Happy (Extremely) Belated Birthday, HpStrangelove!!!
Bristol Boys
Author’s Note: Back in 2011, hpstrangelove and I combined a trip to the Diacon Alley Harry Potter convention with a trip around England. One night in Bristol, we glanced up at an open window in the building across from our restaurant and started this story over a few beers. It has been languishing on my hard drive since then. Happy Belated Birthday, hpstrangelove, my friend!
A/N 2: Some of the sexual situations owe their presence here to some fondly remembered 'favorite parts' of Larry Townsend's M/M bdsm books. I no longer have those treasured paperbacks, but some of my favorite dialogue has made it into this story!
“God, what a waste,” Mickey thought, stabbing out his cigarette. He pushed back from the table, leaning forward to watch the water flowing by. Taking a long pull from his-what, third? fourth?-beer, he thought back to the previous evening.
“What do you mean, you don’t think of me ‘that way?’” Sheila asked, her face turning rather ugly in anger and humiliation. She pulled her blouse on roughly, not caring that it was turned inside out. “Why did you come all the way to Bristol if you didn’t like me ‘that way?’’
Mickey’s eyes crinkled in amusement. “Love, when we met, I was hanging out at a bar on Canal Street. I was chatting up a quite sweet-looking lad when you asked me for the time. How could you not know that I was gay?”
“But we went about all day together! Why would you do that if you didn’t like me?” She sniffed, her eyes growing moist.
“But I do like you, and I thought you’d be a great friend! You were entertaining, you said that you were only up in Manchester to see the sights and have a bit of fun, no strings attached. How could you believe that anything I said translated to romantic interest? Good Gods, we spent the whole afternoon and evening rating the pretty boys!”
Apparently, Mickey thought as he hefted his backpack and headed toward the main part of town, looking for a hotel that was still open, the lovely Sheila lacked a number of desperately needed observational and logical skills. He snorted. Yes, she had been naïve, thinking that his accepting her invitation to spend a few days in Bristol meant that even though he was gay, he was still attracted to her. In that same vein, though, he’d been simply stupid, believing a pretty girl’s invite was really the ‘no-strings-attached’ that she claimed it was.
Since it had been so late the previous night, he’d simply followed a recommendation he’d been given to a rather nice B & B, the Brooks Guesthouse, and found that they had a room, though it was only available for one night. This morning, sitting out on the B & B’s quiet patio, he’d admired the clean lines of the building, savored the charming little fountain, and decided to wander through the quaint, inviting St. Nicholas Market.
What to do now? He had already taken three days off from his job at the Manchester Museum of Science, so there really was no need to rush back. After a brisk walk along the river, he was now having a late lunch on the exposed top deck of the Grainbarge Restaurant, moored on the river below the Bristol Aquarium. He was surprised to realize that he was actually having a pleasant time in the mild summer sunlight, watching the water and the people, and making up stories in his mind about his fellow diners.
The afternoon suddenly took a serious turn towards ‘highly promising,’ when a stunning young man came up the stairs to the deck. He looked around at the tables, all occupied, before lighting upon Mickey’s. Gesturing towards the end of the table, which could easily seat six, he asked in a smoky baritone, “Mind if I sit here?”
“Not at all,” Mickey said, smiling as he pulled his belongings over from where they’d spilled out across the table.
“Thanks,” the young man said, grinning easily. He looked exotic, with golden-bronze hair tumbling in waves to his shoulders, warm brown eyes, and a tight, lithe body. An Adonis in the flesh, Mickey’s mind supplied helpfully.
“Cheers,” Mickey answered, lifting his glass and nodding.
They sat quietly, both watching the activity on the waterfront, though Mickey kept sneaking quick glances at the other young man. His tablemate’s food came, and the waiter looked at Mickey’s empty glass. Mickey shook his head, deciding to slow down a bit on the beers, and sat back, closing his eyes as the sun warmed his face.
He opened them at a snort from the other end of the table. “Sorry-what?” Mickey asked, a little drowsy.
“Oh, no-nothing. I was just noticing how disappointed our waiter was. He was hoping you would order another; he wanted the chance to come up and see you again, I rather think.” There was a quick glimpse of flashing white teeth before the man continued. “The name’s Giles, by the way.”
“The waiter fancies me and his name is Giles?” Mickey asked stupidly.
The other man laughed, again flashing a brilliant smile. “No-rather…” He paused then continued, “Yes, the waiter fancies you, but my name is Giles.”
“Oh, sorry, I’m Mickey,” was his rather surprised reply. It was encouraging that the gorgeous Giles noticed blokes checking each other out. But was he gay, and more to the point, was he interested in Mickey? One way to find out, Mickey thought, taking a deep breath.
“So, are you a native? And if so, can you tell a tourist some of the can’t-miss sights here in Bristol?”
