#malefarts

Since we departed later than expected, and most people were already enjoying their vacation elsewhere, the airport was quite empty. Of course, we weren’t alone, but sometimes we felt like characters in one of those 28-things-later movies. 

The good news is that in the terminal, near our gate, there were plenty of free seats, so we quickly took advantage of them. We put on our earphones, trying to listen to a podcast or some shit like that. However, after just 15 minutes, Dave gave me a gentle nudge to get my attention... as well as to wake me from the nap that was about to claim me.

“I think I’m starving.” he whispered, as he eyed a burger joint not far from us.

I’ve always liked how airports have no rules when it comes to, well, time. It was almost 4:00 AM and yet we could still have a cheeseburger if we wanted to. Well, not me in this case. Don’t get me wrong I love cheeseburgers at any time as much as the next person, but we had a relatively long flight ahead of us, so I’d rather get something to eat (which we paid for by the way) on the plane itself later. Plus, I’m not even hungry.

Without saying much, we simply stood up, put our earphones back in our big backpacks, and walked towards Dave’s coveted food. 

We’re not new at eating like pigs in the middle of the night, and Dave’s stomach is remarkably reliable. We sat one some tall stools in front of the counter (it was more of a take-away place) and waited for the guy on the other side to take our orders (well, Dave’s order).

“Fuck I’m sweating.” Dave said, as he checked the burgers on the menu.

“I know right. This airport is a sauna.”

“Which is why I’m asking for an ice-cold coke as well.”

I’ll never be able to drink and eat like this at 4:00 AM, not before a flight at least.

“Are you sure this isn’t stress eating?” I asked, aware of how annoying I may sound sometimes.

Dave just gave me an indeed annoyed look in response. It wasn’t a proper answer, but I took that as “Yes”, even if he probably meant the opposite.

The guy working at the burger joint finished cleaning some glasses then turned to my friend, as if he already knew he was the one actually craving food.

“Hi, good morning, evening, night? I’ll take the Lassen Steak, with your Shasta sauce, thanks.” Dave quickly ordered, handing the menu to the waiter.

The guy wrote a note on his smartphone, rolled his eyes, and then with a boring tone said something he probably said many many times before, without even looking at us.

“I must warn you Sir, both the sauce and the burger you chose are named after Cascade volcanoes, which is a naming convention we use for our spiciest food. If you have a flight to take we highly-“

The guy stopped monologuing, noticing Dave’s own bored expression. 

“Whatever. Thanks for choosing us. Enjoy an eruption of flavor etc...”

A rather awkward silence followed.

“I’ll… I’ll just have some water, thanks.” I whispered, fearing the man working surrounded by people on vacation.

—

“This is probably my lack of sleep and poor taste.” Dave said, as he took another big bite of his dinner/breakfast. “But dude this is the best burger I ever had.”

“Truly an eruption of flavor,” I said, sarcastically.

The guy on the other side of the counter immediately blew into a small, noisy party horn, with the most bored and disillusioned expression I had ever seen, then spoke in his monotone voice.

“They pay us more if we do this crap whenever a customer mentions our payoff.”

“Really?” I asked, incredulous.

A moment of silence, a silence broken by a simple, “No.” He then disappeared in the kitchen.

I leaned towards Dave. “I think we’re the only ones who can see him.” I whispered.

“See who?” Dave asked, playing along… hopefully.

—

Finally, after a… I assume delicious meal and some more time spent sleeping to podcasts, the time came to board the plane. Despite being sleep-deprived zombies, we managed to not forget anything back in the terminal, and sat comfortably next to each other near the front of the plane, as planned (with Dave sitting by the window).

“So if we crash-land we’re the first to notice.” I darkly joked, just to mess with Dave.

As I put the backpacks under our seats, I gave a quick look around, noticing that just like the airport, the plane itself was basically almost empty. Man, we truly are late to the vacation party everyone went to, uh?

What I also noticed however is that, unlike the airport, the plane’s AC was working a bit too well: it was freezing, so much so that I quickly took a jacket out of my backpack and put it on, before the plane started moving.

I turned my attention to Dave: him being relatively nervous was oddly cute… and amusing.

“Relax, it’s gonna be fine.” I said.

“It’s not that.” he bluntly answered.

I noticed he was sweating, despite being like the North Pole in here. Before I could ask anything, the plane started moving fast, really fast, and finally we took off, leaving our responsibilities behind… for a couple of days at least.

—

Around 20 minutes in, the flight was going smoothly. I had a book to read, the plane was silent (both people-wise and engineering-wise), way more relaxing than I expected. Maybe we should depart later than everyone every year from now on. I turned to Dave, who was weirdly silent and completely still in his seat.

I noticed he was still sweating. I genuinely worried for a moment. Was he sick?

“Dude… you ok?” I asked.

“No.” Dave muttered, his eyes glued on the bathroom door not far from us.

I connected the dots rather quickly.

“Looks like Mount St. Helens is erupting in there.” I joked, poking at Dave’s belly with my finger.

“First of all, it was a wordplay on Lassen Peak. And the sauce was named after Mount Shasta, the second highest peak in the Cascades.” he said, jokingly looking offended by my lack of knowledge of US geography and geology. “You ignorant swine.” 

“That’s why the ghost said it was an eruption of flavor, silly me!” I remarked, sarcastically.

“But yeah, that burger is doing numbers in my stomach.” he admitted.

“And the temperature difference between in here and the airport certainly doesn’t help.” I added.

Dave remained silence for a couple of seconds, then looked at me.

“Thanks, I didn’t even think about that. Now I got one more thing to be nervous about.”

I found that incredibly amusing. I know, I’m a bad friend, and I know how bad this stuff can be… but it’s nothing that a bathroom break couldn’t fix.

“This is the captain speaking. We inform you that the restrooms are currently out of service. We apologize for the inconvenience. We wish you a pleasant flight.” 

“Uh… what a on oddly comedic timing.” I commented.

To add salt to the wound, the plane shook a bit (nothing to be worried about), which only made Dave’s situation worse.

“I’ll be 100% honest, because I wanna help, I swear I’m not finding this funny at all.” I lied, about the ‘not finding it funny’ I mean. “Are you going to shit yourself?”

“No bro.” Dave said. “Never.” he kept going. “I can hold it, but I’ll probably need to channel all this energy… in another way.” 

Despite suffering, Dave managed to smirk and wink at me, and given what was going on, I instantly realized what he meant. The fact that he’s so chill about it even right now is, well, endearing, but holy shit, we’re flying, please refrain yourself from hot-boxing a fuckin’ plane.

“Not that you mind, right?” he then asked, winking again, which at this point I assumed he was mostly his eye twitching because of the pain.

“Bro please… just resist a bit more.”

“Oh, what happened? Is Tim getting nervous?” he mocked me.

“We’re on a plane. Think of the passengers.” 

“We’re literally alone here.” Dave observed.

“No we’re not.”

I turned around, looking at the back to the plane.

“Carl is there. Hi Carl!” I waved at him.

“Hi stranger. I can’t wait to see my wife!” Carl shouted from the back of the plane, many rows behind us.

“See?” I turned back to Dave. “Carl is nice. He wants to see his wife.”

“Just admit it.” Dave said, the smirk back on his face. “You can’t wait to hear what they sound like.”

Dave teases me often, but this was a new low… or high, given we’re also flying, even for… whatever’s going on between us since he found out about my fart kink. All I know is that all this teasing made me rock hard, my cargo shorts barely containing the tent I pitched between my legs.

“Just do it.” I simply muttered.

Not because I was that thirsty, believe me, but because my bro, my gassy bro, already made up his mind. Either he turned whatever he had going on in his stomach into gas, or he’d shit himself. I don’t know how he could even trust his farts in his situation. Then again, I know what he’s capable of: his farts are loud, long, proud, but he’s also very good at controlling them, even their pitch. A musician of some sort, with a very peculiar instrument.

Dave’s temporary smug aura wore off quickly. He massaged his belly, who indeed looked a bit bloated, then my seat began to shake, and not because of some turbulence… not one coming from outside the plane at least.

I instinctively stared at my friend’s crotch area, the black shorts hugging it all nicely, barely containing the silent earthquake my friend was producing. I could barely hear the fart being ripped: as I said, Dave was good at controlling them, and he chose to “dilute” the rip to make it longer, but also way less loud. It made a continuous muffled, rumbling sound, one that only I could hear, being so close to the source. I then turned to my friend’s sweaty face: the smug smirk he had moments before disappeared in favor of a very focused facial expression, his eyes closed, carefully planning every single push. You know it’s bad when even Dave is afraid of his own farts.

Then, the smell hit me. My friend wasn’t shitting himself, but given the stench, he may very well be. Possibly the most rancid, disgusting and nauseating stench that my nostrils ever smelt. Dave’s farts are usually smelly of course, but their bark is usually stronger than their bite, which I like given how much I enjoy their loudness. This time, they skewed in the opposite direction, completely: if this was ripped directly into my face, I would have told my friend to stop and let me go; even considering my gross kink, this would have been too much for me to endure.

Dave’s attitude, however, always guarantee a standing ovation from my dick, and his smugness from before did the trick. Not that I wasn’t enjoying the fart, mind you… but I was happy that I wasn’t his seat, to say the least.

I was grateful that the plane was mostly empty, because that would have made things worse for everyone. Still, I heard the very few people sitting around us, a few rows back, muttering something, making comments about a “something smelling weird”.

My friend’s AOE was inescapable.

I wasn’t even keeping track of how long this fart was, but I could tell you it’s been like 2 minutes, and the muffled noise it made basically became part of the ambience at this point. 

Dave finally let out a sigh of relief, and carefully adjusted his position, which made some more of the stench trapped under his ass reach my nose. I then looked at him, and he indeed had the face of someone who was feeling better. He gently patted his belly, then turned to me, laughing a bit, trying to keep it quiet.

“Maybe that’s too much even for you.” he said. It’s like he could read my mind.

“And yet, I am the only one in the world brave enough to sit by your side.”

Dave chuckled. “That’s the spirit.” he massaged his belly a bit more. “Hope you’re ready for your next quest, hero.”

This time, Dave leaned a bit, towards the window, so that his shorts-clad ass was just a bit pointed in my direction. He smiled at me, the teasing bastard, and carefully let another blast out. This time started a bit louder than expected, which made him laugh, and quickly corrected the sound and the pitch, once again going for a long and rumbly approach.

And rumbly it was, other than bubbly… dangerously bubbly I might say.

My gassy bro noticed my concern, muttered “Don’t worry, I’m a pro.” and kept pushing the gas out. I don’t know what was going on in his stomach, but fart fetish or not that seemed like an useful trick. Turning your stomach-ache into gas instead of a shitty mess? Is it possible to learn this power?

I got harder, the view of Dave’s shorts-clad ass and his smirking face (with the fart going on as a bgm) was a always sight to behold for my own kinky ass, dammit. If he keeps going like this, I’m the one who’s gonna need a bathroom, you know why.

But I could still tell that my friend was in pain: I could see how focused he truly was, how drops of sweat slowly ran down his forehead. He was acting smug because that’s how he is, but it was also his way to cope with the pain, and teasing me about my kink always amused him, so in a way I was being helpful.

This fart was essentially a long series of muffled, rumbly, wet-ish toots, each renewing the putrid stench that made my nostrils burn. I was enjoying the view, until a flight attendant passed by our seats, walking towards the back of the plane.

Dave abrubtly stopped farting until she was far enough to resume his eruption, and we could tell that the woman walked faster to outrun the invisible AOE of stench my friend was constantly releasing.

“If you keep going, they’re gonna call for an emergency landing.” I half-joked. 

Dave laughed. “Anywhere with a restroom is fine for me.”

The final stretch of this second long series of farts was a longer, slightly louder wet toot, which got even Dave startled. He sat back normally, trapping the remaining stench under his ass, and he looked relieved when he realized that no, that risky toot at the end didn’t bring any… extra stuff.

