Allan

Well, this is fun. Splendid times for all. Thrills and mustn't forget those spills too.

I sit on the edge of the spare bed, waiting for Richard to come back from the bathroom, and frown heavily at the flecked bedroom carpet. I can't help wondering if this rollercoaster night may yet have another breath-stealing height or stomach-churning depth to drag me though, silent screams trailing behind me like a nasty scarf.

After that brief but spectacular blowjob a few hours ago, Richard went on to fumble with his newly freed hands on my cock until some vaguely satisfying mess was achieved. I enjoyed the fact that he was finally touching me far more than anything he actually did, but that's fine; everybody has to learn to fly before they can soar.

We kissed and stroked a little afterwards, but as the buzz faded, so too did the intimacy, and by the time we were back downstairs chatting with Debbie and Brian, Richard was back to playing the affable but untouchable host, more untouchable in fact than ever previously.

He didn't quite veer away whenever I tried to make contact with him, but he held himself so rigidly I felt he was only staying in place through an effort of will. I didn't know, and still don't know, what was wrong; was he panicking about his control problem again? Perhaps he simply didn't want Debbie to know about us? Or maybe he was fiercely regretting what we'd just done and that was that. That was all the 'us' there was ever going to be.

He stonewalled my only attempt to talk about it with him, while Deb popped to the bathroom, although admittedly that might have been because Brian was still in the room at the time, not that he was paying any attention to us whatsoever.

Whether Richard meant it to or not, his behaviour felt and feels depressingly like rejection, and therefore it feels inevitable. After all, who, having got to know me, still wants me? No one else ever has, from my parents to every single one of my one-night fucks. Even with Heath it's more proximity and availability than anything else as Corthbolt has proved neatly.

This is how I know I'm not as good an actor as I like to claim I am -- because if I were, people wouldn't be able to see through the act so easily to the unlovable thing below.

Debbie kept up an amiable chatter for a while, but as my spirits tumbled down the open manhole of my self-esteem, I became less and less able to answer. My monosyllables seemed to infect everyone, and the conversation gave up the ghost completely after a few minutes of lying on its back and gasping for sentences.

Then I started to shake uncontrollably, which was definitely a must-not-miss highlight in the story of my ignominy, an all new way for me to make an idiot out of myself. Debbie cuddled me close, hugely sympathetic, thinking I was having a delayed reaction to what Justin had done to me. I wasn't, at least, not in the way she thought. It wasn't the violence that was bothering me; I just couldn't stop hearing what he'd shouted at me, what he'd called me, what he'd accused me of doing. I couldn't stop agreeing. He was right. I was a monster, a filthy thing.

And being cuddled by Debbie was nice, warm and, well, at least someone cared, but hers were not the arms I wanted to feel around me.

Have I destroyed Richard by my seduction? It seemed so right when I did it. I was a healing angel, breaking through Richard's barriers to bring him joy and knowledge of his true self. I said whatever needed to be said. I shone; I was glorious. I knew I was irresistible. I pushed and tugged and wouldn't accept 'no' as any kind of answer. And really, doesn't that make me at least as much of an almost-rapist as Richard claims to be?

At least my shaking put an end to the silence, and indeed, to the evening as Richard decided it was bedtime even though Martha had yet to arrive home.

So here I am, still shaking a little as I sit fully dressed on the spare bed, waiting to see if Richard will be different now it's just us again. During my turn in the bathroom, I made the mistake of looking in the mirror. Now I can't deny or forget how I look: pale and blotchy, still visibly bruised around my nose, more like a delinquent child than a hot young stud.

Oh God, that was the bathroom door.

I look up as Richard walks in and offer an uncertain smile in return for his own. "Can sleep with me if you want," he says as he shuts the door. "If you don't mind the squeeze. Up to you, of course."

Oh yes, that's more like it. "I'd like that," I say, and needing no further invitation, I stand and watch Richard strip, doing the same myself a little more slowly. He slides all his divine nudity under the duvet far too quickly, moving to lie on his back at the far side of the single divan, under the curtains. I turn the light off and then follow, the small bed giving me more than adequate excuse to press close, although I don't quite dare wrap my arms around him, not without more encouragement.

"You're still shivering," he says almost accusingly after a few minutes in which the only noise is our breathing. He turns in the bed to face me, putting his hand on my upper arm. "Maybe you should wear something."