Giles’s eyes lit up, and his smile grew unbelievably wider. “Not only can I tell you, I can show you, if you’re up for it.”
~*~*~
If he was up for it? It had indeed been a ‘highly promising’ afternoon and evening, Mickey reflected, perusing the menu at the Slug and Lettuce. Giles had taken them up to Clifton village, where they’d wandered among galleries, boutiques, and cafes. He had even taken them to his own studio, filled with canvases in various stages of landscapes, abstract still lifes, and self-portraits. He’d murmured something about sketching Mickey, though apparently it would involve very little clothing-something about ‘not obscuring his bone structure.’
And they had flirted all day, in language filled with suggestive double entendres, fleeting touches, and smiling glances at each other. Mickey’s imagination had supplied the rest, creating scenarios that had left him half hard all evening.
They’d finally decided on a late supper, ironically ending up in a restaurant next to the B & B that Mickey had roomed in the previous night. He mentioned that casually to his companion, wondering briefly what Giles would do with that information. The other boy-Mickey had found out that Giles was just nineteen, a year younger than himself-had said nothing, though he’d again flashed that entrancing smile.
Mickey sighed. It had long passed the point that he should have sought a hotel room. It was now rapidly reaching the time that he would need to get to the station to catch the last train back to Manchester. Knocking back the last bit of his drink, he looked around for the waiter. Except for two women, apparently tourists like himself, he and Giles were the last diners in the place.
Mickey had stood up to hunt down the waiter when a gentle hand on his wrist held froze him in place.
“Are you in a rush? I thought we’d talk a bit more, have another drink,” Giles said slowly, his eyes intent on Mickey’s face.
“Well, mate, if I don’t hoof it, I’ll miss the last train to Manchester,” Mickey replied dully.
“Oh! Well-I guess I assumed, I mean,” Giles flashed a quick, rather nervous smile and took a deep breath. “I have a flat right across the street. It’s nothing, really, but it’s cheap, and it allows me to afford that tiny painter’s studio up in the Village. You can stay with me while you’re in town,” he said sheepishly, pointing to an open window on the top floor of the building opposite.
“Oh!” Mickey was delighted. Thinking back to the situation with Sheila just the night before, however, he decided to cut through some of the assumptions that had apparently developed over the course of the day. “I’d love to, Giles, but I have to ask. Are you offering me a flop, or something more?”
The hand, which had never left Mickey’s wrist, gentled. One of the fingers traced a slow, caressing circle over the vein causing Mickey to shiver slightly. The other boy’s smile opened like an evening flower, the white teeth gleaming in the flickering candlelight.
“I rather think that I would prefer something more. You?” Giles asked.
“Oh, me too,” Mickey answered, the shiver now cascading down his spine at the feral look on the face of his companion. “Let’s check out your digs, then?”
As they quickly took care of their bills and hurried out of the restaurant, the last thing Mickey saw were the perceptive expressions on the other two diners. One woman actually gave him a cheerful ‘thumbs up.’
~*~*~
“You’re not much for furniture, are you?” Mickey asked with a smile.
The room had a mattress on the floor, and its only decoration were the piles of clothing around the perimeter and a floor lamp that was missing a lampshade.
“Yeah, well, I don’t spend much time here. I’m usually painting from right before sun-up to dusk, and this room is literally a flop in between.” Giles hurriedly pull a pile of what appeared to be clean laundry from the bed and smoothed out the rumpled bedclothes.
“What, you don’t care what your conquests think when you bring them back here?” Mickey grew more amused at this rather ingenuous side of what he’d gathered was a normally self-assured young man.
Giles stopped and looked deeply into Mickey’s eyes, “I’ve never brought anyone here before. I have to tell you that I don’t normally pick up men in restaurants. I don’t normally pick up men at all. It usually doesn’t have the mental and emotional connection that makes sex something to be savored. I much prefer the intimacy of finding out what someone enjoys and seeing if that meshes with what I like.”
Mickey was taken aback at the mercurial changes in his newfound friend. He had gone from a confident escort showing him some of the best parts of Bristol, to the sweet young boy concerned about the look of his quarters, to this rather fascinating, compelling potential sexual partner. “I-” Mickey stopped, hearing the sudden hoarseness in his voice. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I rather like things a bit rough. Does that bother you?”
Mickey had been mesmerized all day by the varieties of expressions that Giles could create when he smiled. There had been teasing, bright and guileless, self-satisfied and proud-particularly when they were viewing his paintings-as well as shy, thoughtful, inquisitive, and wildly amused. However, nothing prepared Mickey for the predatory, elated grin that emerged at his words.
“Well, we’ll have to make sure that your ‘rough’ is the same as my ‘rough,’ but that doesn’t bother me at all,” Giles said as he sat back and patted a space next to him on the mattress. “Come here.”
