Show Not Tell


Part Three - Thom

My idiot boy stares at the closed kitchen door as if he can't work out what on earth it is. In the bright fluorescent light out here, he looks kind of blotchy and pale, the contrast between his dark hair and skin more extreme. The twat's completely off his bonce, and I only wish I had a fucking clue why he felt a need to get blasted so fast. He was fine during the meal. I just don't understand what's going on here. Staying calm is really bloody hard right this moment.

I still have hold of one of his wrists, but he lifts his free hand up to my cheek. "Don't be sad. There's no one but us in here. You can call me 'Joe' now if you want."

I grab his other wrist and pull his hand away, dragging him to one side, to the small round table Claire's using as a coat-store. "S'pose there's no point in asking what the fuck that was about in there, is there?"

He frowns, his hair falling in front of his face in long strands. Then he brightens and says, "Just my bad hand getting scratchy. It's very naughty and should be punish... ed. You have it under control now, you... you big masterly he-man, you." He pushes forward with his body and licks from the 'V' of my shirt collar up the side of my neck.

I crane my head away as being seduced while he's in this state just ain't gonna happen. "Talk to me, Joe. What was all the heavy duty slutting around with that Angus bloke about?"

"Oh." He stares at me for a long time, wavering to and fro as I continue to hold his wrists. "Is that why you're so sad and cross then?" he asks eventually.

And there was me thinking I was being supremely controlled under the circumstances. "Don't think you'd've liked it much, mate, if it had been me behaving like that with some bird."

His lips slowly curve upwards 'til he's grinning like bloody Ronald MacDonald at me. "You're jealous. You're really jealous."

"Any reason I shouldn't be?" Yeah, I'm feeling possessive, and I don't mind admitting it. Couldn't believe it as I watched them get closer and closer, that pillock's hands all over my lad. "No clue why you'd want an old bloke like him touching you when you've got me."

Another little frown creases Joe's brow. He blinks, perhaps trying to focus his sozzled eyes. "But I've not got you," he says slowly. "Not out there. Here, behind closed... white things. Got you here." He tries to move closer again, but I twist his wrists in such a way that he can't bend his arms so is stuck where he is. "Not out there though. Not where people can see."

"Oh, so that's what this is about?" I might've bloody guessed. "Why the fuck can't you ever tell me what you want, Joe? Why does it have to be a sodding stupid game with you every bloody time?" I shake my head, take a deep breath, and let go of his wrists, pulling him close. With a hand under his chin, I lift his face, then push the hair out of his eyes. "What the hell am I going to do with you, eh?"

He gives me a very stupid smile. "Fuck me?" He wriggles in a way that's probably meant to be sexy, but feels more like he's having some kind of fit.

"Reckon your arse has had more than enough of me today," I tell him, patient as I know how. "And anyway, I somehow can't think your precious Claire'll appreciate me buggering you senseless in her kitchen."

He frowns and then looms forward to kiss me. I let him for a little while, putting up with the whisky stink, 'til I feel his hand moving between us, making a clumsy grab for my poor cock. Then I push him away from me again, back to holding his wrists.

"Behave," I say firmly. "And tell me why you were letting old Angus in there get all hot and sweaty over you. If you want something from me, ask me. How can I give you what you want if you won't tell me what it is?"

"Want you to fuck me," he says, all big-eyed and beseeching. "Please, Thom. Please. Need you."

I catch myself almost considering it and shake my head. "Tell me about Angus."

"And then you'll fuck me?" he asks hopefully and then moans as I twist his wrists painfully. "Oww. Don't be horrid."

"Just bloody tell me then!"

"Was flirting for Claire," he says sulkily. Well, that's utterly bloody inexplicable all right.

"What?"

"Was flirting with Angus for Claire. 'Cause she invited him here for me, and it's your bloody fault she did 'cause you won't let me tell her about us. So if you don't like... don't like him, it's..." he seems to be running out of steam, but he's made his point well enough.

I pull him back to me again, feeling like we're doing the sodding Hokey-Cokey. "How many times I gotta tell you this, Joe. If you want something from me, if you want me to do something, tell me. Just bloody ask for what you want."

"Let me tell Claire."

I can't help the wince, so I pull him closer still and put my face in his hair. If Claire's told, that'll be that for my rep 'round here. I might not be homophobic, but that makes me pretty unique in Rabford where even the gays themselves seem to bloody well hate themselves, at least my Joe's anything to go by. "What that actually means," I tell him gently, "is 'let me out you, Thom', ain't it? 'Cause once she knows, sooner or later, everyone will."

