Bouncer

(Music: Obsession by Army of Lovers. Inspired by Ode to the Bouncer by Studio Killers. This is a pre- and sequel to Before the Kitchen)

Jess had been stalking this boy for weeks; quietly, discreetly. He drank at the same bar, danced at the same nightclub, went to the same restaurants and watched his home. The boy wouldn’t be missed for a few days, since he had a tendency to get roaring drunk with strange men and crawl out the front door after the morning after and often the morning after that had passed.

He was in the nightclub and Jess was ready to strike. He had all his knives packed, his apron wrapped around them in the car. He was all raw energy and delicious sexual tension. This was going to be wonderful. The only problem seemed to be the bouncer.

The bouncer eyed the short, chubby man trying not to glare up at him and tried to hide his smile. “Woah, there. I’m sorry, the club’s full. You’re just going to have to wait.” The club was full, but more than that, there was something about this guy. Micah was a big man, and he’d been a bouncer a few years (and done worse things, before that). There wasn’t much he was afraid of, but this pudgy little guy…he set off alarm bells. For one thing, he was not at all the sleek, preppy sort of cliental that this club catered to. He set off Micah’s gaydar, but beyond that…

“Oh, so early?” Jess put on his best sweet seductress face, even though he felt like stabbing this man in the navel. Not only was he very tall and in his way, but he’d immediately bristled when Jess approached. Very few people reacted to him this way, but once in awhile he’d run into someone who could see the predator that he was. “I really need to get in, I’m meeting friends for birthday drinks,” he smiled up at the bouncer, biting his lip. At least the man was attractive, it wouldn’t be at all painful to seduce him.

“Mm-hmm.” Micah gave the shorter man his best ‘so sorry, nothing I can do’ expression. Bullshit, birthday drinks, he found himself thinking uncharitably, though he had no idea why the thought had come into his head. “Well, I’m sorry, sir, you’ll just have to wait, and it could be a while.” Please, just leave, he thought.

“Isn’t there any way I can get in?” Jess was suddenly closer, running a small hand up the bouncer’s chest, grinning up at him.

Micah just raised an eyebrow and stared at the man’s hand like it was something mildly vulgar or offensive. The guy really reminded him of someone…

“Come on, if you don’t like it, don’t let me in,” the short man shrugged, good-naturedly. “At least you’ll get some good head out of it.”

Micah shook his head with a laugh. “Sir, I’ll be frank with you. This is a gay bar. If I let every guy in who hit on me…I wouldn’t have a job, comprende?”

Jess chuckled, “Hitting on you is one thing, offering you a blowjob is another. Maybe by the time we’re done, there’ll be room. At least let me treat myself on my birthday.”

“Now it’s your birthday, is it. Look, I’m working, and there’s a line behind you. I’m…flattered…but if you keep this up I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” Ah. That was it. When Micah had first arrived in the city, one of his cousins had shown him around, gotten him a few jobs. Micah was a big guy; it was only natural that he’d end up working for the mob. He’d watched one of them cut a guy up, just slice him to pieces, and all the time he had smiled like he was having a Sunday picnic or something. That’s who this guy reminded him of. A smiling predator. Micah shivered. Someone tapped his arm and he fought back a startle, turning to see the smiling face of his replacement.

“Hey, Micah, why so tense? C’mon, you’re done, go get some sleep or something.”

Micah nodded. “Yeah…this guy doesn’t get in, understand me?” He whispered into Connor’s ear.

“Sure. Whatever. It’s packed in there.” Shaking his head—Micah was so twitchy sometimes—Connor clapped his co-worker on the back and turned to look down at the dude who had freaked him out so badly. He was just a plump little guy. Harmless.

Jess grinned at the bouncer’s replacement. The new bouncer seemed much easier. “Hi…” he licked his lips.

“Hey,” Connor purred, completely taken in. “Sorry about Micah. He’s twitchy, y’know? Did I hear it’s your birthday?”

“Mhm,” he nodded and bit his lip, looking wide-eyed and hopeful.

“Well, I’m glad you’ve chosen us for your, ah, birthday needs. What can I do to make your birthday wishes come true?” Connor put a little extra emphasis on ‘cum’. Damn, but he was a sexy little chub.

“Letting me in would be nice, but I understand if you’d rather wish me a happy birthday more privately.” Jess gave him a sweet little smile, putting a hand on his chest and practically melting into him.

“Dahhh…” Connor scrambled to close the velvet rope across the entrance to the club, ignoring the groans of the people standing further back in line. “Ah, yeah, sure. C’mon, over here.” The bouncer draped a hand over the shorter man’s shoulder, almost protectively.

Jess grinned, eyes flashing with a triumphant ferocity. He got on his knees in front of the big bouncer, undoing his pants in a hurry and stroking the boy to full erection. He didn’t exactly take his time, but he still believed these things could not be rushed. His mouth slid over the head of the bouncer’s cock and he took him all in, eyes rolling back.

“Ohhh…fuuuck…” Connor sighed, one big hand tangled deep in the other man’s hair. “Fuck, you’re good at that…” In a very short time, his cock was weeping drops of clear fluid, and his eyes were closed as he leaned heavily on the man between his legs.

The little chef groaned around the cock in his mouth, enjoying the sensation of it hitting the back of his throat. He pushed Connor back against the wall gently to help him stay standing, bobbing his head hungrily.

“Oh. Oh, yeah…fuck, I’m gonna…” With a gutteral noise, Connor spasmed and came down the kneeling man’s throat, his hands scrambling at his hair and shoulders as he moaned and pounded as far and as hard as he could.

Jess swallowed, letting a little dribble down his chin and wiping it away with a smile when he pulled back. He looked up at Connor with a big, dopey grin. “You got me just what I wanted.”

“Mmm…that’s good.” Connor grinned down at the smaller man. “Um…you can, you know, go in. If you want. I’m sorry about Micah. Happy birthday.” The bouncer stumbled back to his place in line and nodded his head for the little man to enter.

Jess stood on his tiptoes to kiss Connor’s chin. “Thanks, sweetheart. It’s going to be a good night,” he winked, going into the club to start his birthday hunt.

****

“In other news, a body believed to be that of 24-year-old Jacob Holmes was recovered last night. Authorities say that the body was badly mutilated, and…”

Micah clicked off the TV, feeling light-headed. He sank onto the couch, the last image fixed in his mind. It was a picture of a smiling young man, his hair perfectly styled, in the prime of life, beautiful and vibrant and…dead. Micah had a sick feeling, and he knew what he had to do. The phone was in the bedroom. He forced himself off of the couch and made his way down the hall. He grabbed for the light and flicked the switch. Nothing. What the hell? He jiggled it a few more times before backing out of the doorway. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Something was definitely wrong. He backed down the hall, with a vague idea that he had to get out, had to leave the apartment.

The knife had been blacked out, so he didn’t see it glimmer when it slashed out of the darkness, stabbing him deep in the thigh. In the dark, with such a large man, Jess had gone straight for the femoral artery.