Mouth dry, eyes held like prey by its predator, Mickey crossed the room, and sat down on the makeshift bed. He almost gasped as he was quickly pushed down and his mouth covered by the lips he’d been entranced by all afternoon. They were firm and demanding, though they softened a bit when the tip of Giles’s tongue teased its way through Mickey’s lips, stroking across tongue and teeth, causing him to pant and moan softly.
Mickey tried to bring his arms around to stroke the solid, muscled chest in from of him. He found, however, that his hands were held on the mattress above his head by one of Giles’s hands. He struggled, amazed at the strength of the beautiful boy, and relishing the feeling of being restrained, controlled by this relative stranger in a sparse, deserted room. Almost before he could sort out how he sensed the change, the atmosphere in the room turned heavy and languid.
“Ah, that’s it,” Giles murmured as he nuzzled Mickey’s neck. “Just relax and accept it. I will take care of you.”
That’s what was different. Mickey, without a word, without knowing much more about his companion than that he was a handsome, artistic, smart young lad, had given over control of their encounter. He’d submitted himself and his sexual pleasure to the ministrations of someone that he had known for only eight hours. He couldn’t tell if the quivering that started in his arms and throat was because of the position in which he was being held, the light licks bestowed upon the sensitive skin under his ear, or the words, which held both promise and menace. At that moment, however, he didn’t care; he just savored the moment when they both felt his surrender.
“Good.” Giles pulled away just far enough that Mickey could see those deep brown eyes. “Some quick rules, then. Do you have a safe word?”
“Red,” Mickey quickly answered. He’d only been in a situation like this once before, and the one thing that he could remember from the haze of alcohol, drugs, and sex was that remembering his safe word was crucial.
“Red,” Giles echoed. “Right, then. I’ll start. Use it if you need, or want, or even think you want me to stop, all right? I don’t want to push you too hard tonight. We have to save a little something for tomorrow, don’t you think?”
Tomorrow, Mickey thought, his head already swimming from the heady combination of beautiful boy and light bondage. Oh, yes, tomorrow.
Mickey’s shirt, pulled over his head, then tied, quickly became wrist restraints, which Giles attached to a sheet that he drew under the mattress and wrapped around one of Mickey’s ankles leaving the other unbound. At his puzzled gaze, Giles again curled his lips into that predatory grin. “I want you relatively free, so that I can flip you over to fuck you.”
Mickey’s cock, which had filled at Giles’s first kiss, stiffened even more. However, when Giles began to stroke Mickey’s groin with one hand while sliding down the zipper of his own jeans with the other, Mickey’s prick hardened to almost painful proportions. With his jeans and boxers down around his bound ankle, he almost cried out as a cool gust of air caressed the sweaty, flushed skin of his newly released member.
Giles shifted on the bed and opened his jeans just enough for his prick to jut through, and it had swollen to a full rigidity. Thick, ropy veins etched along its length to a flared crown with a thick, tightly drawn foreskin. Mickey’s mouth watered and he whimpered a bit as he stretched forward. Giles, a delighted grin on his face, pulled his hips back as he pulled his belt from the loops in his jeans. He looped the belt around Mickey’s neck, pulled the end through the buckle, and pulled up on the leather.
The throttling pressure around Mickey’s neck cranked the excitement level to almost overwhelming, and he felt his head, chest, and cock fill to almost bursting. Giles allowed his penis to graze Mickey’s lips and Mickey sucked it into his impatient mouth, savoring the soft skin over the hard shaft, drawing it in and out of his mouth, licking around the inside of his foreskin, driving into the hole, then plunging the full length into his throat, feeling the wiry hairs around the base against his lips.
Giles pushed him back, and Mickey flopped back against the mattress, keeping just the cockhead between his lips. He felt his hair being gripped tightly as the hard pole thrust in and out of the depths of his throat. He almost gagged, but relaxed the back of his mouth and allowed the drool collecting around the prick to make it more slippery, which goaded him deeper into his lust-driven madness.
Finally, Giles pushed Mickey off of him, his cock slipping out of the dribbling mouth with a loud pop. He released the belt and pulled it off slowly, allowing every inch of the leather to snake against Mickey’s skin. Smiling, he wrapped the ends of it around his hand and urged Mickey up, steering him into a kneeling position with his hand. Mickey felt so exposed, his ass in the air and his dripping cock hanging heavy and full.
Giles purred at the sight. “Shall I warm up that tight little ass before we start, love? Get it all hot for me? Get it ready for me?” He swung the doubled length of leather, bringing it down against Mickey’s buttocks. The sharp crack of that stroke and those that followed echoed in the room.
Mickey screamed, his skin flushed, and incredibly, his cock grew even harder. He hadn’t even known he wanted anything like this, but it filled him with a driving sense of rightness and satisfaction that contrasted sharply with the yearning need he had to come.