I tried to focus myself on doing something else, but with the turbulence going on next to me, it’s gonna be impossible.

POV: Dave

Fuck, I thought I almost lost the battle with that last toot.

Alright, as gross and disgusting it is, I gotta give it to Tim: he’s enduring those like a pro. He could simply change seat but I know he doesn’t want to leave me alone when suffering like this. Yes, he’s kinky, but he also genuinely cares about me, this stuttering idiot. There’s only one person who can sit next to me right now, and I’m glad it was you, you kinky bastard.

I do this thing that when I’m nervous I can barely hide it, so whenever I can I try to act smug, but I know Tim can read me like an open book. It’s dawn, I can see from outside the window how high we are… a cruel reminder of how much I hate flying. I’m not scared but… come on. Fuck, it’s like someone just punched me in my stomach, that fuckin’ burger: my seat is going full Pompeii under my erupting ass.

I need to fart again, dammit. I can tell this one is gonna be the riskiest one yet. This is my hole’s event horizon: I have to be incredibly careful when pushing this one out, or else I’m gonna, literally, shit myself. But if I don’t do it, my stomach is gonna blow for how bloated I feel. I took a deep breath, then I coughed: this place smells terrible. Sorry, not sorry.

Oh fuck what was that, why did the airplane shake again. Tim didn’t even notice, the flight attendants didn’t care, come on Dave stop acting like this, it’s the fumes in your stomach reaching up to your brain, clouding your judgement.

Alright, here goes nothing; if I shit myself, tell Dana I love her, and tell my friends they’re weirdos. I closed my eyes, I leaned again just a bit to ease the fart (and hopefully only the fart) out. Tim, I apologize if I’m gonna shit on our backpacks, but this is a risk any man should be willing to take at one point in their lives. At one point, we should all trust our farts, even in our darkest moment.

Damn that spicy sauce is burning my asshole, the fart is just too strong I can’t handle it… and it’s louder than I expected. The airplane shook just as I started farting and that’s it, I almost lost it, I could tell I was unwillingly growing a tail, but luckily I clenched by cheeks (and teeth) just in time to avoid any unfortunate accident. 

"I have had it with these motherfucking farts on this motherfucking plane!" I muttered, both me and Tim laughing at me quoting an excellent movie.

I’m in so much pain, I don’t know for how long I could literally trick my body into shitting air instead of the actual thing. And it’s freezing in here, which is only making things worse. If I survive this, I shall write a memoir about it, my greatest achievement: not shitting myself at 30.000ft.

Oh dammit it got loud again, and even my own stench is distracting me for focusing on what’s important: deflating myself with style. So I turned to my kinky friend, trying to act cool and smug, and winked at him. He reacted by giving me the middle finger, which made me laugh, almost making me lose control again.

Whatever I do, this is a battle I can’t stop being focused on, so I closed my eyes again, picturing our sunny destination, and let the fart rumble freely, not too loud, not too silent, just the right amount. My anus was burning however, that fuckin’ spicy sauce, what did I do this to myself. It was a good sauce, I just had bad timing.

But yeah it was very good I should buy some once we land.

Another sudden loud toot: thank goodness the plane is mostly empty, or I’m sure they’d ask me to politely open the window next to me -death seems much better than enduring this stench, and I could tell it was bad, not just because I couldn’t stand it, but even Tim was nauseated by it (and I knew he wasn’t faking it).

“Tim…” I muttered. “Tell Dana I love her.” I jokingly said, as I bravely gave one last push, ending this risky rip with a short, loud toot. 

I opened my eyes, and luckily Tim was the only one staring at me, his facial expression being a mixture of awkwardness, amusement and, well, the face we men make when we’re horny. 

I sat back normally, and patted my friend’s shoulder.

“I think we'll survive this, bro.”

POV: Tim

That last fart, I could tell, was dangerous. Dave trusting his farts in his darkest moment was incredibly heroic.

“I’m fighting the urge to tell you ‘I told you so’” I said. I must love being annoying.

He just looked back at me, with a smirk. “And I’m fighting the urge to pull your head between my legs and let you enjoy the show front row.” he then leaned closer, and whispered. “Which, by the way, the only reason I’m not doing it is because we’re in public.” 

Fucking. Teasing. Bastard. My reaction was pre-cum coming out of the tip of my dick almost instantly: I’m the one who almost made a mess this time.

“This is the captain speaking. The restrooms are now back in service. We invite you to use them, especially considering that we have received complaints about strange odors. We wish you a pleasant flight.”

“I can’t see my wife smelling like shit!” Carl shouted from the back of the plane, a few other passengers nodding. 

We did our best to not laugh like idiots at that.

“I guess that’s my stop babe.” Dave said, him looking the most relieved I’ve ever seen.

Dave stood up and, on his way to the restroom, squeezed past me without paying any attention to my presence, through the narrow space between my legs and the seat in front.

He stopped right in front of me, his butt perfectly aligned to my head.

I know where this is going.

He gave a quick look around, making sure he could do one last thing before finally ending this once and for all. 

He quickly leaned his shorts-clad ass back and brushed it all over my face. It was wet, but just for the sweat thank goodness, but not any less smelly. Now that was a risky move to do in public.

Dave then walked towards the restroom, but before going in, he turned around, smiled at me and gave me the middle finger. He mouthed “We did it.”, triumphantly, before finally going into the coveted bathroom, possibly destroying it with whatever his stomach couldn’t hold anymore.

I ignored the stench still coming from Dave’s empty seat, put on some earphones, and managed to listen to some music. The airplane shook a bit again, and I’m sure this time it was caused by my friend winning the final battle in the bathroom.

Todd had been here since this morning, and he was already making himself at home. He went to the kitchen to grab two beers while I closed the increasingly dodgy door.

"Thanks.” I told him, as soon as he handed me my nectar.

We silently toasted to the worst tour in history.

“Come on, say it: Limdale fucking sucks.”

"Well, I'm from Landale, so thinking that is part of my hardware.” he explained, taking a sip of his beer. "Our towns have been rivals since forever."

"I like how your look reflects what you're saying…” I observed, with a smirk.

Todd was indeed dressed in a vaguely geeky chic aesthetic, looking a bit like a professor. He’s a developer and, like me, enjoys video-editing, but if he'd introduced himself as a relatively young (he’s about my age, around 30) teacher from Harvard, Yale, or whatever Westfork thinks it is nowdays, I would have believed him.

"Anyway..." he said, as we sat down on the sofa. "It's early. It's not even 7:30 PM. So you still have time to fix this disaster.” he joked.

Luckily, I'd already planned something.

"Well, you said you appreciate Italian cuisine, so Capelli's should be right up your alley."

He laughed. "Oh wow Tim, how romantic! Do you also want to share a plate of spaghetti while two stereotypes play us a song?"

"Exactly. Beat that, Landale!" I proclaimed, taking a long gulp of beer.

It wasn't going badly, actually.

Todd might have the "neat-freak" look, so to speak, but he's chill like us.

"I made a reservation for 9:00 PM.” I explained.

"Hmm... good to know…” Todd said, thinking. "We also have time for a shower then.”

He looked at me, with a smirk.

It took me a few seconds, then we lunged at each other, unbuttoning each other's clothes, knocking cushions off the couch, and almost crushing my glasses in the process. 

"Are you sure no one's home?" Todd gasped, as I bit his ear.

“My roommate’s busy somewhere.”

No idea what he’s doing.

Probably some super boring work stuff.

———

POV: Dave

BBBBRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPPPPP

BRRRPPPPP

BRRRP

PPRP

“Yeah, all yours, bitch.” I said.

I can’t believe there’s a script for this stuff.

I can’t believe I’m saying such stuff out loud without laughing.

“Oh wait… fifth time the charm!” I said, as I ripped another loud fart on Tom’s face.

Tom, the heroic so-called “bottom” of those videos, even though I’m pretty sure he could split me in half if he wanted to (which reminds me, I gotta ask him for some gym-related advice).

I easily ripped yet another fart while my mind was elsewhere, my dark blue sweatpants sucking at being a filter, so Tom, crushed between my ass and the couch, was sniffing Hell down there.

The set built inside the enormous warehouse was always more or less the same: a small living room, a couch (which we were on), some bookshelves and a fake window. 

No fourth wall, literally.

Initially, I was a little nervous about having, well, an audience, but as I quickly realized, no one gives a damn of who you are here, in the best possible way.

“Cut!” Greg yelled.

He's a friend of mine, I know, I respect him, believe me, I love him, but the fact that he wants to become the Hitchcock of kinky porn for some reason will never stop making me question my life choices.

He gave me a nod, inviting me to follow him.

I got up, patting Tom’s chest as I walked way.

“Good job, bro.” I said. He gave me a thumbs up as a response.

We went to his office, also in the warehouse, behind the crew (still focused on the set and what had been filmed so far). Greg immediately sat down behind his desk to check some messages on his computer -I remained standing.

"What's up?" I asked.

"I just wanted to tell you that you're doing great and you're one of my best friends.” he said, almost like a robot, and with the fakest smile I had ever seen.

Okay, something's off. 

Greg is a robot, fine, but one who knows how to simulate human emotions at least.

“What did you do…?” I said, my patience being tested.

Greg adjusted his glasses and sighed, knowing very well he fucked up.

"Remember when you said you couldn't stay for more than two hours today?"

"Yes, Greg. I think I said that 119 minutes ago." I hate it when he changes plans at the last second.

"Well... we need you to film The Long One today…”

There's no helping it, he's a mess.

"What the hell, Greg. I got plans with Dana tonight! Can I really go pick her up smelling like shit?!”

“Shit?” Greg asked, puzzled, if not annoyed even. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s Saturday. We do scat on Thursda- wait, Scaturdays… I’m a genius.”

Why is he like this. And no, I don’t do scat by the way. That’s Liam’s job.  The less I know, the better.

Not interested.

“You’re lucky I can’t go home because Tim is busy with his b-“ I started to stutter like a mess, turning the letter “b” into a long vowel somehow. “-beautiful girlfriend.” Nice save. Well done, me.

Greg was surprised, as if I told him I could fly. “Tim’s dating? A girl? A person? An actual human being?”

“Says the robot.” I scoffed. “Let’s focus back on your idiotic schedule.”

"Dave…” said Greg. "You know I'm an honest man with no scruples."

"I don't think that's how it wor-“

"So I'm willing to give you a 1% extra, if you stay.”

I just looked at him, letting the silence speak for itself, amused by his terrible negotiating skills.

"Have a good weekend, Greg.” I said, and I turned around, heading towards the door.

"What the hell, Dave! Just because I messed up the schedule... again."

I turned back to him, with a smirk. I didn’t speak, I let my other end do the talk this time. He asked for a long one, after all.

Yep, one of my massive farts, loud and proud. I had to stretch my left leg a bit to ease it out.

“Oh I see, very mature, Dave!” Greg said, yet I could barely hear him over the sound my blast.

"I can't hear you…” I mouthed, pointing to my ear, as I kept ripping that long fart.

He just stared at me, annoyed by my talent -but that’s why he wants me on the team in the first place. The smell finally hit him, I could tell ‘cause he started coughing. And the fart was still going strong.

“Okay, fine!” he yelled, just as my 14 seconds long rip ended with a loud final toot.

I walked back towards his desk, still with the most annoying smirk you can imagine.

“I’ll pay you double, if you stay.” 

“Love doing business with you, bro.” I said, as we shook hands.

While he opened a small window by his desk in a desperate attempt to overcome my manly scent (it wasn't very helpful, since the window still faced the inside of the warehouse anyway).

"So... how’s gonna work?”

While waiting for the answer, I grabbed my own phone to text Dana, telling her I'd be late (she knows I'm helping Greg with something but not, well, this). My girlfriend, awesome as always, replied with a funny sticker and said she'd immediately think of a Plan B, maybe having dinner later than usual if necessary.