Micah’s hand moved to cover the wound before he even felt the pain. He had grown up in a small town, and he had done plenty of stupid things as a kid. He knew when he was badly hurt. He took three steps before his leg buckled and he fell to one knee, slipping in terrifyingly large puddles of his own blood. He struggled to stand again, to face his attacker, fighting to keep his hand pressed against the wound through the spurts of slick blood. He had a horrible suspicion that he knew what was happening, but no. That was just paranoid. He pulled himself onto his good leg using the armrest of the couch, but blood was gushing from between his fingers and his head was already swimming as he fought to reach the door, one helpless, hobbling step at a time.

He felt himself pulled back by a strong arm around his neck. Now that he was hunched over, Jess found it easier to grab the giant of a man. “Remember me?” he purred, using the same flirtatious tone he had taken at the nightclub.

Micah gave a rasping laugh, his hand pulled away from the wound for a vital instant. “Yeah, I remember you…” he sighed. It was all just sort of distantly amusing now. He was paranoid, but he was also right. “I remember you.” He couldn’t remember if he had said that already, and it was so cold in here. He shivered. “It was you, wasn’t it? With that guy…Holmes…” he laughed. “Is your name…Moriarty?” He could almost feel what years of TV programs had shown—synapses or nerves or whatever firing, just shooting off whatever they thought of first, making him say crazy shit as he no longer seemed to care. “You got him.”

“I certainly did,” Jess chuckled. “And now I’ve got you, too.” He bent down and kissed the man, roughly. He was certainly fading fast.

“Why…?” Micah gasped. His breathing was slow, so slow. It felt like a revelation, like something he should have known his whole life. If only he could go swimming like this, not needing oxygen! He could hibernate. He could…his eyelids were so, so heavy, but he wanted to fix the man’s image in his mind forever so the police would know… “Who?” It was nice to be kissed, though, and he tried to reach up and grab the man, to hold him until help came, to touch skin one last time. His fingers barely fluttered.

“He was delicious.” Jess murmured against Micah’s mouth. It had taken him only a few nights to find out where Micah lived. Following him home from the nightclub had been the hardest part, since the paranoid man seemed to constantly be watching. It was wonderful to finally have the man who had seen him for what he was at his mercy. “Sleep well, Micah.”

In the time it took him to try and think of something witty to say, Micah died.

Jess butchered the beautiful bouncer efficiently, taking only the parts he knew he would use in the next few days. He gave him a last kiss, then left through the back door, his bloody apron stashed in a bag along with various kinds of meat and some used kitchen knives.

Answered Prayer

Dr. Polidori is in his room, horrified, satisfied and aroused by what he has finally just done with Byron. His mind keeps ranging back to the small scourge he keeps under his bed for moments of crisis such as this. Finally, he can’t take the internal torment anymore, and he rummages past the things that have collected under his bed for the instrument. Soon, he is reciting the mea culpa and flagellating himself. Unfortunately, it’s very hard to flog yourself quietly…

Byron opened the door quietly and watched the spectacle for a few minutes before clearing his throat.

"Ideo precor beátam Maríam semper Vírginem--" He times his blows to match the words, and Byron's throat clearing falls during a quiet moment. Startled, he drops the scourge and jumps, stifling his cry with a hand to his mouth. "My...my Lord! You startled me..." he says, quietly, eyes downcast, and bright red. He's panting a little, and his face is covered in a light sheen of sweat.

"Why are you flogging yourself, dear Poli?" Byron says patiently, folding his arms over his bare chest. He's wearing a robe, but it hasn't been tied, revealing absolutely everything.

Polidori can only stare, his mind absolutely blank at the dual prospect of explaining himself and of Byron's cock.

"Well?" Byron raised an eyebrow. "Is this just masochistic joy or are you punishing yourself for some sinful deed?"

"I--I--" he croaks, shoving the scourge under the bed, as if by hiding it he can make it go away. He's beginning to get chilled.

"Is this because we've fucked now?"

"Please leave," he says, very quietly.

"Why? Is this a private flogging?"

The statement is so absurd that Polidori gives a brief, startled burst of laughter, before collecting himself again. "I...I'm sorry if the noise disturbed you," he says, as calmly and rationally as he can.

"Answer me, Poli. Are you punishing yourself or just enjoying?"

Byron demanded.

"Yes," he says, the word coming out as a pained, reluctant gasp.

"Which one?"

"You know which one."

"Ah. What have you done this time, you sinful lech?" he smirked.

"What?" he gasps. "You--you know very well what I've done!"

"Because we've fucked? And you think you can flog yourself hard enough to punish yourself for that?" Byron grabbed the scourge from under the bed. "Would you like me to hit you properly?" he grinned like he was baring his teeth.

Polidori's eyes go wide with shock and, yes, terror...and his cock hardens, only adding to the absurdity of the situation. He falls backwards, catching himself on his hands, still on his knees.

Byron burst into laughter. "Well?"

He can only stare at the man standing over him, speechless again.

Byron raised the scourge and brought it down on Poli's back hard.

Polidori shrieks, his back arching and hands clawing as though he's cumming, his cock rising until it's resting against his stomach.

Byron chuckles, his own cock hardening at the masochist's reaction. "You like that?" he murmured.

"...yes..." he gasps, staring up at Byron, hands nearly touching the other's feet as he's on all fours.

"Kiss my feet." Byron demanded, raising the scourge and bringing it down across Poli's shoulders.

Polidori screams with wild ecstasy, and slides across the rough floor on his knees, lowering his lips to Byron's feet, kissing frantically.

The scourge arcs and connects again with his back with a wonderful snapping sound. Byron wasn't lying about being able to hurt him properly.

Polidori's hands are clenched so tightly that his nails are digging into his palms, but he hardly notices--his attention is all on the feet in front of him, and the delicious agony of the scourge across his back and shoulders. It does feel much better than when he does it himself.

"Suck my cock, Poli." Byron tells him after maybe twenty lashes. His cock is now fully hard and he can hardly stand to have Poli kissing his feet when his cock is demanding attention.

Polidori lifts himself, rather stiffly and painfully, to oblige. As satisfying as kissing the feet was, taking the engorged cock in his mouth is thousands of times better. He rests a hand on each of Byron's thighs to steady himself, braced for more blows.

Byron hits Poli more carefully now, though still hard enough that he's raising red welts across the man's back. He just doesn't want his cock getting bitten.

Polidori tries to feel Byron's muscles moving, so he'll know when the other is about to land a blow and not accidentally bit his cock off, and he's completely lost in the sensations of sucking and being expertly beaten.

Byron grabs Poli by the hair with one hand, keeping him steady in his motions and forcing his cock deeper into the other. With his other hand he arcs the flogger through the air until the tips bite against Poli's tender skin. His entire back and shoulders are red now, welts crisscrossing the area.

Polidori groans around his mouthful, arching his neck to test how far he can extend with the hand in his hair, eagerly leaning forward again to reach along the shaft, giving a stifled cry as the scourge strikes.

Byron forces Polidori's mouth all the way to the base of his cock, groaning. He bends over the other so his abdomen is pressed against Poli's forehead, the scourge reaching the other man's bare buttocks now.

Polidori helplessly wraps his arms around the other man's middle, pressing himself close, groaning in a fierce, desperate rhythm, as the scourge reaches this new area.

Byron curls the implement and snaps it over the tender white flesh, starting to cum in the back of Polidori's mouth.

Polidori struggles a bit as he tastes the unfamiliar substance, lifting his ass to meet the scourge.

