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Cram Session	By : CeeCee Category: Comics > Archie & Co. Views: 3278 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Archie & Co fandom or any of the characters from it. This is a piece of fiction, and I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Cram Session
- 1
“I don’t get it.” Dilton smothered a sigh. He cracked open a can of Sprite and took a long gulp. He’d practically talked himself hoarse explaining theorems for over an hour.

It wasn’t for lack of a participating audience. Moose sat rapt while Dilton scribbled problems on his whiteboard in blue ink for him to solve as examples. He was earnest and asked questions whenever Dilton stopped speaking.

But again, he just didn’t get it.

“All right,” he offered, throwing him a bone. “Let’s get back to the easy stuff. What’s the side of the triangle facing the right angle? The part that looks like an ‘L’?” He watched Moose’s robin’s egg blue eyes glaze over and braced himself. Not again… “Remember…we drew a little square in the corner, so we know it’s the right angle…”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Moose stammered. “I know. Little square. A right triangle…duh…looks like ya cut a square in half. Like a sandwich.”

“You could put it that way.” But Dilton’s smile was gentle and indulgent.

They were a study in contrasts. If anyone had asked Dilton when he was in kindergarten who he thought his lifelong best friend would be, he wouldn’t have likely described Marmaduke Mason, the jock sitting beside his desk. Moose, as he was widely known, straddled Dilton’s square chair and leaned over it, beefy arms folded to support himself. He was exhausted. His posture was lax and his eyes drooped slightly. Moose had gone for his morning bike ride at 6AM and worked out at Riverdale’s local boxing gym for an hour.

Dilton offered him his Saturday night for a tutoring session, surprising him when Moose accepted. Frankie Valdez’s older brother Pablo was home from state school for the weekend, and he made good use of his ID to provide a keg of beer for a basement party while their parents were out of town. It was Moose’s crowd and his favorite kind of venue where he could kick back and add his voice to the drone of things Dilton didn’t usually care about, such as away game scores, Ultimate Fighting and other such nonsense.

Midge went to the party and made no bones about telling Moose how sorry she was that he couldn’t make it. Dilton snorted to himself; he loathed her transparent disregard for Moose’s feelings. It was no secret that Reggie Mantle was also attending the kegger, and that he knew exactly where Moose was going to be that night. Convenient?

Despite his reputation (which his nickname described more than adequately), Big Moose was a gentle giant. A slight learning disability caused him to stay back a grade, making it more awkward when he was the biggest, beefiest person in his class every year. But in the meantime, he was personable and accommodating, willing to please, and he followed the dictates of the “in” crowd to the extent that they allowed him within their ranks.

Those feelings of inadequacy, due largely to his problems with learning, contributed to his jealousy. Moose felt deep down that no matter how hard he worked, he would fall short. He was possessive of what was his, particularly his girlfriend, Midge. He knew his strengths. His athletic ability was an obvious plus. He was relatively popular, and something of a class clown…often without meaning to be.

Yet the feelings of doubt niggled and pricked at him. He was strong enough. He was fast enough. He was skilled enough. But would he ever be smart enough?

Dilton Doiley was his one-person cheering section. By token of being the youngest member of their class – having skipped two grades – Dilton became an easy target, since he was also the shortest freshman when they entered Riverdale High.

Dilton was smart. That was his calling card. Did your PC crash? Call Dilt. Need help in Latin? Call good ol’ Dilton. Need help memorizing your periodic table? Dilton’s your man. He’d won every science fair and spelling bee for six consecutive years and had five Ivy League schools knocking on his door following his SATs.

Yet Dilton was awkward.

Dilton had the spry, wiry coordination expected of someone with such a slight build, but he was no athlete. His astigmatism didn’t help, keeping him a prisoner of his bifocals. They stamped him with the indelible brand of an academic, a man who read incessantly, as someone who required precision focus for fine motor tasks, but more importantly, shamefully…

…a geek.

Indeed, Dilton was smart enough, conversely gifted with what Moose felt he lacked. Yin and yang, brothers from different mothers. They complemented each other. Dilton admitted to himself that they looked funny next to each other, complete physical opposites. Dilton was fair-skinned, with jet black hair that curled every which direction. He tamed it by keeping it short, but the cowlick at his crown refuted his efforts. He stood five feet, three and a half inches, and Dilton weighed one hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet. His features were small and regular and he had a wide, thin-lipped mouth and straight teeth. His smile was broad and easygoing, despite people’s belief in general that Dilton was uptight. Dilt begged to differ; he just had high standards.

Moose often joked that Dilton was his leaning post, frequently propping his elbow on his shoulder when they hung out with their friends. At six-foot-four, Moose towered over his classmates and wore a size forty-four jersey. He was barrel-chested and solid, had large, beefy hands and wore a thirteen shoe. His voice was deep and slightly thick when he spoke and it boomed when he called out to his teammates across the field.

His sigh was heavy.

“C’mon, Moose. I know you know this. What’s the side opposite the right angle? Sounds like a zoo animal…?”

“Zoo animal…” he repeated blankly, making a face. Dilton felt sympathy for him and prepared to let him off the hook.

“Hippo…” Dilton prompted, lilting his voice and beckoning to Moose with his hand.

“Hypotenuse!”

“Give the man a gold star,” he encouraged, relieved. “It’s the longest side,” Dilton added. “So, let’s run this by you again and do this next problem. You have a right triangle whose side ‘A’ is 9 inches. Its hypotenuse-“

“Its hippopotamus,” Moose corrected him, shooting Dilton a lopsided smile.