"I asked one of your... colleagues..."

"...colleagues?"

Greg turned his computer screen around, showing me a group chat with other "colleagues." I even recognized Liam’s name. The group was called The League of Masters and I’m pretty sure it has nothin to do with D&D. I cringed pretty hard, once again re-evaluating my life choices... but I was also slightly offended that I wasn’t part of whatever that was, which triggered a whole other internal monologue.

I didn't have time to grill him on why he felt the need to ask for second opinions, as if I were the carrier of some unknown disease, that he started to explain himself.

“Apparently the experts here say that actually brewing The Long One requires some serious skills. Some of them watched your clips and they’re not sure you may be ready for it.”

I was just standing there, arms crossed, unimpressed, as I got kinky porn actors going "skill issue" on me, doubting of one of the very few talents I could honestly brag about. My weird-o-meter was also off-the-chart, though I admit the call may be coming from inside the house.

“No that I care… but I’m pretty that if this was a competition, I’d win by W.O.” I stated.

“Getting cocky about farting, of all things?”

“Getting co- you’re the one paying me to shit myself.”

“I told you that’s Liam’s job!”

“Yeah. On Thursdays, got it. The point is… I can’t believe I’m saying this… I’m the best farter.”

We stared at each other in silence, aware of how weird the conversation was, and this comes from a straight guy who farts on his roommate because he has a fart fetish.

“Just… just go nuts I guess…” Greg said, adjusting his glasses, seemingly exhausted. "I already told I'd pay you anyway. I gotta settle for you for now."

Settle? If Tim was here… and if his kink wasn’t a secret of course, he’d tell Greg to ditch those so-called “experts”, and he’d definitely confirm that when it comes to long ones, I’m the only master this warehouse needs.

What’s that? Ah yes, that’s the sound of my inner voice telling me to strongly reconsider my life choices.

———

POV: Tim

Outside, a crisp, autumn evening was brewing. Or at least, that's what the notification I glimpsed on my phone said, before ending up under the sheets of my bed with Todd, where the cold doesn't exist. We left our clothes scattered on the stairs, around the house, arriving naked in my room.

Todd was surprisingly fit, despite his slender appearance. The hair on our chests rubbed together like flint stones, while our mouths wouldn't detach from each other.

“Do you think they have lasagna there?” Todd gasped, just as my hand touched his cock.

“Really? That’s all you can think of right now?” I stared at him, and he smiled back. “Me too. I love lasagna.”

Is this the infamous #foodporn social media managers always talk about?

“No.” Todd whispered, as I started rubbing him.

“Oh ok, sorry.” I said, stopping immediately.

“No no… I mean…” he tried to say, then explained himself by reaching for my cock. “I never got to… you know… return the favor.”

He started rubbing, slow at first, then faster. “D-don’t m-mention it.” I said, like an idiot.

“Not bad, Limdale…” he said, with a smirk, as he kept massaging my dick. “Let me take a closer look.”

And a closer look he took: he pulled himself down, deeper under the sheets, and I felt a warm sensation down below. A pleasing, warm sens- oh fuck he’s using his tongue. Fuck. He’s twisting it, I don’t know how it’s possible, but yeah, he’s doing it, and he’s also using teeth.

FFFFFUCK.

I clenched my own teeth in response: Todd bites. Not as hard as you may think, but I felt that.

I reached for his head, holding it down there, not that I needed to.

Fuck… bite harder.

Choke on it if ya want to.

The things he’s doing to my dick… holy shit… is this how they return a favor in Landale?!

———

POV: Dave

I stepped into the set, Tom was lying on the usual couch, casually scrolling through some stuff on his phone. I kind of walked over him as I sat on the couch’s backrest, my legs and butt already casting a shadow on his face. He didn’t mind, he didn’t care, and kept his eyes glued on the phone. He’s used to my ass roaring all over him even more than Tim is, weirdly enough, but not as weird as me accepting to showoff my skills like this.

Greg instead sat among his small crew on his cute director chair, because the only thing bigger than my farts here is his ego as a wannabe-movie director. I respect his dream, believe me.

“Alright Dave, ready when you are.” he said, gesturing the cameraman. “Start rolling. This is gonna be a long one, hopefully.”

I could sense everyone rolling their eyes at that.

Yeah, he’s talking about The Long One. Given the context, this is exactly what you expect: he wants a video where the farter (well, me) rips a humongously long fart… yes, it’s that simple. The man doubted my skills, least I could do is prove how wrong he was.

After all, and Tim knows more than any other, I’m basically the King of Farts.

I know, bragging about this is super silly, but you know me, you know what I’m capable of, I gave Greg a nice reminder in his office mere minutes ago, and that was a natural one.

But for this one, I guess I gotta go full berserk mode, so to speak.

I gently lowered my ass on Tom’s face until I felt the tip of his nose brushing against my dark blue sweatpants, then I sat on him full-weight. I then leaned a bit on the side, so I could let my ass breathe some air in.

Yeah, you read that right, though that shouldn’t be a surprise anymore: I can fart on command, and I’m really good at it.

So I started sucking (just as foretold by an ex-girlfriend of mine from years ago when she dumped me while telling me that I suck), the weird sounds echoing in the otherwise silent warehouse, and already sounding like farts being played in reverse, because technically that’s exactly what they are. I don’t think they smell, nor I’m interested to find out, but I assume they don’t, since the air is getting in, you know.

As I focused on being disgusting, I almost forgot I was actually sitting directly on Tom’s face, not the couch itself. I swear that’s because I suck at multitasking, not because I think low of my partner. 

I leaned more as more air got in: whatever I was brewing, it was going a big long one, that’s for sure. As big as it was long, obviously.

My natural farts are loud and long, but when you throw my special ability into the mix, yeah this crown belongs to my head bro.

Yes, I’m bragging about this, I don’t care anymore. I’m getting paid to fart on Tom’s face: we’re way past being weird.

And to be honest, considering that I’m the one blasting my gay best friend’s face on weekly basis, who am I to judge (not that I was planning to)?

One final suck-in and my ass was armed and ready to shoot.

I let Tom’s face enjoy some moments of silence, moments of calm before the storm, before the thunderous blast that I was going to unleash directly on his nose.

“Get ready for this.” I mouthed, looking down at him, though I could barely see him considering that he was under me.

I didn’t have to push hard, because the beast could barely be contained anyway.

The fart was loud, bassy and powerful, so the usual Dave-flavoured rip you all know very well.

But as much as I liked the idea of showing off such raw power, even I knew I had to pace myself, so I wouldn't blow it all at once. Don’t you dare getting me wrong: I adjusted the flow, not the sheer loudness of it; they wanted a show, so I’m giving them one, as gross as that sounds.

Tom was taking it like a champ, like the professional he is, but I could tell he was going to struggle soon as my blast already reached 30 seconds and it showed no signs of stopping.

Well, I’m the one ripping it, I’m the one pushing it out, and yeah this ain’t gonna stop until I say so.

I leaned a bit more, stretching my leg up, easing the fart out, but not too much, ‘cause I want this to last, I want this to leave a mark on Tom’s face… not that kind of mark; I’m a pro, no extra stuff is coming out, that’s Liam’s job… on Thursdays.

There he is, I felt Tom’s face twitching and moving. Whether it was the smell or my ass-gas directly into his eyes I don’t know. What I do know is that we’re 60 seconds in and I’m not even halfway done ahah.

There are weirder kinks yes, and I got my own, but this one… I don’t get the appeal. I get that it can be hilarious, but hot? I’ll never get used to this, but since I’m so good at it why waste it. I’m aware that thinking this probably makes me weirder than Tim getting a boner for my farts, but I don’t care anymore, I never did as you could tell. And my ass doesn’t care either, as I let it roar on Tom’s head as if he wasn’t there.

I lost track of time, but I’m pretty sure around 2 minute passed. I’m not going for the World Record, but I am going to teach Greg to never doubt of my skills again: not when gaming, not when playing basketball, and I guess not when it comes to being the fart master.

I’m chill, but yeah I can get very competitive on some very mundane stuff, even when it comes to shit like this.

I’m sorry Tom is getting the short-end of the stick however: kink or not, my fart going for so long must be too much even for him at this point, the bassy force of the blast making his entire face shake.

Pacing myself wasn’t always easy however, so at times it felt like a working out session: I was sweating.

My sweatpants were also very thin so I’m sure the stench and the sweat were getting unbearable for my "victim" as well, though I gotta say that farts on command usually don’t smell as bad as natural ones, or so I’ve been told. I don’t know man, it’s still air coming out of someone’s ass, so I’m sure it’s not pleasant.

Speaking of which, Tom coughed a couple of times, so I decided to be a good sport.

I leaned more, enough to let my partner’s nose get some actual fresh air… but I didn’t stop farting, mind you. Actually, leaning so much made me lose control of the gas being blown out for a moment, so the fart got even louder as I moved. That made me chuckle like an idiot: I don’t know how people manage to keep a straight face all the time while doing this. I do find it gross too, but once again I’m not judging and I don’t care.

Now the fart was actually starting to lose power, getting less loud every second, and I had to push harder to keep it going. I was satisfied, personally. I’m pretty sure the whole thing lasted around 5 minutes, probably one of the longest farts I ever ripped. 

I let my ass crush Tom’s face one final time for a few seconds, pressing my asscheeks against his nose, leaving that "mark" I mentioned earlier, a mix of sweat and gas, then I got up, setting my partner free from the clutches of my unbeatable (and unbearable) talent.

“Cut!” Greg yelled.

I looked at him, sporting my annoying smirk. He replied by giving me the finger, but I could tell he was happy with the result. 

I was exhausted, panting, and covered in sweat: if someone walked in and we told him we filmed porn, by looking at the state I was he’d assume we meant classic sex, instead of this whole kinky thing.

“I gotta say…” Greg said, walking up to me. “That was indeed a long one.” he admitted.

I patted his shoulder, almost saying that Tim would agree (I’m good at keeping secrets, believe me!).

Send that to your group chat, Greg.

———

POV: Tim

I buttoned up my shirt while descending the stairs, hoping to find my shoes near the sofa where Todd and I started to... "lose pieces." We were super late because of our... well there's no nice way to say this: because of our mad, steaming sex sessions.

I swear we achieved infinite stamina today.

We took a long shower together, which resulted in one final session obviously, and I had to postpone the reservation to 10:00 PM. Fortunately, it's one of the very few restaurants that stays open late, so there were no problems.

Todd joined me at the entrance, ready and dressed in that geeky chic style that's driving me crazy today (get a grip, Tim, infinite stamina doesn't exist!).

"Well, it's exactly 9:00 PM, so technically we're on time!” Todd joked.

"Or even early, by now…” I replied. "Well, shall we take a walk then? Limdale gets a lot better at night -on the account that you can't see it when it’s dark.”

My date didn't have time to pile on our town being shit, when the front door burst open, even though it was theoretically locked (I told you it's dodgy!).

It was Dave, gym bag slung over his shoulder, white t-shirt and dark blue sweatpants.

"Good evening, lovebirds.” the idiot said, with a mocking smile.

Unfortunately, Todd's presence prevents me from strangling my roommate.

"You must be Dave, from the wedding! Tim won’t shut up about you.” Todd began. "Are you Tim's b-"

"I'm straight.” Dave said, smiling. "Not his boyfriend, he's all yours."

On second thought, can someone strangle me instead?

"I was gonna say 'best friend’…” Todd laughed. "And no worries, I can totally tell you're not gay. ahah."

"...what's that supposed to mean?" Dave asked, puzzled.

Todd took a good look at him, with a smirk, focusing on his somewhat lackluster gym-attire. "You can't be gay... not dressed like that."

Uh, dissing, I'll enjoy this.

"Excuse me?"

"You look like a default skin!" Todd insisted.