“You like that, don’t you?” Giles murmured. He was panting now, both his exertion and his seemingly rising desire shortening his breath as he continued his methodical, thorough whipping.
“Yes!” Mickey groaned, his ass tingling with the strokes and his pride cringing from the delicious, humiliating situation.
“Now, would you like my cock up your ass?” Giles tossed the belt on the mattress by Mickey’s drooping head.
“Yes!” Mickey cried out again.
“You want it?” Giles asked softly. “You want this big prick in your tight little hole?”
Mickey was weeping with need and fear. He was delighting in the feeling of subjugation, the feeling of being totally out of control of the situation-of knowing that he couldn’t run. But he also knew that he didn’t want to run. The pain and humiliation was filling holes in himself that he’d never knew he had, that he’d only teased at before, with his games of fur-covered blindfolds and flimsy ropes.
This was real. He was with a man he hadn’t even known had existed just twelve hours ago. Mickey was tied up in this man’s bed, and no one even knew where he was. The danger was real, but it wasn’t enough to overcome the excitement of being bound and forced to submit to this beautiful young stud’s whims. Mickey was ablaze, his erection responding to the pain and mortification with a pulsating rhythm that was almost painful.
“So do you want it?” The voice wound in and out of Mickey’s ears.
“Yes,” he rasped, his throat abraded by its rough treatment.
“You don’t sound like you want it.”
“Yes, please! Please, sir!” Mickey sobbed. “Please, f-fuck me. Please, shove your cock in my ass. I want it, I-” He gasped as a cold slime slid down his crack, over his sphincter, and dripped onto his balls. A couple of fingers cursorily shoved some of the gel into his anus then pulled out, leaving him trying to grasp them with his muscles.
Before he could prepare himself, he could feel a large cockhead against his opening, and moments later, the sheer agony of its entry caused white lightning to spark against his closed eyelids. Mickey tried to twist away from the impalement, but a hand tightly grasping his hair kept him stationary. Soon enough, though the pain receded and he began to feel the spreading warmth of returning need. After a few moments, he began to relish the staggering fullness of penetration.
Mickey started to push back into the hard pounding, exulting in the feeling of being captive, or being used. He was swept up in alternating waves of trance-like euphoria and driving, pushing straining to finish.
“Oh, yes, love…take it… take it… take it…” Giles began chanting in time to his thrusts. He reached under Mickey and squeezed his erection, almost causing Mickey to black out under the doubled assault as sparks spun up and down his spine.
Mickey felt possessed, owned. He was naked in a strange room completely subject to the will of his golden Adonis. The thrills of that realization merged with the desperate slamming of that cock into him, and Mickey joined him in total submission, meeting each stroke with a contraction of anal muscles until they were both dripping with sweat.
“You like getting whipped and fucked, boy?” Giles muttered. “You like this?”
“Yes, yes,” Mickey moaned. “Fuck me, fuck me!”
The hand tightened even more on his cock. That combined with the fierce hammering in and out of his ass and the feeling of helplessness created a pressure that built in his groin, chest, behind his eyes, and constricted his heart. Mickey felt his seed boiling and with a surprised, silent “Oh!” began spurting through Giles’s fingers.
That moisture was apparently a trigger, for Giles began to groan through his tightened jaw, “Oh, God, I’m coming, love. Oh, yes, yes, yes!”
Mickey felt hips spasming against him in a frenzied, jerking rhythm, though that cock remained full and heavy inside of him as they froze, Mickey’s little shudders slightly out of phase with the little flurries of ripples cascading over the body resting on his back.
When he felt he could without collapsing, Mickey laid himself down on his side. Giles moved with him, quickly curled up against Mickey’s back, and just as quickly fell asleep. Mickey couldn’t complain, though, for he followed him almost immediately.
~*~*~
Giles had a small kitchen corner in the flat, but there was absolutely no food or tea in it. After a morning ‘wake up call’ and some more snuggling, Giles-who looked even more adorable with his golden curls mussed and flattened on one side-had promptly pulled a pillow over his head and gone back to sleep.
Mickey shook his head. He needed a cuppa, and he remembered a little tearoom in the St. Nicholas market that had bakery goods. He hunted through the tangle of clothing on the floor, found his jeans and shirt, and dug out the apartment keys from another pile of Giles’s clothing. He would get them both tea and perhaps a half dozen scones. Who knows, we might need our strength for more explorations?
A soft smile spread over his lips as he crossed the street. The two women from the restaurant were loading up a car in front of the Brooks Guesthouse, and from their accents, he could tell that they were American. They stopped for a moment as he neared, looked up at the open window of Giles’s flat then looked at him knowingly. They both smiled and wished him a good morning as he passed. He nodded and was about to start whistling when he heard their soft giggles fading in the distance.
It was only when he’d arrived at the tearoom that he realized he was wearing his shirt inside out and there was a suspicious stain on it.