"Your body heat will keep me nice and warm," I say and decide that's encouragement enough to snuggle closer, so I do. I feel his arms slide around me in turn and his hot breath against my forehead, and something tightly knotted inside me starts to loosen, just a little. "Rich?"

"Mmm?"

"Is everything ok?"

"Yeah, course." He takes a deep breath. "Well, 'cept that I'm worried about you. Can't say I liked the attack of the trembles much. Maybe we should've got someone to take a gander at that bruise."

"I'm fine," I tell him firmly. "I'm sure it was just what Debbie said, a delayed shock reaction. I had something similar after Wattsy... after he did what he and his gang did." Well, it's not entirely untrue.

"Christ, Stepney don't do you no favours, do it?" I feel a shiver run through Richard as if mine transferred to him in some version of that undulating wave I've seen in football crowds. "So fucking sorry about Justin, mate. I would never have thought he'd..."

"It's not your fault. Stop making me repeat myself." God, can't we let this subject drop? My lovely new bruise aches like hell on a particularly sluggish night, but he could easily distract me from it if he cared to. I wonder if I dare kiss his shoulder. Hmm, seems I do, silk-soft skin against my lips. "Anyway, don't we have nicer things to remember from this evening than that, things that don't come under header of 'Allan's Adventures in King's Ale Land'?"

Richard snorts softly but doesn't reply. He kisses me chastely on the forehead. For a hopeful moment, I wonder if that was a light apéritif before some more filling meal of affection, but nothing happens in the next few minutes beyond his breathing becoming suspiciously slower and deeper. So, that would be a no to more sex then.

Does he even still like me? The concern says 'yes'; the disinclination for further sexcapades says 'no', and the non-committal affection could go either way. Really, this is not a question I should have to consider when lying naked in bed in the arms of a sexy guy. Just the touch and warmth of his skin has been enough to get me hard, which he must be able to feel.

Oh buggeration, was that a snore? The bastard really has fallen asleep.

I've had some bad nights in my life, but this one looks set to claim the dry and unwholesome biscuit. I picture myself lying awake, staring into the dark, my bruises and my cock competing for the 'Best Ache' title, and me unable to do anything to help myself relax for fear of waking Richard. Thoughts get very grim during long hours spent motionless in darkness; that's something I know well from darker times. Voices become powerful; voices that would have no right talking to me here. Justin, Bish, Corthbolt, my father of course, and Richard himself -- they'll all have something pertinent to tell me about how I've hurt or failed each one of them.

I've clearly failed with Richard. Maybe I'll get a chance to repair whatever it is I've done wrong in the morning, although how I can repair anything when I don't even know precisely what has broken, I'm not sure. I shut my eyes and try to relax, being warm and cuddled is pleasant enough in its own right, after all.

After an period of time completely indeterminable to me, so lost am I in my thoughts, there's a noise from downstairs, and Richard stirs beside me.

"That's Mum back," he murmurs, making me wonder if he was really asleep at all. Something I have even more urgent questions about when he says, "Sorry 'bout this, just gotta check she sets the alarm right," and clambers over me, revealing in the process that he has a pretty substantial erection.

I watch him, a vague shape in the darkness, put on his bathrobe and head out of the door. Now I really don't know what to think, which unfortunately isn't stopping me trying out a wide variety of tacky, ill-suiting thoughts on for size.

I turn the sidelight on and sit up a little to wait for him, my arms folded over the top of the duvet. If he is hard and I am hard, why precisely are we not having sex? I'm beginning to think my mistake was assuming this particular show-jumping arena only had one water jump. Perhaps the fact that I was the one in control the first time has led him to believe it has to be me initiating things this time too. I wonder where I left my riding crop.

Maybe I need to tie him up again.

He returns after about five minutes, during which my time in the boutique of bad thoughts has managed to persuade me into a snug mood of mulish determination. Left to his own devices, I fully expect Richard to get back into bed now and fall straight to pretend-sleep again, and I can't let that happen.

"Sorry about that," he says, standing in the middle of the room and conspicuously not removing his robe. His eyes keep veering towards the sidelight as if he craves darkness, although surely his erection can't have survived venturing downstairs and seeing his mother. "All sorted now though. Feel free to go back to the arms of the sandman, my lad."