"Oh Yeah?" my bro snapped back. "Says… twink Dr. Who. I didn’t know the G in Gay stood for Gallifrey!”

There was a moment of silence, until Dave broke it, smiling.

"Anyway, yeah, I'm Dave, from the wedding. Nice to meet you.” he said, shaking Todd's hand, who meanwhile let out a laugh.

"He's right, I totally look like Dr. Who." he admitted, amused.

"That's fine for me, as long as you look like Tennant.” I said, stroking his chest.

"Well, you two have fun regenerating each other. I'm going to take a quick shower. Dana and I have a reservation at Capelli's for 10:00 PM.".

"Capelli's, really?" I said. "Us too."

"Please don't tell me it's gonna be a double date…” Todd promptly said, then immediately turned to Dave. "No offense, man. You and Dana look super cool!"

I noticed Dave's eyes light up, as if he'd found a precious treasure.

"None taken. I too hate double dates!"

"It's the last thing I'd wanna do after a long day of work!” Todd explained.

"I was just gonna say that!" Dave commented.

"Well I guess it is gonna be a disaster after all!" I told my date. "But come on a double date can't be that bad."

They both groaned, bored and annoyed by my stance on this subject apparently.

“Don’t look too excited about it.” I remarked, sarcastically.

I refused to spend one more second letting those two make fun of me, so I pulled my date outside; and so Todd and I set off toward the restaurant, on foot (it wasn't far).

"I figured it was better to break the ice right away with your roommate." he explained.

"You did great.” I told him. "And don't worry: Dave is a huge marshmallow. He likes you already."

We laughed like idiots about the whole thing.

"I do hate double dates, though…” Todd admitted.

"Dave does too. And so do I…” I confessed. "But it's the only way we can get our lasagna tonight."

Todd looked at me, dead serious.

"Alright, your proposal is acceptable.” he stated. “I guess I owe you a favor.” 

As he said that, I felt a slight ache between my legs. I already know you repay favors in Landale, Todd.

In retrospect, I should at least turn around when I hear someone coming inside, just to be sure it’s Dave and not someone more welcome here like a murderer bent on revenge sneaking up on me from behind.

Jokes aside, I was too focused on solving some work-related issues to even make fun of my bro -something he noticed, because he’s usually the one starting the back-and-forth once he steps inside.

I did notice however him sitting on the other side of the couch, wearing his usual casual attire -a dark brown hoodie, a black t-shirt, a pair of loose dark blue jeans, and sneakers. He took a sip of his beer, rested his denim legs on the small table in front of the couch, took his phone out and scrolled through some stuff.

We remained like this for about 15 minutes, doing our own shit.

This is what true friendship looks like by the way: you can be in the same room, or even on the same couch together, and just passively enjoying each other company without saying a wor-

“So this is what our marriage has become... two people who let silence speak for them.”

There he is, (not) hilarious as usual.

“Well... you're the one who doesn't look at me with the same eyes anymore.” I played along.

Because we’re both very adult, mature men.

Dave closed his eyes, gasping. “So… you noticed.”

“I did… but I don’t blame you…" acting and working, I'm such a multitasker. "Things changed since… the storm…” I said, eyes glued on my screen, but not letting my job get in the way of me committing to this very important role.

“No, Tim…” Dave muttered, getting carried by the story he was making up in his head. “The only storm destroying us… destroying you...” he stretched his right arm towards me, and pointed at my chest. “Is in here.”

He took a deep a breath and closed his eyes, letting that last line sink in.

“And also here by the way.” he then said, in his normal tone, his hand now pointing at his stomach.

I kind of knew this was gonna happen. I always appreciate Dave being chill, open-minded... and gassy, but I had an e-mail to write.

“Of course.” I simply said.

“Please…” Dave’s tone reverted back to… whatever melodramatic tone he was using. “Let’s fix this…” he once again stretched his right arm toward me, with the index finger tickling my face, but he wasn’t pointing at anything this time. “Pull my finger.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at his delivery of the silliest sentence known to man. Eyes still focused on my laptop, I gently pushed my friend’s arm away from my personal space.

“Maybe later bro.”

Dave chuckled at my response. “Really?” he asked. “That’s new.”

“Indeed.” I replied. “So yeah, just do your thing.” I then said.

I was expecting the couch to shake under the power of Dave’s ass, a muffled loud rip, one of my bro’s usual incredible displays of flatulence, you all know the drill by now.

And yet… after a few seconds, nothing happened.

I swear it’s not my kink talking: living with Dave, regardless of your fetishes or sexuality, means that you gotta get used to share the apartment with an incredibly skilled and proud farter. 

So the fact that we wasn’t farting was actually surprisingly suspicious (…yep, that’s a sentence).

I turned to him, but he was back to his mindless scrolling.

“Now that’s new.” I stated, amused.

A faint smirk appeared on Dave’s face, as my idiot bro knew exactly what I meant. 

He remained silent, however.

I shook my head and focused back on my stupid-ass formal e-mail, trying to conjure a series of fancy, well-written words that not-so-subtly meant “Go fuck yourself.”

In the meantime my roommate, still silent, got up and went into his room, I assumed for a bathroom break or to simply slip into something more comfortable.

I kept staring at my screen, until the inspiration came at long last, and I started typing. The e-mail was short and straight to the point, very formal, but very no-bullshit as well. I hate fighting at work, but sometimes you gotta raise your voice, metaphorically in this case.

I sent the insults in disguise and after I was sure they were delivered, I closed the laptop and almost threw it on the table. I sighed in relief, and enjoyed the moment of peace.

After a couple of minutes, Dave came back on the couch, now wearing a grey t-shirt and a pair of blue sweatpants. He sat once again on his side, then laid down, resting part of his legs and feet on my knees as if I was part of the couch.

Tall people having no respect of personal space as usual, duh.

A few minutes of silence, then my friend turned to me, noticing I wasn’t working anymore, hating the concept of me relaxing. He sat back up, his legs still on my knees, and stretched his right toward me again.

“You can pull my finger now...” he said, with a smirk.

I laughed. With friends like these…

I was gonna pull it, my boner already giving signs of life at the thought of, well, doing something this stupidly hot with Dave.

But then… I decided to be petty for no reason.

“Nah, I don’t think I will.” I simply said, resting my arms on the back of my head. “Keep your secrets.”

My friend laughed, amused. “Yeah sure.” he remarked, sarcastically. “Come on, pull my finger.”

“I said no.”

At this point Dave was starting take my rejection as a challenge, which is exactly what I was expecting.

“Are you sure you don’t want to?” he insisted. “Come on, it’s right here!”

He poked my entire face with his index finger, but I kept my word, and blatantly ignored it.

“Pass.” I said, with a smirk. I’m the one who smirks now.

Dave laughed, finding amusement in this weird, gross game we were playing; and when it comes to games, he can get quite competitive, so while I was expecting this first reaction, I should have also anticipated that he really wanted to “win”… whatever we were doing here.

“Well, if you’re not interested, then it’s absolutely fine if I do this.”

I braced for the fart... but no, once again that was a fake-out.

He instead wrapped his long legs around my body and dragged me down, not without using his arms as well. I found myself lying down, with my face between his legs, my nose inches away from his sweatpants-clad ass. A familiar sight for now, considering how Dave makes sure I pass a lot of time just facing his ass in different positions as he face-farts me.

Speaking of which, now it would be a good time to fart, considering I’m in front of his anus. But again, I got ready for nothing, just silence. And I don’t mean “silent but deadly”, I mean silence. A silence broken by the videos Dave was just casually scrolling through his phone, as he kept my head in front of his ass, as if this was the most normal thing in the world.

I’m probably the last person who should say this… but it was getting awkward, so I tried to move. Or rather, dared to. The moment Dave felt I was trying to get away, he held me in my place with the strong grip of his legs. I sighed, annoyed, which my bro laughed at.

One more time, my friend stretched his arm toward me.

“Pull my finger, bro.” he simply said.

“Nope.” I promptly replied.

My bro nodded and adjusted his position a bit. He spread his legs a bit more, my face getting even closer to his ass, my nose being tickled by the surface of his sweatpants.

Believe it or not, spending so much time near Dave’s ass while he wasn’t farting was… weirder than our actual fart sessions. Still, that was an incredible way to spend my evening: yeah, I did the usual stuff ya know... I worked, I wrote an e-email, I relaxed, I got my head planted into my straight friend’s ass, same old, same old.

I then finally heard some noises coming out my friend’s ass. Or rather, from inside.

Indeed, obviously, he had to fart, or else he wouldn’t have asked me to pull his finger multiple times. The noises I heard tell me that he was brewing a big natural one, one of his usual rips. 

And yet, that relative silence was just as thrilling and arousing as an actual fart. The calm before the storm, the anticipation, the fact that I know very well what Dave is capable of and yet he just keeps teasing me.

The fact that Dave was also just… well… ignoring me, minding his own business, somehow made my boner even harder. And yet, I had to “win” this, I wasn’t gonna let him have it.

When he asked me once again to pull his finger, I didn’t even answer.

“You’re missing out.” he said, moving his ass even closer. “I’m brewing a huge one bro.” he whispered.

The teasing bastard reached for my head with one of his hands, and finished making it one with his sweatpants-clad ass. He laughed a bit as he did that.

“Just pull it man...” he then said, going for a flirty tone, as my head got also dangerously close to his crotch. “The finger I mean.” he then corrected himself, trying to not to laugh again.

For a moment I thought I finally got used to my bro being so chill (and hot) about my fart kink, but once again I flew too close to the Sun, with all the blood in my body flowing towards the tent I pitched. What’s funny… is that he wasn’t even farting yet.

And he wasn’t going to, until I pulled his finger.

I felt that damn finger poking me again. 

Nope, not gonna happen.

I couldn’t properly see it, because my eyes were too busy being buried into my friend’s ass.

My bro was amused by all of this, I’m sure. And other than being terribly aroused... I too was… but damn if I was sweating now. This was getting hard on all levels.

Dave let my head go, so I adjusted my position a bit accordingly, but he just wouldn’t properly let me go. He kept watching silly videos on his phone, as time passed. How long has he been keeping me like this? 10 minutes?

Felt like ages.

“Ready to pull my finger?” he insisted, out of the blue.

“Pull it yourself.” I dared to reply.

“I may very well do it…” he threatened me… with a good time admittedly.

Alright, since this wasn’t going to end soon because we’re both stupidly competitive about everything, I tried to make myself a bit more comfortable, using Dave’s ass as sort of a pillow even. It’s not like he cared I lied down there, under his legs and in front of his ass, anyway.

I almost wished someone would take a photo of us in that moment: we probably look ridiculous.

There is no heterosexual explanation for this, someone might say when looking at the photo. Well, indeed there isn’t… or more like, 50% of what’s depicted in this photo is clearly not heterosexual.

At this point, perhaps because of my face and hair, Dave’s ass was getting sweaty just like me, which made the place smell… not very pleasantly. My friend wasn’t a dirty person by any means, but no ass smells good when it gets sweaty, and no soap can fix that.

Dave’s ass was powerful even when it was silent: almost 20 minutes and no fart was ripped in my face. And yet, I was struggling. Ironically enough, I was used to my bro farting in my face, but not to him… not farting in my face.

I can’t say I was enjoying it like an actual fart session; the views however, always spot on. Dave is a tall, relatively fit man, so spending time near his ass, regardless of any kink, is pretty much time well-spent for someone like me. And the fact that he’s my bro and he’s just… letting me do it, I don’t know, I’m a mess at this point.

“I can do this all night by the way.” Dave casually stated.

“Nice. Goodnight then.” I replied.

“Alright…” he muttered.

My friend moved, lifting himself just a bit. With a quick, deft leap, he lied down on me, my head now being crushed under the full weight of his ass. I couldn’t see anything now, only feel the warmth of Dave’s ass and body all over me.

Before, he treated me like I was part of the couch. Now, I am the couch.

