Blood Rising - Part Four
Rating/Warnings: 15+ language and situations
Word count: 1,940
Four... Five... Six...
Vaguely counting the chimes of the clock, brain not entirely functioning, I was completely relaxed, body floating just the right side of consciousness. Not bothering to open my eyes, I began to stretch the sleep out of my muscles and suddenly remembered where I was: lying against Des, arm draped over his stomach, morning erection pressing into his thigh. My eyelids flew open to find calm, grey eyes looking straight into me.
Neither of us moved.
Outside, a chorus of birdlife looped round and round.
We lay there; him on his back and me on my side, looking at each other. I was concerned that any movement would make my hard-on more obvious. He didn’t seem in the slightest bit bothered.
“What’re you doing?” he eventually asked, sounding more amused than pissed off. He’d been asleep when I’d got into his bed; hadn’t been aware of it.
It was hard to form an answer from the mess of things racing through my head. “You were talking in your sleep… I thought…”
“You thought you’d get into bed with me?” A slow grin changed his answer into a joke. I laughed in relief and went to roll away from him, lifting my hand from his stomach. His hands had been resting on his chest, but one twitched down to cover mine, holding me in place. “I don’t mind…”
Three words and everything was different. I wasn’t sure he’d actually meant to say them. I watched his pupils widen in fear as he realised what he’d done.
“I - I’m sorry…”
The words fell over themselves, his voice shaking and almost inaudible, eyes closing against my reaction, and I could see for myself exactly what his life had become: he was waiting for me to hit him. My skin crawled with the knowledge; whatever else I wanted right then, it wasn’t for him to be as scared of me as he was of his damned brother.
I was the one in the wrong: I should have been apologising and he should have been angry. I shouldn’t have got into bed with him: he shouldn’t have woken up with me there. My cock shouldn’t still have been hard and he shouldn’t have had that effect on me, but that’s how it had happened and it wasn’t his fault.
If he couldn’t see that I’d never hurt him, I had to do something to show him; something I couldn’t take back or change. And if he didn’t mind me being next to him, then I didn’t mind what happened next: I leaned over and put my mouth on his and slid my tongue against his and kissed him.
I kissed Des.
Pulling back, he stared at me without speaking, fear fading into confusion and then something else entirely.
He rolled onto his side so we were facing each other, eyes burning into me, checking for something, “Are you sure…?”
I nodded, heartbeat thudding in my ears.
My fingers found a natural resting place in the small of his back and his breath deepened to match mine. When our mouths met again we were more hesitant; both careful as if each expected the other to react badly.
His arms slowly wrapped round me, pulling me closer toward him until everything merged into focus: his body lying along mine; his hands holding the back of my neck; the pull of the sheets against my sweaty skin; the smell of a bed slept in by two of us; the taste of sleep against my tongue and in his mouth; what was happening between us… and the other lads sleeping in the rooms all around.
Once his tongue was pushing against mine, it no longer seemed important to hold back. I shifted until one of my legs was between his and my cock was back up against his thigh.
“Shit, man…” I whispered into his mouth, unable to stop myself as his hard-on lodged against my hip.
There wasn’t room for thinking as we moved against each other, but I wouldn’t have stopped anyway. I was sixteen and turned on and having sex with another person for the first time. What the hell did thinking have to do with it?
It was frantic and clumsy and quick. And it felt amazing.
And if we worried about being overheard, then in that room, at that moment, it was the only thing worth worrying about.
*
I didn’t know I’d fallen asleep again until I woke to find Des sitting on the edge of the bed with his back to me. His head was angled towards the floor, eyes closed, hands clutching the mattress either side of him.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was praying.
He’d been in the shower, the smell of soap obliterating the scent of his body. His hair was loose, falling along his shoulders and spine, but the light coming through the curtains illuminated his white skin and the marks underneath.
‘…People look at me like I’ve been touched by God or summat…’
I’d only properly understood the line when we’d dressed after swimming. Tag had done a good job of not staring, but I’d seen the mixture of shock and awe in his eyes as he looked away. It would have annoyed me, except it was exactly what I’d done.
And I was doing it again, lying there in Des’ bed.
For a few sacred minutes we’d escaped from everything and everyone, but if I’d thought it was a permanent state of affairs, then I was a complete idiot.
The farmhouse wasn’t real life. It wasn’t even a real farmhouse since the animals had gone. Things were too easy there, too straightforward. ‘Back Home’ was another matter altogether and it was charging towards us by the second.
I reached out to him: wanting to feel him under my fingers, wanting to make things last a bit longer.
He flinched away from the touch, shaking his head without turning to look at me.
“Don’t.”
