THE WEEKEND THAT CHANGED EVERYTHING 25 - WEEKEND PART 6

THE WEEKEND THAT CHANGED EVERYTHING 25 - WEEKEND PART 6

... continuation of the previous story

Juan woke up before the other two. He went to the kitchen.

He put the kettle on to make coffee.

Pedro appeared in the kitchen doorway in boxers, his hair flattened on one side, his eyes half-closed.

—Hey, little faggot. How are you?

—Hey. Good. You?

—Alive. —He scratched his abdomen with an open palm, a long, lazy gesture—. How was last night? I heard something from the room.

Juan poured the coffee before answering. He handed the cup to Pedro, kept his own in his hand.

—It was good.

—Just good?

Juan glanced at him sideways.

—Good. But Martín isn't you, Pedro. I'll always prefer you.

Pedro took a long sip. One corner of his mouth lifted slightly, less than what would have been a smile on anyone else. He said nothing.

—Let me see how your little ass turned out.

Juan left the cup on the counter. He turned around and bent forward, resting his forearms on the edge. Pedro spread his buttocks with his thumbs and looked with clinical attention, completely devoid of eroticism, like someone inspecting something that belongs to him and wants to confirm it's in good condition.

—A little stretched. But fine —he said, as if commenting on the car's oil level. Then he gave him a sharp slap on the right buttock and returned to his chair.

Pedro sat down, took a long sip of coffee, put the cup down, and looked at Juan, who was about to sit.

—No. Don't sit down. Come say good morning to your little friend, because he was a little bored last night, he said as he opened his legs. He said it with the same intonation he might have used to ask someone to pass the sugar. Juan looked at him. Pedro held his gaze without adding anything, taking another sip of coffee, absolutely comfortable with the silence.

Juan left his cup. He knelt between Pedro's open legs and pulled off his boxers.

The cock was soft. Juan buried his nose in his pubis and inhaled. The smell had concentrated overnight in the dark, thick hair. It was Pedro's most personal smell, and Juan knew it so well that he could have recognized it blindfolded among a hundred people.

He inhaled it slowly, as always, before starting.

He stuck out his tongue and licked the base, long and slow, from bottom to top, following the main vein up to the corona. The cock responded immediately, the skin tensing under his tongue. Juan wrapped his lips around it and began working it with the rhythm he knew by heart: moderate pressure on the way down, flat tongue against the frenulum on the way up, his left hand closing around the base to extend the sensation. The cock grew harder inside his mouth, swelling, the heat increasing against his palate.

Pedro had the cup in his right hand. His left went to Juan's head, without urgency, restin...