And yet I didn’t move nor protest. I wasn’t gonna pull that finger.

I’m a man of integrity, and I’m not gonna surrender to my bro’s petty machinations. Two can play this game, yes, but I'm the one who's gonna win it.

So I just lied down there, under the weight of my friend’s entire body… and actually relaxed, enjoying the thought of his ass crushing me. The faint scent of sweat got worse however, and I swear even a fart would make the place smell better than this.

I held still, breathing normally as much as my friend’s weight allowed me to. I couldn’t see anything, my glasses dampening and almost breaking under that ass. It was all pitch black and sweaty.

But I didn’t care. I simply closed my eyes and waited, as my friend firmly kept my head under his threatening, but still silent butt, save for some occasional noises, a sign the the fart he was brewing was getting even stronger.

At this point more than 30 minutes passed. Quality time in my book, to be honest.

Every few minutes my bro would occasionally lift his ass just a bit to let me see the finger I needed to pull, the key to my freedom, but I always refused, so back in the dark ass-jail I go.

I’m not gonna break. Something that even my gassy friend had to realize, much to his disappointment. 

“Fine.” Dave muttered. “I’ll let you have this one...” he admitted defeat.

I laughed -which, from his point of view, it probably looked like either his ass or the couch itself laughed.

My friend let me go for real, spreading his legs wide, resuming the position we had before he decided to crush me (or try to). I did the same, resting my head in front of his ass, ‘cause I knew he was gonna pull me in front of that again anyway.

But no, he has to have the satisfaction to do bullying himself, so he once again reached for my head and properly planted it into his sweaty ass.

“I’m gonna pull it myself, you bastard.” he said.

Judging by the fact that he talked like he was chewing on something, and the fact that his other hand was holding my head still into his ass, I understood that he was pulling his index finger by biting it.

Finally, I felt Dave’s ass muscle move in a more familiar way. Now I truly had to brace for impact.

And the impact turned out to be… just a small, half-a-second long toot.

What.

A truly awkward silence followed, a silence broken by us laughing like idiots.

“Now that’s new.” I said again, my voice partially muffled as my mouth was planted into my bro’s ass.

“No Tim... it's the storm..." he said, again in that melodramatic one.

I totally fell for the fake-out, like an idiot, as if Dave wasn’t the King of Farts. A storm indeed swept my face away, a fart so loud and airy that anyone hearing it would think it’s a fake stock sound. My head was shaking, and so was the couch, my friend’s hand still keeping me where I deserve to stay.

Where winners deserve to stay… in this particular case at least.

The fart’s smelly air flew nicely through Dave’s sweatpants, completely destroying my nostrils in the process. I could even taste it in some ways. I don’t know if this was one of my bro’s strongest farts, but it definitely was… one the most anticipated.

Damn if it kept me waiting!

Yeah… Dave still won in the end, technically, because he made me wish for it, crave for it. I admit I did wonder the whole time how big the fart was gonna be, the way he teased its size…

But at the same time, I didn’t break, nor pulled that damn finger.

The huge rip stopped as abruptly as it started, after about 18 seconds of thunderous chaos. Three ridiculously loud 3-seconds toots ended the gassy parade, my face getting startled each time (with my boner twitching and dampening more and more) as if it was my first time hearing anyone fart.

Finally, Dave let my sweaty head go, letting me sit back properly.

“Hey... I told ya there was a storm destroying you.” he joked, teasing me with his damn smirk.

It surely was a thunderous storm, but our marriage is stronger than any gust of wind, no matter how smelly it gets.

“Babe, how was I supposed to know that people make hot sauce with… fruit?”

“It’s literally the only thing you’re intolerant to.”

I wouldn’t even call it intolerance. Dave’s stomach just… processes everything in its own way, even food that should knock him down.

“Your friend here…” Dana said, turning to me. “He can’t digest hibiscus.” She turned back towards Dave, half serious, half playful. “Which, by the way, is a flower, not a fruit.”

Dave kept his eyes glued to the buffet and took a sip of wine. “Alright, relax. I’ll be careful.”

He was lying, obviously. Never stand between Dave and his sugar.

“Okay, I’m stepping away for a sec. Emma’s waving at me and I accidentally made eye contact… damn it. Don’t wait for me.”

Dana stood up quickly, careful not to trip on her own dress, and darted off toward her frenemy. Dave slid into her empty chair next to me.

“I’m going now...” he whispered. “We’re in a shark tank. One second of distraction and that buffet will be torn apart without mercy.”

“Your strategy is flawless,” I said, sipping my drink. “Keep me posted from the front line. You’ll find me on the terrace.”

“What?” Dave blinked, oddly offended. “My brother-in-arms is abandoning me like this?”

“I’ve got… stuff to do.” I explained, nodding towards one of the guys from our table, who was also getting up and heading to the terrace.

“Ohhhh… I see.” Dave grinned. “Leaving your bro hanging like that. For just a bit of cock. Fine. I’ll remember this.”

“You’re such an idiot…” I teased, giving him a friendly pat on the shoulder.

I walked away from the table, leaving my bro to contemplate the dessert, as I nodded to Todd, the guy I was referring to, the guy I’m gonna make out with on the terrace. Todd is nice, he’s into video-editing and cocks.

We have so much in common!

—

POV: Dave

Screw this human swarm of locusts. I always end up empty-handed at weddings, but this time I’ll make the first move. I planted myself right in front of the buffet while the waiter was still setting down the last cupcakes, glazed with a luscious magenta cream (they’re gonna be mine).

Am I overdoing this? Am I being immature?

I’d like to see you in my place, a man repeatedly robbed of sugar’s simple joy because he makes the mistake of trusting in the crowd’s so-called manners. Of course they’ll leave me something, sure, absolute fucking bullshit, that’s what they’ll leave me, not even the crumbs.

I gave Dana a little nod from across the room, still tangled up with Emma. Dana worries about me, but she’d be the first one here, right next to me, hoarding desserts if she could. I’m the man on the front line, the scout, the manly man who will have his delicious, well-earned pink cupcake.

—

POV: Tim

The terrace was big and overlooked the garden surrounding the villa. We truly were in the middle of nowhere.

“So… they’re setting up the buffet huh.” I said, trying to have a casual conversation.

“Yeah, I heard they have some delicious cupcakes. I’m friend with the chef -I think they used some kind of fruit to give it a particular exotic taste.”  Todd explained.

“As long as it’s not flowers.”

We didn’t even admire the beautiful sunset and the rural landscape because our tongues reached for each other as if they were magnets. We made sure to sort of hide behind a bush, near a small staircase leading to the garden properly, far from prying eyes. I honestly don’t care anymore about my closet, but I don’t know about Todd, so we silently decided to hide just to be sure -to be honest, we would have done the same even if we were straight, because things are getting… kind of intense ya know.

“What’s your codec of choice?” he panted.

“MPEG.” I replied, as I felt his hand reaching for my crotch.

“MPEG me…” he moaned, as I did the same to him.

We both almost laughed at that, but kept going regardless, ignoring the cold autumnal breeze because things were heating up and fast. I massaged Todd’s crotch as we kissed and made out like no one was watching (and hopefully that was the case). We were massaging each other, and I felt Todd’s pitching a tent in the palm of my hand. I didn’t care and went for it, he moaned again, as I strangled the cock hidden under his tux pants. He bit my neck and I returned the favor to his ear, which apparently did the trick.

I felt my hand getting warmer fast, and I noticed Todd slowing down, breathing heavily and deeply. 

“Sorry.” he whispered, smiling.

“Don’t even say that.” I reassured him.

He clearly wanted to stop, so I just leaned against the railing, smiling like an idiot. Thank goodness I wasn’t wearing glasses (contact lenses this time), I’m sure I would have lost them.

“I need to change. Believe it or not I got a backup tux.” he explained.

“You never know, you know.” I said, with a smirk.

“I’ll be in my room.” he smiled and handed me a small piece of napkin with a number written on it. “I’ll be back soon, but maybe, after this is over… feel free to join me. I gotta… return the favor.” he said, gently patting my crotch.

“Don’t mention it.” I said. He laughed.

This guy must really be into me because I’m terrible at this.

I watched him as he went back into the hall, walking faster and faster so he wouldn’t have to stop for anyone. Todd is cool. He seems to have some social anxieties just like me. Another win for awkward people like us I guess!

I enjoyed the breeze a bit more, before I decided to go back inside. It was getting dark, the fancy villa’s big windows being the main source of light while small lanterns lit up in the garden. I adjusted my tie and hair (the latter unsuccessfully) but as I got closer to the door, I saw a tall man running outside and towards me, his red tie almost glowing in the dark.

“What did you do?” I said, scolding him.

“Tim shut up for a sec.” Dave replied. “Let’s just have a quick, calm walk.”

I wasn’t impressed. “What did you do?” I insisted.

Dave put a hand on my shoulder and we hurried down into the garden -empty, quiet, and far from the buzz of the villa. I’m no detective, but I was pretty sure Dave didn’t have the same intentions as Todd.

“Those damn cupcakes,” he muttered. “The waiter said they were fruit-flavored, but nope, judging by my stomach, it was hibiscus! And trust me, bro, I know my stomach.”

“Why does everyone keep confusing that flower with a fruit…” I mused, remembering how Todd had done the same thing earlier.

“I DON’T KNOW, MAN!” Dave burst out, then doubled over in pain. “Let’s walk. I need to… work this off. And you know what that means.”

Unfortunately, I do. And I was terrified of what Dave might unleash.

—————

After walking for a couple of minutes, Dave wanted to seat on a stone bench, because he needed to a few moments to focus -that’s what he said at least. I sat next to him, noticing how he was sweating. He was indeed feeling like shit, not so different from what happened on the plane some weeks ago.

“I didn’t drag you out here because of your kink by the way.”

What. Where did that come from? 

“I just needed my brother-in-arms.” he then said.

I was almost startled. I mean, ok, I know we have this weird thing going on between us, but Dave always goes the extra mile to assure me that he doesn’t see me any differently, even considering my gross kink.

“So this is not one of your kinky games then.” I bluntly remarked.

“My kinky games?” he replied. “You’re the one craving my farts!” he laughed.

I felt attacked, even though I had no reason. “I never craved your farts.” 

Are we seriously having a conversation about this? Are those real sentences?

“Then why did you tell me about your kink?” 

“I never told you, you found out. You did… you know… the rest!”

Dave was visibly trying to endure the pain, and this funny back-and-forth was also a way to distract himself from his stomach getting messy.

“Come on… admit it.” he said, in a weirdly flirty tone. “We had to share a room for a few weeks back in college. Don’t tell me you didn’t crave a piece of your friend Dave back then.”

The fact that he was so chill about all of this will never stop being incredible to me. Least I can do is playing along. Don’t get me wrong, I was super embarrassed by where this conversation was heading all of the sudden.

And my Todd-related boner wasn’t helping, because now my cock was confused. It’s like it was saying “What am I even hard for now?!”

“Come on… admit it.” he said, playfully leaning towards me. “Admit you love this.”

Oh, that’s the real reason he was leaning.

The sound was loud and proud, echoing all over the empty garden. The fart was gigantic, surprisingly dry despite my friend’s stomach fighting those damn flowers, flowers that ironically produced the stinkiest rip I’ve ever heard Dave rip (despite being outside, the breeze made some of that gas reach my nostrils, and it smelled horribly). The stone bench shook for how powerful and vibrating that was.

It lasted around 8 seconds.

This is not like the plane: up there, Dave had to hold back the loudness of his farts because of social norms. Here, it’s just him and me, and he can make his ass speak as loud as he wishes -and his ass does love to scream. On the plane, he was fighting demons. In this garden, he can shamelessly unleash them.

After he was done, he simply stared at me with his usual smirk, amused by my never-ending awkwardness.

“Yes, Dave. I’ve always liked you.” I admitted. 

Or rather, confessed. 