I carefully if impolitely haven't moved to the back edge of the bed. so he will have to clamber over me again if he wants to get in. Neither do I look away. "I was hoping for a return to someone else's arms," I say more than a little sourly, too tired and uncertain to maintain any 'sub' on my text. "I'm not sure why you asked me to share your bed if you... "

Richard, half-turned away from me, had started to untie his robe's belt, but now he freezes. Perhaps I somehow managed to imbue my words with all the dismal power of what-not-to-wear thoughts, and they've turned him to stone in their clashing awfulness. "I thought you wouldn't want to be alone after..." he starts, still unmoving. "Have I fucked up again?"

"No... Not really." I unfold my arms and move my hands up to rub at my eyes. "It's just, well, was earlier it then?"

"Don't you want it to be it?" Richard sighs quietly and turns, his robe still tied. He comes to sit on the edge of the bed beside me. "I mean, I know I weren't very good. Got a lot to learn, ain't I? Sorry about that." I just stare, having no idea what to say, and he closes his eyes. "Out of my depth here, mate. Dunno what happens next, what you want to happen next. If anything, like. You have to tell me."

How can he be this oblivious? This ignorant? I reach out to touch his hand where it rests on his leg. "You? Is it ok to want you?"

Eyes open again, Richard bites his lip briefly before asking, "More sex?"

"Only if you'd like that too." I huff softly. "Really, what I want is all too dependent on what you want, and you really are the crowned king of mixed signals, you know."

"Am I? Don't mean to be. I'm just... lost." He sounds so forlorn that I sit up in bed and wrap my arms around him. My bruised belly complains, but I ignore it. This is far more important. After a moment's stiffness, Richard seems to relax a little, and his own arms slide around me in turn. "Pretty much in for whatever you want," he murmurs eventually. "If it's something I'm capable of, like."

I can't stop a little chuckle escaping; it's the relief more than anything else. I still don't understand what's going on in Richard's head, but his words seem clear enough. I press a kiss to his cheek before saying, "And I pretty much want all you're prepared to give me or let me give you."

"Yeah?" Richard's arms tighten. "Really, yeah? 'M not just one of your nameless-faceless?"

Oh, is that what this is about? How can he even think that? I stroke his back, trying to reassure. "Hardly. I want the good bits of tonight to happen again." I kiss his neck, lowering my voice further when I add, "And again. Starting with as soon as you feel up... to it."

He chuckles throatily. "Keep doing that and it won't be long, which I reckon is your general idea, yeah?" He moves his hand to the back of my neck and then begins to kiss me -- easily, as if he's never had any issues with doing this sort of thing and wasn't just consumed with insecurity about it all.

Richard's mouth has a slightly metallic taste to it, but that's a turn-on for some reason. We can take time and enjoy the kiss now, unlike those frantic ones earlier that left my lips feeling almost as bruised as my belly. Nonetheless, there's still something hungry about it, something demanding and edgy. It makes me feel a little tight inside, a much more pleasant tugging than the anxiety it's replacing. It makes the bruise on my belly ache in a nice way. How can a kiss do that?

Richard groans and pulls back. He's breathing heavily, and his eyes are half-lidded as he stares at me. "Allan..."

I put my fingers to the belt of Richard's robe. "Let's get this back off."

He stands suddenly, ripping my hands from him, and for a horrid moment, I think he's changed his mind. But he's just stripping again. I lean back on my elbows and watch the brief show.

"Ok, it's off." And thrown all the way across the room in Richard's urgency, apparently. Naked, he lifts the covers and then makes a small noise, staring at either my cock or the bruise.

"You can kiss it if you like," I say, hoping I guessed correctly and trying not to giggle. I'm feeling light-headed now, giddy with happiness, I suppose, that he still wants me after all. I'm still an idiot, but at least I'm an idiot who's desired.

Richard makes a strange noise and sits heavily back down beside me, his own hard cock bobbing as he does so. He stares at my erection. "Don't know how..."

"Rubbish. You know how to kiss very well."

He glances up to my face. "Yeah, but that's..."

"You don't have to if you don't want to."

Looking back down, Richard bends over me. I feel soft lips pressed against the head of my cock and release a breath I didn't know I was holding. Another soft kiss, and then a wet caress, curling around.

I look down to see his tongue on me. "Oh."