I feel him nod. "Ok then, let me out you, Thom."

I tense up, brief anger surging hot through my veins; I let it surge and fade, breathing steadily. "And you think that's a reasonable thing to ask of me, when you can't even make yourself ask me to be your fucking boyfriend? I mean, Jesus Christ, Joe, that's a huge thing you're asking of me. There's no going back when that kind of moggy's let out the sack. And what do I get back from you?"

There's silence, though his hands are moving restlessly over me. One of them fixes itself to the front of my trousers again, and I gently move it on its way. Then, voice very slurred, Joe says, "Do you... d'you want me to ask you to... to be my boy... friend?"

"Yeah." No point in denying that one. "And I want you to talk to me; tell me how you feel, what you want from me. 'Cause I fucking hate these guessing games, Joe. They're set up to make me lose. It's like you want me to fuck-up, want me to be a bastard to you." And I can't bloody stand being used like that.

Another long pause, followed by, "And then you'll come out?"

I try to relax my clenching jaw. Fuck, what do I say here? "Yeah, maybe. I'll let you tell Claire anyway, but if there's anything you can do or say to stop her spreading it, I'd really bloody appreciate it, mate.".Did I really just say that? God help me, I'm doomed now.

It's his turn to pull back. He holds my face in his hands and stares at me with bleary eyes. "Do you want to envark... embark on a period of monogamb... monogamous sexual partneringthing and, er, go out places with me, Thom?"

"Yeah." I suppose that's the best I'm going to get. Christ almighty, but it's easier to get a Spar till girl to accept a Euro than it is to get Joe to ask for what he wants. "Yeah, I do."

He grins at me and wobbles then turns for the door. "Gonna tell Claire."

"No, you're bloody not," I grab his waist and pull him back tight against me, his arse to my crotch. "Not yet, and not 'til Angus has gone if you're telling the truth 'bout why the poor bloke's here."

"Angus is nice," he tells me happily, rubbing his arse against me in a way that's bloody distracting to say the least. "He's got a nice voice and nice eyes, and I don't fancy him one single little bitty tiny teeny weeny iota, which isn't nice at all."

"Glad to hear it." I tighten my arms around him. "'Cause now we're boyfriends, there'll be no letting other blokes get their pudgy hands on you, all right?"

"Or you'll beat 'em up." Joe giggles.

"If I have to, yeah. So for their sakes, don't let 'em."

"Won't. Only want you to touch me. All I've ever wanted. Only ever you since school. No one else did a very good 'you' though I tried to teach them. Only you do a good 'you'. You do the best 'you' ever..."

I smile, listening to him babble, telling me stuff in a sideways kind of way that he could never tell me straight up. He's a rather cute drunk when he's not making me see red by lap dancing some old geezer. And at least I can almost get him to say what he wants from me when he's this far gone. Normally at this stage I'm just as bladdered as he is though. It's weird to be stone cold sober and watch him all hazed out and reeling.

"You got me now," I tell him in a low voice close to his ear. "Hook, line and heavy thing. No need for all these games, love. No need at all. Sod all, I wouldn't give you. Whatever you want."

And the really sad git thing is that I mean it, at least as I say it. Anyone would think I'm the one who's been overdoing the guzzling, what with all the True Romancifying going on, but Joe just laughs for some reason. Then he wriggles around in my arms. "Wanna be fucked," he says, proud as a small boy who's found something big, black and scuttling. "Wanna be fucked by you in here on top of everyone's coats."

I give him an exasperated look. "Not gonna happen, Joe."

"You just said--" He pokes me hard on the breastbone. "You just said wha'ever I want. You did. I heard you. Not so drunk as to miss that."

"I wasn't talking about..." I take a deep breath. "Look, I'd be taking advantage of you. If I fuck you here and now, you'll be spitting venom at me for doing it come the morning. And stop bloody doing that!" I remove his hand from the front of my trousers, again.

"You don't love me enough to take a lil risk," he slurs, and yeah, now I really know he's pissed as the L-word is more proscribed than a whole dictionary of P-words.

"No, I'm just gonna take a fucking great risk by coming out to Claire for you," I point out to him, with little hope he'll take it in. Dad'll probably never speak to me again if and when it gets back to him, and as for my mates... Hell, I don't even want to think about it.

Suddenly Joe drops to his knees in front of me, grabs my hips and presses his face into my groin. "Don't stop me," he says. At least I think that's what he says. Hard to hear when he's telling it directly to my cock. "I want to do this."