Because I wasn’t talking about his farts.

Luckily, my bro didn’t seem to notice my choice of words, and simply laughed at my kinky ass.

He wrapped his arm around me, acting all wise and proud (of himself).

“I can’t blame you. I’m the whole package.” he said, ripping a short, quick blast.

“So this is one of your kinky games…” I remarked.

Dave laughed. “No bro, I just don’t want Dana to see me shitting myself.”

“Ah so you’re just hiding.”

“Pretty much.” he replied. “And no, for the last time, this is not one of my kinky games. I don’t even know what you mean by this!”

He then leaped over me and sat on my lap, full weight, almost crushing my legs.

“Unless you want it to be…” he said, again in that fake flirty tone.

He closed his eyes, and proceeded to rip an enormous fart on my lap, making my hard crotch shake. The fart was this time a bit more wet, but no… extra stuff was coming out. It was disgusting, it was loud, it was incredible. The warm gas probably stained my tux pants forever, but it was nothing compared to what my friend’s pants had to endure. The contrast between his formal, elegant attire and the rude manliness of his farts was admittedly driving me crazy, with Dave just casually being the teasing bastard that he is.

After 12 seconds, the fart was over; my bro wiggled his ass a bit, making sure my clothes were soaking in his gas, then sat back next to me. Now I wish I had a backup tux.

The smell emanating from my lap and pants was terrible: Dave basically poisoned my clothes. The idiot laughed at me basically smelling like one of his farts forever… well, for a couple of minutes at least. That fart was malicious I swear.

“Fuck, I hope Todd won’t notice the smell.” I joked, comically trying to dust the smell off of me.

“Todd? Who’s Todd?” Dave asked, puzzled.

“The guy from our table?” I explained.

“Ah yes. He seems cool.” he took a couple of more seconds to connect the dots. “Holy shit. Did you guys…”

“Kind of.” I simply said. “We’re planning the rest for later I guess.”

“Awesome bro.” he said, patting my shoulder. “Is he also into…”

“Not that I know of.” I cut him off. “Doesn’t matter.”

We remained there, sitting on that bench, in silence. A few seconds passed, the only sound being the breeze brushing the leaves around us, until a different kind of breeze broke the silence. A thunderstorm, to be more precise. A quick, 5 seconds thunderstorm, followed by my friend sighing in relief.

“That one hurt a bit.” he commented.

“As long as you don’t shit yourself…” I observed.

“You know I’m a pro.” 

Another moment of silence, this time interrupted my friend speaking from his mouth like a normal person.

“When you said that you always liked me… that wasn’t about your fetish, wasn’t it?”

My heart stopped for a moment, even though I had nothing to be afraid of.

Still, I know it’s bad when I wish he’d simply make fun of my kink.

I turned to him and, as usual, he was just nice and calm, genuinely curious about my awkward self. I decided to level with him, one more time.

“It comes and goes.” I admitted. “You won’t get another word out of me.”

He laughed. For a moment, he seemed the awkward one.

“You have such a horrible taste in men, bro.” he joked. “But maybe that Todd guy can fix that.”

“How romantic of you.” I dryly said. 

“Very. I even brought you flowers.” a loud blast shook the bench, a quick 4 seconds tip. “Technically.”

“You’re such an idiot I swear.” 

“Told ya I’m the whole package.” he elbowed me. “I’m flattered that you’re crushing on me.”

“I’m not crushing on you.” I quickly remarked.

“Of course you’re not.” he said, getting up, gently massaging his stomach.

I got up too, and we started walking again, this time towards the villa. This doesn’t mean that Dave was done, and as a quick reminder he ripped a series of short loud toots in sync with each step he made. A nice series of 6-7 farts, back-to-back, each sounding a bit more dangerously wet than the last.

“And here I thought you were feeling better.”

“I am.” my bro said. “Just tying up some loose ends.”

And one of those loose end was a long, loud, high-pitched fart. Dave had to stop again to properly rip this one, his eyes narrowing, focus on the fart as if he was defusing a bomb. It wasn’t wet, but trusting a fart when your stomach hurts is a gamble, and a fart master like my bro certainly knew that.

The blast was long and proud, the pitch going up and down repeatedly in the span of a couple of seconds -as funny as it was hot for me. It got noticeably deeper towards the end, which made my bro confident enough to properly push it out, ending it with a bang. 

“You would have loved this one.” he casually said, walking past me.

I got red instantly, and resumed walking.  I did love that, even if it wasn’t on my face. My boner, now less confused, totally agreed.

As we got back on the terrace, Dana greeted us. 

“I’ve been looking for you for like 30 minutes! These human locusts have devoured everything!”

“I’m fine, honestly…” Dave said, trying to sound casual.

But yeah… Dana could read him like an open book.

“You ate the hibiscus cupcakes.” she said, firmly.

Dave didn’t even try to lie his way out.

“Babe, who the hell puts a damn flower in a damn cupcake? It’s a flower! How do you even…”

“You’re such an idiot…” Dana said, giving him a quick kiss on the lips. “Come on, maybe there’s still something edible left. I even saw some strawberries, Tim.”

“Thanks, Dana. As much as I love strawberries though… I need to do something.”

“Ohhhh…” she said “Keep us posted. We’ll se you late-“ the sight of Emma stealing the last slice of apple pie got her attention, cutting her off. “Oh no she won’t.” 

Dana sprinted inside, leaving me and Dave on the terrace.

“Say ‘hi’ to Todd for me.” he joked. “Are you sure he won’t get jealous because of me though?”

“Very funny.” I said, as I reached for the napkin Todd gave me earlier.

“Hey, show a little gratitude… I got you riled up.” Dave said, patting my hard boner.

I can’t believe he just did that.  Why is he like this. Sometimes he’s way too chill.

“That’s disgust- that’s… fuck off!” I stuttered, sprinting inside, as he laughed at my awkwardness.

Fuck him and his kinky games. Those fucking games I hate to love.

Luckily enough, it wasn't the console. Well, still an expensive appliance, but we always split the costs for this kind of stuff, so it wasn’t a big deal per se. Dave still went to the store on the off chance it was still open, but given it's around 9:00 PM, he was running on pure hopes and dreams.

In the meantime, I was busy trying to reanimate the artificial corpse: I got the thing open and I could immediately smell burning. I did try to mess a bit with it (I’m no expert but I do know what I’m doing most of the times in those cases), going as far as replacing the broken parts with some spare parts I had in a box in my wardrobe -you know the one, we all have it and no, we will never throw it away, those cables and parts could be useful one day!

This wasn’t the day however, but it was more of Zeus’ fault than anything (one day, I swear!), so I gave up and found comfort in another -and this time working- appliance in the kitchen, the cold one we use to store our goods, and I pulled a beer out of it -then I heard Dave coming home, so I pulled another one. 

That’s me being a good roommate.

“Think fast.” I casually said, tossing the can to him. 

He nodded and we both walked back into the living room, standing right behind the couch, looking at the tech-themed gory scene that was our TV.

“I did what I could, but I couldn’t save it.”

Dave sighed. “Time of death?”

“Probably the night you got drunk on Margaritas and almost puked on Dana. The storm hit-”

“I wasn’t drunk, Dana was.” he clarified. “I was playing along.”

He totally was drunk by the way.

“Please, keep your kinky roleplays out of my life.” I joked, very hypocritically. 

We swung ourselves over the sofa backrest and sat, staring at nothing but tech rubbles.

“I assume the store was closed.” I said.

“Sort of. They slammed the shutter down when they saw me, basically.”

“Told ya that hoodie is terrible.” I commented, his answer being a pillow being thrown at me without even looking, which I dodged perfectly.

Dave was in fact wearing an old shabby dark green hoodie and a casual pair of dark blue loose jeans. I did not think he looked bad by any means (and who am I to judge anyway), I simply occasionally make fun of that old hoodie -he bought that back in College if I recall correctly.

We took a sip of beer and then did what our generation does best: some good old doom-scrolling on our phones. After a couple of minutes of relative silence, I heard some familiar sounds (no, not those sounds).

“I know, I miss them too.” I said, faking a sad tone.

The sounds I recognised were from the videogame he was playing (and me too, on a different savefile), a long JRPG-inspired challenging adventure with tough bosses and memorable characters.

“I will never forget them.” he played along. “Oh come on really?” he then groaned, his phone dying in his hands.

This time, however, it wasn’t a permanent death, just a roommate who forgot to buy a new charger that, you know, actually properly charge things.

“Here… you can have mine.” I said, handing my phone to him.

“Really…?” Dave said, knowing very well I was joking.

“No.”

More minutes of silence passed, Dave simply sitting there sort of alone with his thoughts. He took his sneakers off and rested his long legs on the small table by the couch, scanning the room around us as if he was looking for anything remotely entertaining to do.

Since I’m a kinky idiot, I obviously noticed his loose jeans sagging a bit as he was chilling next to me, on the other side of the couch, the denim of his trousers loosely, but nicely, hugging his very talkative ass.

I love my bro, you all know this, I don't wanna be superficial, but I’m gay-savvy enough to admit that, regardless of any fetish involved, Dave is… quite attractive. You probably wouldn’t consider him the hottest man in the world, but he’s noticeably good-looking, even when chilling so casually on a couch -but I get I may be biased.

He is my friend after all, we always make fun each other’s looks and whatnot, but I’m not embarrassed to admit that he’s attractive, guy-next-door attractive.

Also he’s tall, which I really like, since I’m a basic bitch.

Why am I reminding you this… I don’t know. You probably think I may be crushing on him… I mean, given that I have a fart fetish and how much time I spend with my face literally planted into Dave’s farting ass, it’s easy to assume to yeah, kinky Tim has a crush on his straight gassy bro…

Well, I invoke my right to remain silent.

“Wanna play a game?” Dave suddenly asked.

“What game?”

“It’s not complicated, even you can play it!” 

I stared at him, narrowing my eyes. “Where’s the catch?”

Dave laughed. “Why are you always so suspicious?”

Because I have all the reasons to be, when your best bro is a playful bastard.

But I’m a clown.

“Alright, I’ll bite.” I put my phone and the beer on the small table in front of me and turned my attention to the obvious trap Dave was setting up. “How does it work? What are the rules?”

My bro smiled, putting his own beer on the table. “It’s nothing, just say a number between… mhhh… 5 and 15, yeah that works.”

I took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of my nose, adjusting my glasses. “This… this is about farts, isn’t it?” I bluntly asked.

My roommate laughed at my wild suspicions of him. “What?!”

“What indeed.”

“Tim you’re a such kinky idiot.” he chuckled. “Just say a number from 5 to 15.”

“Nope.”

“Say it.”

“Not gonna say it.”

“Say it!”

I gave him a scolding look. “…are you that bored?”

“Say it…” he insisted.

I sighed and put my glasses next to the phone and the beer on the table, because I just know that my face is gonna get pulled into a certain roaring ass very soon, so better safe than sorry (broken glasses? that’s an expense I can’t split).

“Alright…” I said, Dave smirking at me in anticipation. “Any number?”

“Any number between 5 and 15…” he explained, after thinking about it for a second, totally making sure he was brewing a big one.

I swear it’s not me, it’s him being a teasing asshole.

“Is it one of those games where I have to guess the number you’re thinking right now?” I asked.

“No…” he groaned, impatiently. “Just give me a number within the range.”

“Mmmh… does it have to be a prime number?” I asked, purposely being the most annoying being on Earth.

“Look man, if you don’t wanna play…” 

“Alright, I said I’ll bite…” 

I pretended to think about it for a bit, as if I was trying to understand the mischievous machinations of this weird game.

Dave does often prank us with by playing those playful mind tricks on us, and obviously it’s never about farts, so there’s the remote possibility (and hope) that this has nothing to do with him being a teasing gassy asshole... the best teasing gassy asshole one could ask for don’t get me wrong, but still…

“What about… 6?”

