When I See His Pretty Eyes

1

by Jelly Zhang

“Remember what you said before the game? Winner gets a blowjob.”

Antonio turns around with an expression halfway between confusion and defeat, paused in the process of stripping off his basketball jersey. He pretends to be surprised when Henrique corners him against his locker, as if he had really forgotten about the bet, as if he was expecting to just go home, no thoughts of sex on his mind, perpetually playing at modesty. But Antonio is anticipating it, too, Henrique sees that: he’s Brazilian, he’s supposed to be able to sense these things.

“I didn’t think you’d take it serious,” the man says now, trying to be coy.

Henrique cocks an eyebrow, tips his head slowly to one side, can you believe this guy? “I’m always serious when it comes to sex, you should know.” He raises a hand and holds it to Antonio’s face and neck, thumb sliding snug under his chin. Quite like a wolf, Antonio changes colors through the months, swarthy during summer and pale in the wintertime. But Henrique’s fingers, hands, arms are darker, and he likes it that way, he likes the look of them together when they move against each other. Sometimes, when he’s really into it, when he looks at Antonio and thinks, look at all this art, is it really fair if I’m the only one who gets to see it? He’s tempted to film them, but then the thought of his fiancé finding it stops him cold.

Antonio’s mouth, meanwhile, slackens into this lazy, too-big smile. He looks around to make sure nobody else is around, and Henrique knows he’s been won over. It’s easy, so easy when it’s with Antonio. “A locker room, seriously? You’ve been watching too many pornos.”

A porno, yeah, that’s right. It’s just like a porno. Porn stars can have steady boyfriends, and those boyfriends don’t mind when their man is screwing somebody else’s brains out for the world to see.

“My favorite’s the one where the Spanish guy gets his throat stuffed with giant Brazilian cock. How much more time d’you want to waste here?”

By way of answer Antonio ducks under Henrique’s elbow, flips their positions so quickly Henrique sucks in an involuntary gasp. But they’re closer now, Antonio’s chest very very nearly touching his own, and he lets out a grunt as the other’s lips fall on his and a hand palms his cock.

“¿Qué dirá tu novio?” the man laughs with pretty white teeth, pulls away slowly, a bit of a tease. Henrique thinks he can understand the words, but he doesn’t want to. Antonio kneels down, bare knees on the linoleum tiles, and drops Henrique’s green shorts to his ankles.

“Good boy,” he says.

Antonio pauses for a split second, mouth against his hip. Then his gaze drops back down and Henrique leans his head back, closing his eyes when the other daubs one, two kisses along his pelvis before pressing his mouth against the outline of Henrique’s cock. The warm breath, warmer mouth encase his member through the confines of the fabric, and he slips a hand through the Spaniard’s mess of dark hair, feels the lingering sweat on his scalp.

“It was a good match, I think,” he says, pretty distracted. “You tried your best.”

Antonio pointedly ignores him. More sloppy tongue kisses up and down the underwear over his cock. Light fingertips on his balls. All this is just foreplay, he knows; it’s not the first time Antonio’s sucked him off and he remembers that the guy likes to start slow, but he really wishes he’d hurry it up. Some other day, maybe he’ll be able to stand the guy for long enough to spend a whole afternoon with him, somewhere really warm and quiet, lying around together, no talking because damn Antonio talks too much, and no sense of urgency, just trying to make it last, you know. But now he wants it hard and fast. The adrenaline hasn’t quite died down from the game and he really needs to fuck Antonio’s mouth and that’s all.

Squirming, Henrique grinds his hips into the other’s face, searching for a more substantial touch. Antonio looks up at him, a sheen of sweat over his face, and smiles the big smile again, but this time, he uses his teeth to pull down his briefs.

“C-C-Christ!” The man reacts like it’s a personal invocation (Henrique decides, with time for a bit of a smirk, that Antonio is certainly arrogant enough to have a God complex) and attacks his cock. He wrests it free of the underwear and Henrique’s hips buck forward like they have a mind of their own, and that mind is telling them to go, go, go for it! Antonio strokes up and down his length with both hands, not fast and not slow, but pretty damn intense—his fiancé is alright, but Antonio is another level—no one else makes it feel like the first time every time.

