Old Friends

OLD FRIENDS

(Book one of the Good Friends stories)

BLUE SAPPHIRE

Old Friends

(Book one of the Good Friends stories)

ebook (Smashwords Edition)

Written by Blue Sapphire

Published by Yvonne Carsley

Copyright © Blue Sapphire 2018. All rights reserved.

The rights of Blue Sapphire to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

Warning: This work is not suitable reading material for the under eighteen’s and/or those who find descriptions of homosexual acts offensive.

This author advocates the practice of safe sex. Fictional characters do not require condoms; you, dear reader, do. Whatever your sexual preferences please practice them safely.

Other work by this author

The Heat of Desire

Flesh and Spirit

Slave (Book one of Passion amidst the Stars)

Need (Book two of Passion amidst the Stars)

Want (Book three of Passion amidst the Stars)

Desire (Book four of Passion amidst the Stars)

Rescue

Captured (Book five of Passion amidst the Stars)

Awakened (Book six of Passion amidst the Stars)

Hunger (Book seven of Passion Amidst the Stars)

New Friends (Book two of the Good Friends stories)

Written under her actual name of Yvonne C. Carsley

The Gathering of the U’Narai (Book one of The Free Land Chronicles)

Kings and Queens (Book two of The Free Land Chronicles)

Secrets (Book three of The Free Land Chronicles)

Jargo (Book four of The Free Land Chronicles)

Swiftsword (Book five of The Free Land Chronicles)

The Red Lady (Book six of The Free Land Chronicles)

The Dark Queen (Book seven of The Free Land Chronicles)

Three Queens (Book eight of The Free Land Chronicles)

Valorian (Book nine of The Free Land Chronicles)

Poetry

The Little Book of Haiku

TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

He uttered a strangled cry and withdrew, rolling onto his back and lay panting and gasping, chest heaving, eyes fixed unseeing on the ceiling. Beside him, William lay face-down, his panting breaths muffled by the pillow. He looked down finally, taking his time, letting his eye roam lazily down that sweat-streaked back and goose-pimpled backside, resisting a sudden urge to lean down and bite one scrumptious buttock.

William’s legs were open, giving him a wonderful view of that hungry little orifice he had just been so enthusiastically plugging. He reached down, pressing his fingers to it.

Still hot. The skin rough and moist beneath his fingers. He couldn’t resist and quickly inserted two fingers, making the other man squirm helplessly.

No, he pleaded breathlessly. Please. Not again. Not just yet. Need rest. So tired. Please. Give me a minute. Just a minute.

It was such a pleading request. How could he not grant it? Yet he was eager to go again. It had been so long since he and Will had last enjoyed each other this way. Had it been as good as this that very first time? Ten years ago. He remembered it well. He remembered what they had done and where and who had been watching. Yet oddly what he remembered the most were Will’s eyes. So incredibly blue. Staring up at him. Such eyes. They had mesmerised him then and still did.

Now Will was facing away from him, those eyes tightly closed, face buried in the pillow, his panting breaths evening out slowly.

Did he recall their first time? Had he enjoyed that more than this latest encounter or was he well pleased with what they had just done?

He turned on his side and let his eyes roam up to the back of Will’s head, staring at it as though trying to see Will’s thoughts through his skull.

Did you like that? he murmured, leaning close over William, his fingers still caught up inside him. Did you enjoy my cock working your tight little arsehole like that?

Will squirmed harder. Was he trying to get away?

Did you? he repeated, suddenly desperate to hear him say it. Did you like me fucking you?

Don’t, Will whispered. Don’t say it like that.

Like what? He frowned.

So crudely.

He frowned again then leaned close and ran his tongue around the edge of Will’s left ear.

Did you enjoy the lovemaking? he breathed. Did I give you pleasure?

He really longed to say did I make you come but he didn’t have to ask that, did he?

He slid a hand under the other man and felt the telltale wetness. He smiled, satisfied, and withdrew his fingers, turning again on his back to gaze up at the ceiling.

He glanced from it to Will time and again, watching the goosebumps spreading up his back and down his arms. Will shivered and he reached to pull the cover up over him though it concealed that gorgeous body from view.

It still gleamed in his mind’s eye though – lightly-tanned flesh and smooth skin, apart from those thin scars crisscrossing his lower back. They were new. He wondered at them but only briefly. He wondered more about how it had been nearly twenty minutes ago.

There had been a moment there when he had thought it wasn’t going to happen, that Will was going to send him away without…his treat.

He smiled briefly then looked again to the other man. He still lay on his front, face buried in the pillow, his breaths easy now, slow and measured.

It had been a moment to still a man’s heart, seeing him again after so many years. There he had been in that office, working as a curate in the museum of all places. He had never imagined that. But there he had been – tapping away at his keyboard, logging recent acquisitions, when he’d walked in with his clipboard, looking for someone to sign his delivery sheet.

