Scott Sherman - Third You Die

Brent’s finger finally reached just below the tip of that extended member, his finger right in the triangle where head meets base, the most sensitive spot on a man’s body. He quickly reached it up to gather the freshest, thickest precome flowing from Shaggy’s dick and brought it back to that juncture, circling it once, twice, three times.

Giving one last push into Shaggy’s throat, he said, “Come for me, baby,” and with a quick flick of his finger against Shaggy’s hot spot, he got what he wanted.

Shaggy arched his back and screamed around Brent’s cock, shooting a stream of come so strong that it arced over Brent’s head and fell on to his own. Subsequent shots were equally massive, drenching Brent’s back with a flood of thick white liquid. The whole time, his body jerked spasmodically and his throat clenched out of control. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, and Brent pulled out, stroking his dick for a few seconds before he also shot, grunting lustily, painting Shaggy’s face with his own hot juices.

He collapsed on to Shaggy’s lap and they kissed voluptuously, rapturously, like two men who, at the least, just had the best sex of their lives. Again, this was the part where a director usually cut away, but in this case, the afterplay was almost as exciting as what had come before.

You wanted to see this, the aftermath of an encounter that in some ways was tamer than the movie’s earlier scenes-no orgies, no anal-but in other ways was the most scorching encounter I’d ever seen on screen. Their kisses were hungry, then tender, then almost sad.

Shaggy was still trembling, but Brent’s weight seemed to relax him. They settled into each other like two parts of a whole. Brent pulled his head back and Shaggy’s eyes brimmed with an emotion I hadn’t expected to see.

I couldn’t imagine a film set was a place you could achieve a real emotional connection. Sure, you could go through the mechanics of sex, and, our bodies being what they are, it might even feel really good. A warm mouth is always a welcome place to be, and being paid to receive even a bad blow job is more fun than painting houses for a living.

But how could it be possible to be truly intimate with all those cameras and crew around? Yeah, you can believe the love scenes in mainstream movies, but those are some of the most talented actors in the world working with great scripts and highly skilled directors. Plus, those actors aren’t actually Doing It, which exposes you in ways that makes it hard to maintain the illusion of a character.

Yet, what I’d just witnessed put the lie to my presumptions. Maybe the scene between Brent and Shaggy had started off as a performance, but, by the end, it looked like love.

The screen faded to black on the two boys as the credits began to roll. Smart choice. What could have followed that?

“That was very… wow,” I said.

“The wowest,” Freddy agreed. He extended his once-again empty bowl to me. “Only one thing could make it any better. You mind?”

“Don’t you have legs?” I asked. Actually, I wouldn’t have minded getting him more ice cream, but I didn’t want to stand up. There was no way he’d miss the unexpected tenting that had occurred in my pants. I don’t usually get hard from watching porn unless I’m playing with myself, but that scene really got me going. I think if Brent ran his finger along me at that moment, as he’d teased it out of Shaggy, just that slight stimulation would have had me hosing down the place, too.

Meanwhile, I tried to ignore that I had an even hunkier specimen lying right next to me who’d be only too happy to relieve my suffering. But Freddy and I agreed long ago that we were better off keeping things platonic, and I wasn’t about to blow that.

Okay, that was a bad choice of words to talk myself off the ledge. Don’t think about “blowing” anything, Kevin.

“What’s his name?” I asked. “The one who wasn’t Brent.”

“Lucas Fisher,” Freddy answered. “Not bad, huh? He’s got that whole hot, semi-stoned surfer thing going on, he’s ripped to shit and has an ass like two delicious, oversized scoops of ice cream, which I wouldn’t mind right now, thank you very much.” He passed his bowl to me.

I put it to my side. “It’s not just that. He can also… act. I mean, he totally sold that scene. He wasn’t just going through the motions-he seemed genuinely turned on. Infatuated, even.”

“That wasn’t acting,” Freddy said. “I’ve seen him in plenty of other movies-he’s always snackable, but a little boring. Put him in a scene with Brent, though, and he comes alive. Comes a lot, too.”

“They worked together before?”

“After. A couple of movies and, eventually, when the studio realized the chemistry between them, they capitalized on it.” Freddy scooted over to the end of the bed and reached into the cabinet under the TV that held his DVDs. Sure, he couldn’t be bothered to feed himself, but for this he was Mr. Get Up and Go.

He handed me the case for Brent amp; Lucas: More Than Friends.

What happens when two of the hottest adult video stars realize their feelings extend beyond when the director calls “cut”? When super-cute Brent Havens teams up with fan favorite Lucas Fisher, what starts out as fireworks turns into a nuclear blast of naked desire that can’t be contained. Even a steamy bathhouse encounter with mega-hung Pierce Deepley and a jizz-draining three-way with Freshboy cover model Ashton Pusher aren’t enough to keep Brent and Lucas from discovering their true feelings for each other and coming together in an explosive climax that will leave you drenched and begging for more, too.

“Wanna watch?” Freddy asked.

Yes. “No.” There was only so much temptation a boy could take. “Can you tell me what happens?”

Freddy gave me a “duh” face. “They play research scientists who discover a cure for malaria. There’s a lot of talk about gene therapy and the ethics of stem-cell research. In the end, they triumph over the evil pharmaceutical companies and distribute the lifesaving vaccine via crop duster over the plains of Africa.”

He smacked me on the head. “What do you think happens? They have sex with each other, with a few other people, and then with each other again. Cut, print it.”

“No, I meant between them. Are they always that intense?”

“Pretty much. But it’s kind of one-sided. They wrote about it on some of the gay porn blogs.”

“There are gay porn blogs?”

“There’s a blog for everything,” Freddy asserted. “I read one the other day for people who like to cook with crickets. As ingredients, mind you, not assistants.

“Anyway, there was a lot of gossip in the industry that Lucas had a big crush on Brent, but his feelings were unrequited. Supposedly, Lucas was the one who got SwordFight to make More Than Friends in the hope that more scenes between them would get Brent to fall in love with him.”

“Life imitates art,” I said.

“Or not. The studio tried to put it out there that the two were really a couple, sending them to industry events and circuit parties together, but the blogs said it was just to build publicity for the movie. There was another rumor, though, that it was Lucas who arranged to be where he thought Brent would show up.

“Probably there was some truth to both versions. SwordFight might have been pushing them together to build excitement for the movie, but it isn’t hard to believe Lucas had a bad case of the unrequiteds for your friend Brent. It’s there on screen-Brent looks like he’s having a good time and all, but Lucas looks like he’s found a new religion.

“In any case, a few weeks after More Than Friends’ release, you never saw them together again. The movie was pretty successful and won some gold at that year’s Gay Video Awards. There was talk of a sequel, but it never happened. My guess? After a while, Brent got creeped out by Lucas’s affections.”