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When the frantic stream of shouts and clicking comes to an end, it's only so the sweet, victorious sound of the game's announcer calling the match rings out in surround sound. Volkner tosses his controller onto the couch's middle cushion, leaning back into the couch and sighing to himself. Flint keeps quiet too, because he doesn't want anything but the game to be heard, using the over-excited male voice blasting over the speakers to gloat for him.

“Two nights in a row, eh?” Flint teases, turning to sneer at his friend. “You're losing your touch, man.”

“No, you just spent a best-of-seven series using the cheapest character in the game repeatedly.” Volkner rolls his eyes, leaning forward to grab his drink off the table. He probably won't get the chance to have some for a long time, so he finishes the can off and puts it back down into a pile of emptied soda cans they've spent the day building up. “Maybe you can try not looking like a restaurant mascot instead of just over-compensating for it.

Responding with sarcastic laughter, Flint gives his friend a narrow stare as his hands start to fiddle with his belt. “That's a good idea. Get it all out now before my dick shuts you up.” He smirks, looking down to make sure he's got it right. In one fluid motion his belt comes loose from his pants and he tosses it off somewhere without much regard for where it lands.

Flint and Volkner have a bet going every time Flint comes to Sunnyshore. After an extended period being fuck buddies, the two childhood friends found they were both too flexible about topping to find an easy compromise. Instead of arguing about it, they just play a few rounds of video games once they've finished supper or whatever they're doing that day, and whoever wins gets to top. Neither have a problem with going about it like that, except for when someone really doesn't like the outcome.

Volkner can't be happier with the result, and Flint never seems too upset by the prospect of getting a brojob. That's what he calls them, insisting they're entirely platonic and between bros. Very, very gay--neither of them think anything less and are comfortable with it--but devoid of any manner of affection or romantic implications. Just two bros fucking each other for fun and relief. That's what they insist on, anyway.

Flint raises his ass off the couch to slip his pants down around his ankles, underwear going with them thanks to some thumbs slipped into the waistband. With them off, he leans over to Volkner, threading his fingers through the messy, vaguely spiky blond hair. For a second, Volkner closes his eyes and wonders if Flint is finally just going to kiss him for once and this would mean something. Instead, Flint shoved Volkner's head down, and the blond had to reorient how he sits, lying on his stomach on the couch as the faint smell of crotch hits him.

The good news is, Volkner doesn't need to do much. Never really had to when Flint was in control. The redhead was intent on controlling the situation and doing all the work, so instead he grasps Flint's thighs, bracing them as his head is pushed down onto Flint's cock without anything in the way of input from him. The thought runs through his mind that at least Flint's nice enough to let him ease into it, starting off inoffensive enough. Volkner gets a hand around the base and starts stroking it, just to keep something there to stop Flint from getting carried away. Last time he went too deep too fast and Volkner had to stop and was left coughing for a minute because of it. This time he'll have none of that.

“Mmm, victory sure feels good,” Flint says, still lording his victory over Volkner. His mind's on his luck, that both he and his childhood friend turned out gay, and that said friend happens to suck cock really well. He grips Volkner's head a little tighter, his free hand reaching over for the sound system remote beside him to turn down the obnoxious, vaguely rock-ish menu music the game plays. It may sound suitably awesome and victorious, but it doesn't go well with sex. The sweetest sounds of triumph are the wet sucking noises his friend makes, and they do so much more for his arousal than fighting game music.

Once they've settled into a rhythm, Volkner raises up both his hands, holding them open toward his friend. Knowing exactly what to do, Flint gathers up all the saliva he can muster and spits on both of them, showing off his boyhood talents by getting both of them to hit Volkner just north of his palm's center, where they can drip down a little and get the whole hand wet. Very quickly, before Flint can get any bright ideas about not having nearly enough being sucked, Volkner returns the now wet hand to his friend's shaft, the other finding the balls beneath and toying with them.

The wet heat of Volkner's mouth is made only better by how skilled he is, using his lips and tongue to aid in the blowjob, making it even better. It makes sense, given Flint's the one of the pair to do all the slacking off. The redhead stares down at his friend as he works, appreciating the effort of the hot guy blowing him so eagerly. His fingers tighten in his hair and he starts to push down further, getting a bit more penis into his mouth with every few times he pulls back up. The motion is quick, growing faster, and Flint has little intention of slowing down until he's done.

Volkner's selfless efforts to get him off with his mouth and both hands leaves his own body in need. He's thankful that we wore his baggier pants today, because his erection is absolutely killing him, and insufficient room would have only made it worse. He doesn't complain, because he knows that the instant gratification of jerking off is nothing compared to the sounds Flint will make as he draws close, or the feeling of having the redhead pump cum right down his gullet. Those take precedence.