He looks up immediately. "This all right?"

"More than all right. Anything you want to do is all right. Anything. Apart from, that is, stopping." He laughs and curls his hand around the base of my cock and kisses it more thoroughly, letting it slide a little into his mouth to be licked and cosseted. "That's... oh, that's good." I moan encouragingly.

Presumably so encouraged, Richard takes the whole head into his mouth and then more, letting it press into the back of his throat so that I gasp. All I need now is a little suction, and this could become a really great blowjob. Would he welcome a tutorial?

He moves his head up and down slowly, his eyes closed as if in meditation, and watching him, it's almost enough anyway.

It's almost too much, actually. I close my own eyes, lying back in the pillow and using my hand on Richard's shoulder to encourage and praise. It's strange how things can change so quickly. It keeps happening to me ever since the night I donned the corset. Excitement to despair, despair to terror, terror to glee, glee to frustration, frustration to oh my God, Richard has my cock in his mouth. It's as if I'm riding a karmic seesaw.

This though, without the vision of him going down on me, is simply relaxing, pampering, like getting a massage or a good haircut, and every once in a while, Richard gets it just right, causing me to thrust up a little or groan.

There's a sudden painful scrape of teeth followed by what sounds like Richard trying to apologise with his mouth full, which makes me laugh. I open my eyes to find him frowning up at me, his mouth contorted around my cock. Oh, that sight makes me ache, but I suppose I'd better take pity.

I stroke a hand over his shoulder. "Why don't you come up here and kiss me? We'll use our hands for now, and later on today we can exchange lessons. I'll teach you everything I know about blowjobs, and you can finally give me my first self-defence class."

"Deal," he says after lifting his head, sounding suspiciously relieved. He clambers over me to lie by my side, pulling the duvet up over us. "Was I as bad as all that?"

"No, not at all." I turn to face him. Reassurance is important here. "It was very nice. You just don't yet know all the tricks, and I'd rather save any lessons for when we're both feeling more alert. That's all." I snuggle close, pressing our bodies together. "Anyway, you're so gorgeous, it wouldn't matter if it was the worst attempt ever, which it wasn't by far, I'd still enjoy it."

"Flatterer." Richard sounds pleased all the same. He slides his trapped hand under my cheek and leans in to kiss me again. I can taste myself now, always something that makes me harder, and I kiss back with happy passion as I reach down between us to curl my fingers around his cock, soft again after his attempts to learn new oral skills.

It's stupidly good to be touching it again. Richard has such a fine cock, and it's so like him: large, strong and forthright. I've been rather obsessing over it since my first epiphanic glimpse two weeks ago. I know it's only a penis; I really do know that. It's just... it's an important penis.

I squeeze gently, moving my thumb over the foreskin-hooded head as I wait for a useful firmness to return. It doesn't take long at all.

Richard grunts into my mouth, but he doesn't stop the kiss as he reaches down to grip me in turn. A brief confusion of limbs persuades me to swap to my lower hand and then everything works perfectly, and oh God, hasn't Richard learnt something well from his fumbling earlier on? Every man really should know how to stroke a cock, I know, but this is... a significant improvement.

I gasp in a strangled kind of way, clutching at his shoulder with my free hand. Richard makes a noise almost like a snarl, the kiss getting harder. I drag in breath through my nose as the tight grip on the back of my neck means I can't free my mouth. Not that I want to, not at all.

And not that a short sharp hand job is what I ultimately hope for from Richard this weekend, now that progress has restarted. But softly softly catchee previously straight boys, and anyway, Christ, as hand jobs goes, this is one destined to trip up to the stage in floods of happy tears to grasp the well-deserved award in its sticky hands while thanking its agent, its mother and the boy down the road with the cute dog.

"Rich. Oh fuck, Rich..." My vision is channelling, or it would be if I could keep my eyes open. There's a smell of sex in the air, our heavy breathing and the complaining bed springs our accompanying music. Richard is ramrod hard and thrusting into my grip, which is good as I only have limited movement in my lower hand, and it's getting more than tricky to concentrate. Richard has his thumb just so and-

I buck forward, caught by surprise as my vision narrows to a pinprick, my muscles pulling tight like drawstrings. Fuck, oh fuck. Oh fu- My head tips back as my body arches, orgasm momentarily stripping my senses from me.