“…is 25 inches. So we need to solve for ‘B.’ What else do we know about the hypotenuse?”

“It’s…squared?”

“Yesssss…” Dilton continued. “That’s part of the formula.”

Moose read over the problem again. Dilton fiddled with the pen in his hand, capping and uncapping it patiently. He knew the answer would come, and how much effort it took his friend. Dilton had nowhere to go, so he had nothing but time to give Moose.

“So…if ya take away the side A from the hypotenuse, ya get the side B, right?”

“Go on.”

Moose took the blue dry erase pen from him for a moment and rose, erasing some other figures Dilton scribbled their earlier. He scrawled out the subtraction table in large, awkward numbers and solved.

“Um…ya get 16.”

“Sure do,” Dilton agreed.

“So that’s the answer?”

“Almost. What else do we know about side B? It’s squared, right?”

“Um…hmmmm…”

“It is,” Dilton concluded for him. Moose’s sigh was as gusty as the first and he rubbed his nape.

“Ya hafta divide it, right?”

“Not quite. We know sixteen is the square of another number, times itself.” Dilton was bursting. It took king-sized effort to restrain his tendency to overexplain and expound on a topic that he knew Moose found trying and unappealing.

Dilton got it: Moose hated math.

He struggled. Dilton sensed his frustration mounting as his posture changed. He tapped the capped pen in his hand, then against his forehead. Moose emitted a low growl of impatience.

“I should know this…”

“You do know it,” Dilton agreed. “You’ve almost got it.” His eyes landed on Moose’s unfinished soda. He retrieved it and nudged Moose’s arm with the can. He took it gratefully, downing it.

“Square…number times itself…” Moose recited. “So…square…root, right?”

“Bingo.”

“So…it’s…four?” Dilton grinned and whooped.

“Oh, yeah, baby! Moose is the man!” Moose chuckled under his breath.

“Nah.”

“Ready for another?”

“Do I hafta?”

“You’re on a roll.”

Moose was already distracted, fiddling with one of Dilton’s Star Wars action figures. He bent CP3O’s arms in various angles and walked it over to Yoda.

“Okay. I’ll take that as a no.”

“Stay away from the dark side of the Force, Luke…” he droned. Dilton sighed. Nevertheless, he joined in.

“Resist it, you must, young Skywalker…”

It was all over from there. They fell easily back into their boyhood roles as best friends instead of pupil and tutor. Dilton and Moose fiddled with his stash of precious figures, one of Dilt’s RC cars he built himself, and a new model plane he added to his collection the week before.

“So Midge has this friend.”

“She has a friend?”

“Yup. Her name’s Lucky. She’s a little thing, like you.”

“Be still, my heart.”

“Midge says she’s cute.”

“That’s what they all say.” Dilton hated being fixed up. Worse, he hated the look of disappointment that always greeted him when the prospective girl towered over him. He envied Moose’s physique.

They both sat on the hardwood floor, leaning companionably in toward each other, taking turns with the remote control. Moose steered the car in donuts, then around a makeshift obstacle course they made with Dilton’s desk items and action figures.

Dilton’s scent was fresh and sharp, tickling Moose’s nostrils. He favored plain, old-fashioned Old Spice deodorant and his clothes smelled like Tide.

Moose was enjoying himself. He’d always liked Dilton’s house, and his room had character, a comfy, broken-in feel. Dilton’s academic honors were hanging from the walls, along with about a half a dozen trophies propped on a shelf above his desk. His bed was made and there were no dirty clothes spilling out of the hamper; he kept everything neat as a pin, organized, alphabetized or out of sight. Moose, on the other hand, was an unrepentant slob. Dilton asked him once to borrow his badminton racket. Moose told him it was under the bed. Dilton found it beside several issues of Sports Illustrated and a pile of chicken bones. He shuddered at the memory.

“Why dontcha call her?”

“I can think of ten different reasons off the top of my head.” And they would all end badly, he thought sourly.

“Ya aren’t doin’ anything else tonight,” Moose suggested hopefully.

“Eh. I planned to stay in.”

“So…I couldn’t talk ya into goin’ with me ta the party?”

“Are you kidding?” Dilton wrinkled his nose. “I don’t even like beer.”

“Ya don’t hafta go for the beer, buddy.”

“Sounds exciting. Think I’ll pass this time, Moose.”

“Um…I kinda, y’know…” Moose hedged. “…told Midge I’d bring ya along.” Dilton paused in the act of cleaning off his whiteboard. The eraser hovered mid-air in his fist.

“Tell me you’re kidding.”

“Uhhhh…I can’t? Because I’m not?” Moose threw up his hands and gave him his patented, lopsided grin. “C’mon! Live a little. She might like ya.”

“Oh, think of the possibilities,” Dilton muttered under his breath. Moose socked him in the shoulder. “Ow.”

“Give her a chance. Come out with me. C’mon! Why stick around here all night when ya could get out and hang out with all of us for a change?”

“Sure. Everyone’s just dying for me to come and hang out.” Dilton had nothing against Frankie, except a sense of annoyance over watching him dangle his girlfriend, Maria, from time to time.

“Well…why don’t you? No one said you couldn’t come.” Moose watched Dilton make his way around the room, neatening up and putting away his supplies. He tucked Moose’s geometry text into his backpack for him and zipped it shut. Moose helped himself to a handful of pretzel sticks.