He wants to look up, wants to lock eyes with Flint, to see what he's making him feel and to watch his reactions, but he knows better. It's not Flint's thing, not his style, and bordering too close on 'emotional' for him to handle. He's not too big on making this anything more than a best friends with benefits situation, and though Volkner desperately wants more, he keeps quiet. There's a friendship at stake he doesn't want to ruin, and he can fool himself into thinking that spending their days together playing video games and ending with a night of sex is pretty much what their relationship would entail anyway.

The sounds Volkner makes get louder, wetter, as Flint starts rocking his hips in time with the steady, regulated bobbing of his friend's head. He has total control of the situation and is absolutely gleeful over it all. He's saying things, lots of various words that come out to the same general meaning, peppered with demeaning epiphets that for some reason take on a positive light in the bedroom. Volkner isn't sure why it works that way, but knows that the odd buzzing in his head, tingling in his pants, and encouragement to fulfill what those words imply shove all matters of contemplation out.

It all reaches a head, and Volkner knows Flint is close. Even without the fact he's groping Flint's balls and the tightening and upward draw have already started, the isn't subtle at all and has far too many tells. The pace, the moaning, the way he holds onto his scalp so tightly and with an unsteady grip that could be a head massage in any context other than oral sex. All of the signs were plain before Volkner, and only just behind blowjob experience is experience giving them to Flint.

As expected, Flint is soon louder, and announces his impending orgasm with such volume that Volkner is glad his neighbors were louder during sex; they wouldn't complain. Volkner can tell it a lot faster than Flint can, and so just off the heels of his announcement comes the promised load. The gym leader doesn't bother doing anything, letting his friend. The tugging up means it's all coming out directly into his mouth, and he just remains kneeling there, swallowing it all down.

The elite takes his orgasm a lot less aloofly, throwing his head back and being as loud as he can about. If not for the thrill of filling his friend's mouth up with cum and watching it drip out the corners of his lips he'd probably keep fucking his face, but it's too gratifying a sight not to. Once he's done and his cock has finished jerking, he pulls Volkner back, and watches as Volkner licks at the corners to get that cum too.

“Dude, that was awesome,” he says, releasing Volkner's head. He's still hard, throbbing, and shows no signs of going limp any time soon. Volkner thinks about how lucky he is to be fucking someone so virile. “Now get those pants off so I can fuck you,” he says, reaching down for the pants around his ankles and pulling a pack of lube from them. “And bend over the table.”

Turning away, Volkner hide his disappointment. He was hoping for a more intimate position in his lap, maybe even facing toward him where their lips could find some occupation. It's not to be, and as he swallows the last few salty drops and again looks at the long, thick cock that was bound to be inside of him, he can't really find much about his lot in life to be upset with. He undoes his belt but keeps them in the loops of his pants as they slip off, just in case he needs to get them back on for something, like a late run to the store. It feels good to be free of those pants, and his underwear go next, both lying neatly on the side of the couch for when he needs them. He's not one to make a mess.

Flint squeezes out the lube onto his hand and starts stroking his cock, spreading the oddly cold fluid all the way along. It goes from a mere spreading to outright jerking off as Volkner undresses and the sight of his friend's ass and erection come into sight. He smiles, watching the blond carefully make space on the table by pushing everything on it gently to the side. Why Volkner is so keen on keeping a clean house even during sex is something Flint never really understood, as it was a mess he could just clean up later. The sight of his childhood friend bending over the table and raising his firm ass ensured Flint's mind isn't on housekeeping matters as he lets go of his dick and slides two slippery fingers into the waiting hole.

Volkner moans and twists as Flint sets out fingerfucking his ass, preparing it. It feels incredible, especially as another hand, this one also slick with lube, finds his cock and starts to pump it impatiently. Flint is never gentle with him, but Volkner finds nothing to complain about as only a beg for more breaks through his quivering lips. The fingers spread, making a scissoring motion as they try to get him ready for the incoming girth, and Volkner is already gripping at the hardwood table he's lying down on.

“Looks like someone didn't get enough of my awesome cock last night,” Flint sneers, smacking Volkner's ass as he pulls the fingers out. His hand finds his cock and starts to guide it toward its target. He sees the fingering exercise as an excuse to not be gentle, and Volkner already knows what's coming. In one thrust, he buries all of himself into Volkner. The moan he lets out builds over time, reaching its sweet crescendo with an appreciative groan as he buries himself fully into the man.