Byron whips the flogger over Polidori's ass one last time as he orgasms, then drops it on the floor, pulling himself back from the other man's mouth.

Polidori screams all the sounds that had been trapped by the cock, clinging to his Lord and passionately kissing his firm stomach.

Byron chuckled, looking down at Poli with a smirk. "Feel better, or do we need to whip more sin out of you?"

"...ahhh..." he gasps, looking up Byron's chest at the man standing above him.

"Did you swallow my cum?"

"...yes..." Polidori says, eyes unfocused. He's swaying a bit, supported by Byron's hips.

Byron pulls him to his feet by a hand and his hair, helping him to the bed and sitting with him.

Polidori leans against him, head resting on Byron's shoulder, face turned to him with rather a guilty expression.

Byron laughs, "Still feeling guilty, are we?"

"Always," he says with a dramatic sigh, smiling.

Byron slapped him.

"Ah!" he cries, clapping a hand to his face, shocked. He looks at Byron with a hurt expression.

Byrrn chuckled, laying back on the bed and yawning. "Feel better now?"

Polidori hesitates for a moment before laying on his bed next to his lover. "...yes?" he says, not sure of the right answer.

"Oh Poli," the handsome man sighed. "You really should answer honestly."

"...mostly I just feel confused." He insinuates himself onto Byron's shoulder.

"So I shouldn't play into your masochistic desires?"

"Ah...I didn't..." he feels rather trapped by this conversation...although most conversations with this infernal man are traps.

"Speak up then."

"You should...do what you want..." he attempts.

"I always do," he chuckled.

"I'm glad..." he snuggles happily against the other.

A Hunting Party

Detlef grabbed his servant's pants and tossed them to him, wiping his cock across the man's thigh and getting up from bed. "Get dressed, I'm having some friends over for a hunt soon."

With a shuddering moan, wishing he had more time to recover, Eben pulls on the trousers and tries to make himself look as presentable as possible on post-coital shaky legs, covered in sweat, with mussed hair. "Yes, sir..."

"Good. I'll be downstairs, we'll be having a drink while they ready the horses. I expect to see a more presentable version of yourself in the stables when we get there." Detlef laughed, slapping Eben on the ass appreciatively before heading downstairs.

"Ahh...yes, sir." Although he's not entirely certain how he came to be getting regularly fucked by his Master, Eben can't deny that Master Detlef is uncommonly good at sodomy. He can be a little rough, but...Eben quickly smoothes his hair in the mirror, wipes the sweat from his face, and finishes dressing. He's in the stables as quickly as he can.

Detlef had a quick drink with his friends, all of them foreign though all very well traveled and with his same... interests. They all went out to the stables. Eben was waiting for them there. Detlef grinned, tossing him something pointy. "Put them on." he said, getting on his horse. He'd loaned the Russian a horse, but the Englishman had brought his own.

Eben fumbles with the strange object he's been tossed, trying to figure out how exactly he's supposed to put it on. And why there are only three horses tacked.

One of the grooms steps forward quietly and helps him adjust the straps. It's a pair of antlers to wear on his head. Detlef grins down at his servant pleasantly. "You should run. We'll take a quick turn around the property, then we'll be after you." he nudged his horse and was followed by his friends, all talking as if this was perfectly normal.

Completely surprised--he's gotten used to his master being somewhat peculiar, but this! Eben remains still for a moment, thinking. His master had seemed completely serious. Realizing that he's losing his head start, Eben starts running for the woods backing the property. He's a little miffed and hardly wants to run, especially in his good clothes, but he wouldn't want to ruin his master's game and get a beating. Especially over a harmless bit of fun and entertainment for his visiting friends.

It wasn't long before he heard the pounding of hooves behind him. The horses were crossing the field towards the woods.

Eyes a little wide, even though he knows it's just a game, Eben increases his speed to enter the woods. Once he's in the woods, reflecting that he's glad they aren't using the hounds, the servant tries to think of a strategy while running. He can't outrun a horse, but he should be harder to find in the woods. He heads for the deepest part.

The horses have to slow when they enter to forest, but they don't sound too far behind him. Once in awhile he can hear their voices, but he can't make out the words yet.

Trying to move as quietly as possible while still keeping up good speed, Eben continues through the woods toward the older, more tangled growth, where he can hide and the horses will be forced to move even more slowly. He has to untangle his cumbersome antlers a few times.

He can't tell where the horses are coming from anymore, the sound seems to be coming from more than one place. There's a gunshot from not too far away.

Eben almost cries out at the sound of the shot, biting his hand as he runs to keep from making a noise. Seeing a dense clump of bushes, he hurls himself into the middle of it, heart racing with fear and exertion. "Of course, they're using blanks," he murmurs to himself, trying to stop his violent trembling and reassure himself. "They're not actually shooting at me." He laughs softly, deciding to rest here a moment.

There are horses all around him it seems, and he can see flashes of the men's clothing through the bushes. Another shot is fired and this time it takes him in the stomach.

At first, Eben isn't sure what had happened, except that his face is suddenly in the dirt. He pushes himself to his knees and sees a wet spot on his nice black jacket. Frowning, he tries to stand, only to realize that something is very wrong. Panicked, he scrambles to his feet and begins madly stumbling his way through the thicket as fast as he can.

He can hear Detlef's voice and suddenly there's a horse in front of him. His Master kicks him, catching him just under the chin.

Eben's scream is interrupted by his master's booted foot connecting, and he goes down hard, flat on his back. He lays, panting, in the dirt, staring up with wide, betrayed eyes at his former master.

Detlef dismounts his horse, his two friends catching up to him as he shouts for them, dismounting themselves. Eben watches as Detlef takes out the leather roll of his knives. He'd seen the big man dress a deer in the field before.

Eben makes a final, desperate attempt to stand at the sight of the knives, all too aware of what they'll do to him. The pain in his stomach has faded in his panic, and he's hardly aware of Lydon and Ivar standing near him.

Ivar steps on his wrist, kneeling down to slice the dirty dress clothes off his body, revealing his twisting, pale torso and the exit wound. Detlef stroked his Eben's face gently, still smiling. "I'm glad you ended up being my kill. I was starting to feel attached." The knife slid from his neck down to his navel and the three men began to skin and butcher him.

Eben manages a final scream for help at the sharp pain in his wrist, struggling as hard as he can. He may as well be laying still, with three men on him and the wound in his gut. He keeps his eyes on Detlef while his face is being stroked, trying to form words, to ask why, what he had done wrong. He falls silent as the knife takes him past speaking.

"Good shot, Detlef, old boy!" Lydon exclaims, smiling over the carcass. "You're right, he does look delicious."

Detlef grinned. "I'm glad you agree, since I'll be sending some sausage and jerky home with you." he pulled Lydon down and put a knife in his hands, guiding him through the steps.

Lydon is surprised, but pleased, when he's grabbed, and he grins up at Ivar. Soon, he's completely focused on the task at hand, grinning with pride and pleasure, enjoying the feeling of Detlef's rough hands guiding his own. "I can hardly wait."

Detlef helped the boys dress the carcass, removing the servant's organs and storing the ones he wanted to keep in bags. He wrapped the meat in a plastic stretcher and tossed it over the front of his horse. "Good job." he patted Lydon on the back.