“No one ever says I can come, period. I wasn’t invited.”

“You know Frankie!”

“I know.” He talked to him every day in shop class, Dilton wanted to add, but it was moot. “I just don’t run with that crowd.”

“Sure ya do.”

“No, Moose. I don’t.”

“Midge likes ya. Arch is gonna be there. And Chuck…” Moose kept ticking off names on his fingers.

“And Reggie,” Dilton snorted. Moose made a face.

“So? Who gives a shit?”

You should. The thought remained unspoken. Dilton hated to see his best friend being used.

Guiltily he realized that keeping Moose there was increasing the chance that Reggie would take advantage of his absence.

“Look, why don’t you go ahead?”

“Awww!” Moose looked crestfallen.

“Get there before they run out of beer. Stay over if you have too much, don’t drive your truck home,” he chided him.

“I don’t even want that much,” Moose admitted. “I just wanna go for the sake of goin’.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” Moose gave him a “you’re kidding, right?” look and emphatic shrug. “Everyone’s gonna be there.” Dilton waved him away, turning his back. “Except you,” he implored.

“No one’ll miss me.” Indignance gave him a warm flush.

“Maybe I will,” Moose murmured. “Did ya ever think about that?”

Dilton froze, surprised. “I don’t want to keep you. Go, have fun.”

“I already am,” Moose admitted. “I like comin’ here. But I want ya ta come have fun with me.”

“You don’t need a babysitter.” But Dilton softened, flattered by Moose’s efforts to include him.

“Ya might have fun. And who knows…Lucky might be kinda cool.”

“MOOSE!” Irritation sent his guard back up. He’d nearly been maneuvered…

“Can’t blame me fer tryin’, little buddy.”

“If at first you don’t succeed…pack it in and call it a day,” Dilton said, rolling his eyes. “You mean well, and Midge means well, but it always ends up the same. Girls pat me on the head or they ignore me. Either I’m like their little brother or I’m Mr. Fixit when they don’t know how to turn something on.”

“Bullshit,” Moose scoffed. “Plenty of girls think you’re cute.”

“Cute,” he groused. “Please.” With raised brow, he added “And how would you know?”

“I just do.”

“Likely story.”

“What if it turns out ya like her, huh?”

“What if I don’t?”

“Won’t know til ya try.”

“I hate blind dates.”

“It ain’t a date. It’s a party,” Moose explained, as though Dilton were a child of three. Dilton gave him a withering look.

“No, Moose.”

“Awwwww!” he growled, throwing up his hands.

“Don’t pout at me. It won’t work.”

“Please.”

“No.”

“Pretty please.”

“No.”

“With sugar on top.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I promised Midge…”

“Then tell her I was being a dick and it wasn’t your fault.”

“That’s not fair,” Moose reasoned. “I’m not gonna tell her that! Just come with me, and I won’t hafta tell her anything!”

“I’m just not into this whole ‘party’ thing. You stand around. You drink beer. People talk about each other and act like imbeciles.”

“Sounds fun,” Moose admitted.

“Ugh…”

“It won’t take ya but a minute ta get ready,” Moose prodded as he headed for Dilton’s closet. He slid open the door and started rifling through his hangers.

“Hey!”

“Ya’ve got some nice stuff,” Moose murmured as he pulled out a sweater. “Eh. Maybe not that.”

“What are you doing?”

“Finding something ya can wear ta Frankie’s.”

“I already told you…no, not that.” Dilton came over and rescued a button-down shirt from his grasp, returning it to the rack. The way Moose was poking through his things made him feel invaded.

“Then what else have ya got?” He nodded to a casual gray shirt. “That one isn’t bad.”

“It’s not my favorite.” Dilton didn’t know why he was arguing.

Moose was running on autopilot. “These jeans are okay. Why don’t you ever wear these?” Dilton lived in his chinos and corduroys. The black jeans were baggy with bold topstitching and a trendy logo on the pocket, a gift from his mother on his last birthday. They went to the back of his closet. He draped the pants over the crook of his arm; he looked almost like a valet. Moose pulled a navy blue sweater vest out and hooked the hanger out so the garment faced out toward them on the rack.

“I don’t usually-“

“Try this.” He thrust the pants at him, pressing them up against his waist. Moose’s thick fingers grazed his hips and jerked him closer, trying to get an idea for the hang of the jeans. “Eh. Might work.”

Dilton flushed at Moose’s close proximity and his almost…intimate grip on him. He caught the pants and nudged Moose’s hands away.

“I don’t need anything else to wear, Moose-“

“This would look good on ya.” Moose slapped the sweater against his chest experimentally, taking the same liberty. Dilton’s chest rose and fell more rapidly, both with embarrassment and annoyance.

Moose’s touch was intrusive and brusque, but his hands were warm. Dilton peered up him as Moose appraised him.

His blue eyes dilated and nostrils flared.

“That’s…not bad,” he murmured. “I think we mighta found yer look, Dilly.” Dilton’s mouth went dry.

Moose’s blue eyes slowly swept over him. He still held the sweater against him, but his fingers clenched reflexively around Dilton’s firm, narrow shoulders.

“I’m not into clothes.”

“Ya look good. In everything I’ve seen ya wear, ya look good.” Moose’s cheeks turned pink. “Um…c’mon, Dilly. Get dressed. Let’s go.”

The spell was broken. “I’m fine in what I’m wearing. Go on, Moose.” Dilton backed away from him reluctantly…he didn’t realize how much he’d been enjoying Moose’s body heat until it was gone. They’d been standing close enough that Dilton could feel his breath fanning over his cheeks.