For a brief second he had felt a touch of shame.

They had both been boys together at one of the most prestigious schools in the country, both destined for great things, important careers and likely high-class wives and perfect children.

Will had clearly lived up to at least some of his potential, though the museum was not quite where he had pictured him ending up. It was a big museum though. It had class. It showcased rich exhibits and had royal patrons.

And what was he?

A delivery driver who ferried priceless objects from dirt-laden dockyards to their various destinations: museums, galleries and the occasional private buyer. Sure, he got to see inside some fancy houses and buildings like the one Will worked in but he had to use the rear entrance and many of the clients he delivered to barely looked him in the eye when signing the sheet.

He glanced again at Will and smiled briefly and cheekily to himself.

He didn’t always have a problem using the rear entrance and Will had looked him in the eye.

Steadily and pleasantly he had looked at him. So very polite. Looking right at him and not through him. Though he hadn’t seemed to recognise him at that moment.

But that was just a little game you were playing, wasn’t it, he thought? A little tease to torment me. Not that I minded so much.

Will had looked at him, politely and smiled, not caring that he was just a driver. He had signed the sheet and wished him a good day, actually seeming to mean it.

And then he had had a stroke of luck.

Later that evening, after finishing his last run, and heading back to the delivery depot he had gone back past the museum and there he had been, standing at the bus-stop (his car having broken down that evening – a gift from the gods surely?).

He had offered him a ride home, which he had accepted, albeit a little hesitantly. Even more hesitantly he had asked him if he’d like to come inside for a coffee.

How could he have refused?

He sighed softly and ran a hand down beneath the covers to grip and squeeze his stiffening cock.

He saw again that moment in the kitchen. Will turning away to arrange cups and fill the kettle, asking him over his shoulder if he wanted milk or sugar.

Asking with all seriousness like they were really going to have coffee.

He’d moved nearer then. Will had turned and nearly jumped out of his skin seeing him so close behind.

I don’t want milk or sugar, he whispered to himself, replaying that moment. I don’t want coffee.

Will had looked up at him with those so very blue eyes, looking a little fearful.

What do you want? he had asked, licking his lips, which just made him want to ravage him right there and then in the kitchen.

He almost had.

You, he had replied. Like before. You remember?

Will’s eyes had widened and he’d grabbed at him, snatching at his clothes, tearing them in his eagerness. He’d had him on the kitchen table, kissing him hungrily and would have done it right there had the table not been quite so wobbly.

It had taken real effort to stop and guide Will into the bedroom, where he had somehow managed with hot sweating hands to dig out a condom from his back pocket and unroll it down over his engorged length.

He gripped that length in his hand now.

Jesus! He had been hard. So fucking hard! Had he ever been so hard? Not since that first time maybe.

Will had fallen face first down on the bed and he’d presented such a juicy-looking target that no man could have resisted him.

He bit his lower lip so hard he drew blood as he recalled with such clarity the very moment the tip of his sheathed cock had pressed against Will’s anus; pressed against and then in.

Will had squirmed beneath him, moaning softly and uttering startled gasps.

And then had come that moment when he had thought that it would come to nothing, that he would be allowed a taste and no more.

He had been all the way inside, completely engulfed, balls squashed so delightfully against the other man’s wonderfully warm backside. He’d started to move, just entering a steady rhythm when Will had pleaded…

Please. Stop. Stop a moment. Please.

He hadn’t wanted to but he managed it, with rather bad grace he thought, looking back.

He’d been angry, though he hadn’t let that show in his voice or on his face. He’d had a second of irrational rage. Will had invited him in, knowing full well he didn’t want coffee. He’d pretended not to know him but he had. He remembered him. How could he not? He’d let him into his home, made no sound of protest in the kitchen and had allowed himself to be led into the bedroom. He’d spread his legs. He’d let him enter him. And now he said stop?

What is it? he’d asked, fighting to keep his tone neutral. What’s wrong?

I just need a moment, Will had replied softly, almost begging. It’s…been…a while, he’d confessed.

A while?

Since I was…with a man.

The words had been so quietly whispered, like Will was admitting to something deeply humiliating, and whatever rage he had felt was gone in an instant.

He had reached out, turning Will over, disturbed to see that his eyes were wet.

Will had looked away, embarrassment clear on his face, and the tears had trickled over and down his cheeks. He’d swiped at them almost angrily.

Please, he’d uttered, not looking at him. I just need you to go slower, that’s all. Just a little slower. Please.

Going slow had proved rather pleasant. He’d taken his time and thoroughly enjoyed it, getting to know all of Will’s little noises and the way he moved. They’d done it three times. The first slow and steady, face to face, Will glancing at him and then away as though he was too embarrassed to look him in the eye. Then the second time sitting up. He’d gathered Will onto his lap and kissed him eagerly as the other man had slid up and down on his shaft, uttering helpless little moans and collapsing onto his shoulder at the finish.

