Mindbottling

Coming home was just as annoying. You would have thought I was a parrot-polegic instead of a guy who got cracked in the head. Jimmy brought home half the frickin' hospital's supplies to medicate me and change my bandages. I told him that if I was gonna play doctor, I'd need a nurse without the dangling crotch-luggage, thank you very much.



The doctors had instructed him to wash the wound with antiseptic soap morning and night, and to check my eyes and ears for any drainage. Well, you know, any unusual drainage, anyway. And true to his word, we hadn't been home ten minutes before he was fussing over me and going at my head with crappy looking orange soap.



"What the fuck is that stuff anyway?"



"Betadine," he said, pushing my hands away and dabbing the moistened gauze on my head, "it's the stuff they used to clean you before surgery."



"What? Are you going to operate now? Ow!"



"Sorry!" he said, pulling back a little, "I just want to make sure it's clean."



"Get a mirror, I want to see it."



Jimmy looked to Coach, who just shrugged.



"It's his head," said Coach, "I suppose he's got a right to look at it."



"I dunno, Chazz, it's kind of gross."



"Yeah, not so gross that you can't keep your hands off it."



"No, really," said Jimmy, shifting nervously, "Uh… they had to shave your head a bit there. I don't think it's something you want to look at."



"They had to WHAT?" I shot a hand to the back of my head and Jimmy slapped it away.



"Your hands aren't clean! You can't touch it until you wash them."



"It's my fuckin' head, I'll touch it when I like."



"No, you won't," he said, pushing my arm down more forcefully.



"Fine, I'll touch it all night long when you can't stop me."



"Huh," said Coach, back with two mirrors, "Chazz touching himself all night long, who'd've figured?" He handed me a mirror, then held the other one up behind my head.



The cut itself wasn't too bad, I guess most of the damage was on the inside, but MY HAIR! My beautiful, long silky hair!



"Holy Sweet Mother Mary of Shit Muffins!" I said, fingering the bald patch, "Did they think they were shearing a sheep?"



"It's not that bad," offered Jimmy, trying to be helpful, but not being helpful at all.



"Not that bad? Good Christ! I look like the 'before' picture for the Hairclub for Men!"



"Suck it up, you big baby," said Coach, moving his mirror so my crown of shame was no longer visible, "They were trying to keep you alive, not knee-deep in pussy. It'll grow back before you know it. And hey, worst case scenario, they can do a transplant from your chest."



I stroked my chest hair reflexively and tried not to pout. He was right. Plus, at least it was at the back. Most chicks wouldn't see it there anyway. A little bald patch wasn't going to stop Chazz Micheal Micheals, sex machine extraordinaire. Of course, crushing fatigue might. I yawned mightily and stretched.



"I'm gonna turn in," I said, getting up.



"Not yet," cut in Jimmy, "I still have to check your eyes and ears, and you need to take your pills." He placed the capsules neatly in front of me, then proceeded to inspect my face.



"Hey, Dr. Zhivago, I'm pretty sure that if my brains were leaking out of my eyes, I'd be aware of it."



"I'm not just checking for that," said Jimmy, pressing his thumb above my eyelid and peering intently, "I'm checking to see that your pupils are even."



"Even what?"



"What?"



"Even what? You're checking to see that they're even … what?"



"With each other, moron. Uneven pupils can be a sign of bleeding in the brain."



"Do you know what else can be a sign?" I asked.



"No, what?"



"Uncontrollable limbs," I said, smacking him in the head.



"Ow!"



"Sorry," I said, smacking him again. "Oops, must be my brain damage."



"Cut it out."



"Can't … control … my limbs…" Smack.



"Fine!" he said, pushing away, "Die of brain damage, see if I care."



"Take your drugs," said Coach, taking the other mirror from me.



I popped the pills dry, and gave him a smile.



"I hope one was a 'lude."



"Nope, Prednisone," he answered, then shook his head. "Chazz Micheals on steroids. God have mercy on us all."



Ten minutes and one argument about my ability to manage my way up to the top bunk later, and I was resting on my own pillow. God, it felt great to be back home.



"G'night Chazz," Jimmy mumbled from the bottom bunk, but I was too far gone to reply.



~*~*



I'm dreaming. I'm in our bedroom, sitting on a chair, naked. Jimmy comes in and closes the door behind him. His hair is long, like it was today, and although I teased him about it earlier, it really does suit him. I know this is a dream, because after pressing the door closed with his butt, he levels his gaze at me and begins to unbutton his shirt. Real-life Jimmy would rather be maimed by a pack of rabid raccoons than undress in front of me, and he certainly would never give me the red-hot sultry look that he gives right now.



Shirt undone, he shrugs it off and begins to work on the fly of his jeans. My eyes travel down the smooth skin of his chest to watch his fingers nimbly pluck at the buttons there.