Author’s Note: Back in 2011, hpstrangelove and I combined a trip to the Diacon Alley Harry Potter convention with a trip around England. One night in Bristol, we glanced up at an open window in the building across from our restaurant and started this story over a few beers. It has been languishing on my hard drive since then. Happy Belated Birthday, hpstrangelove, my friend!
A/N 2: Some of the sexual situations owe their presence here to some fondly remembered 'favorite parts' of Larry Townsend's M/M bdsm books. I no longer have those treasured paperbacks, but some of my favorite dialogue has made it into this story!
“God, what a waste,” Mickey thought, stabbing out his cigarette. He pushed back from the table, leaning forward to watch the water flowing by. Taking a long pull from his-what, third? fourth?-beer, he thought back to the previous evening.
“What do you mean, you don’t think of me ‘that way?’” Sheila asked, her face turning rather ugly in anger and humiliation. She pulled her blouse on roughly, not caring that it was turned inside out. “Why did you come all the way to Bristol if you didn’t like me ‘that way?’’
Mickey’s eyes crinkled in amusement. “Love, when we met, I was hanging out at a bar on Canal Street. I was chatting up a quite sweet-looking lad when you asked me for the time. How could you not know that I was gay?”
“But we went about all day together! Why would you do that if you didn’t like me?” She sniffed, her eyes growing moist.
“But I do like you, and I thought you’d be a great friend! You were entertaining, you said that you were only up in Manchester to see the sights and have a bit of fun, no strings attached. How could you believe that anything I said translated to romantic interest? Good Gods, we spent the whole afternoon and evening rating the pretty boys!”
Apparently, Mickey thought as he hefted his backpack and headed toward the main part of town, looking for a hotel that was still open, the lovely Sheila lacked a number of desperately needed observational and logical skills. He snorted. Yes, she had been naïve, thinking that his accepting her invitation to spend a few days in Bristol meant that even though he was gay, he was still attracted to her. In that same vein, though, he’d been simply stupid, believing a pretty girl’s invite was really the ‘no-strings-attached’ that she claimed it was.
Since it had been so late the previous night, he’d simply followed a recommendation he’d been given to a rather nice B & B, the Brooks Guesthouse, and found that they had a room, though it was only available for one night. This morning, sitting out on the B & B’s quiet patio, he’d admired the clean lines of the building, savored the charming little fountain, and decided to wander through the quaint, inviting St. Nicholas Market.
What to do now? He had already taken three days off from his job at the Manchester Museum of Science, so there really was no need to rush back. After a brisk walk along the river, he was now having a late lunch on the exposed top deck of the Grainbarge Restaurant, moored on the river below the Bristol Aquarium. He was surprised to realize that he was actually having a pleasant time in the mild summer sunlight, watching the water and the people, and making up stories in his mind about his fellow diners.
The afternoon suddenly took a serious turn towards ‘highly promising,’ when a stunning young man came up the stairs to the deck. He looked around at the tables, all occupied, before lighting upon Mickey’s. Gesturing towards the end of the table, which could easily seat six, he asked in a smoky baritone, “Mind if I sit here?”
“Not at all,” Mickey said, smiling as he pulled his belongings over from where they’d spilled out across the table.
“Thanks,” the young man said, grinning easily. He looked exotic, with golden-bronze hair tumbling in waves to his shoulders, warm brown eyes, and a tight, lithe body. An Adonis in the flesh, Mickey’s mind supplied helpfully.
“Cheers,” Mickey answered, lifting his glass and nodding.
They sat quietly, both watching the activity on the waterfront, though Mickey kept sneaking quick glances at the other young man. His tablemate’s food came, and the waiter looked at Mickey’s empty glass. Mickey shook his head, deciding to slow down a bit on the beers, and sat back, closing his eyes as the sun warmed his face.
He opened them at a snort from the other end of the table. “Sorry-what?” Mickey asked, a little drowsy.
“Oh, no-nothing. I was just noticing how disappointed our waiter was. He was hoping you would order another; he wanted the chance to come up and see you again, I rather think.” There was a quick glimpse of flashing white teeth before the man continued. “The name’s Giles, by the way.”
“The waiter fancies me and his name is Giles?” Mickey asked stupidly.
The other man laughed, again flashing a brilliant smile. “No-rather…” He paused then continued, “Yes, the waiter fancies you, but my name is Giles.”
“Oh, sorry, I’m Mickey,” was his rather surprised reply. It was encouraging that the gorgeous Giles noticed blokes checking each other out. But was he gay, and more to the point, was he interested in Mickey? One way to find out, Mickey thought, taking a deep breath.
“So, are you a native? And if so, can you tell a tourist some of the can’t-miss sights here in Bristol?”