Were his glasses slightly fogged over? Dilton set aside the sweater, hanging it over a chair before he took off his specs and rubbed them clean on his sleeve.

“I dunno why yer makin’ this so hard,” Moose complained. His voice was moody and bereft. Dilton felt his sweatshirt being bunched up around his waist.

“Moose…what!”

“Try the sweater.”

“I don’t-mmmph!” His words were muffled and garbled by his shirt being tugged roughly over his head. Dilton was glad he’d already set aside his glasses, or they would have been knocked off. His bedroom was warm enough, but the air felt cool as it rushed over his now bare skin; Moose inadvertently yanked off his tee shirt, as well, leaving him topless.

“Oops…sorry ‘bout that.” He peeled the shirts apart, leaving the sweatshirt inside-out. “Ya probably need this…”

“Thanks, pal,” Dilton huffed, snatching up the tee. He turned it this way and that, trying to find the tag. He was thoroughly flustered, and he flushed even more under Moose’s gaze.

“Ya know somethin’? Yer bigger than I thought.” Dilton paused in the act of tugging it up his arms and was about to pull it over his head.

“What’s the difference? I’m not that big.”

“Yeah, but…” Moose was still staring at him.

His skin tingled with Moose’s proximity, not noticing how closely he’d crept until he felt his palm close over his shoulder, squeezing it.

Dilton shivered, and not from a chill. He cleared his throat.

“Do ya ever work out? Run, or anything?”

“I-I, um, j-just jog, once in a while. Or I ride my bike. I’m not…a couch potato, or anything.”

“Uh-uh.” Moose’s hand slid down his upper arm, his grip so broad he nearly ringed it. But he molded his flesh, kneading it, savoring its smoothness. Dilton hardly had any body hair, and his skin was supple and warm. He felt his breathing speed up and his heart hammer in his chest.

Dilton’s mouth was dry. He licked his lips. “I don’t lift, or anything. I suck at it.”

“Ya don’t have to. I’m big. I lift,” Moose pointed out. “It’s my thing.”

“Uh-huh,” Dilton offered, but it was hard to speak with Moose staring at him like that, standing so close Moose’s rough denim waistband grazed Dilton’s belly.

“There isn’t any fat on ya.”

“I-I guess not.” Dilton grew hot, and definitely bothered.

What was happening to him? Why were Moose’s eyes devouring him and why did his touch feel so good? Why was Dilton asking himself these questions?

Moose’s fingers released their grip and stroked the length of his arm, clasping his wrist.

“Moose…”

Never in his wildest dreams did Dilton picture this moment, even though Moose was featured in them more frequently than he liked to admit. It went beyond admiration or simple hero worship for the times when Moose had protected him from bullies or sung his praises. Over the course of Dilton’s life, Moose was his constant and his rock, a friend who didn’t use him or judge and belittle him. He took him for what he was, a confidante and supporter, listener and occasional kidder.

He’d grown to accept that his feelings for Moose were complex and that they confused him. They always spent time together, but the odd twisting in his gut and his tendency to “tingle” suddenly whenever Moose stood too close was driving him mad. He couldn’t explain it. They’d grown up together, gone on camping trips and swam every summer at the pond. He’d averted his eyes more times than he could count when they changed in the locker room for gym.

Until recently. He’d begun watching him. He didn’t stop his eyes from roaming over that broad, sturdy, sculpted body when he thought no one else was looking. Uncomfortable heat and stiffness gathered between his legs, and Dilton was ashamed.

Those feelings came flooding back now. “Moose…what’re you doing?”

“I-I…” Moose looked stricken. His lips tightened. “I don’t know.” He released Dilton’s wrist and backed away. Dilton panicked.

“No. Wait. Please.” Dilton’s hand shook and darted out, catching Moose by the elbow.

Electricity passed between them. Dilton felt the jump in Moose’s bicep as his grip and could have sworn his pulse sped up.

“Aren’t ya…um…gonna put yer shirt on?”

“I don’t think so,” Dilton said hollowly.

“I’m kinda glad,” Moose murmured. His voice cracked. “Dilt…?” he whispered.

Dilton was trembling. Trembling. His hand stroked Moose’s bicep, then moved slowly back up to his shoulder. Moose’s flesh scorched him, even though the fabric of his thermal. Moose’s scent overloaded his senses, his deodorant and hair gel mingling with his warm, naturally male aroma.

“It’s okay,” Dilton said. His voice was barely audible.

He felt keen shock when Moose’s fingers stroked his bare skin out of nowhere. His hands crept around his narrow waist, acquainting himself with the dent of his lower back. Moose stared into his eyes, chocolate brown and deep-set, so full of intelligence and deep regard.

And passion. For him.

He felt numb and guilty. How hadn’t he noticed it before, right under his nose?

Because this was his best friend.

“Please,” he whimpered. “Dilly…”

Dilton’s hands molded to his solid bulk, sliding up his chest. He stroked Moose’s jaw, cupping it and savoring the rasp of his blonde stubble. Moose leaned into his caress, and then sealed the deal. Before Dilton could protest, he leaned down and crushed his mouth in a bruising kiss. Dilton’s legs turned to jelly.

Their breath mingled, and Dilton’s heart pounded in his ears. Oh, my Lord… Dilton wrapped his arms around his neck and clung to him for support, but yeah, it didn’t hurt that he felt so right, so addictively hard pressed against his body. Dilton moaned with need, stroking every inch of Moose’s back that he could reach.