He has beautiful hands, long and slim, just like the rest of him. I want them in my mouth. Hell, I want them in my ass! My cock twitches at the thought of his fingers on me -in me-, and that, of course, would be my second clue that I'm dreaming. I don't generally sport a boner for my partner, yet here's Chazz Jr., hard enough to pound nails with, and leaking man-juice against my stomach.



I sneak one hand down there and rub him a bit, you know, just to settle him down. I look back to Jimmy, and his eyes are riveted on my hand, slowly stroking my prick. He licks his lips and my grip tightens in response. His jeans now undone, he pushes them and his underwear down over his slim hips, and works his feet free. As he walks towards me, I am hypnotized by the bobbing of his cock, and I don't realize that I've been staring at it until it is practically right in my face.



Jimmy straddles my legs and slowly sinks down onto my lap, our cocks rubbing together, trapped between us. I make a low sound of approval and he puts his mouth over mine, his lips surprisingly cool and sweet.



I grab his ass with both hands and pull him more tightly against me. He rolls his hips, sliding his prick along my own, and I make that sound again. Jimmy squeezes something into his hand, then slips it between us, coating us both with something cool and slippery. I push into the circle of his curled fingers as he spreads the lube over me.



His other hand moves up to my shoulder, and he grips me while he shifts and lifts his hips up and off of mine. He takes my now slick prick and slides it along the cleft of his ass, before teasing at his own opening with it. My hands are still on his butt, and I gently spread him open as he lowers himself onto me, the head of my cock just breaching him.



He deepens our kiss while slowly inching lower onto me. His body fights the intrusion, and I start to sweat as his muscles surrounding me flutter and clench.



"Relax," I say, but I'm not sure if I'm talking to him or myself.



He continues to bear down onto me until I'm balls-deep inside of him, then he rests his forehead against mine, taking deep breaths and letting his body adjust, and it is all I can do to not writhe and thrust beneath him.



After a moment I feel the tension leave his shoulders and he nods against me.



"Okay," he whispers and slowly begins to rock back and forth. I let him lead, his thighs working as he lifts himself then pushes down, again and again. Before long I am swept up into the movement until I am thrusting my hips off of the chair, pounding into him, and pulling him down onto me.



His hands find my hair, tangling in it. We press our faces together, but kissing is a skill beyond both of us at this point, as we rut against each other, muscles taut and bodies slick with sweat.



"I'm close," I say, and he nods, untangling one hand from my hair and pressing it between us and around his cock. I would be more than happy to do the honors of jerking him to completion, but my hands seem permanently affixed to his ass as I help him bounce up and down on me, not to mention that every ounce of my willpower is focused on not coming before he does.



His body starts to curl, as his hand works frantically over his prick. I watch, fascinated, as his brows knit and his lips curl up in concentration. Fuck, he's beautiful.



"Cumon, Jimmy," I grunt between thrusts, "come for me."



His eyes snap open for a second before rolling back in his head. His hips jerk, and that mouth, that perfect cupid's bow goes from a grimace to an 'o', then stretches into a smile. I take this as my cue to let loose, and in embarrassingly short amount of time, I, too, have shot my load, and we sit, tangled in each other, chests heaving and hearts pounding.



Jimmy wriggles against me, my softening cock still inside of him, and plants trails of kisses along my neck and up my cheek.



"That was amazing," he says, and I am so thrilled and proud that I almost choke, but instead I shrug and say, "Yeah, I know."



He smacks me playfully, then kisses my mouth, paying particular attention to my bottom lip.



"I love you."





ARRRGGGGHHH!! I woke up in a tangle of bed sheets, no less sweaty and spunk-covered than in my dream, but thankfully alone. Holy shit! What the hell was that all about? I got up on my elbows and dared a peek at the bunk below me.



Jimmy was snoring softly, long hair fanned out on the pillow around him. Shit, he looked about fifteen years old. What the hell was wrong with me?



I quietly climbed off the bunk and went to the bathroom, to splash cold water on my face. Man, I looked like shit. Most of my bruises had started to fade, but my eyebrow was stitched up and my lip was still split. If I ever caught whoever the fuck had done this to me, I would rip him a new one.



I wiped my face on a towel and was surprised to see red.



Red.



Man, that reminded me of something. I waited for a minute, but forgot what I was trying to remember. I twisted some Kleenex and crammed in up my nose. Oh well, it would eventually come to me.



I removed my speedos and wiped at my goop-covered stomach with them before balling them up and tossing them in the laundry.



I was back in the bedroom, digging around in the drawer for more when I heard him shift.



"Chazz?" he asked, his voice thick with sleep, "you okay?"



"Yeah," I said, covering myself with a new pair. "I had to piss."



He was too tired to ask why that would require new underwear, and I was too stupid to make up an excuse, so I breathed a sigh of relief when he rolled over to face the wall. I quickly pulled them on and climbed back up to bed.



"Chazz?" he whispered again.



"What?"



"I'm glad you're home."



"Yeah," I answered, still confused by the effects of the dream, "me too."



~*~*