Lydon smiles, pleased by the older man's praise. "Thank you." He's licking his lips already, just looking at the meat. "I can't wait to see what your chef comes up with." Aroused as well as hungry, Lydon saunters over to Ivar for a messy, passionate kiss.

Ivar grins, kissing back, wiping some blood on Lydon's cheek and ear as he grabs him.

Detlef laughs, mounting his horse. "I'm heading back. If you two need a few minutes, take your time." he nudged his horse and they wandered away through the woods.

Lydon waves vaguely in Detlef's direction, mouth still pressed to Ivar's. The blood and grabbing only serve to make him harder, and he's soon leaning into Ivar's body from mouth to groin, moaning against his lover's lips.

Ivar growled, pushing him down into the bloody grass and undoing his pants, grinding against Lydon.

"Ahhh!" Lydon gasps, sprawling for a moment before wrapping all of his limbs desperately around Ivar. "Please, Ivar, please..." he moans lustily, scrabbling at his lover's clothes.

Ivar forced him down by his throat and kneed him in the crotch, undoing Lydon's pants and taking his cock in his mouth.

Lydon is almost completely undone by this, babbling and clawing wildly at any part of Ivar that comes within reach. He's almost thrashing too much to keep his cock in Ivar's mouth, until he calms enough to realize what's going on, and settles on the still-warm, bloody grass.

Ivar sucks and grazes him with his teeth for awhile, sliding an unlubricated finger inside his lover and curling it sharply.

With a delighted shriek, Lydon first arches away from the finger, then drives himself down on it to the knuckle, squirming happily and beaming up at Ivar.

Ivar slides in a second finger, biting the very tip of Lydon's cock.

Lydon screams in ecstasy, thrusting his hips as much as he can, hands clawing the grass above his head, getting them slick with blood.

Ivar curves a third finger into him, sliding his mouth down until Lydon's head hits the back of his throat and his lips touch the base of his cock. He groaned around his mouthful.

"Ngh!" Lydon groans back, rocking Ivar's fingers over and over his prostate, crying out again as he feels how deeply his cock has entered his lover. "Ivar!" he gasps, "fuck me!"

Sitting up, Ivar pulls his fingers out, wipes his hand on the grass and lubricates his cock with the 'deer' blood, slowly forcing himself into Lydon's tight anus.

Lydon sits up as well, to see what Ivar has used to lubricate himself. The sight of his lover's bloodied cock sliding into him almost pushes him over the edge, and he grits his teeth to keep from cumming on the spot. He lays back down, laughing a little wildly, and resumes clutching the wet, cooling grass.

Ivar sheaths himself entirely, raking his nails down Lydon's chest.

"Nah-hah!!!" Lydon bucks beneath his lover, sitting up to wrap his upper body around Ivar, kissing his neck, throat and chin.

Ivar bites Lydon's jaw, forcing him back down and fucking him raw.

Lydon can feel his eyes filling with tears, and he's trembling as though feverish, as he always does with a really good fucking. He lays more or less passively, held in place by Ivar's teeth, biting his own lip.

"Cum." Ivar hisses around the skin between his teeth, spurting into Lydon, his own hips bucking.

Screaming freely, knowing that the only person who could possibly hear them is Detlef, Lydon does as he's told, cumming all over both of their fronts. He sprawls on the earth again, panting and grinning.

Ivar finishes, pulling out of his boyfriend and kissing him soundly, flopping onto the bloody, sticky grass next to him.

Purring with contentment, Lydon snuggles against his Ivar, smiling at his lover, eyes half-closed. "Mmm. We should get back. I want to try some of that meat, and I know you do."

"It'll take some time to prepare." Ivar panted. "We can rest a bit."

Lydon sulks playfully, trying to sit up, only to collapse again. "Ah...alright, I suppose..." he pants, laying his head on Ivar's chest and closing his eyes happily.

******

Tossing his horse's reins to a groom, Lydon runs as quickly as possible for a gentleman into the estate, sniffing deeply for the smell of cooking boy-meat as he hurries to find Detlef, Ivar in tow.

Ivar laughed, always enjoying Lydon's post-coital energy. Once they'd had a nap, he was always raring to go. Ivar, on the other hand, could always nap for hours after good sex.

"Detlef! We're back!" Lydon calls, heedless of the bloody footprints he's tracking everywhere, enjoying the feeling of the blood cooling, then drying, on his face and clothing. His arm is firmly wrapped around Ivar's waist, stealing kisses from time to time.

Detlef called out to them from the dining room, where he was lounging in a chair, smoking, looking post-coital himself. The servant kneeling in front of him got up, face red, and left in a rush.

Lydon laughs heartily at the servant's expression and escape, settling himself in a chair, again not caring about the blood--that's what servants are for. "Well, maybe not for you..." he muses out loud, smiling at Detlef.

"Not for me?" Detlef asks, buttoning up his pants. Ivar laughed, settling in next to Lydon.

"Mmm? Oh. Sorry. I was thinking about servants, and how their job is cleaning. But maybe less for you," he nods his head at Detlef's pants, resting his hand on Ivar's thigh.

"Oh that? He was just polishing my cock." Detlef chuckled.

Lydon nods sagely. "Yes, those are important to clean. ...how's dinner coming along?" he asks, not able to contain his eagerness for long.

"It'll be ready soon!" Detlef put out his cigarette. "Haven't you tasted longpig before?"

Lydon shakes his head, eyeing the cigarette. Ivar has put plenty of his own illicit cigarettes out on him, much to his enjoyment. With a playfully bratty sigh, Lydon settles back in his chair, smiling at his companions. "A fine hunt, Detlaf old boy."

"Agreed." Ivar chuckled, flagging down a passing servant and getting a drink. He gave a happy sigh and relaxed into his chair.
"Thank you both." Detlef chuckled, "I'm glad you could make it. I only wish you could stay longer than a week."

"We're glad you invited us. And we wish we could stay, too, but we have to be getting back to school." Lydon envies Ivar his drink; every time Lydon tries to have alcohol, he pictures Jerome's disapproving face. Same with cigarettes of his own.

"Ah well, you can stay longer once it's summer. And you can bring some of your own servants along if you wish. If you have any... delectable boys." he winked at Lydon.
Ivar downs his drink with a purr, fingers tightening on Lydon's thigh.

His eyes rolling at the pressure on his leg, Lydon pauses a moment before he can answer. "Ahh...yes, we would like that very much...I only have one servant of my own, and I don't see how I could replace him. I don't know how you do it. Good help is so hard to find."

"Good help is hard to find, but I do well with what I have. I don't need them, for the most part. I enjoy having them cook and clean... as well as other things, but I enjoy living on my own as well." Detlef shrugged. "Perhaps that's why I can get along after I kill them. Though I couldn't do without a willing chef." he laughed.

A servant opened the door and brought in a silver platter. The boy was almost as whole as they had left him, roasted like a whole pig.

"Mmm! That smells wonderful!" Lydon is leaning forward in his chair, as though to get the food sooner. "How does one find a willing chef?" he asks. "I shall have to find one, when I'm of age." Lydon can't imagine living alone.

"I put out an ad on a cannibal site, actually." Detlef told him. "And I was lucky enough to find a wonderful chef." The servant served them all, then left.