Moose answered with what sounded like a whimper as the kiss deepened. He slid his mouth over Dilton’s, devouring him, drinking up his flavors. Dilton gladly let him inside. In the back of his mind, he proclaimed Midge Klump an idiot. She didn’t appreciate what she had. Excitement flowed through Dilton’s veins as Moose’s arms tightened around him. He bit back a yelp of surprise when Moose’s hands groped his ass, and he ground his hips against Moose in kind. It was instinctive. Dilton’s erection was so sharp and sudden it gave him a headache.

Similar alarms were going off in Moose’s head. He was making out with his best friend. And he was enjoying it, couldn’t get enough of him, in fact…

It went against logic. Moose loved Midge. In principle, he liked girls.

So why did this feel so easy and comfortable? Shit, why was it such a turn-on? Why were those sounds Dilton was making in his throat driving him so crazy. Dilton’s slender fingers, so skilled at small tasks, were combing through the back of Moose’s thick blond hair, clutching it greedily. He absorbed the sensations of Moose’s thermal shirt brushing against his bare chest and rasping against his nipples.

“Moose…can you…take this off?” Dilton tugged on his shirt, already gathering it in his fingers and tugging it from his waistband. He didn’t recognize the huskiness in his own voice.

“Mm-hm,” Moose groaned, nodding his way into another kiss.

Okay. So I’m not going to the party any time soon… He smothered the traitorous thought that Midge would have to make her own excuses to Lucky as Dilton divested him of his shirt.

It was paradise. The feeling of skin on skin was delicious, and Moose’s was hot beneath Dilton’s touch. The disparity in their heights was a slight nuisance; Dilton felt the beginnings of a crick in his neck. Moose read his mind and backed his way into his abandoned chair. He tugged Dilton along with him, pulling him between his knees as he sat.

“God, Moose,” Dilton breathed. He was so big and sexy, his skin was slightly ruddy and covered with downy blond hair. He had a few freckles on his shoulders from the previous summer. His pecs bulged, smooth hills topping a perfect six-pack. Moose was big, but he didn’t carry a lot of superfluous fat. He was solid beneath Dilton’s greedy hands.

“I’ll let ya stay home tonight,” Moose murmured. “But only if ya let me stay with ya.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Dilton nodded before tilting Moose’s lips up to his. His kisses were hungry and needy and they sighed in unison. Finally! was their shared thought, reverberating through them. Why had this taken so long?

Dilton felt safe, wrapped up in his embrace, a sensation that intensified as Moose tugged him down to his lap. After a couple of false starts at getting comfortable, he finally straddled his thick thighs.

Yes. The position made his slacks strain across the bulge in his crotch and thinned the barrier between them. Moose savored the sweet throb and burn of the hardness between Dilton’s legs, pressing against his, more generous than he would have guessed. Moose traced the bumps of Dilton’s spine and kneaded his lean muscle, memorizing it.

Dilton broke their kiss with some difficulty; Moose nipped at him, distracting him until he finally got a word in edgewise.

“Are you okay with this? I mean, you were planning to meet up with Midge…do you need to call her?”

“And tell her what? I got lost?”

Dilton was sheepish. Moose’s hands grasped Dilton’s hips and ground him down against himself. He shut his eyes in pleasure. “You’re right,” he agreed. “What was I thinking?”

“Don’t think no more, Dilly.”

“Double negative…” Dilton’s voice trailed off as Moose nipped his chin, nosing it to the side to access his neck. Heat surged into his groin as he laved his tender flesh, lapping at its slightly salty taste. He followed Dilton’s rapid pulse with his lips, swirling his tongue over his jugular. “God, this doesn’t make sense.” But his hips bucked in response.

“Why?” The question was childlike, on the one hand. On the other hand, he had a point.

“I don’t know,” he sighed. Moose leaned back and peered up at him thoughtfully.

“Wanna stop?”

“No!”

“Then what’s wrong?”

“It’s not…wrong. It’s just…different.”

“Different good?” Moose asked hopefully. Dilton relaxed beneath his caresses that didn’t seem to stop.

“You have a girlfriend,” Dilton said feebly. His hands stopped, squeezing him briefly. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask Will this change things?

Dilton was a pragmatic man. His scant experience with any form of intimacy still left him…clueless. It unsettled him.

Moose looked away; Dilton hated the shame that flitted over his face. The set of his shoulders tightened and his lips were a thin line. Dilton’s stomach sank.

He was up in a flash, jerking himself from Moose’s grip, already hating the loss.

“Dil…c’mon, what’re ya doin’?”

Dilton grabbed his tee and jerked it on, not caring that it was inside-out. He felt chilly without the benefit of his friend’s warmth. He couldn’t meet his gaze as he handed Moose back his sweatshirt.

“Dilton…” he whined.

“Go ahead. Here.” Moose stared at him for agonizing seconds, then scowled at Dilton’s hand, letting his shirt hover before him.

He took it. He stood slowly.

Moose walked past Dilton, careful not to touch him.

Dilton’s throat felt tight and thick. His eyes burned, threatening to humiliate him.

Click…

“Huh?” He whipped around and watched incredulously as Moose turned away from the now locked door, chucking his shirt onto the desk. His eyes held a single purpose. Dilton stood helplessly still as Moose bore down on him.

He didn’t fight him as Moose pushed him back, tugging him along with him to the single bed.