Giles’s eyes lit up, and his smile grew unbelievably wider. “Not only can I tell you, I can show you, if you’re up for it.”
~*~*~
If he was up for it? It had indeed been a ‘highly promising’ afternoon and evening, Mickey reflected, perusing the menu at the Slug and Lettuce. Giles had taken them up to Clifton village, where they’d wandered among galleries, boutiques, and cafes. He had even taken them to his own studio, filled with canvases in various stages of landscapes, abstract still lifes, and self-portraits. He’d murmured something about sketching Mickey, though apparently it would involve very little clothing-something about ‘not obscuring his bone structure.’
And they had flirted all day, in language filled with suggestive double entendres, fleeting touches, and smiling glances at each other. Mickey’s imagination had supplied the rest, creating scenarios that had left him half hard all evening.
They’d finally decided on a late supper, ironically ending up in a restaurant next to the B & B that Mickey had roomed in the previous night. He mentioned that casually to his companion, wondering briefly what Giles would do with that information. The other boy-Mickey had found out that Giles was just nineteen, a year younger than himself-had said nothing, though he’d again flashed that entrancing smile.
Mickey sighed. It had long passed the point that he should have sought a hotel room. It was now rapidly reaching the time that he would need to get to the station to catch the last train back to Manchester. Knocking back the last bit of his drink, he looked around for the waiter. Except for two women, apparently tourists like himself, he and Giles were the last diners in the place.
Mickey had stood up to hunt down the waiter when a gentle hand on his wrist held froze him in place.
“Are you in a rush? I thought we’d talk a bit more, have another drink,” Giles said slowly, his eyes intent on Mickey’s face.
“Well, mate, if I don’t hoof it, I’ll miss the last train to Manchester,” Mickey replied dully.
“Oh! Well-I guess I assumed, I mean,” Giles flashed a quick, rather nervous smile and took a deep breath. “I have a flat right across the street. It’s nothing, really, but it’s cheap, and it allows me to afford that tiny painter’s studio up in the Village. You can stay with me while you’re in town,” he said sheepishly, pointing to an open window on the top floor of the building opposite.
“Oh!” Mickey was delighted. Thinking back to the situation with Sheila just the night before, however, he decided to cut through some of the assumptions that had apparently developed over the course of the day. “I’d love to, Giles, but I have to ask. Are you offering me a flop, or something more?”
The hand, which had never left Mickey’s wrist, gentled. One of the fingers traced a slow, caressing circle over the vein causing Mickey to shiver slightly. The other boy’s smile opened like an evening flower, the white teeth gleaming in the flickering candlelight.
“I rather think that I would prefer something more. You?” Giles asked.
“Oh, me too,” Mickey answered, the shiver now cascading down his spine at the feral look on the face of his companion. “Let’s check out your digs, then?”
As they quickly took care of their bills and hurried out of the restaurant, the last thing Mickey saw were the perceptive expressions on the other two diners. One woman actually gave him a cheerful ‘thumbs up.’
~*~*~
“You’re not much for furniture, are you?” Mickey asked with a smile.
The room had a mattress on the floor, and its only decoration were the piles of clothing around the perimeter and a floor lamp that was missing a lampshade.
“Yeah, well, I don’t spend much time here. I’m usually painting from right before sun-up to dusk, and this room is literally a flop in between.” Giles hurriedly pull a pile of what appeared to be clean laundry from the bed and smoothed out the rumpled bedclothes.
“What, you don’t care what your conquests think when you bring them back here?” Mickey grew more amused at this rather ingenuous side of what he’d gathered was a normally self-assured young man.
Giles stopped and looked deeply into Mickey’s eyes, “I’ve never brought anyone here before. I have to tell you that I don’t normally pick up men in restaurants. I don’t normally pick up men at all. It usually doesn’t have the mental and emotional connection that makes sex something to be savored. I much prefer the intimacy of finding out what someone enjoys and seeing if that meshes with what I like.”
Mickey was taken aback at the mercurial changes in his newfound friend. He had gone from a confident escort showing him some of the best parts of Bristol, to the sweet young boy concerned about the look of his quarters, to this rather fascinating, compelling potential sexual partner. “I-” Mickey stopped, hearing the sudden hoarseness in his voice. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I rather like things a bit rough. Does that bother you?”
Mickey had been mesmerized all day by the varieties of expressions that Giles could create when he smiled. There had been teasing, bright and guileless, self-satisfied and proud-particularly when they were viewing his paintings-as well as shy, thoughtful, inquisitive, and wildly amused. However, nothing prepared Mickey for the predatory, elated grin that emerged at his words.
“Well, we’ll have to make sure that your ‘rough’ is the same as my ‘rough,’ but that doesn’t bother me at all,” Giles said as he sat back and patted a space next to him on the mattress. “Come here.”
