Blow, Blow, Thou Winter Wind

As Rob slogged through an icy squall in the dark on the way back to his dorm from the college library, where he'd been finishing his term paper on The Muffled Queer Voices of Colonial America, he took the opportunity to utter some choice words under his breath as well. "It's fucking cold!" A popular turn of phrase, notably among his teammates in JV football, but it sounded like a punt this time. "It's cocksucking cold!" Now we're talkin'.

Since the campus was virtually deserted, with almost everyone gone already for the Christmas break, he decided to try it out at full volume. "IT'S COCKSUCKING COLD!" The vulgarity reverberated through the hallowed quad. "IT'S COCKSUCKING COLD, AND I'M NOT EVEN GETTING MY COCK SUCKED!" And the ivied halls of what would henceforth be known as Fellatio Beta Kappa echoed back: Cock sucked! Cock sucked! Cock sucked!

That cheered him up a bit, until he had to admit he was no more likely to be blown in the summer breeze than in the winter wind. Had the colonial queer martyrs like Richard Cornish and Nicholas Sension suffered so much only to have him abuse himself in secret? It seemed like such a cocksucking waste -- literally. On the other hand, as it were, gay old Will Shakespeare had warned: "Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly" -- and more often than not, at least in Rob's experience, the Avon Lady was right.

But not always. Rob perked up again when he thought of Tom, his little brother in all but fact. They had stuck together through more shit than a gentleman should mention. Tomorrow would be Tom's eighteenth birthday, bless his heart and heinie. Now that the bibliographic bullshit was out of the way, praise Jesus and His boyfriend John, Rob was free to celebrate the big event with him in style.

They had plans to meet in the city, where Tom was attending boarding school, and spend the weekend painting the town pink before their penitential pilgrimage home for the holidays. Truth be told, they had also concocted the plan a few years back to wriggle out of the Bible Belt by moving north and enrolling in nearby institutions, the better to see each other whenever possible.

Alas, even four centuries later, the Commonwealth that flogged Sension wasn't much more welcoming than the one that hanged Cornish. North or south, they had found few ears in which they could confide, and in all honesty, fewer still they enjoyed bending. But when they were together, two voices got to be less muffled -- and by one other person, at least, heard. How many of their brothers down through the ages had been so blessed?

Some who didn't deserve to be cocksuckers claimed they did more than talk, but it wasn't true. Rob knew all too well Tom was out-of-bounds, legally speaking. What's more, he knew Tom trusted him as only someone who'd never been disappointed by a sibling could. Vowing not to betray that trust, no matter how strong the temptation -- and God help him, it had been strong at times -- Rob kept his hands to himself, so to speak. And happily, for the most part.

With the long-awaited day of his little buddy's majority at hand, however, Rob made another pledge. Right after Tom had made a wish and blown out the candle on his birthday brioche, his big brother would disclose what propriety had kept him from saying aloud all these years: he loved Tom with the love that dare not speak its name. Except this time, he was going to fucking speak it.

As he rounded the last bend on the path to his destination, Rob spotted a lone figure in the distance, standing under his dorm window. He was swaddled in a towel, like a homeless person, but it was obvious this young man had not been on the streets long. His breath whirled about him in clouds of vapor, and he was shivering uncontrollably. Poor kid, Rob thought. Looks a lot like Tom. As he drew closer, the truth hit him like an Arctic blast. Holy shit! It was Tom.

"Dude!" Rob called out as he broke into a run.

Tom shuddered like an awakened sleepwalker, and though he managed a smile when he saw who was heading toward him, he wobbled in the wind as if about to collapse. Luckily, Rob reached him just in time to enfold him in a steadying bear hug.

"Jesus, Rob, am I glad to see you!"

"Me, too, bro, but aren't you a little underdressed for the venue?"

In fact, it was now clear Tom had on nothing but swim trunks under that towel, with only pool shoes on his feet. And his skin looked bruised.

"Let's get you inside," Rob coaxed, doing his best to hide his alarm as he steered Tom into the building.

Once they were out of the polar vortex, Rob cracked, "So, did I miss Greg Louganis Night at The Eagle again?"

The joke didn't exactly land; indeed, it was as if ice caps in Tom's eyes had started to thaw.

"Hey-hey-hey," Rob soothed, pressing his temple against Tom's in solidarity. "It's OK. You know you can tell me anything, right?"

Tom nodded, but it was easier said than done. "The other guys -- on the swim team? We were in the showers. And -- they jumped me."

Rob's eyes flared. He spoke slowly, calmingly, but with a hint of menace. "Tommy. Did they --?"

"No! Thank God!"

"Thank God," Rob agreed. And those little bastards had better thank Him, too, he thought.

"But they were whaling on me. Almost beat the shit out of me, actually."

"The dirty little assholes! Does it feel like they broke anything?"