He knew he should object. Nothing changed, just because the bedroom door was locked, and his parents were out, or because Moose was still shirtless…

No. He was wrong.

Things had changed for exactly those reasons. If he needed any further justification, it arrived in the form of Moose’s knee separating his thighs, nearly chasing him back against the head of the mattress.

“Doggone it,” he hissed as his shirt was once more wrestled away from him, but he moaned with need as Moose’s body covered him. His weight was decadent against him, easily fitting his slopes against his hollows.

He cradled Dilton and drank long, hot kisses from his mouth. He explored the contours of his face with his lips and his body rippled against him, completely instinctive. Dilton never felt so whole.

They explored each other tentatively, with few of the stops and starts that characterized Moose’s early experiences with Midge. The pace was slow and even as buttons were carefully pried apart and zippers undone. Dilton gasped at the sensation of Moose’s fingers prying aside his elastic waistband and dipping into his briefs. His grip was hesitant and gentle, and his hand felt so hot wrapped around his flesh. It was a discovery, every touch a revelation.

“I, um, know it’s not…like…”

“Do ya like this?” Moose interrupted, tightening the ring of his knuckles and pumping the silky column. A clear droplet welled up within the tiny eye of Dilton’s cock in response.

“Yes!” he groaned.

“Damn, yer hard,” Moose muttered. He took his time, moving down his body and enjoying the throbs and jumps of that cock in his hand. Its turgid length was adequate, but its thickness was inviting.

Dilton strained back against the pillow, head tipped back in arousal. Moose flicked his tongue over one of his flat, tan nipples, pleased with the taste, and Dilton arched into the heat of his mouth. He felt vulnerable and passive, letting Moose take the lead, but he grew lost in the feelings washing over him.

Excitement flooded Moose. The feel of another man’s body beneath his was unfamiliar, but natural. He took in small details with silent delight: a tiny birthmark below Dilton’s left collarbone; a white scar from when he had his appendix removed in third grade; the quiver of his abdominal muscles when he nipped his flat belly; the narrow, tapered trail of dark hair beginning an inch shy of his navel, leading between his legs, and the sweet dents of his groin as he peeled the waist of his slacks away. Dilton felt the rasp of his pants being pulled down his thighs and heard them thud on the floor, right before Moose bowed his face and engulfed him smoothly in the sultry confines of his mouth.

Moose suppressed a grimace at the first taste, but he still liked the feel of his skin, the way Dilton’s hips bucked and how he choked out his name. He grew used to his sharp flavor slowly and warmed to his task.

“Oh, my God,” Dilton breathed in disbelief. He always heard…he always knew…he had Internet access so he saw… he guessed… “Yes,” he said in a cracked voice. His thighs were splayed wide open and he was begging. He knew Moose had to be cramped with so little room to move and position himself on his twin bed, but he was still floored to even have someone there, sharing his space.

It would never feel the same to lie alone in it again.

The admission sprang from his lips. “Moose…I haven’t…I’ve never done this.”

Moose paused, kissing his sensitive inner thigh. “I know, Dilly.”

“I don’t know what to do!”

“I ain’t an expert. Don’t do this everyday.” Dilton’s lazy smile mirrored itself on his face.

He sobered. “I-I’m a virgin, Moose.”

“Yeah?” Moose looked intrigued.

“Yeah.”

“That’s okay.” Moose kissed his thigh again. “That’s good.” He descended upon his twitching cock again, this time with more enthusiasm.

“Aii-yiiee,” he yelped.

Moose fumbled with his pants, annoyed that they grew tangled and bunched around his knees as he slithered out of them. Impatiently he chucked them on the floor.

“Have…have you…?”

“Once,” he shrugged. “With Midge.”

“Did she…?”

“No,” Moose confessed. “She liked it the other way. She tried, though.” Moose stopped his play and slid back up to the head of the bed, stretching himself alongside Dilton. “I kinda liked it, but it was hard. I wanted t’get it right.” His cock buffeted Dilton’s thigh, announcing its presence and its…girth.

Now Dilton truly knew why they called him “Big Moose.”

Dilton leaned up on his elbow and stared at his friend, drinking him in. Curious, he slid his palm down the length of Moose’s chest and belly, then brushed his fingers through the thatch of dark blond hair between his thighs. Moose groaned and bucked under his gentle perusal.

Moose’s cock approved, bobbing and jerking with each touch. The plump head was suffused with color and the long, bumpy vein stood out when Dilton stroked it. He wanted to please Moose; he’d always wanted to please him.

“I didn’t…wanna hurt her…aw, man, Dilly, that feels so good…” he choked when he wrapped his fingers around him and pumped him.

“That’s what I want, Moose.” He leaned down to kiss him, still focused on his task. He was so earnest in his approach, and Moose was humbled, honored that he shared Dilton’s first time. It was his first, too, in the one way that mattered.

He dawdled on his way down, savoring the textures and planes of Moose’s body. He was ticklish. He writhed when Dilton tasted his neck and the shell of his ear. His nipples were stiff and sensitive; he was fascinated by their ruched, bumpy feel between his lips and faintly salty taste.

“C’mon, man, yer killin’ me,” Moose pleaded when the tip of his tongue swiveled inside his navel.

Dilton hit paydirt. Moose’s eyes snapped open and his fingers twisted the blankets beneath him. He arched and bucked up into Dilton’s mouth.