Mouth dry, eyes held like prey by its predator, Mickey crossed the room, and sat down on the makeshift bed. He almost gasped as he was quickly pushed down and his mouth covered by the lips he’d been entranced by all afternoon. They were firm and demanding, though they softened a bit when the tip of Giles’s tongue teased its way through Mickey’s lips, stroking across tongue and teeth, causing him to pant and moan softly.
Mickey tried to bring his arms around to stroke the solid, muscled chest in from of him. He found, however, that his hands were held on the mattress above his head by one of Giles’s hands. He struggled, amazed at the strength of the beautiful boy, and relishing the feeling of being restrained, controlled by this relative stranger in a sparse, deserted room. Almost before he could sort out how he sensed the change, the atmosphere in the room turned heavy and languid.
“Ah, that’s it,” Giles murmured as he nuzzled Mickey’s neck. “Just relax and accept it. I will take care of you.”
That’s what was different. Mickey, without a word, without knowing much more about his companion than that he was a handsome, artistic, smart young lad, had given over control of their encounter. He’d submitted himself and his sexual pleasure to the ministrations of someone that he had known for only eight hours. He couldn’t tell if the quivering that started in his arms and throat was because of the position in which he was being held, the light licks bestowed upon the sensitive skin under his ear, or the words, which held both promise and menace. At that moment, however, he didn’t care; he just savored the moment when they both felt his surrender.
“Good.” Giles pulled away just far enough that Mickey could see those deep brown eyes. “Some quick rules, then. Do you have a safe word?”
“Red,” Mickey quickly answered. He’d only been in a situation like this once before, and the one thing that he could remember from the haze of alcohol, drugs, and sex was that remembering his safe word was crucial.
“Red,” Giles echoed. “Right, then. I’ll start. Use it if you need, or want, or even think you want me to stop, all right? I don’t want to push you too hard tonight. We have to save a little something for tomorrow, don’t you think?”
Tomorrow, Mickey thought, his head already swimming from the heady combination of beautiful boy and light bondage. Oh, yes, tomorrow.
Mickey’s shirt, pulled over his head, then tied, quickly became wrist restraints, which Giles attached to a sheet that he drew under the mattress and wrapped around one of Mickey’s ankles leaving the other unbound. At his puzzled gaze, Giles again curled his lips into that predatory grin. “I want you relatively free, so that I can flip you over to fuck you.”
Mickey’s cock, which had filled at Giles’s first kiss, stiffened even more. However, when Giles began to stroke Mickey’s groin with one hand while sliding down the zipper of his own jeans with the other, Mickey’s prick hardened to almost painful proportions. With his jeans and boxers down around his bound ankle, he almost cried out as a cool gust of air caressed the sweaty, flushed skin of his newly released member.
Giles shifted on the bed and opened his jeans just enough for his prick to jut through, and it had swollen to a full rigidity. Thick, ropy veins etched along its length to a flared crown with a thick, tightly drawn foreskin. Mickey’s mouth watered and he whimpered a bit as he stretched forward. Giles, a delighted grin on his face, pulled his hips back as he pulled his belt from the loops in his jeans. He looped the belt around Mickey’s neck, pulled the end through the buckle, and pulled up on the leather.
The throttling pressure around Mickey’s neck cranked the excitement level to almost overwhelming, and he felt his head, chest, and cock fill to almost bursting. Giles allowed his penis to graze Mickey’s lips and Mickey sucked it into his impatient mouth, savoring the soft skin over the hard shaft, drawing it in and out of his mouth, licking around the inside of his foreskin, driving into the hole, then plunging the full length into his throat, feeling the wiry hairs around the base against his lips.
Giles pushed him back, and Mickey flopped back against the mattress, keeping just the cockhead between his lips. He felt his hair being gripped tightly as the hard pole thrust in and out of the depths of his throat. He almost gagged, but relaxed the back of his mouth and allowed the drool collecting around the prick to make it more slippery, which goaded him deeper into his lust-driven madness.
Finally, Giles pushed Mickey off of him, his cock slipping out of the dribbling mouth with a loud pop. He released the belt and pulled it off slowly, allowing every inch of the leather to snake against Mickey’s skin. Smiling, he wrapped the ends of it around his hand and urged Mickey up, steering him into a kneeling position with his hand. Mickey felt so exposed, his ass in the air and his dripping cock hanging heavy and full.
Giles purred at the sight. “Shall I warm up that tight little ass before we start, love? Get it all hot for me? Get it ready for me?” He swung the doubled length of leather, bringing it down against Mickey’s buttocks. The sharp crack of that stroke and those that followed echoed in the room.
Mickey screamed, his skin flushed, and incredibly, his cock grew even harder. He hadn’t even known he wanted anything like this, but it filled him with a driving sense of rightness and satisfaction that contrasted sharply with the yearning need he had to come.