"Really? I should think you would get mostly poseurs and frauds. I'm glad you found someone!" With that, Lydon begins devouring his savory meat as quickly as he can with good manners.

"Well, if frauds agree to meet me, I can do a fair job of cooking them up myself." Detlef dug into his food. Ivar was savoring his first mouthful, eyes closed.

Lydon laughs heartily, finally slowing down enough in his excitement to relish his meat. "This is exquisite!" he murmurs.

Ivar laughs, patting his boyfriend's thigh. "Slowing down?" he asked.

Blushing a little, Lydon nods. "What a wonderful vacation, Detlef. Thank you."

"You're very welcome! I hope you plan to come back and visit." he smiled.

Schoolboys Meeting

Ivar was changing into his new school uniform, the smart black coat with gold buttons, the green shirt and the stupid little shorts. He wasn't sure why the English had such silly uniforms, but it seemed to be part of the culture to be silly. He was mostly nude when his new room mate walked in. He smiled, confidently. "Hello. I'm Ivar." his Russian accent was thick.

Lydon, who had finally shed his entourage of Jerome, parents and older brother, walks in on his undressed new room mate. "Oh. Oh! Lord, I'm sorry!" Blushing a little, Lydon turns to go, dropping his suitcases just inside the door.

Ivar laughed softly. "No apologies." He offered his hand to the handsome English boy.

Lydon smiles shyly. "Ah, well, I suppose we'll be seeing a lot more of each other, now won't we?" He steps inside and takes the half-naked boy's hand with only a little hesitation. "Sorry about that. It takes some getting used to." Lydon's accent is pure upper-crust English, and he's delighted by Ivar's speech.

Ivar nods in agreement. "We will be close." he can't help but look the boy up and down. Hopefully he'll at least be of interest during the school years.

Naive as he is, Lydon catches the glance and his blush deepens. He recovers quickly, lugging his luggage to his assigned half of the room. "Ah, I'm Lydon. You're...Russian, yes?" He has a funny feeling when he hears the other say 'we will be close', but he can't quite figure out why.

"Is my accent obvious?" he says wryly, smirking at his new friend's blush. "What are your classes?"

"No! No, I mean...I like it." Shaking his head at his less-than-stellar introduction to his new room mate (everyone has always stressed how important introductions are), Lydon begins putting his belongings away. "Ah, let me see...maths, English, Science, drama, art, geography, history, music and Latin. You?"

"All the same, except for Latin. I have French." Ivar pulled on his shirt and started buttoning it up, knotting the little tie at his neck.

Lydon nods, with a playful grimace. "I wanted to take French, but Father and Jerome--he's my butler, you see--~insisted~ that I take Latin. Bloody useful, if you ask me." The young Englishman flops on his bed dramatically.

Ivar chuckled, sitting on the edge of Lydon's bed. "Butler?"

Grinning apologetically, Lydon sits up with a shrug, bouncing on the bed a little. "Yes, my family's terribly old-fashioned. He's my father's butler's son. I had the damndest time not having him stay here at school with me. Poor old Jerome. He'll probably waste away without me."

"I am sure he will." Ivar laughed, lying back on the bed. "What do you enjoy for fun?"

"Um...riding, boating, reading, sport, archery...dunno. You?" After a moment Lydon lays beside his new friend, a small distance away. He finds himself liking Ivar immediately--especially now that he's dressed! "Why'd you come to England? ...if you don't mind my asking."

"I've been in Russian schools up until now. My parents thought school in England would be a good way for me to learn fluent English." he turned his face to look at Lydon, vaguely wondering if the boy has ever enjoyed archery when faced with more than inanimate targets. "I enjoy archery as well. I also enjoy hunting, riding and traveling."

"Your English is very good. But...I'm glad you're here." Lydon grins shyly. "I've always wanted to go hunting, and to travel. My parents travel frequently, mostly on business, and Jerome thinks that I'm too young."

"Perhaps we will hunt together. I will be going back to Russia on the first break, for hunting." he stopped short of inviting the boy. Though his instincts about people were usually spot on, he wanted to be sure. He would have to live with this boy for quite some time.

Sensing the possibility of an invitation, Lydon nods eagerly. "I would like that...someday. Anyway. I've never been to boarding school before, have you?"

"Yes. A few in Russia and for a short time in France."

Lydon leans forward, looking a little relieved. "Oh. Why so many?"

"My parents travel and I have had some trouble in the past." he chuckled. "Where did you go to school before?"

"Trouble?" Lydon asks lightly, clearly trying to change the subject.

"Home schooled?" Ivar asked with a little smile, just as stubborn as Lydon.

Lydon nods, his blushing returning a little. "Yeah. How'd you guess?"

"Even your accent seems.... a little sheltered."

Trying to hide his pained look, Lydon sighs and buries his face in a pillow, growling a little. "Tell me about it," he murmurs. Sitting up again, he presses. "What kind of trouble?"

"They couldn't prove anything, but they thought it best that I leave." he grinned, stroking Lydon's soft brown hair.

Lydon raises an eyebrow, impressed, and snuggles against Ivar's side. "You know," he says, flirtatiously, "I've heard that buggery is a time-honoured tradition at English boarding schools."

"Are you offering?" Ivar grinned, wrapping an arm around his chest.

Purring a little, Lydon moves so he's sitting in front of Ivar, resting his head on the Russian boy's chest. "I'm not declining."

"So soon?" Ivar purred, accent thickening dramatically.

Lydon shivers against the other boy, tilting his head back to look at him. "Is that wrong, oh wise and traveled one?"

"You hardly know me." he tightened his arms around Lydon's chest and abdomen.

Gasping with surprised delight, Lydon melts eagerly into the strong grip. "Maybe I like that about you," the English boy laughs.


Ivar's hands slid under Lydon's shirt, roughly exploring his skin.

"Ngh...and here you've just gotten dressed. What a pity."

"It won't take long to undress." he growled, biting Lydon's neck.

Lydon gives a muffled shriek that quickly degenerates into a laugh. "We should probably at least close the door," he gasps, arching his neck for Ivar.

"Then go close it." Ivar sat up, stripping off his uniform.

Amused at taking an order rather than giving them, Lydon strides to the door and closes it with a flourish, then turns to watch his room mate undress. "You've already got all sorts of hair!" he says, admiringly.

Ivar giggled, lying back on the bed and offering his body to Lydon for exploration. The English boy was adorable.

Lydon all but pounces on his new Russian friend, exploring all the coarse black fuzz that he has yet to grow.

Ivar groaned happily. "You're still dressed..."

"Yes...? Does that matter?" Lydon's mouth is hovering just over Ivar's chest, and he's looking up at the Russian playfully.

"Yesss." he murmured. "If you want me to sodomize you."

"Oh," Lydon says, enjoying playing the innocent. "Well, I suppose." He rolls off of Ivar, laying on his back, propped up on his elbows and smiling at the Russian.

"Strip." the Russian growled.

In a trice, Lydon has his uniform jacket off, and he begins slowly, teasingly, undoing his shirt, button by button.

"You're awfully commanding, aren't you?" he grins.

"I certainly can be. You seem to be trying to tease me." he chuckled, pushing Lydon onto his back.

With a happy little gasp, Lydon easily allows himself to be pushed down and spreads his legs a little.