The third time he had turned Will back around and taken him a little faster. Not too fast, realising that they would have to work up to the more vigorous stuff, but fast enough that Will had panted and been unable to keep from crying out.

He gazed at him now. He really wanted to go again. He’d always had what previous lovers had called a healthy sex drive, though some had used the phrase with an edge to it, and the thought of seeing if Will could handle him a fourth time was one that sent a shiver through him. But he held back. Will had said it had been a while for him and he didn’t want to scare him away when they were just getting so pleasantly reunited.

He turned on his side and snuggled up to the other man. Will nestled back against him, crushing his erection against his lower belly, but he quite liked that. He slid an arm around him, holding him loosely.

How long exactly? he murmured.

He felt Will stiffen.

Have I asked an…indelicate question? he said with a faint grin. You’ve just had my cock in you three times but a mere question has you squirming far faster than my manhood.

He chuckled and felt Will pulling away from him. He clutched at him, reeling him back.

Hey. I’m sorry. I’m not making fun of you, I swear. Please, he said softly. I am curious. How long has it been? Has it really been so very long?

Five years.

Years?!

Don’t judge me!

Will was rigid in his arms. It was suddenly like embracing a statue, a cold statue.

I’m not judging. I’m just surprised.

I don’t know why. I was never like you.

And what does that mean? he said, a touch defensively.

It was never a problem for you. You were Michael Winslow of the Winslow dynasty. Confidence was your middle name. Everything you ever wanted you got. You knew you’d get it. There was never a doubt for you. You knew how to get what you wanted. You had that walk – that swagger. Words never dried up in your mouth. You never stuttered or stammered – your brain frozen. If you wanted a thing you asked for it and you got it. That was never me. I couldn’t make the first move. I never knew how. If others didn’t make that move then I got nothing. I’m not quite the shy speechless young boy that I once was but I still have to wait for someone else to make that first move. I was always so envious of you and your easy way.

I was always envious of you.

Of me? Why on earth would you be envious of me?

The Winslows had buckets of money, he laughed, but we were a brash and brassy lot. We never had the dignified class of you Mayfairs. You made us look cheap.

Will twisted around in his arms and looked up at him.

I didn’t mean to make you feel cheap.

I’ll take looking cheap any day if I get to have you again. Can I? he said huskily. Have you again?

Will gulped. Now?

Michael chuckled. Tomorrow, if you prefer. I’ll be generous and let you sleep.

I’m not sleepy.

Oh?

But I would prefer tomorrow. He looked down, turning steadily red. It…aches a little. I told you it’s been a while.

Five years.

He pulled Will close, liking the feel of his naked body pressed tight against him.

Why so long? he asked. Surely not because you’re a bit shy? Even if you can’t approach others, surely others have approached you?

A few times.

And?

Do you really want to hear this?

Yes, he did. He found that he wanted to know everything about what Will had been doing and who with since they had parted ways. He wanted to know who he had kissed, where he had been touched and how many times he had been fucked. He was suddenly desperate to know. How many men had Will known? Had he loved any of them?

And how many had bigger cocks than yours?

He pursed his lips but was man enough to admit that yes that was likely part of it.

Will pressed close against him and he was suddenly shivering. He can’t have been cold. He was putting out enough body heat for the two of them. Was he afraid?

Do you remember when I left school? he said.

Michael frowned. An odd question.

Ye-es? he replied, wondering where this was going.

My father just showed up one day and said I was going to school in Sweden.

So that’s where you disappeared to. I did wonder.

As an ambassador my father went where he was instructed. Apparently he was instructed to go to Sweden and for some reason I had to go too. One minute I was in a boarding-school I mostly liked in a country whose language I understood and I had at least one friend. The next I was in a strange school, listening to a strange language and as an ambassador’s son I was nothing special in a school that catered to royalty and nobility. No one tried very hard to be my friend. For years I was lonely but that wasn’t so bad. It was what happened with my father that made things difficult.

What did happen?

"For a couple of years not much. He was cold towards me, barely had a kind word or any shred of interest in my day. I didn’t understand it but assumed that he had his own stuff going on and that he just didn’t have time for me. Then one day he called me to his study and he started lecturing me. He was very angry and he was going on about upholding standards, about the family name, expectations and responsibilities. I hardly knew what he was getting at. Then suddenly out of nowhere he says did you fuck him?"

Will pulled away suddenly and now it was him rolling onto his back to stare unseeing at the ceiling.

"Did you fuck him? He said it so calmly like it was an ordinary question. Did you fuck him? Or did he fuck you?"

He shuddered.

