St. Patrick


By Britta

"Tom, your dick is green." Chakotay stared with much amusement at the verdant hardness which was currently and shamelessly being displayed right in front of his face.
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Tom shifted his weight, causing his erection to wave enticingly, or so he hoped, and responded with a smile, "Mm hmm. So it is. Think of it as a living shamrock--it's Saint Patrick's Day, after all."
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"Does that mean it tastes like mint, or perhaps Guinness stout?" asked Chakotay, as he rose from the sofa.
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Shrugging, Tom reached for him and replied, "Why don't you get down on your knees and find out?" Tom rubbed his lips against Chakotay's and licked once or twice.
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Chakotay took control of Tom's mouth by delving his tongue deep inside it. When he was finished tasting his lover there, he moved to the soft skin beneath Tom's left ear and whispered, "Is this another ploy to get me to suck you off?"
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Tom was too busy trying to catch his breath to answer coherently but he managed to gasp, "I think so, I'm not sure, just...keep doing...that."
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The commander grinned and began nibbling his way down Tom's body. This Lenten vow of Tom's was proving very interesting. While he could do all sorts of oral things, Tom could not due to his having given up eating Chakotay till Easter. It gave him a power over Tom he'd never had before, and some part of him relished that.
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As his beautiful blond writhed under his touch, he decided to go along with Tom's Irish theme. He lapped at Tom's cock then swallowed it, bringing his lover off without even noticing whether or not there was the flavor of mint or tar.
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When Tom finally stopped shaking, Chakotay stood and turned Tom around, saying, "You got what you wanted. Now, it's my turn. I have a certain 'shillelagh' that needs to test the depths of your ass. Just bend over and relax...."
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"Not so fast," Tom stated.
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Chakotay was surprised by Tom's quick recovery and subsequent moves. Before he could react, he was flat on his back on the floor with Tom's mouth hovering over his cock. "Tom, you can't! Remember what you gave up for Lent!"
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Tom breathed hot air over and around Chakotay's erection but did not touch it with his lips or tongue; he just sniffed a few times and said, "Did I ever tell you that I slept with the Pope?"
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"What!" Chakotay felt his eyes bulge as he tried to sit up.
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As if sensing his distress, Tom continued smoothly, "That was before she was elected--even before she entered the race, but in any case, she gave me permanent absolution for eating meat on Saint Patrick's Day, no matter what day of the week it falls on."
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Chakotay nearly passed out at hearing Tom's spiritual news and asked, "Just who are you, anyway?"
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"St. Patrick," Tom deadpanned. "I led the snakes out of Ireland. But it looks as if there's one I forgot."
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Tom looked meaningfully at Chakotay's wavering cock.
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Chakotay's voice turned husky as he replied, "Lead away, Patrick, lead away...."

THE END

Comments? Suggestions?
E-mail me at Britta