bed and Larry’s definitely sticking to his side, so Kenny lays on his back, trying not to think about the point where Larry’s hip bumps against his.
Kenny worries that he’s going to lay there all night trying not to think about Larry, but obviously his orgasm must have wiped him out, because they’re both snoring within minutes.