Like Moose, Dilton was on the fence about the taste, but he built up a slow, regular slide of his lips around his flesh, gagging slightly when the head buffeted the base of his throat. He grew used to it quickly, and Dilton found that he liked it. His low sigh reverberated through Moose, making his nerve endings tingle.

He’s better than Midge. He hated himself for the traitorous thought but got over it. Moose’s fingers curled in Dilton’s dark locks, massaging his scalp while he worked.

Dilton was aroused and stiff; he toyed with himself slightly while trying to please Moose. It helped, but he was still at a loss for what to do next. Still, the squeeze of Moose’s thighs wrapping around his ribcage while he worked was decadent. The ball of his foot buffeted his ass.

He craved release but wanted more of him. Moose pulled him up, shifting Dilton until he laid over him, covering him.

“Dil…” Moose’s mouth wouldn’t work at the press of their cocks between them. The friction was maddening as he jerked up against him, kneading his ass with his large, thick palms.

“Yes?” he managed.

“I want you,” Moose hissed through his teeth. “I wanna fuck you so bad right now.” He knew it sounded bad, but he couldn’t hold it back.

“I know,” Dilton whispered. Something in his voice was contrite. Pain mingled with pleasure at the stiff slide and grind of Moose’s dick against his, of the tight grip he had on his ass cheeks. Moose’s fingertips grazed the divide; Dilton clenched reflexively, squirming in anticipation.

“Dilt,” Moose pleaded. He rubbed and gripped him, guiding him by his hips in a faster, harder rhythm. It felt incredible.

Moose’s thick fingertip stroked his crease, then gently probed the tiny indentation. The flesh was hot and pulsed slightly at his touch. “Aahhh… Dilton’s eyes shuttered in pleasure. Encouraged, Moose kept toying with it, kneading the firm little muscle while Dilton rode his bulge.

“Do ya like that?” he grunted, pressing his fingertip up into his heat. Dilton squeezed around him, shocked at the sensations that caused. He nodded. Moose continued, pushing and probing him, offering him his first knuckle.

Dilton’s cock wept precum, making them both slick. “Don’t…hate me…but I need to get up a sec.”

“Uh-uh,” Moose insisted. “Yer not goin’ anywhere.”

“No, you want me to get this,” Dilton insisted, prying himself loose. Moose watched him pad across the room to his desk and open a small drawer. He extracted a small white bottle and hurried back.

“Try this.”

“What is it?”

“Lube.” Moose was surprised.

“What, on me? Or…?”

“On me.” Dilton straddled him while he opened the cap. Moose sighed but watched him with interest as Dilton reached for his hand. He slid the bottle over his two fingers and coated them thickle with the slick, clear fluid.

“Are ya sure?”

“Try it,” he said, closing the bottle and depositing it on the bedside table. He rejoined him, covering Moose. He felt those marvelously thick fingers probing him again, this time more slippery. Moose’s index slid inside his opening easily, more deeply. Dilton gasped, then moaned with need.

It felt incredible.

He clung to Moose, who was shocked at some of the sounds coming from him and the way his body stiffened and jerked in response. The more deeply and quickly he probed, the faster and more firmly Dilton rubbed and thrust against him.

“Easy…Dilt! Jesus!”

A frenzy erupted between them, a struggle for fulfillment. Dilton bucked and thrust up, up, wanting more of that stiffness inside of him. Moose flexed his finger, pushing it in up to his second knuckle and massaging the column of muscles.

“More,” Dilton rasped. “Please.”

“Okay,” he soothed. “Easy.” Moose felt his own cock leak, just from the warm-up, but he watched Dilton’s face contort and relax above him, rapt.

“Use…two…” he grunted.

“Huh?”

“Both. Both…fingers.”

“Won’t that hur-“

“I’ve…been reading about it.” Moose choked back a laugh.

“You’re the bookworm. Okay. Here…” Moose’s hand cramped slightly but he adjusted his hand, carefully pressing the tips of both fingers into Dilton’s canal, slowly, painstakingly stretching it. Dilton shuddered and jerked against him; the moans and low cries rumbled up from his throat. “Geez…”

Dilton tilted his hips and thrust out firmly, expanding his muscles as much as he could and pulling Moose’s fingers into himself as deeply as he could manage. He felt stretched and full, triggering an increase in the heaviness in his balls.

Moose was restless; Dilton felt his tension and felt guilty. He was still unsure of what to do next. “How do you want it? What do you want me to do next?”

“Can I turn ya around?”

Dilton swallowed, stomach fluttering. “Yes.”

They disengaged and rearranged themselves.

“Comfy?” Moose asked politely. The encounter with Midge was still fresh in his mind. He made sure Dilton had a pillow to tuck under his elbows.

His ass was a firm handful, fair, high and round. His fingers stroked Dilton’s back to calm him, then slowly traced the curve of one supple cheek. It tickled. Dilton shivered.

“Are ya ready?” Moose licked his lips. “Do ya want me?”

“You know I do,” he murmured, flushing. Dilton was afraid of seeming desperate. He broke out in a rash of tingles, charged with fear: Would it hurt? Would he like it?

Would Moose like it with him?

Wisely, Moose took the lube and opened it, pouring a more generous amount into his palm. He coated himself in it, drawing it up and down his stiffness. The head was swollen and angry red. He craved the sweet little pucker that was waiting for him…

It took more control than he knew he had when he probed him again, priming him while he fisted himself with the other hand, pumping. Dilton moaned in pleasure, every muscle in his body drawn tight as a bow. Moose’s hand closed around his hip, and Dilton felt the press of something damp and firm pressing against him…

…into him.