Volkner shudders as Flint fucks him. It's an immediate thing; one second he feels all of Flint inside him, and the next he's pulling out to thrust back in. There's no waiting, no patience, no letting him get used to it. Flint lubed up and shoved some fingers in his ass, and that's good enough for him. Volkner is only left wanting more until he feels the cock slam into him again, and it feels so wonderful that he can't help but moan. This is bliss for him, being beneath Flint, getting fucked with everything the fire trainer had. He told himself it was affection, that no matter what was said this meant something and that Flint doesn't fuck other guys the same way he fucks him. Whether it's the handjob or the fingering or just the way he grips him, there's something special that shows he cares.

Feeling Volkner ache and throb in his hand, Flint doesn't try to keep a steady motion between his thrusts and his pumps. He's already gotten off once, and though that's the spoils of war he has a sense of fair play. He wants nothing more than to feel Volkner shudder and cum, even if it all sprays out onto the carpet beneath them. To get better leverage, he leans forward, lying down on Volkner, pressing him into the table as he goes balls-deep every thrust into his ass. He wonders how Volkner can always be so tight, if he does some kind of stretch to keep it that way, but he doesn't ask, because his mouth is too busy spouting out more of those same-meaning sentences. It doesn't matter if his spiel is overplayed or sounds unrealistic because it's torn right out of the hours of porn he tends to watch a day when he's alone, because it gets Volkner clenching and begging.

Volkner wants nothing more than for lips to grace the back of his neck. He knows Flint is so close to it, hopes to Arceus that the temptation is there in the fire trainer and that it'll soon happen, but it doesn't. He wants to feel bad, but Flint's balls are slapping against his with every thrust and nobody can jerk him off quite like his friend can, and he knows it's selfish to want any more than what he has when what he has is pretty great. His hips start moving of their own accord against cock and hand, and he wonders how long he can keep holding out under this wonderful assault. He doesn't want to cum, wants to do it when Flint does so that it's as intense as possible, but it's a heavy task when Flint's clutching his cock so tightly and fucking him with such fervor.

He doesn't last; he has no hope of lasting, and without a care in the world Volkner moans, digging his fingers into the sides of the table and howling as he cums. His body shakes, nerves on fire as he cums straight down. What doesn't end up on Flint's hand is on the carpet, and there's a lot of it. He's moaning and wriggling, clenching down tightly around his friend's dick as his orgasm sends him sailing into bliss. It's all he can really care about, and as it finally ends he lies, gasping for air as Flint presses down harder and fucks him into the table. His cock is let go of and it finds his hip instead, allowing him to be reamed into even faster. He doesn't think to stop it, because some voice in his head is challenging him to cum again, hands-free, from being fucked alone. Flint knows how to do it, as though every thrust is perfectly set to give his prostate as much as it can.

Unfortunately for the gym leader, Flint found the act of turning his friend into a shivering mess to be far too arousing to keep going much longer. He pulled out, cock already twitching as he laid the slippery shaft between his friend's firm ass cheeks. A few more thrusts between them sent him off once again, his cum spurting out with surprising distance as the cum spattered onto his back, all over his black t-shirt. Flint sighed and slumped back, leaving Volkner to lie on the table not caring about whether or not semen stains came out of shirts or carpet well.

“That was awesome,” both of them sighed.

After a moment to collect himself and trying his hardest not to make what they had into a 'moment', Flint got up, gave Volkner a loud smack on the ass, and said, “Good job, dude.” Then, he went off without permission to raid the fridge without bothering to cover up.

Volkner lay on the table a while longer, until Flint got to the kitchen, still in his view. “Move in,” he sighed.

That gave Flint pause, and he turned around. “What? Dude, you've only got a one-bedroom place.”

“Yeah,” the blond agreed. “I do.”

The implication dawned on Flint that his friend probably meant things in a less sexual nature. He kept going toward the fridge, hiding his embarrassment. Opening it up, he found a myriad of things, and sighed. “Well, if I am moving in then this skim milk shit has to stop.” He pulled the carton out of the fridge, leaned back against the counter, and drank straight from it. “And we're getting rid of that couch. I have a much better one.”

Volkner smiled, pulling himself up off the table and walking into the kitchen. “You know I want more than brojobs, right?”

“Yeah, I think I do.” Flint smiled and put the carton down as Volkner strode toward him, also not wearing pants.

“Does that mean I can get a kiss?”

“Dude, that's kind of gay, isn't it?”

Volkner put his arms around his bottomless friend and leaned in close. “Yes. And we're both very, very gay.”

“Yeah, I guess we are.”