Ivar popped off the remaining buttons on Lydon's shirt, lowering his head to kiss the hairless chest and belly, nibbling gently, then biting more and more roughly.

"Nghhh..." Lydon finds his hips bucking like a slut, and can't seem to mind about it. He just wants satisfaction. He gasps with each bite, even as they get steadily harder.

Ivar nibbled and bit his way down to Lydon's pants, taking them off roughly and kissing the pale skin above the English boy's cock.

"OhIvaryes!" Lydon moans, lifted off the bed a little by Ivar's grip on his trousers. His eyes flutter shut and his cock tries to jump down the Russian's throat.

Ivar laughs, biting down just above Lydon's cock and not letting go, shaking his head a little.

"Ahhngh!!! Ivar!" Lydon's head snaps back, almost braining himself on the headboard, and he scrabbles to find something to grab, which happens to be Ivar.

Ivar slid his mouth up to the head of Lydon's cock, licking the head, then taking it in his mouth, scraping his teeth all the way down to the base.

Lydon's mouth opens, but he's totally silent, eyes wide and staring down at Ivar as the Russian blows him. He grabs a fistful of Ivar's hair with one hand, clawing down his room mate's back with the other.

Ivar growls around his mouthful, lips pressed to the hairless base, head of Lydon's cock almost gagging him.

The growl almost undoes Lydon, and it's only by tightening his grip and grabbing a handful of Ivar's skin that the English boy is able to keep himself from cumming immediately.

Ivar scrapes his teeth all the way back up, teeth hooking under the head of Lydon's cock and tongue swirling around his urethra.

Lydon cums with a shriek, tearing wildly at Ivar's back with both hands, hips bucking into his friend's mouth.

Ivar swallowed his friend's semen, chuckling thickly. "Good?"

"Ohhhhh yes. Have you done that before?" Lydon asks, flopped bonelessly on the bed, staring up at Ivar.

"Da." he grinned.

Minuet in Trio

Elijah forces himself to wait a few days before calling Antonin. His boss at the bookstore notices that something is weird; usually the boy is reading a weird book when he doesn't notice customers come in, not looking at his phone. He hadn't even known Elijah had a cell phone.

Bracing himself, Elijah closes his eyes and presses the send button. When he hears the quiet ringing, he brings the phone closer to his ear as though it's a bomb.

After a few rings, the phone is answered. There are a few rustling noises, then a quiet. "H'lo?"

"Hey...Antonin? It's Elijah. Is this a bad time? Did I wake you?"

Davide seethes a little. "This is Antonin's boyfriend." he snarled, then said cheerfully. "Can I take a message?"

"Ohshit! I mean...um...hi. I'm Elijah, we met at the benefit, and, ah, we had wanted to get together for coffee. As friends. If that's ok with you. I mean..." Shit. Plus, the guy sounds like a total psycho.

"No, I don't think he'll be leaving the bed. We were up late last night and he's still kind of... tied up." Davide picked at his fingernails. "Don't expect him to call you back."

Elijah grits his teeth, making horrified squeaking noises. "Uh huh...um...thanks..." He gingerly touches the end button, as though it were the detonator of a bomb strapped to him.

"Who was that on the phone?" Antonin managed from under his pillow.

Davide gives his sweetest smile, plonking the phone back on the nightstand. "Elijah."

"Hm, wha'd he say?"

"Oh, everything. Next time you fuck around, you might want to choose someone more discreet," the violinist hisses.

He laughed. "We didn't fuck around." Antonin removed the pillow from over his head. "Come on, stop being so jealous."

Davide raises an eyebrow, and the crescendo is practically audible.

Antonin yawned.

"He said you met at the benefit."

"Yeah we did. That doesn't mean that's when we first met." he countered.

Davide makes an exasperated noise. "Are you using some definition of 'to meet' that I'm not aware of?"

"It seems that way, doesn't it?"

"Just stop it! I'm trying to have a serious conversation with you, and you're just...!"

"Just what? Being ignored? You only see what you want to see, Davide."

"Fine then. Let's go have coffee together. The three of us."

*Oh shit.* "Fine."

"Good." Davide smiles again and picks up the phone. "Hi, Elijah? It's Davide. Sorry about a minute ago, I must've woken up on the wrong side of the bed or something. We'll pick you up for coffee in...oh, half an hour? Ok, great." The violinist snaps the phone shut with a triumphant smirk.

Antonin scowls at him. "I need a shower." he says, heading to the bathroom.

Feeling like his heart might burst when he sees who's calling, Elijah feels physical pain as his heart quickly contracts when he hears who it is. He agrees to meet them, not really able to think of a way out of it around the chorus of 'oh shit' filling his head.

"Of course, sweetie," Davide calls after him.

*****

Elijah had considered calling Mike and asking for advice, but the whole thing is so stupid he decides against it, and concentrates on trying to find a 'going out for coffee with a man you really, really like and his crazy-ass boyfriend' outfit.

Finally, he heads outside to wait, pacing anxiously.

They swing by in Davide's car, a little red sports car. Davide is chatting animatedly with a grumpy and defeated looking Antonin.

Elijah's legs briefly try to make a run for it when he sees the car approaching, but he forces himself to wave, teeth gritted into something approaching a smile. Which becomes even more forced when he realizes the back seat is one of those tiny, only-infants-will-fit-back-here sports car seats.

"Hop in." Davide smirked. "So, Antonin tells me that you've known each other for awhile. Where did you meet?" he clearly has no intention of letting them get off easily.

Panicked, Elijah stalls for time by jamming himself into the seat, glad that Antonin got out so he doesn't have to crawl over his lap...and trying to get clues from the cellist's face as they pass. "Um...well...you know...around, at the symphony."

"Really? I'm at every concert. I'm the first chair violinist. Funny that I've never seen you!" he smiles in the scariest way possible.

Elijah physically recoils...his allotted two inches. "It's, ah, a big hall, and I usually have to rush off right after the performance, so we don't see each other often!"

"Mhm. So what do you do?"

"I work at the White Cat." Elijah tries to keep his relieved sigh silent.

"And how long have you been fucking my boyfriend behind my back?"

"Ohmygod! What?!" His desperate denial lacks some credibility based on his scarlet face.

"God, he's so obvious! Antonin, what the fuck!" Davide curses, the little car swerving dangerously.

Antonin sighed, chin in hand. "Watch the road."

Elijah has a sudden, child-like urge to crawl under the seats and say 'you can't see me!' or rock back and forth. He's totally unsure of what to say.

"How do you explain this?" Davide screams, pulling over into a parking lot, barely avoiding a parked truck, and shutting the car off.

"I don't have to! He's just awkward! We're not fucking!"

Some people in the parking lot raise eyebrows and pretend not to listen.

Elijah nods furiously, hoping it will help.

"Puh-leeze. Just awkward?" Davide scrutinizes Elijah in the rear view mirror. "Ok, well, he is that, but you've definitely been doing something. And I don't give a fuck if you haven't actually been fucking, something's going on between you."

"He thinks I'm sexy and we went out for a drink." Antonin laughed. "That's all. Any weirdness is all from him."

"Well, we've proven he's not blind," Davide snaps, his righteous fury fading a little. "He's just being weird because he has the hots for you, but you told him that you were totally unavailable and you were just going to have coffee to torment him?"

