Mint, Part Deux: Beer

Written for Bohemian__Storm, in the event of Midsummer2006. Because she wanted Cutter/Lennox porn, and who am I to say no to that? With huge thanks to Brooklinegirl, yet again, for being so awesome with the beta-ing skills.

“Yeah, okay, they’re gone.” Lennox let the curtain fall back into place and turned around. Chris was staying the night at his place, and it was really fucking lucky that Lennox’s parents had left town for the weekend. Gave ‘em a chance to indulge in the new activity they had begun a couple of weeks ago with absolutely nobody there to bother or interrupt them.

See, Lennox had sauntered up to Chris a while back, grinning like a total idiot, but he had turned out to have been a total idiot who had managed to score some pot, and that night they spent huddled against the wall of an abandoned warehouse, sharing a toke and half-whispering Clash songs to each other, back and forth, giggling in between verses. That had set a pattern.

Even though it was late fall, and pretty damn cold out, especially at night, they had been smoking pot at least three times a week for three weeks now, still at the same spot, with occasional hangers-on. Mostly, though, it was just the two of them, because neither had the kind of money that could afford goodwill every damn week. Chris was totally fine with that. Pot was a good escape, and it made his head all fun and fuzzy, and Lennox loved it ‘cause he was Lennox and it seemed like he never liked being sober. It mostly worked for them.

But Chris was becoming seriously sick of freezing his nuts off.

Which was why Lennox’s grandmother having a mild heart attack had kind of been a God-send (though Chris knew he was an asshole for thinking that), and they had bought out half the air fresheners at the store in order to get rid of the evidence before Lennox’s parents came back. Lennox lived in the basement, and yeah, okay, his parents didn’t really come down to visit all that often, but pot smelled like pot, and parents were still parents.

Chris loved coming over to Lennox’s, whenever he had the chance. The kid had a freakin’ pool table in his room, and where else could you get that kind of entertainment for cheap? Lennox’s dad loved beer, so the basement was always well-stocked. His dad kept it under lock and key, but it wasn’t the sort of lock that could keep Lennox out, so not only did they have pot and pool, they had beer now, too.

“Damn,” Lennox said as he threw himself down on the old couch Chris loved ‘cause you could really sink into it, “Life is fucking great, man.”

“Oh, yeah.” Chris brought out his lighter. Lennox extended the joint and Chris sucked on it as he lit the tip. He inhaled, coughed a bit, and inhaled again before passing the joint back to Lennox.

“You know what would make life even better?” Lennox asked, sprawled against the back of the couch, taking a hit of the roach. Chris grunted as he watched the smoke rising. “Getting laid, man. That,” Lennox pointed upwards, like he was really trying to emphasize, “would rule everything.”

“You have a point,” Chris agreed, picking up Cream magazine off the floor and flipping through the pages. He hadn’t gotten laid in -- well, okay, ever, but he hadn’t actually been with a girl – you know, making out, third base, oral – in a few months now, and it was getting old. He was pretty sure Lennox was in the same boat.

And it wasn’t fair. Just because Eileen had told half the school that he’d lasted about two minutes and hadn’t warned her in time for her to pull off. It wasn’t like he’d ever gotten blown before, for Christ’s sake. He hadn’t known it would be like that.

He wondered what Lennox’s excuse was. Besides the obvious “class clown” thing, of course. Overall, Chris thought, with all the assholes that lived in the town, that wasn’t the worst thing you could be.

Hell, Lennox was even kind of, y’know, pretty. If you went in for that kind of –


Hold up.

He heard a record feedback in his head and glanced over at the joint still held between Lennox’s fingers. What had that shit been laced with, homo-drugs?

Chris shook his head and shot up off the couch as casually as he could manage without tripping over himself or raising suspicions of any hard evidence.

Clearly, this called for beer.

“Hey, man, what’s up with you? Want another hit?” Lennox hiccupped behind him, and Chris shook his head ‘no’ without turning around. He most definitely did not need another hit. Maybe just one to his head.