So much like his fingers but less yielding, not as flexible. He breached him. Dilton felt the sharp, sudden burn of his muscles being pushed and stretched. He was being split apart.

“Ahhh…Moose! Moose!”

“Shit,” Moose stammered. “Take it easy, Dilly. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

It was a disaster, in Moose’s mind.

He was only in him an inch over his head, pulsing and throbbing inside him. Dilton hold on him was tight as a glove, and Moose broke out in a sweat in his attempts not to move too fast or too roughly. His body shuddered with the effort.

“Let me know when it’s okay,” he whispered, kneading his hip. Wish I didn’t want you so damned much. I don’t wanna hurt you.

Breathe. Dilton coached himself. His eyes sparked with unshed tears. He wanted to make this right. His breathing settled as he drew long drafts of air in and out of his lungs. He reached back blindly and found Moose.

Moose was disappointed but relieved when Dilton carefully slid off of him, then surprised when he caught hold of his cock. He pumped him, pleased that Moose was still slick and rigid. Moose groaned harshly but his hips pitched forward.

“It’s okay,” Dilton assured him. “We’ll try something different.”

“Like what?”

“I’ll put you in.” He teased him, rubbing Moose’s head against his entrance. The sensation was still erotic, and Moose was turned on by the sight of his cock toying with his tiny hole. He wanted to thrust, but he waited. Dilton painstakingly fed his head back into the hole, guiding him in with the tip of his thumb, using his own digit to dilate himself and buffer some of the pressure. It helped. He exhaled and relaxed his muscles as much as he could, breathing out each time he pushed Moose in another fraction of an inch.

Moose couldn’t believe it. He was doing it. Dilton was catching him deeper within his squeezing grip, forcing hoarse cries from him.

The burning subsided; Moose slid inside him up to the hilt and slowly began to move. His thrusts were infinitesimal at first, barely a ripple of his hips. Dilton smothered a long, low cry of pleasure. Moose’s cock was pressed firmly against his prostate. He felt full. Connected to him intimately and completely.

“Yes,” he whispered. “Please, Moose. Please.”

“Aw, yeah,” Moose rasped. He thrust. It was so sweet and hot and perfect. Dilton’s heat tightened and rippled around him and Moose was close…so close… “It’s…tight. Nice,” he grunted.

He jerked and shunted, slamming into him with abandon. Dilton gritted his teeth against the discomfort, but he felt a small thrill each time Moose hit that perfect spot within him that resonated through his nerve endings. Moose couldn’t contain the need to pound, to fuck, to own him, mark him. His breathing was ragged and harsh.

“Nnngh…” He gripped Dilton’s hip in his sweating palm. Perspiration broke out over their skin. Moose kneaded Dilton’s shoulder, cupping the scruff of his neck while Dilton found some relief by fondling and tugging at himself in time with Moose’s thrusts. He needed release so badly. Moose would precede him, if the cramp of his dick inside him was any indication, stiffening and swelling even more.

Moose roared out a long, wavering cry as he filled him, warming his insides with his seed. His body reacted without any control on his part, hips spasming and jerking several times, quickly and unevenly. It was such a rush. It rippled through him and he folded himself over Dilton, unable to hold himself up any longer.

“Damn it,” Moose panted. “God, Dilly. Aw, man, that was good.” He licked dry lips. “You okay? Dilt?”

“Uh-huh.” They were spooned together. Dilton’s legs were quivering and weak from being so long on his knees, but his skin was flush with fulfillment. He’d done it. It was surreal, and satisfying, that realization that seemed to burst from his chest: He wasn’t a virgin anymore. Moose hugged him reflexively, then his hand bumped something hard.

“Dilt? Ya didn’t…ya know?”

“Not yet. I’m fine,” he lied. Moose wasn’t convinced. Dilton stiffened when Moose gathered him gently in his grip and tugged him. They were still engaged at the hip, and Moose hadn’t slipped free yet. Dilton’s thighs spread open a bit, giving Moose more room to work. Awkwardly, Moose twisted around, never withdrawing himself as he retrieved the tiny bottle. He slicked his hand again, but this time he slid it over Dilton’s neglected erection, pumping him in earnest. Moose’s disappointment over not making Dilton come evaporated the more he worked him in his palm. Dilton hissed and bucked against him, enjoying the feel of Moose’s solid heat at his back. Excitement and pressure built up, making him ache, making himself push himself into the snug ring of his fist-

“OhGodMooseOhGodMooseMOOSE!” Dilton’s mouth opened in a silent, gaping scream as Moose wrung a climax out of him that made his toes curl. Thick, sticky cream dribbled over Moose’s fingers and spurted onto the sheets.

He was breathless and content, panting now in unison with his drowsy friend, his lover. Moose snuggled him, too exhausted to ponder what happened.

“C’n I stayov’r?” Moose mumbled sleepily.

“Mmn-hnn,” Dilton agreed. His lids were so heavy and he savored the laxness in his limbs, with Moose’s arms wrapped around his narrow ribs.

“Gonna…skip…the party,” he decided. Dilton’s chest shook briefly and his lips quirked.

“Mmn-hnn,” Dilton repeated. “G’night, Moose.”

“Was it good?” he implored. His lips feathered over the crest of Dilton’s shoulder. He wiggled back against him in response.

“It was really good.” His eyes drifted shut, but there was a gentle smile on his lips.

“G’night, Dil.”

FIN.
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Cram Session