Spent, my body throbbing in post-climatic relaxation, I have only just enough will left to keep my grip firm for Richard's increasingly urgent thrusts. There's no kiss now, just harsh panting, and I think about saying something hot to help him over, but what? And then it's too late anyway as more warm wetness spills on my belly, and a tight cry sounds close to my ear.

We lie, still and sticky, for some time, faces close enough to feel each other's breath, each of us occasionally pressing kisses onto available face space. The duvet has worked its way down while we moved so franticly and now covers only our hips and legs, but I'm not cold. In fact, I've stopped shivering at all.

Finally, Richard pulls back and smiles at me, still looking a little dazed. "All right?"

"Very." I grin stupidly back at him.

"So what with earlier on and now this, have I broken my duck?" He wipes his hand on the quilt cover. "Or does that require... penetration?"

I shrug lazily, still grinning. "Any encounter that involves two people and two orgasms meets my definition of sex, but if you'd like certainty, you can always fuck me."

Richard's smile falters immediately, and he looks down. "Not sure I'm ready for that yet."

"Okay." I say quickly, trying to mean it. "It can be a big hurdle to get over. There are so many hang-ups involved with... with that part of the body."

"Arsophobia?" He laughs. "Nah, it ain't that. You forget I grew up with the idea that the arse was a damn good place to have fun in providing you were careful, like. I know all about prostates and lube and condoms and anal orgasms -- know all the theory."

That's a hell of a lot more than I knew when I first started touching other boys. I shut my mouth and swallow, turning to lie on my back "That's... unusual," I manage weakly.

Richard raises himself on his elbow, touching my face with the back of his hand and making me look at him. "Mel got all militant about making sure our sex ed. covered all flavours. Mind you, his take on straight sex was 'very bloody interesting' according to Mum, but she put us right." He chuckles, but then he looks away again. "Nah, it's just... not sure I trust myself enough for that yet. The idea of... of being inside you is... I'm scared I'll..."

I wait, but he doesn't finish his sentence. "There's no rush," I say. "You don't have to ever touch me there if you don't want to."

"Do you want me to?"

That makes me laugh. "Of course I do." I run my hand down Richard's chest, discovering that he too is rather tacky in the belly area. After a couple of seconds, I add, "Stupid."

"Don't mock the challenged, you." Richard lightly slaps my bottom, leaving his hand on my hip afterwards.

"Mmm, nice." I grin and wriggle. "I'll have to be bad some more."

He wrinkles his nose. "All things considered, I wouldn't've expected you to so get off on being spanked. Guess it must be that public school thing."

"My school, which as I keep telling you isn't public, doesn't use corporal punishment. And anyway, it's illegal now. Stupid."

His eyes widen. "Asking for it, I don't know." Shaking his head slowly, he smiles but then says, "Not gonna hit you, Allan. You've had enough people doing that recently." He moves his hand to stroke gently over my bruise, pushing the duvet even further down. "Git really put some force behind this one. Might get Mum to look at it tomorrow."

There's a distant bang from somewhere else in the house, or maybe from the house next door. From far off, I can hear the beat of rock music starting.

I look down at myself. The bruise does look rather spectacular, but it's insignificant when compared to the mess in which Richard's hand is gently sliding. Heath will laugh at me for finding romance in the mixed semen of two bodies. Actually, no, he won't. He'll understand. He'll see why it matters. It isn't just bodily fluid; it's metaphor.

"I'm fine," I say, trying not to sound distracted. "It looks far worse than it feels, and anyway, I almost like it."

"Why for fuck's sake?" Richard doesn't seem to approve, but surely it's better I like it than I feel ashamed for being a victim.

I try to explain. "Justin did his worst, tried his hardest to stop this, us, but yet here we are."

He looks up with a small smile. "So the bruise is what, a medal of honour or something?"

"Evidence maybe." I one-shoulder shrug. "You, this time here in your bed, would be the prize."

That makes Richard snort. "A stupid virgin who can't keep you safe don't seem like all that much of a prize to me."

The distant rhythm is getting louder, I think. I can't tell how serious Richard is from his tone, and I shift uncomfortably, moving my fingers nervously through the light hair on his chest. "You're all I've wanted for weeks."

"Yeah?"