I groan as I feel him start to fiddle with my belt. Having him down there is having its inevitable effect, but I meant what I said about not here, not now. As it is, he'll be munched on by shame demons for brekkie once sobered up. I grab his hands and try to move back from him, but of course, the table's directly behind me, so I can't.

"Let me," he says and looks up at me with huge, intense eyes. "Wanna show you how much I... how happy I am... with you." He presses his face forward again and starts to nuzzle around my swelling prick, making me gasp just a little. "Let me."

My grip must've been weak as suddenly he's got one hand free again and is firmly massaging my hard-on through my trousers with its heel. I groan and find myself half-sitting on the edge of the table. "Joe... Joe, you're pissed, mate. Really, really fucking pissed." I move my hand to stop him again and somehow it ends up mussed into his hair, encouraging his nuzzling. "Jesus, fuck, you better still be speaking to me once that half a bottle of Glen Grant is out of your system."

His only answer is to open my fly, and I don't stop him. Don't lift a sodding finger as, well, I never claimed to be a bloody saint, did I? I don't do abstinence. As his long fingers close around me, I tip my head back and concentrate on breathing. I feel the wet of his tongue touch me, and then I'm bathed in heat and spit that's probably about 70° proof.

"Christ, Joe. Be careful with your teeth, yeah?"

He mumbles something around me and starts to move his head. As blowjobs go, this one's clumsy and all over the sodding shop, so why the fuck am I finding it such a turn on that I'm already breathing hard, already fighting to stop myself thrusting? Other than the fact it's Joe, and I've kind of been dog-trained to respond to him over the last few months, I don't know. Maybe I've got a thing about semi-public shagging and the risk of being discovered in flagrante.

It's possible. Can't ever forget that I didn't even know I fancied the lean and tender goodness of Joe 'til we got hard together.

He does something with his tongue on the underside of my cock, and I gasp. Thank fucking God for the noise of the dishwasher, which seems to be entering some kind of rinse cycle now, though I doubt it's loud enough to drown out the usual kind of racket the two of us make once we get going. Still, Joe's effectively gagged, at least.

I stir my hand in his hair, wanting to take control. There's a rhythm in the dishwasher noise, one totally lacking in Joe's chaotic movements. I find my hand tightening with each thrum, thrum, thrum, and lo and behold, Joe starts to respond, starts to move with the beat, whole body movements like he's dancing 'round the pole of my cock. "Oh yeah. Oh Christ, yeah, that's good. Oh Joe, you clever lad."

Know better than to look really. Know what it does to me to see myself sliding wetly in and out of Joe's fucking gorgeous mouth. Can't look away now; turned to stone by what I've seen, ain't I? Well, ok, so I'm panting, twitching stone that's currently spouting a load of feverish twaddle that basically boils down to 'don't you dare fucking stop now'. I remember doing this for him earlier today and remember how it felt to have a mouth full of him, and oh Christ. "Joe, Joe, Joe, my lad, my... oh Christ, yeah. You're so good at that."

He takes me deep and swallows around me, and I close my eyes tight, holding my breath, fighting desperately with myself to stay still. When I open my eyes again, it takes a few seconds to register what I'm seeing. Claire is standing in the open doorway, staring at us, mouth hung open, looking as if she's been hit on the bonce so hard she's forgotten to fall down.

Got a split second to decide how to act. I grab the spur of the moment like a saddle horn on a bucking bronco. Joe doesn't seem to know Claire's there, and I intend to keep things that way. I move my hands in his hair, making sure I'm covering his ears, and make 'get the fuck out of here' gestures with my head at Claire. I'm too far gone on the feel of Joe to be embarrassed, and anyway, not like she's not done this to me herself. Even skunk-drunk, Joe's about a thousand times better than her efforts were.

Something seems to click a switch in her, and her mouth shuts, lips and brow folding in a deep frown. Fair enough, I guess; it's her kitchen, after all, but I don't want Joe to know she's seen. It'll mortify him once he's sober.

I slide my palms over his ears, back and forth, hoping to make the kind of noise for him that'll block out anything coming from the living room. Meanwhile, I try to somehow silently express with grimaces and head jerks that Claire needs to bugger off pronto before Joe notices her. Her frown becomes a scowl, but then she rolls her eyes and starts some body language of her own, pointing at the table behind me and looking insistent. I'm guessing she wants one of the coats.

At that point, Joe decides to up the action. It's poss I was getting a little soft what with all the bloody distraction. Suddenly, he's going down on me like there's no next five-minutes or so, let alone a tomorrow. I gasp and find my body curling around him. "Jesus-fuck."