My hand dropped to the bedclothes where his body had lain a few minutes before.
“Des…”
“Just... don’t,” he sighed and stood up. Retrieving his t-shirt from the floor, he yanked it over his head, putting an instant barrier between us.
We should have been in the same place, but I felt embarrassed and exposed, lying there while he got dressed. I sat up, shorts dragging painfully on sticky skin, physical proof I hadn’t dreamt everything.
He picked up his jeans, “You should get up. The others are moving about.”
The statement was so matter of fact, so unattached, the hurt was instant and unbearable. I couldn’t handle it. “I need a wash,” I growled at him, practically falling out of bed and stomping to the bathroom.
Half an hour of water pounding into my skin didn’t help as much as I thought it might. Des’ attitude had changed too quickly for me to keep up. All those times we’d slept in the same room, and I’d never so much as imagined anything happening, yet he was acting as if it meant nothing; as if the fact was a minor irritation to him.
On the way back to the bedroom, I stopped in front of a mirror. The same old Steve looked back at me: tall, dark, all right looking on a good day… But inside I didn’t fit myself any more. Things had changed and I wanted to know what was supposed to happen next.
I’d calmed down enough to talk to Des, but when I got back to the room, he wasn’t there. I didn’t know whether to be relieved or pissed off.
In a state of confusion, I slowly got dressed.
*
As I made my way downstairs, conversation wafted up from the kitchen. I paused, one hand on the handrail, the other involuntarily clenching against my thigh.
I had no idea what I was walking into. What had happened between Des and me felt so obvious that it was hard to believe no-one else knew about it.
And Des had acted so indifferently that it wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility that he’d told Mark.
“Any particular reason you’re hanging around on the stairs?”
Wayne’s voice, coming from behind, made me jump and I nearly fell down the last few steps. He grabbed my shoulder, keeping me from overbalancing.
Adrenaline turned to irritation, and I shrugged him off, “Thanks a fucking lot.”
“You’re welcome,” he intoned sarcastically. “Now shift your ass. Some of us want breakfast.”
Everyone else was in the kitchen and looking dishevelled, apart from Will, who was resplendent once again in his dressing gown.
Tag was sitting at the breakfast bar, resting his forehead against the cool marble and quietly groaning. Mark was shovelling cereal into his mouth with a distracted expression and hair pointing in several directions.
I forced myself to look at Des, unsure how to act around him. He was perched uncomfortably on a stool, watching me warily, knuckles white where they clutched a mug of tea. Our eyes met briefly before his gaze skittered off in the direction of the floor.
Mark glanced between us, but didn’t say anything.
Will was doing something flamboyant with eggs and whistling the tune to ‘Oh, What a Beautiful Morning’. Bright sunlight bounced through the windows and a clean breeze drifted through the open door.
“Jesus!” Wayne was not impressed. “Will you look at yourselves? Who died?”
Will regarded him seriously over the top of his glasses. “If you want the full list, it might take some time.” He turned to me, pointing with a spatula. “Mornin’, Steve me lad. Sleep well?”
I checked him over for any hint of innuendo whilst Des’ eyes bored into me across the breakfast bar. I spoke gingerly, my answer coming out as more of a question: “Yes?”
“Lucky you,” muttered Tag without lifting his head, his words muffled and hoarse. “I think the whole bloody dawn chorus was perched outside our window.”
Wayne gave him a shove on his way to the kettle, “This is the countryside, you wassock. It wasn’t that bad.”
“What would you know?” complained Tag, “I’m surprised you could hear it over the noise of your farting.”
There was a ripple of laughter and I relaxed a little. If Wayne’s arse was the main topic of conversation, things between Des and me couldn’t have been public knowledge.
“Anyway,” Tag continued, lifting his head to glare blearily at his step-brother, “You’re only cheerful because you were getting some lady-lovin’ last night.”
Wayne fired straight back: “And you’re only miserable ‘cos the last action you got was some boy-lovin’ from your bum-chums at school.”
Tag rolled his eyes and laid his head back down, “Yeah, yeah. Public school: caning; bumming; fags. I’ve heard it all before.”
Even though I wasn’t looking at him, Des’ stare was threatening to burn right through the side of my skull. Thankfully, Will ended the conversation.
“Children, children…” he admonished, providing a pile of fried-egg butties. “Let us agree once and for all to live and let live. Life is too short, etcetera, etcetera.”
Taking a cup of tea from Wayne and a butty from Will, I looked around my mates. We might have been willing to walk through fire for each other, but I wondered how they’d react if they knew what had gone on in the early hours.
It wasn’t something I fancied putting to the test.
I wondered if Des was thinking the same thing. He didn’t say much during the rest of the meal, and nothing at all to me.