Henrique’s gaze, blurring a little, nevertheless wanders down past his own crotch to regard Antonio’s. His thighs are spread apart, the erection already pretty prominent from underneath those red basketball shorts. It’s always nice, he thinks, to know you’ve made someone that hard without even touching them. The other presses his mouth right up to his balls, and murmurs something-or-other in Spanish, probably dirty so it’s better that Henrique doesn’t quite catch it; he tries to suppress the “A-Antonio” that slips out of his mouth, but oh, whatever. Antonio seems to find it a turn-on, because he groans, and fumbles Henrique’s cock with fingers and tongue like he can’t get enough of it. The sight of him, lavishly drooling everywhere over the shaft, absorbed in the gluttony of devouring it all, makes Henrique’s fingers curl even tighter in Antonio’s hair.

Antonio sucks dick the same way a starving man eats a five-course meal. It’s pure savagery. Sometimes the teeth get involved, but he’s not even sure if Antonio knows or cares, and hell, Henrique doesn’t care either, he just wants to feed more of his cock down that amazingly accommodating throat. He feels everything else in the locker room falling away, his entire universe between his legs and, and of course, in Antonio’s mouth.

“You’re so, uh,” he breathes, trying to grasp for words like sexy or good at this or another thing, but that doesn’t seem so important when Antonio takes a deep breath, and pushes forward until his nose is pressed flush against Henrique’s stomach, buried among the curly black hair.

“Ooh yeah, that’s it, big boy.”

He lets out a string of curses, appeals to God and the Virgin and the like, how on earth does he do this shit? Henrique has to close his eyes for a minute, it’s too much, if he watches for another second he knows he’ll come. So he leans back, only hearing the wet, needy sounds coming out of the other’s mouth and feeling the delicious warmth of Antonio’s throat sliding around his cock, and it’s sort of what he imagines Heaven to be like, yeah, if he’ll ever get there. Antonio does a good job of moaning, too, loud, raspy, and Henrique wonders if he isn’t the one who’s watched too many pornos.

Somehow, probably during those first thirty seconds when Antonio started deepthroating him and he saw the world melting before his eyes, he’s become pinned to the wall. The other man’s hands have him flat against the wall by both hips, and Henrique can feel the burning grip of Antonio’s fingers and the cold metal lockers behind him digging into his ass. He’s so close now, if only he could buck forward and lose himself in that… that…

“Do you like it? You like it, huh, Henri?” Antonio gasps between bobs of the head. His words are more and more indistinct now, the accent coming on thick, vowels blending together and consonants disappearing entirely between the sounds.

“Jesus Christ, yes, Antonio!” Henrique throws his head back, fingers dragging the other’s hair forward in a desperate attempt to feel more, more! “Fuck yes, yes yes—” His orgasm blindsides him with all the force of a flipped racecar, and he sees the flames and hears the giant noise and feels splinters over his body. Everything is pleasure.

Taken by surprise, Antonio chokes, sending slimy white specks flying to the ground and onto his basketball uniform. His hands fall from his hips and he tips forward, collapsing against Henrique’s knees, and rests his head on his thighs.

“Shit! I’m sorry.” He uncurls his sweaty fingers from Antonio’s hair. They stay like that for some minutes, totally spent. If he hadn’t felt exhausted after the game, he certainly does now, and Antonio’s the same way if it can be judged from the heaving of his shoulders.

“Hijo de puta,” Antonio struggles out, after a time. Runs his hands down along his throat. Voice sounds like he’s recovering from a cough. He looks quite sexy with cum all over his mouth and chin, but Henrique doesn’t tell him that.

He wonders if Antonio has a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend, he knows some guys who are like that, who swing either way. Henrique wonders if it’s a familiar routine for him, sucking people off in locker rooms or office bathrooms, driving home with a sore throat and popping a mint before kissing the man who loves him. He kind of wishes it were so, he kind of sort of wishes for a lot of things… But looking at Antonio’s dazed eyes as he kicks off his shorts to jerk himself off, Henrique only wishes that he could bring himself to really care.

 

Jelly Zhang likes to read and write. She likes to read and write everything. You can read with her on Twitter @litblogging.

 

Top Image: “We, two boys together clinging” / Giovanni Dall’Orto / Wikimedia Commons

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