Sergeant Bull : Part 3

Wasting no time, Bull stole Andreychuk’s bone-stiff seven inches out of the other man’s punch-bruised fingers. He lowered his mouth down onto it for his first real taste of the other man’s stick. More grunts thundered from the top of the bed.

Bull moaned too, sending the hot, wet hums up and down the shaft in his mouth. The shower he’d taken back in the visitor’s locker room hadn’t fully removed the gaminess from Andreychuk’s manhood; Bull gulped him all the way down to his musky-smelling nuts. Andreychuk bucked up off the bed and buried himself fully in Bull’s throat.

“Fuck, you’re good!” the hockey jock howled. “You’ve done this before, ain’t ya, tough guy?”

Bull spit out Andreychuk’s hairy root and gave his sweaty low-hangers a wet slurp before standing to push his own crotch into the other man’s face. “Shut the fuck up and show me how good you are at it.”

Andreychuk didn’t argue the point. Instead, he shucked off Bull’s underwear, groped his rock-hard eight incher by the base, and brushed his tongue over its head. Bull was already dripping precome. He glanced down to see the handsome hockey jock licking his lips.

They settled into a sixty-nine on the hotel room bed, neither man resisting further. Outside, the snow continued to fall and the cold February wind could be heard howling around the building. Inside, pure sweat had started to steam the windows.

Bull looked between the hairy tree trunks of his own legs and watched Andreychuk lapping at his nuts. Pulling the other man’s cock back into his mouth, Bull sucked harder and faster, until at last he tasted the first salty drops of the hockey jock’s precome. A few slurps later only increased his hunger; Bull licked his way between Andreychuk’s muscled legs, down beneath his nuts to the smelly patch of skin between balls and asshole. Finally, he stabbed his tongue into Andreychuk’s fuck-trench. The other man jerked his lips off Bull’s bone-hard stick.

“No way, Sarge. I told ya – I ain’t into that.”

“Shut the fuck up – I wanna eat your asshole.” Bull shoved his face back in deeper, getting a taste of the tangy, oily hole at the center of Andreychuk’s hard, hairy ass cheeks.

Andreychuk shifted off of Bull, his stiff seven incher bouncing hard enough to spray precome onto the bed. “My asshole ain’t no pussy!”

Bull pulled him back. “Naw, that shitter of yours tastes better than any cunt!”

This time, Andreychuk’s answer was to bury his face into Bull’s crack. The hot, wet tongue-action sent Bull’s dick snapping up. A moment after that, he felt something hard invade his asshole. Andreychuk wormed his finger all the way in. Bull pushed back, but after it was obvious there’d be no dislodging it from his can, he jabbed the fuck-finger of his own left hand into the hockey jock’s tight, oily pucker.

He hadn’t been fingering Andreychuk long when he felt the other man shudder beneath him.

“I’m fuckin’ coming, guy-!” Andreychuk roared.

Sucking on the hockey jock’s stick, Bull was rewarded with a mouthful of hot spunk. Andreychuk was still spurting when Bull, too, was finger-fucked beyond the edge. He pushed down into the other man’s mouth and fired off four steady blasts of nut-juice down his throat. Each man swallowed the other’s load.

They settling together, mouths again meeting, sour-smelling man-sweat drenching the covers beneath them. Within minutes of their renewed groping, both were stiff and ready for a second round.

“I don’t take it up the ass,” Andreychuk repeated between sucks on Bull’s nuts.

“I don’t either, fucker,” Bull growled back, tonguing the gamy piss slit on the head of the hockey jock’s stick. But by morning, both men had broken their promise.

Bull woke to the sound of the hotel room’s shower. The digital clock on the bedside table read just shy of eight in the morning. A quick glance out the window revealed broken sunlight glittering off all the snow the blizzard had dumped on Pittsburgh.

“Roads should be cleared by now,” Andreychuk said while dressing. Bull watched the other man pull on his white socks, jeans, and t-shirt. While lacing up his sneakers, Bull reminded the hockey jock whose seed had soured on his lips that Andreychuk had forgotten something.

“Guy, your underwear,” he said, yawning the words in a sleepy voice.

Andreychuk smiled, picked up his gray boxer briefs, and tossed them toward the bed, hitting Bull square in the face with their musky-smelling crotch. “Something for you to remember me by. I know it’s not the same as an autograph or a sports card.”

Bull smiled and took a deep sniff of the gray midlengths. The other man’s smell helped him wake up fully. “No prob,” he growled.

Andreychuk slung his leather jacket over his shoulder and started toward the door. There, he turned back to face the figure lying naked beneath the soiled sheets. “This was good, guy. I’m glad we hooked up.”

“Me, too,” Bull yawned. With daylight glowing at the windows, they’d again returned to being just two tough guys, men of few words.

“Maybe I’ll see you up in Seaside some time,” Andreychuk said.

“Yeah, maybe.”

But Bull knew it wasn’t going to happen and couldn’t with what he now faced in his old hometown. Andreychuk smiled; in that instant, the light from the morning sun embossed his handsomeness. Bull wanted him again, wanted one more taste of the kind of rare, pure sex they’d found that night after the hockey game.

He didn’t say anything, though, and rolled over.

The sound of the door closing shut reached his ears.

An hour later, Bull stowed his gear – and Andreychuk’s boxer briefs – in the saddlebags of his Harley. He smiled weakly to himself, donned his helmet, then mounted the Harley and started it up. Soon, he was flying down the highway. Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, was a memory in the mirror behind him.

“Next stop,” he sighed into the cold February wind, “Seaside, MassachusettsЕ”