He moves his wet hand up to cup and stroke my face. We're certainly going to need our showers in the morning. I like this though. I've been with men who can't wait to hit water after sex. It's not very complimentary, having someone want to wash you away so quickly. I love the fact that we're slippery with each other and that Richard seems unfazed by it. I love the smell of us too; it's mingling us together, making us one in a funny kind of way.

"And now?" Richard asks. "Still want me?"

He isn't meant to be the insecure one, and yet I keep finding myself as the one-eyed king in this bed. "Nothing's changed. Or if it has, it's only become stronger," I tell him.

"We boyfriends then?"

Ok, I certainly didn't expect that, not from the man who seemed scared of my touch an hour or so ago. We've only had sex twice. We've only known each other a fortnight. "I... well, that's certainly something I was hoping for, in the future." I laugh, thinking about it. "You know, once I'd managed to hook you on my special brand of loving." I try out a wink as they seem to be a popular form of communication in this household.

"Guess I hook easy." Richard kisses me again briefly before adding, "Don't think I'm a casual sex type."

No, he's more like those rare plants that only bloom once every decade. It's silly if not downright ridiculous to be talking about boyfriend status at this early stage, but I want my inner cynic to shut up about that. "As causes go," I say cautiously, "I come with a lot of 'effect'. Are you sure you want all the trouble that having a boyfriend is going to bring?"

He sighs. "Ah, it's not like my family's gonna disown me, is it? Sod anyone else who does." He looks down, appearing almost bashful. It's quite appallingly endearing, actually. "Want more of this," he says. "Lots more."

God, that feels so very good to hear. Does he really know what he's asking for though? Twenty-four hours ago Richard was a supposedly straight virgin, after all. "You won't have lots more," I say, thinking about Bish's ban on jaunts home until after Christmas, "or at least, not often. Not in the flesh." Maybe he can get a transfer to Oxford when my pointless studies move on to there, and ok, now who's jumping ahead of himself?

Richard draws right back, alarming me. "If you don't want what I'm offering, just say. You don't need build a bloody obstacle course between us. Just tell me if I'm way out of order here."

"Stupid," I say quickly. I really have to stop calling him that. "Of course I want it, want you. Come back here." I tug at... at my boyfriend. All that time I spent trying to crush my romanticism, and now I'm having a feast of old-fashioned hero handed to me on a... on a single bed that only just has room for both of us and which increasingly needs a change of bedding. "I just wanted to make sure you understood what you're letting yourself in for with me."

Gazing at me, Richard moves back again, a slight frown making him appear perplexed, something exaggerated by the golden up-lighting on his face from the sidelight. "Not done nothing like this before. You know that."

"I know. That's all right. If it's any help, I've never had a boyfriend before either."

My Aurelius doesn't look overly reassured by that. "Huh. Guess we'll be making it up as we go along then."

"Don't worry," I tell him. "If in doubt, do to me what you just did, and I'll be putty in your hands."

"In the event of emergency, pull this cock?" Richard laughs and pulls me closer. "I'd rather you were a bit firmer than putty though, in such an event."

I laugh, and we move together, our bodies snug, our hands moving over each other lazily. We are mapping each other out, creating a sensory blueprint of our newly claimed territories. Claimed and won, yes, and Justin can go find himself another d'Artagnan. His words and fists achieved nothing. Richard is now my boyfriend. I've won.

God, I can't believe all this is really happening. I mean, what gay man hasn't at least once fantasised about seducing a gorgeous straight man over to the dark side? And I've actually done it. I've actually woken my sleeping beauty and led him, wrists bound, from the castle-cum-closet.

Eventually, Richard reaches over me and turns out the light. That thumping beat has stopped now. I wonder if it was coming from Grant's room. I suspect it was too distant for that, but I'm not actually sure which of the doors leading from this long 'u'-shaped landing is his. Richard pulls the duvet over us and then says, "Let's try spooning, make the most of our space."

So I turn to face outwards into the dark of the room and feel him move to press close behind me, his body warming mine all the way down my back. His upper arm lies over me, his hand on my chest, holding me closer still, and I can feel his cock, soft now but no less wonderful, pressed against my buttocks.

I'm still not sure I'll get a lot of sleep tonight, but I'm certain that, if I don't, it won't be because a Greek chorus of internalised voices are keeping me awake. No doomsayers can get anywhere near me now I'm girded by Aurelian gold.

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