*
Word count: 1,940
Four... Five... Six...
Vaguely counting the chimes of the clock, brain not entirely functioning, I was completely relaxed, body floating just the right side of consciousness. Not bothering to open my eyes, I began to stretch the sleep out of my muscles and suddenly remembered where I was: lying against Des, arm draped over his stomach, morning erection pressing into his thigh. My eyelids flew open to find calm, grey eyes looking straight into me.
Neither of us moved.
Outside, a chorus of birdlife looped round and round.
We lay there; him on his back and me on my side, looking at each other. I was concerned that any movement would make my hard-on more obvious. He didn’t seem in the slightest bit bothered.
“What’re you doing?” he eventually asked, sounding more amused than pissed off. He’d been asleep when I’d got into his bed; hadn’t been aware of it.
It was hard to form an answer from the mess of things racing through my head. “You were talking in your sleep… I thought…”
“You thought you’d get into bed with me?” A slow grin changed his answer into a joke. I laughed in relief and went to roll away from him, lifting my hand from his stomach. His hands had been resting on his chest, but one twitched down to cover mine, holding me in place. “I don’t mind…”
Three words and everything was different. I wasn’t sure he’d actually meant to say them. I watched his pupils widen in fear as he realised what he’d done.
“I - I’m sorry…”
The words fell over themselves, his voice shaking and almost inaudible, eyes closing against my reaction, and I could see for myself exactly what his life had become: he was waiting for me to hit him. My skin crawled with the knowledge; whatever else I wanted right then, it wasn’t for him to be as scared of me as he was of his damned brother.
I was the one in the wrong: I should have been apologising and he should have been angry. I shouldn’t have got into bed with him: he shouldn’t have woken up with me there. My cock shouldn’t still have been hard and he shouldn’t have had that effect on me, but that’s how it had happened and it wasn’t his fault.
If he couldn’t see that I’d never hurt him, I had to do something to show him; something I couldn’t take back or change. And if he didn’t mind me being next to him, then I didn’t mind what happened next: I leaned over and put my mouth on his and slid my tongue against his and kissed him.
I kissed Des.
Pulling back, he stared at me without speaking, fear fading into confusion and then something else entirely.
He rolled onto his side so we were facing each other, eyes burning into me, checking for something, “Are you sure…?”
I nodded, heartbeat thudding in my ears.
My fingers found a natural resting place in the small of his back and his breath deepened to match mine. When our mouths met again we were more hesitant; both careful as if each expected the other to react badly.
His arms slowly wrapped round me, pulling me closer toward him until everything merged into focus: his body lying along mine; his hands holding the back of my neck; the pull of the sheets against my sweaty skin; the smell of a bed slept in by two of us; the taste of sleep against my tongue and in his mouth; what was happening between us… and the other lads sleeping in the rooms all around.
Once his tongue was pushing against mine, it no longer seemed important to hold back. I shifted until one of my legs was between his and my cock was back up against his thigh.
“Shit, man…” I whispered into his mouth, unable to stop myself as his hard-on lodged against my hip.
There wasn’t room for thinking as we moved against each other, but I wouldn’t have stopped anyway. I was sixteen and turned on and having sex with another person for the first time. What the hell did thinking have to do with it?
It was frantic and clumsy and quick. And it felt amazing.
And if we worried about being overheard, then in that room, at that moment, it was the only thing worth worrying about.
*
I didn’t know I’d fallen asleep again until I woke to find Des sitting on the edge of the bed with his back to me. His head was angled towards the floor, eyes closed, hands clutching the mattress either side of him.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was praying.
He’d been in the shower, the smell of soap obliterating the scent of his body. His hair was loose, falling along his shoulders and spine, but the light coming through the curtains illuminated his white skin and the marks underneath.
‘…People look at me like I’ve been touched by God or summat…’
I’d only properly understood the line when we’d dressed after swimming. Tag had done a good job of not staring, but I’d seen the mixture of shock and awe in his eyes as he looked away. It would have annoyed me, except it was exactly what I’d done.
And I was doing it again, lying there in Des’ bed.
For a few sacred minutes we’d escaped from everything and everyone, but if I’d thought it was a permanent state of affairs, then I was a complete idiot.
The farmhouse wasn’t real life. It wasn’t even a real farmhouse since the animals had gone. Things were too easy there, too straightforward. ‘Back Home’ was another matter altogether and it was charging towards us by the second.
I reached out to him: wanting to feel him under my fingers, wanting to make things last a bit longer.
He flinched away from the touch, shaking his head without turning to look at me.
“Don’t.”
My hand dropped to the bedclothes where his body had lain a few minutes before.