Claire darts forward and starts rummaging through the coats and jackets. I move my hands so they're not only covering Joe's ears, but also providing blinkers, so he can't see to the side. Best I can do when I'm starting to thrust despite my best intentions, and it's all I can do not to provide a running commentary of obscenities for the guests in the living room about how fucking good his mouth feels. Finding it harder and harder to keep my eyes open, and even though I manage it, it's not like I can see much. Got blinkers on too now.

All my muscles are tightening as he sucks and pulls on me, and I know I'm gasping, maybe even sobbing, but I can't help it, and I know I won't be able to keep quiet when... when... oh fuck, oh fucking hell, Christ, bugger it... "Joe! Oh Christ, yeah!"

...

When I dare open my eyes, Claire has gone and the door is closed again, and Joe is very still, my prick still in his gob. Guess he can't move; I've been holding his head so hard. My hands are relaxing now though, and I let them drop. He pulls back and looks up at me with a happy, giddy smile.

"Better than best malt," he says and giggles. God, I'm fucking crazy about him.

"Come here," I say and pull him up to me. I kiss him slowly, deeply, tasting myself amongst the whisky sharpness. So much I could say to him now, but what's the point when he's too blasted to take in more than one word in three. Mind you, that could be handy, knowing how damn stupid he gets about some topics. "Reckon we should go home now," I say in the end, wondering a little uneasily about the reaction when we head back into the main room.

"Ok, darling," Joe says, leaning heavily against me. He seems sleepy.

I let him lean while I tuck and refasten. Then, keeping one arm tightly around him, I rescue our jackets from the pile. "Let's go say our goodbyes then."

"And tell them," he says, and there was me half-hoping he'd forgotten. But, really, that's a fait altogether accompli-ed now anyway, not that Joe knows it.

"Yeah, and break the good news."

I walk him out of the kitchen and find all eyes upon us. Someone's put some more music on, something with a heavy beat, and I can guess easily enough who and why.

Claire's standing by the French windows with Reece and James, and Farook and Brendon -- or Brandon, or whatever his bloody name is -- are on the sofa. There's no sign of Angus, and I hope the coat-collecting means he's buggered off home, poor sod. Not that I feel sorry enough for him to ever let him get his mitts on my boyfriend again.

Joe waves drunkenly in Claire's direction, crying, "Look, look at me!"

"I've seen," she says dryly, and I give her a fierce 'kindly shut the fuck up' look. Getting good at this silent communicating lark.

"Don't be angry with me, dear one," Joe says, trying to wriggle from my grip, presumably to go over to her. "He wouldn't let me tell you before." Yeah, and he could do with shutting up too.

I clench him tighter to me and carefully stare straight ahead as I say, "Yeah, my fault. Don't blame Joseph. I wasn't ready..." Not sure I'm ready yet, not to say the words. But it's done now, ain't it? M'sure Claire has already told all the lads here what she saw. I don't get no choice about being out now. Fuck it.

"Well done, Thomas," one of them says quietly -- James, I think, but I'm still staring at the naff painting that hangs on the wall above the sofa so I can't be sure.

"It explains so very much," Claire says, and there's a bitch-note in her voice that makes me turn to glare at her.

"What the fuck's that meant to mean?"

"I just meant about the way Joe's been acting," she says, all false innocence. I know she didn't mean that, or at least, not just that.

"I'm..." I start and then stop again. Don't know what the problem is here, not really. Not like I normally have problems saying what I mean; that's my boy's issue, not mine. Can hear my heartbeat, loud in my ears, too fast and not in time with the music. Oh, to hell with it.

I pull Joe around to me and put my hand to his face as I move in for a snog. I make it a long one, smooth and sweet like the syllabub stuff Claire served with the tart tonight, plenty of tongue, but subtle. Subtle in the way this point I'm making to them all is not.

There's a scattering of applause from round the room and some 'yeah, baby's and the like. Someone giggles. Joe wraps his arms around me and starts to squirm in a very familiar way, and enough's enough. I pull back, surprise myself by being able to grin at him, then turn to the room.

"We're off now. Joe's overdone the booze, needs to sleep it off."

"The poor darling looks out on his feet," Reece says. "You should take him home and tend to his needs." Reckon I'm gonna have to put up with a lot of those sort of comments now.

"Yeah, I'll look after him." Haven't I always? Ever since he first came out I've been there, trying to save him from his stupidest impulses. It's enough to make me wonder if I haven't always wanted this on some level, but I'm buggered if I know.

"He's mine," Joe says, sounding blissed out as I try to persuade him into his jacket. "At last. So bloody long. He's all mine."

And yeah, I am and all, at least for now. And very soon every sod in Rabford is gonna know it.

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