It had been the joint. Clearly, he had to find a different way of getting his kicks tonight. No pot for Cutter.

Chris made himself relax and turned around, trying his best for casual. Lennox kept taking hit after hit of that shit. Chris briefly wondered what was going through his head now, but then shook the thought free.

He was just- horny, that was all. ‘Cause he was a guy, and he was sixteen, and everyone who was sixteen was always horny. Well, maybe not Eileen “No One Comes In My Mouth” Peterson, but every other human being with a brain was.

“You getting’ that beer or what?” Lennox asked, still sitting with his thighs sprawled open on the couch.

”Yeah. Oh, yeah, I am.” Chris made his legs move and walked over to the cooler. The bottle was wet and cool between his fingers. He chugged half of it in pretty much one go, felt a bit dizzy, and had to sit down or fall down. Preferably, as far from Lennox as the couch allowed.

Yep. Beer was good. Another beer would be even better.


Four beers were definitely best, he decided as he hiccupped.

“Hey, man, are you all right?” Lennox poked him in the shoulder deliberately. “You look all-- red. And shit.”

“Nah, I’m fine. Why? Do I look red?”

“That’s what I just said. Yeah, you look all... Want another hit?” Lennox extended a hand with the proffered joint. “This is some good shit.”

Chris thought about it. Get off the couch to get a beer or take another hit of the homo-pot?

“Uh...wanna get me another beer?” he asked.

Lennox laughed in his face. “Like hell no, man, I ain’t getting’ off this couch.”

Chris sized up the dimensions of the room with the distance between where Lennox was sitting and the cooler. “Man,” he said after a while. “It’s, like, an arm’s length away. All you have to do is scoot your ass over there and pick one up.” Lennox was such a lazy asshole.

“Yeah. Man. I know. But that means that you’re not that far from it, either, so why don’t you,” another poke to Chris’s shoulder, “scoot your ass over there, and get it yourself.”

“Fine!” Chris raised his voice ‘cause he had a point to make.

“Well - good!” Lennox matched him in volume and then fell back against the couch and laughed. “Man, you’re such an uptight asshole. Jesus. Relax.”

Chris watched as Lennox lit the joint again and sucked on it, still chuckling.

He wasn’t uptight. He was so far from uptight, he was tight-down, man. He was just having trouble negotiating his legs with his brain, and his dick with his brain, and pretty much everything with his brain, which was why he was now reaching over to where Lennox was sitting and taking the damn joint off him whether he liked it or not.

Lennox just continued snickering as Chris lit his own lighter and took another hit. He inhaled and tried to remember the reason for him not wanting to do this in the first place.


“Wanna play some pool?”

Chris rolled his head over to the left so he could look at Lennox. He was a bit out of focus. Made him look softer. “What, you wanna? I thought you weren’t getting off this couch.”

Lennox shrugged. “I think I still got some energy left. The buzz is good. Wanna play?”

Chris rolled his head forward so he could now face the pool table. It was all huge and green and theirs. When would another chance present itself? He tested the muscles in his legs. Okay, they could move. “Sure. Why the fuck not. I’ll line ‘em up.”

While he wobbled over to the table, Lennox noisily struggled to his feet behind him. “Sure. Line ‘em up. I’ll knock you down.” Chris didn’t have to turn around to see the shit-eating grin.

“Yeah, like hell.” He braced his hands on the table and squinted at the white triangle. Something was a bit off, though he couldn’t really tell what.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard Lennox’s smoked-out voice chuckle in his ear. “Hey, asshole. Want to put the balls in play?”

“Fuck off,” he growled and reached down for the balls, neatly lined up in the grooved shelf of the table. So, he’d forgotten what ‘lining ‘em up’ had entailed. He could still beat Lennox at this game with his eyes closed and one hand tied behind his back.

When his fingers stopped fumbling, and the triangle stopped moving back and forth, and Lennox finally stepped away from him, Chris was all set to go. The balls were lined up at the base of the table, and cue in hand, he looked across the green surface over at Lennox, who was looking way too smug for a guy who was about to get his ass kicked into the next province, and made his first shot. He wouldn’t get any style points for it or anything – and he was definitely better with stones and ice – but it broke the triangle up and he had to lean forward only a little to sink the first striped ball in the left corner pocket.