“Des…”
“Just... don’t,” he sighed and stood up. Retrieving his t-shirt from the floor, he yanked it over his head, putting an instant barrier between us.
We should have been in the same place, but I felt embarrassed and exposed, lying there while he got dressed. I sat up, shorts dragging painfully on sticky skin, physical proof I hadn’t dreamt everything.
He picked up his jeans, “You should get up. The others are moving about.”
The statement was so matter of fact, so unattached, the hurt was instant and unbearable. I couldn’t handle it. “I need a wash,” I growled at him, practically falling out of bed and stomping to the bathroom.
Half an hour of water pounding into my skin didn’t help as much as I thought it might. Des’ attitude had changed too quickly for me to keep up. All those times we’d slept in the same room, and I’d never so much as imagined anything happening, yet he was acting as if it meant nothing; as if the fact was a minor irritation to him.
On the way back to the bedroom, I stopped in front of a mirror. The same old Steve looked back at me: tall, dark, all right looking on a good day… But inside I didn’t fit myself any more. Things had changed and I wanted to know what was supposed to happen next.
I’d calmed down enough to talk to Des, but when I got back to the room, he wasn’t there. I didn’t know whether to be relieved or pissed off.
In a state of confusion, I slowly got dressed.
*
As I made my way downstairs, conversation wafted up from the kitchen. I paused, one hand on the handrail, the other involuntarily clenching against my thigh.
I had no idea what I was walking into. What had happened between Des and me felt so obvious that it was hard to believe no-one else knew about it.
And Des had acted so indifferently that it wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility that he’d told Mark.
“Any particular reason you’re hanging around on the stairs?”
Wayne’s voice, coming from behind, made me jump and I nearly fell down the last few steps. He grabbed my shoulder, keeping me from overbalancing.
Adrenaline turned to irritation, and I shrugged him off, “Thanks a fucking lot.”
“You’re welcome,” he intoned sarcastically. “Now shift your ass. Some of us want breakfast.”
Everyone else was in the kitchen and looking dishevelled, apart from Will, who was resplendent once again in his dressing gown.
Tag was sitting at the breakfast bar, resting his forehead against the cool marble and quietly groaning. Mark was shovelling cereal into his mouth with a distracted expression and hair pointing in several directions.
I forced myself to look at Des, unsure how to act around him. He was perched uncomfortably on a stool, watching me warily, knuckles white where they clutched a mug of tea. Our eyes met briefly before his gaze skittered off in the direction of the floor.
Mark glanced between us, but didn’t say anything.
Will was doing something flamboyant with eggs and whistling the tune to ‘Oh, What a Beautiful Morning’. Bright sunlight bounced through the windows and a clean breeze drifted through the open door.
“Jesus!” Wayne was not impressed. “Will you look at yourselves? Who died?”
Will regarded him seriously over the top of his glasses. “If you want the full list, it might take some time.” He turned to me, pointing with a spatula. “Mornin’, Steve me lad. Sleep well?”
I checked him over for any hint of innuendo whilst Des’ eyes bored into me across the breakfast bar. I spoke gingerly, my answer coming out as more of a question: “Yes?”
“Lucky you,” muttered Tag without lifting his head, his words muffled and hoarse. “I think the whole bloody dawn chorus was perched outside our window.”
Wayne gave him a shove on his way to the kettle, “This is the countryside, you wassock. It wasn’t that bad.”
“What would you know?” complained Tag, “I’m surprised you could hear it over the noise of your farting.”
There was a ripple of laughter and I relaxed a little. If Wayne’s arse was the main topic of conversation, things between Des and me couldn’t have been public knowledge.
“Anyway,” Tag continued, lifting his head to glare blearily at his step-brother, “You’re only cheerful because you were getting some lady-lovin’ last night.”
Wayne fired straight back: “And you’re only miserable ‘cos the last action you got was some boy-lovin’ from your bum-chums at school.”
Tag rolled his eyes and laid his head back down, “Yeah, yeah. Public school: caning; bumming; fags. I’ve heard it all before.”
Even though I wasn’t looking at him, Des’ stare was threatening to burn right through the side of my skull. Thankfully, Will ended the conversation.
“Children, children…” he admonished, providing a pile of fried-egg butties. “Let us agree once and for all to live and let live. Life is too short, etcetera, etcetera.”
Taking a cup of tea from Wayne and a butty from Will, I looked around my mates. We might have been willing to walk through fire for each other, but I wondered how they’d react if they knew what had gone on in the early hours.
It wasn’t something I fancied putting to the test.
I wondered if Des was thinking the same thing. He didn’t say much during the rest of the meal, and nothing at all to me.
*