“Okay…” he said, while adjusting his position a bit. “Less than I expected…”

Of course it was about farts.

He sat normally on the couch, leaning a bit, as he clearly was pushing one out. 

He closed his eyes and pointed upwards, as if he was telling me to wait and listen.

The vibrations of that first, loud toot shook the entire couch, the sound partially muffled by the cushion. It was loud and meat-y, but relatively short for Dave’s high standards, merely 1-2 seconds. A standard loud fart, still very Dave-sounding and powerful. 

A fart that, after less than 2 seconds of silence, was followed by another one, just as powerful. 

Then another one.

A trifecta? 

Nope. 

It appears there’s a fourth one. 

A fifth one, even? This was the loudest one so far.

And finally, after a bit more of anticipation, highlighted by Dave’s iconic smirk appearing on his face, a sixth one, a bit longer than the previous ones, clocking at around, fittingly, 6 seconds.

The smell was there, but still bearable, each fart having released a plume of invisible gas creeping towards my face.

As usual, after Dave reminded me of his ass-skills, I just remained there in silence like an idiot, genuinely admiring my gassy friend’s mastery, while also trying to tame my dick waking up, as each blast made it twitch like a muscle under pressure (which, given my bro’s talent, was exactly what was happening).

Amused by my silent reaction, Dave laughed. “6, really?” he asked. “You know what I’m capable of, go higher!”

Despite my mind being fogged-up by his gas, I understood that he wanted me to choose another number, again in the 5-15 range.

As I was this time genuinely thinking hard about it, Dave got up, hands casually in his pockets, and… stood in front of me, his ass almost perfectly aligned with my head, my view now being obstructed by the back pockets on his denim ass, the small red Levi’s tag almost glowing on the dark blue background of the jeans. The pants were a bit sagging, revealing a glimpse of my friend’s oddly bright yellow underwear.

I looked up, Dave just casually staring down at me with a smirk. “Choose wisely.”

I knew I could just choose 15 and he, for some reason, would proceed to blast my face 15 times… but I’m as petty as I am kinky, and I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, but focusing when your gassy bro is towering in front of you, with his ass pointing at your nostrils, is kind of difficult.

“W-what about 8?” I guess I like even numbers.

Dave could read me like an open book as always, and he knew I chose such a relatively small number just to mess with him… in this very weird thing going on between us. He laughed at my attempt to outsmart him.

“I’m gonna need some help then. Let’s make sure it’s gonna be exactly eight, shall we?”

I didn’t even have to think what we meant because I immediately felt his right arm reaching for my face, his hand firmly grabbing the back of my head and pushing it right into that denim ass, my nose landing on the warm, rough surface of the sagging denim, right below the yellow fabric of his underwear. 

Needless to say, the stench of the previous barrage of farts was still there, a faint stench of rotten eggs tickling my nostrils. Still nothing unbearable, but definitely not pleasant either.

Dave’s ass muscles relaxed, and another parade began, starting off with a loud blast that shook my entire skull. This time it was longer, lasting around 4 seconds.

A few moments of silence, followed by Dave ripping another loud toot, 2 seconds long. 

Yes, short for my bro’s double-digit standards, but trust me they were as loud as usual, if not louder, even.

Even more impressive considering that those weren’t even on command, all natural.

Not that I mind farts on command (on the contrary!), but my friend’s skills never fail to impress me.

He kept farting, like the masterful farter he is, each blast startling me as if it was my first time hearing those, while my face was still being kept in its front-row seat; and damn what a show it was!

I was dazed, so much so that I lost count, but I could tell he was done with this second series, as I heard him laugh like a jerk, as his sagging ass went silent.

The smell was getting worse, but my trained nostrils were by far used to this.

Dave stared back down at me, but didn't let me go.

“You know… I’m not entirely sure those were eight.”

I was startled, high on my friend’s gas. Didn’t even hear what he was saying.

“So let’s just settle with this.” he then stated, pushing my face further deeper into his ass.

Another fart erupted, loud and proud, definitely gonna be longer than the previous ones, a more standard “Dave rip” one might say, not that the others were bad, just deceptively shorter than usual.

Despite my face being glued to his ass, I did manage to take a good look at it. I thought about that view, and Dave’s smirk as he looked down at me. 

Sometimes I forget how fucking lucky I am, to have a friend like him.

A friend who was seriously gonna kill me with his gas if I wasn’t careful.

This time I tried to focus, and the fart indeed stopped at exactly 8 secon- oh, I get it.

After he was done, Dave let me stay there with my face fitting nicely into his sagging ass for a couple of more seconds, then pushed me back on the couch.

He turned around, towering over me, hands back in his pockets.

“Are we done? Did I win? Did you win?” I asked, dizzy, amused.

“Nah, there’s one final level.” he said.

As if I wasn’t there sitting in front of him, Dave walked on the couch, careful to not to trip over me, and sat directly on my head as if I was a stupid-looking stool. He wasn’t planning to stay there like this forever, so he wiggled around to mess with my balance, making sure his body-weight pushed me down, until I forcibly lied on the couch, with him properly sitting over my face, my head being crushed under his weight.

No need to fart again as the stench of the previous rips quickly engulfed me. It all went pitch black, but I could still feel the sagging, rough surface of his jeans and part of the much softer yellow fabric of his underwear, which was getting sweatier and wetter.

“Alright, 20 farts back-to-back… or one long 30 seconds blast from yours truly?” he asked, as if it was the most normal question in the world. The tone made me laugh, my dick getting harder.

My face was being crushed, but I still managed to talk.

“20 is enough. Make it quick.”

I heard my bro laughing at me getting desperate to get out of his gas trap, amused as usual by my reaction to his farts, and he didn’t make me wait.

Why do I even take his baits?

A new series of short, quick blasts began, this time much shorter than the others, but not any less loud, probably about 1.5 seconds each, with a less than second pause between each blast. The smell was renewed instantly, my nose brushing against my bro’s underwear as it shook under the power of that gas-shooting machine gun.

I have no idea why he does this with me, for me. And even how.

How is it possible to be this good at farting? What were the odds of me having such a cool, talented friend?

I stopped struggling to breath and simply relaxed. This was weird, this was gross... and I was loving every second of it.

I let my friend’s ass crush me, sinking more and more into the cushion, each fart burying me deeper and deeper into the couch.

Twenty farts, short loud farts, back-to-back.

This time I didn’t lose count, I wanted to make sure to properly witness my bro’s talent.

He laughed as he finished with a final, louder toot. Dave just remained there, sitting on me, as if I was part of the ouch, as to let me enjoy that… and also because he was himself getting a bit tired I’m sure.

“So… who won?” I asked.

That question made my friend laugh again. “I don’t know, you tell me after this one.”

This one?

My bro leaned on one side, clearly to ease another blast out, one leg bent up. This position made the crushing weight a bit more bearable, while also making his ass much more visible as it wasn’t overwhelmingly all over my face anymore -but it was still inches from my nose.

He again pointed upwards, shushing me, silently telling me to listen to what he had to say. To what his ass had to say.

I just finished saying how impressive my friend’s farting skills, and yet he managed to one-up even my expectations.

Another loud fart erupted from his ass, meat-y, airy, long, loud.

What the fuck did he eat? What the fuck was that beer? What the fuck was going on in his body? 

I guess one final toot is a good way to close the parad- wait, is it still going? That’s way more 7 seconds already.

I tried to move, but the moment I stopped being still, Dave’s hand arrived like a jailer and held my head where it belonged, the sounds of my friend’s chuckle being barely hearable while being so close at his roaring, thunderous ass.

16 seconds, what the fuck. How the fuck.

“Dave…” I muttered, but I’m pretty sure he couldn’t even hear me.

My dick was rock-hard, pre-cum coming out of its tip.

The power of my friend’s farts: he could make me cum without even (technically) touching me.

My nostrils this time failed to endure that stench, my eyes watered, my body admitting defeat in front of the sheer power of my roommate’s anus. The sweaty underwear didn’t help, smell-wise, and the fart and its smell were so powerful that the denim could very well not be there.

23 seconds. Where was he storing all of this gas? He wasn’t even bloated. This isn’t even on command.

And yet, at long last, 30 seconds, and the fart finally stopped, fading out quickly, after its stench engulfed the entire room. 

Oh, I get it, again. 30 seconds. In the end he still wanted to give me the full taste of what I was missing out by choosing the other option I guess.

Fuck… having a friend like Dave is truly a curse and a blessing at the same time.

My friend stood up again, just to move a bit further away and sit on the other side of the couch. I did the same on my side, sitting back up normally, quickly reaching for the pillow he threw at me earlier to hide my twitching, raging boner, even though my bro knew very well what was going on down there.

“I guess I won…?” I managed to say.

“I guess they need to update the Pantheon.” he stated instead, ignoring my question.

He stared at the broken TV in front of us and a proud, immature, playful smirk appeared again on his face.

“The God of Thunder one-upping the God of Lightning. How poetic.” he joked.

Under the pillow, my cock erupted, fully dampening my underwear and even my sweatpants.

I can’t believe it, of all things, this is the thing that broke me: Dave boasting about his skills like an idiot.

I’m done with numbers. I’m done with Greek Mythology.

...but taking Dave’s obvious baits? That I’ll never get tired of.

Dave walked past me and towards the couch, holding a sandwich, greeting me by making noises with his mouth as he took a big bite of his snack. 

“You didn’t even make me say ‘Honey, I’m home.”

I watched Dave lying down on the long couch, reaching for the laptop on the small table in front of it, as he put it on his chest, comically close to his face. Impressive how fast that sandwich got eaten up -he is a big eater after all, despite the tall, slim appearance.

“Because that’s my line.” he replied, his fingers tapping the buttons on the keyboard.

I hung my coat by the door and went into the kitchen to fetch a beer.

“I thought you called in sick.” I asked, as I opened the fridge, disappointed by the lack of alcohol.

“I did.” he said, the stern tone catching me off guard. “Such bullshit!”

He wasn’t mad at me obviously, probably some work-related issue, as it usually happens lately. 

I solved my own very important issue with the fridge instead by settling for a soda, because my body may be a temple, but most temples are old and crumbling so I’m just very committed to the role.

As I walked towards the couch, Dave (eyes glued on the screen) automatically moved his legs just a bit to make room for me. Another sign that he came back a few minutes ago was that he was still wearing, well, casual clothes, precisely a yellow hoodie and a pair of bright blue jeans (and grey socks -he left his sneakers by the door). Since I’m a kinky asshole, I did notice that he was accidentally showing off his sort-of-sagging denim ass towards me, but I easily ignored that by focusing on the soda and the TV. 

Even though he wasn’t angry at me, I didn’t want to annoy him by asking more questions about the job, especially considering the furious tapping I was hearing, so I simply, and silently, took a sip of my not-beer.

“It’s because of Fisher by the way.” Dave said, his face hidden behind the laptop.

“Again?!” I replied. “You did tell me he was making a mess like… 2 days ago.”

“And guess who’s trying to fix the mess he made at 7:30 PM.”

Another episode of my bro working overtime, ladies and gentleman.

Dave also rarely works from home, so I don’t usually get to see how he acts in those situations. The rare times it happened I noticed he switches to a serious man of few words. He still is chill and all, just rightfully focused on whatever task he’s working on.

Whatever happened made him really angry however, as I heard the keyboard almost beg for mercy under all that furious tapping. That’s Dave: when he gets really mad, he actually goes silent. One of those men, yes.

I just remained there, chilling and watching the TV, enjoying my soda, though a beer would have been better in case this wasn’t clear. Occasionally, my friend would occasionally mumble some insults towards the screen or, better yet, to this Fisher guy, a man he complained about to us in the last few days, something that he almost never does. Dave is very easy-going as you know, and very very patient (exhibit A: me), but push the right buttons and he will get mad at you.