“Ha.” He looked over at Lennox, still kind of fuzzy around the edges, and stuck out his chin. “Looks like it’s still me, little man.”

Yeah, ‘cause he’d outgrown Lennox with his last growth spurt, and even though Chris was kinda gangly, Lennox was practically a shrimp. Well, all right, so he was only a couple of inches shorter than Chris, but the two inches counted for something around here.

He leaned lower on the table and concentrated on hitting the next striped ball. This one kind of wobbled a bit, and he couldn’t really tell how far it was from his cue, but what the hell. He aimed, locked in his elbow, and shot.


“Looks like it’s me now,” Lennox cackled, the obnoxious bastard, and moved closer to where Chris stood, still hanging over the table. “C’mon, move, there’s a good shot here.” He shoved at Chris with his cue. Chris glared at him and grunted as he heaved himself up.

Whoa, that’d been way too fast. His head spun and he sagged against the edge of the table, his hand catching him just in time, even as Lennox caught him around the middle with a free arm and grunted.

Chris’s head seemed to clear and he dared a glance at Lennox, now only about two inches away from his face. He wasn’t so much fuzzy anymore as kind of glow-y. It was probably the weird lighting they had down here in the basement, some kind of yellow lamps that took the edge off everything. Hell, they took the edge off Lennox for sure – he looked almost concerned, leaned in like that. He had kind of floppy hair, and it hung in one of his eyes now. It looked lighter. In this light.

Chris pushed him away, and attempted to pick up his cue.

“Man, you all right?” Lennox’s fingers were still kind of touching Chris’s sweater, and his head swam again. He should not have been this drunk off of four beers and a joint, that was pathetic. And he should not have been getting hard at the warmth seeping into his skin from where Lennox’s hand was. And he should not have been leaning closer to Lennox even as he was trying to get away, because that had not been part of their plans, and if it had – well, he never would have come here in the first place.

Except he was kind of drunk now, and his dick was getting interested in the whole thing with the beer and the pot and the pool and the friend, and he was leaning in closer to Lennox’s face, and what should have actually been happening was Lennox should have been pushing him away, except –

Except there was the sharp crack of the cue against the floor, and Chris just had time enough to look down and see that it hadn’t been his, and then Lennox was close, so fucking close, and he smelled of pot and lightly of beer and then he tasted like both on Chris’s lips and against his tongue.

It looked like he was just going to have to get used to the whole ‘swimming head’ thing, because Lennox now had him pressed up against the edge of the table, and Chris was trying to give back as good he was getting, as hard as he was getting. He was tall enough that he could almost sit against the wood, and it was easy to tilt his head up and not let Lennox’s mouth get away.

Lennox wasn’t getting away. He had Chris in a double grip of his sweater in two balled fists, and he was propelling him backwards, and the world tilted again as Chris went horizontal and Lennox sagged against him, heavy and hot.

For one wild moment, he wondered how many girls Lennox had done this with, and was he really not getting laid, or was he lying about it? But soon he forgot any thoughts of any girls at all, because hell, now it was him and Lennox and they were making out on the goddamn pool table.

He tried for horrified, but only came up with horny.

When his head connected with something that wasn’t the hard surface he’d been expecting and rolled to the side, he grunted and tried to move away from Lennox’s grip, just to get away from all the damn balls. Why had he blown them apart so fucking well? They were everywhere, digging into his neck and his back and – fuck, Lennox wasn’t letting him move at all, and Chris was getting really fucking uncomfortable. He pulled his mouth away from the slick lips and tried to get up.

“Fuck, Cutter, where you going?” Lennox’s voice was low and hard-edged and desperate against his skin. Chris gripped the shirt above him and pushed.

“The balls, they’re- all over place --”

Positioned like that, with his head back, talking almost hurt, so he pushed against Lennox harder.