"Pretty much. Also, he's cute to look at."

"I guess so. If you go for that whole Scott Pilgrim look. Well. This has taken way too much time. I need to get home and practice." He turns the car on again, and they head out at less likely-to-die speeds.

"Fine. Just drop us off at Starbucks, okay?"

"Alright. Call me when you want a ride, sweetie." He blows Antonin a kiss, stopping beside the nearest Starbucks.

"Thank you." Antonin gets out, blowing a kiss back to the violinist.

Elijah scrambles out, almost launching himself away from the car. He's barely clear when Davide screeches away. Elijah stares, wide-eyed, at Antonin. After a moment, he starts laughing, helplessly.

"And that is my boyfriend. How's yours?" Antonin laughed with him.

His eyes beginning to fill with tears and on the edge of hysteria, Elijah takes a few deep breaths, holding out a hand for Antonin to wait. "He's, um...cool with...you know, whatever."

"He doesn't care?" Antonin asked. "Nice. Lucky."

"Tell me about it. So, um...let me guess. The sex is amazing?"

Antonin burst into laughter, rubbing the back of his neck. "Is it that obvious?"

Elijah gives his apologetic grin, trying not to notice how great Antonin looks when he's...breathing. "Well, it'd have to be, wouldn't it? ...I think we have to go to emergency to get my balls removed from my abdomen."

Antonin grinned. "Yeah, he's a bitch, but it's usually worth putting up with."

"I'm really sorry. I don't mean to cause problems." Elijah is suddenly serious again. He makes his hands into little T-Rex arms. "I don't like confrontations!" ...serious for about three seconds.

Antonin looked blankly at him.

"...the dinosaur? From Toy Story? Uh...never mind." Face bright red yet again, Elijah gestures to the coffee shop. "...coffee?"

"Coffee." he nodded, chuckling.

Elijah nods gratefully and stands aside for Antonin to enter first. "I'm sure you have better things to do than watch kid's movies..." he murmurs, mostly to himself and trying to avoid watching the cellist's ass.

"I just don't watch much TV." he laughed, going to order, leaning over the counter, giving Elijah a great view.

Shaking his head wildly to clear the fantasies out of it, Elijah sidles up beside Antonin to place his order. Only as close as friends would stand. "My treat. For putting you in the dog house."

"I'll take that." Antonin smiled, leaning in to kiss Elijah's cheek.

Trying not to babble incoherently and to ignore the knowing look of the cashier, Elijah manages to only drop his debit card once before putting everything where it needs to go and pushing the required buttons.

Antonin laughed, finding them a seat in the corner and grabbing their drinks on his way.

Elijah follows, wondering why convenient holes never appear. Or hotel rooms. He sits across from Antonin, a little gingerly because of certain hindrances in his pants.

Antonin smiles, pushing Elijah's drink across the table towards him.

"Thanks. So, uh, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"...why -are- you with him?"

"The sex."

Elijah laughs. "Fair enough." He searches his coffee foam as though it contains tea leaves for him to read.

Antonin chuckled. "Davide and I just ended up in bed together after fighting for weeks, then when I woke up the next morning, we were dating."

"Wow. Bummer. I mean...sorry. Not, sorry you're dating. Sorry I said that. It was rude."

"Well, it's honest anyway. I'm not sure if rude is the right word. Davide is... very singular."

Elijah nods, trying not to look despondent over his chances of their first meeting happening again without bodily harm. "So...when do you play next?" he says, fighting the urge to touch himself under the table.

"Next weekend. Do you want to... get a hotel room?"

His initial 'Yes!' is quickly followed by a reluctant and much less heartfelt 'No.' "Mike doesn't mind, but Davide..."

"Davide won't find out."

"He could have put a GPS tracker on your phone," Elijah says, quite seriously.

"Don't worry, I've taken my phone apart looking for one before." Antonin said, just as seriously.

"...I bet you have. But I'd feel so bad..." Elijah bites his lip. "I guess you don't have your cello. ...not that I just like you for your cello!"

"I'll play you like I play the cello, then you won't miss it." Antonin laughed softly, taking Elijah's hand.

Elijah shivers, unable to say no. He nods, gulping the rest of his coffee with a strange mix of delight and apprehension.

"Finished?

" Antonin gestured to Elijah's coffee. "We could go..."

"Yes, please." Elijah is on his feet and pointed toward the door before he's finished speaking, his cock pointing the way urgently.

Antonin followed happily. They found the nearest hotel, Antonin checked them in (with fake names, of course) and they went up to their room.

Elijah sits awkwardly on the edge of the bed, not really sure what to do from here, watching Antonin hungrily.

Antonin stripped off Elijah's clothes, tossing them on the floor. He pulled the boy off the bed and sat him in front of the bed. Antonin sat, moving the boy into his arms, held between his knees just like a cello. He gently stroked Elijah's throat, smiling.

Elijah sighs, relaxing muscles he hadn't known were tense. He closes his eyes, feeling the music on his skin, forgetting all about Davide and everything else.

Antonin stroked the boy's abdomen as if he had a bow, playing his favorite Sonata over the soft pale skin. He hummed softly, not sure if Elijah would be able to hear the music without his humming.

Rocking slowly from side to side in the grasp of Antonin's legs, Elijah whispers, "Would you hum on my neck?"

Antonin obliged him, pressing his lips to Elijah's neck and continuing to hum, fingers moving over the boy's neck.

Elijah gasps, breathing in time to the music. "It feels like my first time," he murmurs. "It's so good." He's not sure if he's going to cum, or if this is something else, only that he doesn't want it to stop.

Antonin's bow hand moved down to Elijah's cock, stroking in time to what would be his bows.

"Ohmygod," Elijah breaths, hands gripping the hotel's worn carpet as he struggles not to cum right there. He's never thought of himself as particularly kinky, but this...

Antonin's callused hands ran down his chest to hit the high notes at the climax of the song, his bow hand speeding up.

Antonin's rough fingers feel just as good on his cock as Elijah had imagined, and he finds himself thrusting into the bow hand, breath coming more and more raggedly.

Antonin held the last note, knees tightening around Elijah at the end of the song. He was nearly breathless himself.

Feeling the knees tighten around his body, Elijah frees one hand from its death-grip on the carpet and reaches around to grasp Antonin's cock. Normally this would be a very uncomfortable position, but he's close enough that he hardly notices.

Antonin groans, tightening his grip on Elijah's cock and stroking madly. The song was over, but he wants Elijah to cum.

Stroking as best he can with his arm twisted behind him, Elijah cums with a gasp. He's almost instantly embarrassed about making such a mess on the hotel floor, but he nestles against Antonin's legs, breathing heavily.

Antonin undoes his pants, turning Elijah around to 'suggest' oral sex.

Elijah's mouth is open almost before he realizes what's being offered, and he's soon balls-to-the-throat deep, making little ecstatic noises. After a moment, smiling with his eyes, he hums the sonata more or less accurately.

Antonin's eyes roll back in his head and he groans along happily, his fingers tangled in Elijah's soft curls.

Elijah plants a hand on either side of Antonin's thighs, loving the feeling of having his hair gently tugged and the cock in his mouth.

"Fuck yes..."

Encouraged, Elijah begins moving his head, moaning around his mouthful each time he's extended as far as he can go and the fingers pull at his hair.