“Sorry about all the tapping.” he suddenly said, after like 10 minutes of silence, still focused on the screen. “I can go upstairs if that’s bothering you.” 

“It’s fine bro.” I replied. “I’ve already seen this movie anyway.”

“Yeah the news are wild these days.”

I found it funny how Dave tried to hold a casual conversation despite being so clearly distracted by whatever was happening at work (I don’t blame him). And speaking of which, I certainly didn’t want to distract him myself, so I didn’t reply.

“I mean it’s not like you’re not used to me making weird noises on this couch anyway.”

There he is, the teasing bastard.

I turned to him and I could see him narrowing his eyes and raising his eyebrows, the laptop screen hiding a cheesy smirk. So focused on his job, but will always take the chance to tease and make fun of me.

Which I will always be thankful for.

“…maybe I should go upstairs.” I said, in a deadpan tone.

Without halting all the typing and his focus on the screen, Dave’s casual, immediate answer made the couch shake: a huge fart, one of his usual, Dave-certified displays of flatulence, almost stock-sounding rips. A quick 4-seconds thunder, unusually (relatively) short for my friend’s standards, but loud and proud like it’s perfectly in-brand for him. 

The blast was followed by Dave snoffing from behind the laptop, very aware that his kinky roomate both loves and hates all this teasing.

“Weren’t you going upstairs?” he asked, trying not to laugh, as if nothing happened.

I mouthed a “fuck you” which he obviously couldn’t see. I stared at his denim now instead, the sagging making the ass look even bigger and more imposing in that position and from this angle. My dirty mind liked the view and how casual the pose was, farting like I wasn’t even there. And speaking of casual, you know it, Dave is as usual ridiculously chill with my kink and I’ll never thank him enough for this whole thing going on between us.

“Here’s what I think of Fisher.”

Dave then said, before ripping another huge rip, doing the classic leg-lift move in the process. He didn’t even look at me, still hiding behind the laptop, just farting as if I wasn’t sitting dangerously close to the source, like I said. Another “short” rip, as long as the previous one, and just as loud, if not more.

My friend’s farts are usually as loud as they are long, but I was definitely enjoying this barrage of quick blasts. Then again, when it comes to Dave’s farts, the term “short” is like describing a nuclear explosion as “kind of noisy”.

Naturally, the scent of those quickies reached my nose and engulfed the entire room. My bro’s farts are always big but not as stinky as one may expect. Don’t get me wrong, your nostrils will burn, but they’re not as hard on the nose as they sound… most of the times. 

One thing that was hard, however, was my cock, unsurprisingly reacting to my friend’s talent.

“Alright, done.” Dave said, stretching his right arm to clumsily put the laptop on the small table in front of the couch. “I hope Fisher gets hit by an asteroid tonight.” 

I silently toasted to his understandable wish and took another sip of my soda. My bro was now lying on the couch, legs up, without anything hiding his smirk, the smirk that proved how him showing off his denim sagging ass in my direction was not a coincidence this time. I tried to ignore that, but it was getting very difficult, especially considering that, knowing his skills, the blasts were far from being over.

I kept myself distracted by doing literally anything else than staring, such as putting the empty soda can on the floor by the couch.

“So, you’re done working?” I managed to ask.

He cackled in response to that. 

“Sort of. Got one last job to do.” he said, a cheesy grin drawn on his face.

“What do you m- oh… of course.”

I understood mid-sentence what he meant. The fact that he leaned towards me to reach for my head and pull it down and close to his denim ass being a big clue. I didn’t even try to resist, and I let his hand push my face in front of his butt, Dave’s legs spreading a bit more to once again make room for me -my entire head, in this case. The scent from his previous farts was strong and the ass was warm; the seams and textures of his jeans were always a pleasure to look at, the rough surface tickling the tip of my nose. 

As usual, when Dave gets gassy, my face ends up planted straight into the source of his farts, even though I didn’t ask for it. I don’t know if he did that on purpose, but I was positioned in a way that while most of my view was obscured by his overwhelming ass, I could still see part of my friend’s face, staring down at me, with a smirk. I love when it happens: experiencing one of Dave’s farts so up close and personal while still managing to see that damn smirk (or his other facial expressions) only makes the whole experience even hotter for me.

And hotter it became, not just figuratively, as Dave’s ass soon greeted with another huge blast. Was it stronger than the previous two or did my face being glued to his denim-clad anus made it feel like it was? Either way, it was huge and loud, a standard “Dave rip”, and getting those in my face is something I’ll never get used to. It definitely was longer than the previous farts, about 7 seconds, which only made the smell worse in the process. My bro wasn’t even holding my head anymore, but I didn’t want to move, nor he was surprised that I didn’t.

After he was finished he adjusted his position, so he could see my face better and make fun of me being a kinky mess as usual, while I was completely dazed by his talent.

“Remember when you apologized for the tapping?” I joked.

I made my friend laugh, which I guess is the only way I can somehow return the incredible kinky favor.

“Good times.” he joked back.

My head was still facing his ass, but admittedly it was getting awkward. Dave probably noticed that I was moving away and promptly used his left leg to trap me.

“I’m not gonna apologize for this, bro.” he said, clearly brewing another big one. “…Ready?”

And ready I was, bracing myself for the impact, but the noise I heard was not what I was expecting.

“Fuck!” I heard Dave say, reacting to that same noise.

I saw his right arm reaching for his smartphone, next to the laptop he put there moments ago.

“Fisher?! Really?!” he commented, as he saw the name of the person calling.

I remained there, now things getting awkward for real.

Again I tried to move away, and again my bro made sure I couldn’t.

“Hold on, I gotta take this one.” he said, with the silliest smirk you can imagine. “In the meantime, you can take this one instead.”

A huge rip suddenly blasted my face, just as Dave answered with a surprisingly calm and professional “Hello?”. The fart lasted like 3 seconds but it was probably the baddest one so far, in terms of sound and stench.

“Nooo Fisher, not bothering me at all.” 

I saw and heard Dave resisting the urge to tell this guy to fuck off, and he confirmed that he was lying but winking at me as he continued his ass-licking: after all, Fisher was actually one of his superiors. Not judging however, I’d do the same, and truth to be told, with my face being engulfed in Dave’s gas, you could say that I am doing the same right now, sort of.

As my friend seemed particularly into that phone call, I tried to move one more time, but Dave promptly used his left foot to step on my head and hold me there. Now my nostrils were being tortured not just by Dave’s gas, but also his smelly sock soiling my hair.

So, as long as I’m staying down there, with Dave’s foot firmly holding me still, I simply stared at that wall of denim in front of me; despite the anus being silent, the stench was still kind of unbearable. I know I just said that my bro’s rips do not stink as much as one may think, but when you fart this much and this often, of course one is gonna reach their breaking point, even a kinky guy like me.

“Mh… okay. I see. What did Johnson said?”

I laughed. Dave having this super serious work call while literally holding his farts in was actually hilarious. I managed to look at his face and he was like I wasn’t even there, a calm, assertive man just doing his job. He did look at me for a moment though, trying not to laugh, and winked at me again, fully aware of how ridiculous the whole thing was.

“Sure Fisher, by Tuesday we’ll be ready.”

As Dave said that, I noticed his facial expression changing. He was pushing one out… but since I wasn’t getting blown away, I guess he was pushing this one out in a way that he could somehow control how loud it was gonna be. After all, my bro is the fart master: he knows how to roar, but he also knows how to whisper, proving an incredible talent when it comes to literally controlling his farts’ loudness, length and pitch. 

And those weren’t even on command!

As Dave’s foot kept me in place, the fart that came out was as big as the others, but in a different way. My friend was probably worried (more amused than worried, actually) that Fisher could actually hear his infamous loud farts through the phone, which is not very professional admittedly… and for some reason he also wanted to torture me with his gas. So, the fart master decided to somehow “dilute” his fart into a sort of quieter, rumbly, bubbly long rip.

I could tell this rip was enormous, in spite of all those nerfs. It sounded like a muffled rip with many interruptions, like fire-crackers going off, without getting too loud however. Dave kept the conversation going, speaking about documents, files, coding and all that, his facial expression revealing how carefully he was pushing this one out, while still focusing on the call, without missing a beat. The whole scene was hot and amusing for both of us (well, just the second one for my bro).

This masterful rip was going to be long, even longer than Dave’s usual farts, which are already impressive. I didn’t know if I could edge any longer, as my boner twitched every time this peculiar long fart got surprisingly louder than expected.

10 seconds passed, the stench burning my nostrils and eyes, the fart still “cracking” through Dave’s warm denim and reaching my defenceless nose. I know my bro is good at this, but takes some incredible skills to control your farts like this, natural farts I mean. And such skills only made me harder.

“Yes Fisher, I ToTaLlY AgReE…” 

Dave raised his voice just a bit, anticipating his ass doing the same: a clumsy way to hide the sound of his giant fart from Fisher’s ears. As skilled as my friend is, trying to “dilute” such a huge rip this much and for this long was getting difficult even for a talented man like him. This “accident” only made him silently laugh however.

“Sure Fisher, whatever you say.”

Professionals have standards, you know the drill. And Dave being this professional from both ends was a sight to behold (and, well, sniff I guess). I forgot about my friend’s foot combing my hair and just lied there enjoying the noisy spectacle, the “fireworks” still going strong. Pre-cum erupted from my boner, I couldn’t take it anymore. This gassy bastard makes me cum without even touching me, it’s insane how hot he can get.

Worst (best?) of all, he’s completely aware of it.

After a whopping 56 seconds, the ass seemingly stopped emitting those fire-cracker noises. Despite the relative silence, my bro still made sure I didn’t move, which is something I didn’t even want to question at this point.

“Alright… no no it’s all good. See you tomorrow morning.”

A bit more paying lip service and finally… he hung up.

“Idiot.” he hissed, as he threw the phone on the small table.

I still remained there, my head under Dave’s foot and in the presence of his sagging ass, without questioning whether this was getting too weird or awkward.

“Are… are you finished?” I carefully asked.

“Yeah.” my friend said, with a smirk. 

I guess blasting me does put him in a good mood.

We’re both weird, no doubts about it.

“And that means I’m done holding back. Get ready.” he then added, threatening me with a good time.

If all of that was Dave “holding back”, then yeah, my bro’s skills are just as insane as they sound.

Without even giving me time to come up with a witty comeback, Dave finally raised his foot… only to have his hand take its place, pulling my face up and firmly planting it in his sagging denim ass. It felt warm and kind of sweaty, the jeans soaked into that stench caused by the almost 1-minute-long “fire-cracker” fart. 

How is it possible to be this gassy? A few seconds after my nose touched his ass, my friend started blasting my face again. Yet another loud fart, long and proud, probably what was left of the insane gas bubble from moments earlier, ‘cause that really sounded like his ass was tying up loose ends. As the fart kept going, Dave firmly, but gently, held my face into his ass, with the rip basically being shoved down my throat.

Finally, after 12 more seconds, this final thunder faded out, as Dave’s grip on my head loosened. My friend then (just as gently) pushed me away with his legs on my side of the couch; I was completely startled by all of that, one of the most insane fart sessions I ever had with my bro.

“Are you finished… now?” I asked again.

“ahah You’re lucky my shift is over.” he replied.

He then stood up and walked towards the kitchen, easily towering over me still sitting down on the couch. As if the gas-trail he was leaving behind wasn’t enough, he ripped another loud quickie as his ass passed near my face. I leaped back, not expecting, believe it or not, to fall for such an old trick.

“I thought you were done!”

In response, I heard my friend laugh from the kitchen. 

“Yeah, told you I’ve been working overtime lately!”

I took a deep breath, the air around me still heavily polluted by the power of my roommate’s ass, and carefully massaged the damp tent I pitched between my legs. I was gonna take care of that in the bathroom upstairs in a minute; I only wanted a bit more time to process those particularly strong rips… and if I should start paying Dave since face-farting is, apparently, his real job.