“Oh, I know, man, balls everywhere,” Lennox grinned down at him and grabbed at Chris’s nuts, which made Chris want to punch him and push into him at the same time. And then, finally, Lennox let Chris heave himself up, though he didn’t move far. Just far enough for an errant sweep of Chris’s arm to get rid of the balls that had been lodged against his back. As soon as the cracking of ball against ball against table had subsided and the surface had been swept clean, he was flat on his back, his ass no longer on the edge but on the table itself, and Lennox was actually climbing on top of him, and then, they were in the middle of the table, knocking knees and elbows while trying to get to tongue.

Christ, Lennox was stronger than he looked, and now Chris knew what their high school coach had been babbling about when he yapped about Lennox and natural talent and wasteful. Yeah, Lennox has been – Chris grunted as a hard cock ground against his hip – wasting his talent – sharp teeth bit his chin – on the ice. Fuck curling, this was Lennox’s shining moment.

Chris almost laughed, but then Lennox swept his tongue against his lips and plunged inside and Chris wasn’t laughing anymore, hell no, his head was spinning in so many directions, he felt like a cue ball on acid, all fast motion and cut corners.

Line ‘em up – Lennox undid Chris’s fly; go for the right angle, the one that will get you to the next round – Lennox burrowed into his boxers and wrapped his fingers around Chris’s cock; make the shot – Lennox braced one hand against the green surface and – fuck, fuck, fuck! – slid down the table until his head was level with Chris’s dick. Chris could only gasp as he was suddenly enveloped in heat and his brain nearly melted.

Hot, slick mouth, covering the head of his dick, sucking him in with no preamble. This was his second blow job ever, and while he should have known what to expect – theoretically – he hadn’t been ready for it. Lennox sucked him hard, fast, without hesitation. His hand worked the base while his tongue pressed against the shaft and his lips stretched tight and taut around the head. Down he would go, down and up and down, and Chris couldn’t even fucking say anything, only gasped and swore and clutched at Lennox’s head, because he didn’t want to let go, and he didn’t want to pull out, and he didn’t want to warn him, because this felt so good, and he was so fucking close, that he hoped to God that Lennox got the moral of the first blowjob story, because staying inside that slick, mobile heat while coming was the fucking meaning of life.

And then he was riding the crest of the wave, he was sliding across the ice, and Lennox knew, he had to know, he’d always known on the ice, and he should have known here –

Chris screwed up his eyes as the wave broke. He’d stayed inside the wet heat and now, Lennox sucking the life out of him was exactly --

“Oh, fuck!” - his strangled cry raced for the ceiling--

-- exactly what had been missing from Eileen Peterson and her damn pristine mouth.

Chris clenched his fist in Lennox’s long hair and hissed as he finished coming.

When Lennox released his cock, it immediately felt cold and he could picture it shrinking up, hiding from anything that wasn’t hot and slick. He heard Lennox breathing heavy, even over this own gasping, and then Lennox’s face swam into view, grinning over him like a cat who’d lapped up all its milk.

“How was that?” he inquired non-chalantly, and Chris couldn’t think of anything better to do than to punch him on the shoulder, because he wasn’t about to give an honest rating here. You tell a guy he’s an eleven in the blowjob department, he won’t let you forget about it for the rest of your life. Straight, queer or in between, all guys were the same when it came to sex.

Chris watched as Lennox snickered and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Good, eh?” Still snickering, he lowered his mouth to Chris’s, and Chris was about to protest, when he was left with no choice. It was kind of weird, and he should have maybe been grossed out, but Lennox really did have an amazing tongue, and Chris decided to fuck it and give in. He clutched at the back of the blond head, opened wide and gave it to Lennox how he seemed to like it, all tongue and spit and teeth.

His head was a bit clearer now, but even so, when he upended them both and rolled Lennox over onto his back, he nearly lost his balance.

“Oof!” Lennox grunted into his mouth and broke off. Chris helped him sweep the balls away from that side of the table now, and hell, had they really moved that far up the center? It was like a hard green bed, huge and almost comfortable, if you didn’t mind a few sore knees and bruised elbows.