“You like that, don’t you?” Giles murmured. He was panting now, both his exertion and his seemingly rising desire shortening his breath as he continued his methodical, thorough whipping.
“Yes!” Mickey groaned, his ass tingling with the strokes and his pride cringing from the delicious, humiliating situation.
“Now, would you like my cock up your ass?” Giles tossed the belt on the mattress by Mickey’s drooping head.
“Yes!” Mickey cried out again.
“You want it?” Giles asked softly. “You want this big prick in your tight little hole?”
Mickey was weeping with need and fear. He was delighting in the feeling of subjugation, the feeling of being totally out of control of the situation-of knowing that he couldn’t run. But he also knew that he didn’t want to run. The pain and humiliation was filling holes in himself that he’d never knew he had, that he’d only teased at before, with his games of fur-covered blindfolds and flimsy ropes.
This was real. He was with a man he hadn’t even known had existed just twelve hours ago. Mickey was tied up in this man’s bed, and no one even knew where he was. The danger was real, but it wasn’t enough to overcome the excitement of being bound and forced to submit to this beautiful young stud’s whims. Mickey was ablaze, his erection responding to the pain and mortification with a pulsating rhythm that was almost painful.
“So do you want it?” The voice wound in and out of Mickey’s ears.
“Yes,” he rasped, his throat abraded by its rough treatment.
“You don’t sound like you want it.”
“Yes, please! Please, sir!” Mickey sobbed. “Please, f-fuck me. Please, shove your cock in my ass. I want it, I-” He gasped as a cold slime slid down his crack, over his sphincter, and dripped onto his balls. A couple of fingers cursorily shoved some of the gel into his anus then pulled out, leaving him trying to grasp them with his muscles.
Before he could prepare himself, he could feel a large cockhead against his opening, and moments later, the sheer agony of its entry caused white lightning to spark against his closed eyelids. Mickey tried to twist away from the impalement, but a hand tightly grasping his hair kept him stationary. Soon enough, though the pain receded and he began to feel the spreading warmth of returning need. After a few moments, he began to relish the staggering fullness of penetration.
Mickey started to push back into the hard pounding, exulting in the feeling of being captive, or being used. He was swept up in alternating waves of trance-like euphoria and driving, pushing straining to finish.
“Oh, yes, love…take it… take it… take it…” Giles began chanting in time to his thrusts. He reached under Mickey and squeezed his erection, almost causing Mickey to black out under the doubled assault as sparks spun up and down his spine.
Mickey felt possessed, owned. He was naked in a strange room completely subject to the will of his golden Adonis. The thrills of that realization merged with the desperate slamming of that cock into him, and Mickey joined him in total submission, meeting each stroke with a contraction of anal muscles until they were both dripping with sweat.
“You like getting whipped and fucked, boy?” Giles muttered. “You like this?”
“Yes, yes,” Mickey moaned. “Fuck me, fuck me!”
The hand tightened even more on his cock. That combined with the fierce hammering in and out of his ass and the feeling of helplessness created a pressure that built in his groin, chest, behind his eyes, and constricted his heart. Mickey felt his seed boiling and with a surprised, silent “Oh!” began spurting through Giles’s fingers.
That moisture was apparently a trigger, for Giles began to groan through his tightened jaw, “Oh, God, I’m coming, love. Oh, yes, yes, yes!”
Mickey felt hips spasming against him in a frenzied, jerking rhythm, though that cock remained full and heavy inside of him as they froze, Mickey’s little shudders slightly out of phase with the little flurries of ripples cascading over the body resting on his back.
When he felt he could without collapsing, Mickey laid himself down on his side. Giles moved with him, quickly curled up against Mickey’s back, and just as quickly fell asleep. Mickey couldn’t complain, though, for he followed him almost immediately.
~*~*~
Giles had a small kitchen corner in the flat, but there was absolutely no food or tea in it. After a morning ‘wake up call’ and some more snuggling, Giles-who looked even more adorable with his golden curls mussed and flattened on one side-had promptly pulled a pillow over his head and gone back to sleep.
Mickey shook his head. He needed a cuppa, and he remembered a little tearoom in the St. Nicholas market that had bakery goods. He hunted through the tangle of clothing on the floor, found his jeans and shirt, and dug out the apartment keys from another pile of Giles’s clothing. He would get them both tea and perhaps a half dozen scones. Who knows, we might need our strength for more explorations?
A soft smile spread over his lips as he crossed the street. The two women from the restaurant were loading up a car in front of the Brooks Guesthouse, and from their accents, he could tell that they were American. They stopped for a moment as he neared, looked up at the open window of Giles’s flat then looked at him knowingly. They both smiled and wished him a good morning as he passed. He nodded and was about to start whistling when he heard their soft giggles fading in the distance.
It was only when he’d arrived at the tearoom that he realized he was wearing his shirt inside out and there was a suspicious stain on it.