"No -- not exactly." Tom's chin sank, and he choked back a sob. "They were calling me a lousy cocksucker."

"Aw, buddy."

"I know it's stupid, but that hurt the most. Because it isn't true -- yet."

"I know, pal."

"And when it was over -- well -- this is all they left me to wear."

"Oh, shit!"

"I wanted to call you, but they took my phone. And my wallet. Even my friggin' room key."

Rob was boiling. "We'll go see the dean on Monday. Nah, screw that, I'll call the cops on their asses right now. I know it's a pain, but you ought to cancel your service, just to be..." He saw Tom's eyes clouding over, and he touched his shoulder in concern. "Bro?"

Tom shook his head, as if to keep from nodding off. "I'm sorry, Rob. I looked all over, but everyone had disappeared. Couldn't even find a janitor to call an Uber. And I really needed to see you, ya know? So..."

"You walked here? Oh, fuck, Tom!"

Rob hauled him the last twenty yards to the room as if they were rushing for the goal line. After a fumble with the key, he carried him to the bed and slipped off his shoes. There was no sign of frostbite, thank sweet baby Jesus. No fever yet either, but the poor guy was trembling as if he had Parkinson's.

"Gotta get you out of these, bro," Rob half-apologized as he slid off Tom's trunks, willing himself not to peep. He pulled the blankets over him and started stripping off his own clothes. "Don't worry, pal. I didn't watch Latter Days a dozen times for nothin'."

"Saints preserve us," Tom mumbled as he peered through half-open lids.

"Stay with me, buddy," Rob urged as he shed his shirt, unveiling a furry, muscular torso.

The sight was enough to rouse Tom out of his stupor. When you look like that, he reckoned, they don't dare call you a lousy cocksucker.

Rob kicked off his shoes and began to peel his pants. Tom had to look away, afraid even in this state he'd reveal more than a brotherly interest. Little did he know that as Rob shucked his shorts, he, too, was thinking: Please, God. Please don't let me get a hard-on.

Leaping into the bed and burrowing under the covers, Rob scooped Tom into his arms, holding his little brother's naked body against his own till long after the tremors subsided. All the while, he was murmuring assurances like, "It's all right, Tommy. We'll go home soon -- for good, if you want." He even wheedled a smile out of him by doing his best Scarlett O'Hara: "As God is my witness, you'll never be cold again."

Rob's warmth seemed to flow into Tom, and he basked in its glow. "Hell, I wouldn't need to go south if we could stay like this."

"As long as you like, bro," Rob was happy to accede. It took him a few seconds to realize he hadn't even considered making a double entendre about going south. Perhaps he wasn't a complete jerk-off, after all. Probably just an incomplete one.

They lay nestled together, bare-assed and barefaced, for what felt like a few minutes at most, although the clock claimed it was over an hour. At length, Tom's stomach grumbled. He was mortified, but Rob smiled. "Are you hungry, buddy? I could heat up some ramen. Or we could order a pizza."

Tom couldn't resist. "Can you picture the delivery guy's face when you answer the door?"

Rob's eyes popped, and he snorted in spite of himself. "Oh, the kid is gonna be fine, ladies and gentlemen!" he announced in his sportscaster's voice as he fondly mussed Tom's hair. Wrapping him up in another embrace, he avowed, "We'll get your stuff back, pal. And they'll learn to respect you again, too -- I'll see to that. Don't you fret about a thing."

"I won't," Tom assured him, his eyes welling in appreciation. Not because he needed anything those hooligans had taken, much less their esteem, but because he understood how devotedly Rob would always look out for him, take care of him -- no matter what. Indeed, at that moment, Rob was thinking how much he wanted to keep Tom safe from now on, even if it meant remaining platonic friends forever.

Tom exhaled a cleansing breath. "Forget those fools. We're together; that's all that matters."

"Damn straight," Rob concurred, cuddling him closer.

Tom snuggled deep into his woolly comforter. "This is so nice, isn't it?"

"So nice," Rob had to agree.

"It's like when I crawled into your sleeping bag at summer camp, remember?"

Though he tried his damnedest to sound nonchalant, Rob's voice came out an octave higher than usual. "Uh-huh."

Before he could stop himself, Tom confessed, "Man, I must have jerked off a hundred times, thinking of that."

The words were saying what Rob had been dying to hear, but now they made him sad. "Dude! Why didn't you ever...?"

Tom shrugged, his cheeks burning in embarrassment. "You know me: Self-Doubting Thomas." Touched, Rob kissed his forehead delicately, lovingly. Tom relished it, and a light went on in his brain. "Did you ever...?"

Rob gulped, but he couldn't lie. "Ninety-nine times, tops."

Tom's jaw dropped. "Then -- why didn't you...?"

A heavy sigh made Rob's chest plummet. "You know me. I don't rob the cradle."