He had Lennox on his back now, and his fly was already undone, his dick poking out and all happy to see Chris. He’d seen Lennox’s dick before, but never in this context, and it looked larger now, kind of more intimidating, which was a ridiculous thought because Chris’s was bigger. He should not have been intimidated by a smaller dick, for crying out loud.

“What, chicken?” Lennox’s voice was kind of raspy with a nervous edge to it, and Chris quickly looked up and shook his head.

“Hell fucking no,” he answered, because he wasn’t, he wasn’t chicken at all. He shut Lennox up the old-fashioned way and brought his hand down to the end goal. Lennox moaned straight into this mouth, and when Chris let his tongue go a little bit and licked the full lips, more sound escaped, and it went straight to his own dick, limp as it was from earlier. He’d never heard Lennox sound like that, so fucking into something – not even at practice – and he really kind of liked it. So he stroked the cock, tip to root, trying to cover the entire territory, and kissed him harder, deeper. It wasn’t that difficult to multi-task, he discovered. His hand had found the right rhythm, and just the right pressure, and his mouth had found a better way to spend time than drinking beer even, and for a few long minutes, all that existed in his universe was a slick, hard cock, a warm, mobile mouth, and a horizontal green surface.

All things he would never have really thought about experiencing before tonight, but all good things, all things that he could handle right about now, and that was even better. He got more adventurous, slid a couple of fingers down to caress Lennox’s balls while pumping him, and that got him a bite on the lip and a shudder. He grinned to himself and felt it in his toes – he held the cards here, he was making Lennox feel this good, he was wiping that grin off his face faster than he could smack him. Yeah, Lennox was good, but Chris Cutter didn’t roll over for anybody. He could beat him at pool, he could beat him at this.

“Good, eh?” He smirked and didn’t wait for any kind of response, just plunged back into the waiting mouth, yeah, waiting for him, open for him, slick tongue meeting his halfway. Fuck, but he loved making out.

So did Lennox, apparently, and he also seemed to really like the thing that Chris was doing with his fingers, and the pumping, and the flick of thumb over his slick head on every upstroke. He moaned into Chris’s mouth, again and again, and Chris was lapping it up, more than happy to give more, yeah, there was more where that came from.

His hand sped up, his arm began cramping, but he had to work through that, because he had a goal, and Lennox hadn’t turned out to be quite that easy, which kind of cut at Chris’s ego a bit, but not enough to stop him from trying. And then, finally, Lennox was shuddering against him, clutching at his back, and groaning against his lips. Warm and wet, Chris’s hand continued pumping Lennox through it, and he watched his hand moving over the cock until nothing more came, and Lennox subsided.

Chris uncurled his fingers and fell back against the table. He wriggled until any balls lodged underneath him had rolled away, and wiped his hand on his cords. He’d have to remember to do the laundry himself again. He was kind of suddenly vaguely horny again but his dick was staying down and so he let it.

His vision swam in and out of focus now. One moment, the light was above his right eye, the next it was way over to the left, and if he focused his eyes just right, both lights slid back into one, but not for long, because he could hardly focus at all. Two lights, one dimmer than the other for some reason, like it wasn’t totally real, and he felt his heart beating, and heard Lennox breathing hard to his left. One light, two light, two...

His eyelids grew heavy, and his breathing slowed. This... probably...

“Yo. Cutter.”

Lennox’s voice managed to break in through the haze of his head. “What.”

“No fallin’ asleep on the pool table, get the fuck up, man. There’s a couch.”

“Mm-hmm...” The whole room got darker, like somebody had turned off both lights and left a pink glare all over the place.

“All right, come on.”

He was being pulled up and then –

“No, dizzy --” he protested, but whoever was pulling him up wasn’t listening, and then he was moving through heavy air and taking heavy steps and --

“There.” He was horizontal now, on something soft and squishy. “I’ll be over on the bed. Don’t puke on the couch.”

Amusement. He heard it all dimly, because there’d been one light, and then there’d been two lights, and then it was totally dark, and how –

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