Antoine pulls him up, fishing lube out of his pocket before shimmying out of his pants and pulling Elijah up into his lap. He lubes up his cock. "Want to ride me?"

Elijah nods, trying not to dive into Antonin's lap. He finds himself actually breathless at the sight of the cellist without pants, and he makes a mental note to worry about himself later.

Antonin quickly stretched and lubed Elijah, pulling him into position, then letting him take his time.

"Ohhh yeah." Elijah is able to adjust quite quickly--Mike is wider, although Elijah's never really been a size queen and doesn't really notice the difference.

Antonin's shape is somewhat different though, his cock is slightly curved and it hits a different spot in Elijah once he's completely sheathed the other man's cock.

Elijah is soon reduced to inarticulation by the curve, and he finds himself pressed against Antonin's chest with his arms wrapped around the other man, breathing on his shoulder.

“God…” Elijah murmured, being spooned by Antonin. “I don’t know what it was, but…that was…”

Antonin laughs and smiles knowingly, kissing the back of Elijah’s head. “You want to be a cello.”

“Yeah. I guess that’s it. I just didn’t know how to put it into words.”

“I knew.”

“It’s what I wanted from when I first saw you. …not that I just want you for your cello!”

“I know.”

“D’you think it’s possible?”

“Do I think what’s possible?” Antonin is quickly realizing something that Mike has known for quite some time--half of most conversations with Elijah take place in the boy’s head.

“…for me to be a cello. For real.”

“You mean so that people could hear you? I don’t know. Probably.” Antonin strokes Elijah’s hair thoughtfully. “If we hooked you up like an electric cello.”

Picturing electrodes going unpleasant places, Elijah flinches. “…wouldn’t that hurt?”

“I don’t think so.”

“I wouldn’t be electrocuted?”

Antonin frowns at the back of Elijah’s head, puzzled. “No. Why?”

“Oh, that’s good. …I have a few friends who are engineering students. And I know a couple artists.”

“I know some instrument makers, so between us we have a good mix. We should be able to come up with something.”

Elijah grins in the dark. “I guess you can’t stay for long…”

Antonin presses the smaller man closer to himself. “We can have a little nap, at least.”

“Mmm…I’m glad. Do you have a degree?”

“From university? Yes. In music. I’ve made instruments before,” Antonin said, casually.

Elijah is enthralled by this piece of information, and the fact that he’s being held by such an important and talented person. If his cock could get hard again so soon, it would. “Wow…”

“They were pretty shoddy, but I have done it.”

“I think you made another one tonight…oh god, that’s unbelievably cheesy, I’m sorry…!”

Antonin laughs, stroking a line down Elijah’s front. “That’s ok. I did. My best one yet.”

“…is Davide always so crazy?”

“Yes. He’s the first chair violinist. They’re always like that.”

Elijah frowns; he doesn’t want to seem ignorant, but he’s pretty sure that it’s unavoidable at this point. “…what does that mean?”

“He leads the violin section, and he’s second in command after the conductor, I suppose you could say.”

“Oh. I have a lot to learn about music, I guess. …although I guess instruments don’t really have to know about music, do they?”

Antonin continues tracing little patterns on Elijah’s skin, enjoying feeling the boy shiver and break out in goosebumps. “You’re a special instrument. I’ll teach you whatever you want to know.”

Roast's Fetish

Roast knocks softly on Jess' doorframe, seeing as the door is open. He can't resist taking a peek inside, however, and is delighted--and aroused--as always at the sight of his chef getting dressed. Jess' clothes alone can get him going, and the sight of his naked body, exactly the sort of body Roast wishes he had; small, soft and round...he's blushing a little.

"Come in." Jess calls, buttoning up his pants and fishing a neatly folded shirt out of his dresser.

The sous chef shivers with delight and enters the room, leaning as casually as he can on the wall while he watches Jess finish.

Jess raised an eyebrow at him. "Did you need something, or did you just need to get an erection?"

Roast's slight blush goes instantly crimson. "Ah! What...? I...uh...no! I mean yes!" He realizes, to his horror, that he's forgotten what he came in for. "...sorry..." he murmurs, hanging his head. "I'll...go..."

Jess laughs. "Come back, Roast, I'm only teasing. What did you come here for? Did you forget?"

"Yes..." the larger man admits, grinning awkwardly at the chef. "I don't know what it is about your clothes...even your shoes..." He shuts his mouth abruptly, realizing he's babbling.

Jess looks down at his comfortable, but hardly flattering white shoes. "These?" he asked, incredulously.

Roast nods, trying to look amused and mostly just looking embarrassed.

Jess looked him up and down, then pointed down at his shoes. "Then come here and polish them."

Roast is moving before conscious thought kicks in, on his knees in front of Jess with a rag. He blinks a bit, startled to find himself here, but continues carefully polishing the soft leather.

"With your tongue."

The sous chef's eyes widen, and he tilts his head to look up at Jess, past the broad expanse of the other's belly. He nods, trying to hide his delighted smile, and lowers himself still further, where he begins licking the plain shoes as intimately as though he were sucking Jess. He lifts his head just for an instant to ask, hesitantly, "...you aren't needed in the kitchen?"

"Not for a little while." Jess murmured, voice husky. Roast could always tell when he was enjoying himself by the change in his voice. The bulge in his pants was a clear sign too.

Roast nods, his mouth and tongue already latched back on the shoes, his hands wrapped around them, tenderly caressing as he licks and sucks. He loves hearing Jess' voice like this, and he contemplates lifting his head, but...he hasn't been told he can.

Jess allows Roast to continue sucking and licking at his shoes for a time, then unbuttons his pants.

The big sous chef's eyes widen, but he diligently continues on the shoes, not lifting his head, only enjoying the sounds of Jess' movement.

Once his cock is free of his pants, Jess starts stroking himself, teasingly slow. He's wondering how long Roast will be able to continue on his shoes with such a temptation above him.

Roast shudders, his nose almost pressed to the leather of the shoes, eyes closed, as he ignores what he hasn't been offered and continues working his tongue in long, slow circles along the white shoes. He realizes that he's licking in time to the sounds of the chef's strokes above him, and he moans helplessly into the shoe.

Jess steps back out of his shoes, sitting on the bed and offering Roast a hand.

Roast follows the movement, his eyes a little unfocused, but he eventually manages to get his hand/eye coordination working well enough to place his hand in Jess'.

Jess grabs him by his hair and guides his lips to his cock.

The sous chef moans with delight, eagerly allowing himself to be pulled forward until his lips meet firm, soft flesh. His mouth closes around the treat, and he closes his eyes as well, to concentrate completely. Every other sense is engaged, even smell.

Jess lays back on the bed and moans, submitting to Roast's talented mouth.

Roast hums softly around his mouthful, loving the feeling of Jess' cock vibrating around his lips, hoping Jess likes the feeling too. He's oddly unable to remember if he's done this with Jess before. He lightly rests a hand on either side of Jess' prone body, leaning even further in.

Jess groans deep in his throat, fingers curling in Roast's hair.

Roast leans in and pulls back, loving the tension this creates on his hair, and working his mouth up and down Jess' shaft while he moves, rolling his tongue under the head and along the loose skin of the underside.