Gazing at his dearest friend with more profound gratitude than ever, Tom couldn't even find the words to express it. But soon, a smirk began pushing at the corners of his mouth. "Well...it's past midnight," he observed mock-casually. He gave Rob's pecs a peck, then impishly lunged to nibble a nipple.

Rob had to chuckle as he parried Tom's teeth. "Ah-ah-ah! No snacks before bedtime."

"Aw, man!"

"Nope! No arguments. I'm still your friggin' big brother -- for one more night, at least."

Tom giggled, but he suddenly had to turn away and wipe something from his eye. "You've been the best brother a guy ever had," he declared, still facing away, but in a tone that left no doubt. Then he laid his cheek against Rob's fleecy breast, and as he drifted off to sleep, he was heard to say ever so faintly, "Maybe someday you can be my daddy."

Rob stroked Tom's hair till the boy was deep in dreamland. "Soon, bro," he whispered. "Very soon."

***

Rob slept sounder than he had in years. His dreams were vivid, and they were all variations on a theme; namely, how fucking wonderful it would be to make love with Tom at long last. The erection he had fought to prevent would not be controlled now, especially when he envisioned their kisses roaming over the lonely terrain of each other's bodies, and ultimately reaching the fountains that would slake their shared thirst. As they quaffed, he could hear the ghosts of Richard Cornish and Nicholas Sension cheering them on. And lo, the martyrs were backed by an ever-growing choir of poor constrained cocksuckers -- past, present, and literally yet to come -- their voices no longer silenced, not even by themselves, but finally swelling with pride.

As the morning sun tickled his eyelids, Rob still imagined he could feel Tom's sweet lips upon him, and he worried his dream might become wet at any moment. He turned toward his new "son," intending to welcome the boy to his manhood with a surprise smooch, only to find Tom's head was not on the pillow beside him.

Rob opened his mouth to call out -- but before he could speak, he heard the contented moaning of a familiar voice from beneath the blankets, accompanied by a sensation between his legs even his wildest fantasies had failed to do justice. His eyes widened, and just to make sure he wasn't still dreaming, he peeked under the covers to see what he hadn't dared hope: Tom's head bobbing in gay abandon.

Racked by giggles he had to struggle mightily to suppress, Rob stage-whispered, "Buddy?" The bobbing head froze. "What the fuck are you doing?"

Tom spun away with the grace of a falling figure skater, and he started shivering as violently as he had in the wintry air outside. "Aw, shit, Rob! I wasn't -- Jesus! I was just --"

"-- blowing out the candle on your birthday beefcake?" Rob offered in a parody of innocence. But he could hold back the laughter no longer, and it rolled out in waves that shook him as if he were coming, which indeed he almost was. As Tom turned back to face him, blinking in amazement, the terror melted, and he was soon powerless to resist the chuckles seizing him as well.

"Holy shit, bro!" Rob gasped out. "You were sucking my fucking cock!" And he beamed, not unlike a proud papa.

A sheepish grin flickered over Tom's face, but his chin drooped as he muttered, "I guess I am a lousy cocksucker."

Rob grabbed him by the shoulders and looked deep in his eyes. "Dude! You're a fucking awesome cocksucker." Tom's lower lip quivered, but Rob stilled it with his forefinger. "Nah, strike that. You are a cocksucking awesome cocksucker."

Tom couldn't help letting out a yip of delight, and it jostled a tear out of one eye. The other still glistened as his mouth formed the words: "No shit?"

Cupping Tom's face in his hands, Rob kissed away each tear, then oh so gently met his best friend's lips. Spreading a smile as warm as his body had felt after the chill, he quietly affirmed, "No shit, pal."

There was a lump in Tom's throat very different from the one he had recently enjoyed, but the throbbing in his bosom would not be denied. After a couple of attempts, he got carried away by another surge of amusement, and he found the voice to say, "Fuck it. I love sucking cock."

"Fuck yeah!" Rob whooped, like a cheerleader when his team scores a touchdown.

Tom went for the conversion. "I love sucking your cock."

"Fuckin' A!" Rob practically squealed, as the cock so favored began nodding its encouragement, too.

In the dark, it had been the most beautiful thing Tom had ever seen; in the light, it was nothing less than a ruddy miracle, and it stiffened his resolve to a comparable firmness. As if borne by a rising tide, he crashed into Rob's mouth, receiving an effusion of affection in return. At its crest, his hand plunged and caught the cochineal wonder in a tight but tender grip, nearly sending Rob into convulsions. All doubts washed away, Tom floated so close to his best friend's ear that his lips caressed it as he purred, "And I am gonna suck your fucking cock all cocksucking day!"

"HO -- LY FUUUUUCK!" Rob howled, as Tom dove out of sight to make good on his word.

It's a promise he kept, with frequent and fervent reciprocation from Rob, well into that night -- and the next -- and indeed, more often than not, for the rest of their cocksucking lives.