"And suddenly I didn’t recognise him. He was furiously angry – his face all contorted; his voice so loud. It was like he’d gone crazy. Screaming and shouting, ranting and raving like some lunatic. Did he fuck you? Did you let him stick his filthy cock up your arse? Did you like that, you little whore? Is that what I raised: a cock-hungry cum-swallowing little faggot?"

He clutched at the bedcovers, pulling them up to his chin.

I had no idea where this outburst had come from.

He flicked his eyes towards Michael.

It couldn’t have been about you. This outburst was two years later. Would he have waited two years before saying anything if he’d known?

He shuddered again.

Whatever had set him off he wouldn’t stop. Shouting and screaming, calling me such names; names I didn’t know he knew. And then… He gulped. He hit me. He came around the desk, charging, grabbed me by the shoulder and punched me in the mouth. I was on the floor, more shocked than hurt, and I saw him taking off his belt. For one wild second I thought… Well, I don’t know exactly what I thought. He took off the belt, wrapped one end around his fist and hit me with it. Over and over.

He stopped and lay silent for long minutes.

"After that…well…it became difficult when I was ever with a guy. Every time things got…heated my father’s voice would suddenly blare in my head: whore, slut, filthy diseased little queer, dirty little faggot. Sometimes I wouldn’t be able to go through with it. When I did it wasn’t so enjoyable. It’s hard to relax and let go when there’s a lunatic screaming in your head."

He rolled back into Michael’s arms, pressing tight, out of a desire for protection rather than comfort Michael thought, wrapping strong arms around him.

What a fucking bastard, he muttered.

Yeah, I often thought so. He died when I was twenty two and I didn’t even go to the funeral. And I’m not sorry.

He pressed closer and said nothing for at least half an hour then he sighed deeply and rested a hand on Michael’s hip.

I haven’t exactly lived like a monk since he died, he confessed. But things have been sporadic and I didn’t really enjoy myself. I have enjoyed myself tonight, he whispered.

He wasn’t in your head?

Actually he was but you kind of drowned him out. You’re more forceful than he is.

He started to smile. Forceful? I didn’t hurt you, did I?

No. Well.

Will?

You didn’t hurt me exactly. It was just very intense and it aches a little. I’m not used to men with such…appetites; men other than you that is. I’ve only experienced that one other time. The last time actually now that I think on it.

Five years ago?

Urm.

Tell me.

Oh, you don’t want to hear that. Will laughed nervously.

Yes! Yes, I do.

Why?

I just do.

That sounded silly even to him; petulant. Will looked up at him.

You really need to hear? You want details? The where and the when? Whether he used protection or squirted a sticky load up my arse?

He looked down and Will looked away, face flaming, shocked at himself for having used such a turn of phrase.

Did he? he growled softly. Did you feel it running down your thigh when he pulled out?

Will trembled in his arms and he pulled him close again, feeling suddenly protective.

Don’t be afraid. I won’t be angry if he did. I’m just so very curious. Tell me what happened. Please. It’s been ten years since I last saw you. I want to know everything about that time. Who was he? Did you know him? Did you love him?

I never got his name. I didn’t know him. I had no chance to love him. He was just a man in a van who offered me a ride.

CHAPTER TWO

Hey, lad! Fancy a lift? You’ll catch your death out here in this rain.

He stood staring wordlessly, hardly daring to think about the fact he was actually considering it.

It had been a long day. He was new to the job at the museum and learning the ropes was proving difficult, but he was determined to persevere. He wasn’t going to be one of those trust-fund brats who spent their lives achieving very little and driving around in a car that cost more than the average person’s house. He had money, money he could have lived off very easily – never needing to get a job – but he had so far only used it to purchase a reasonable house with a decent garden and dip into it to pay the utility bills. He owned no car, expensive or otherwise. He got the bus to and from the museum on bad weather days and walked on the nice days. It wasn’t far and he enjoyed the exercise.

The job gave him a feeling of achievement and if it was difficult so what? He would learn. And if he couldn’t there were other jobs out there.

He stood now at the bus-stop awaiting his ride. It was a bad weather day. It had been raining heavily from the moment he woke and at nearly nine p.m. it was still hammering it down. The bus was late and he’d already been waiting twenty minutes when he spotted the van.

The first time it had driven by he’d only noticed it because it had seemed to slow down before speeding up and disappearing around the corner. The second time it had gone past even more slowly, almost thoughtfully. Perhaps the driver was looking for some address in the area and was driving around and around in hopes of spotting it.

The third time it came around it stopped. He had expected the driver to call out, asking if he knew where so-and-so was but instead the man had offered him a ride.

----

I knew it was silly of me, William said, rolling again onto his back to gaze up at the ceiling. A dark night, no one else around, a non-descript van and a stranger offering me a lift. All the situation lacked was an offer of some sweeties.

He tracked the pattern on the ceiling tiles, eyes trailing left and right and up and down. His arms rested atop the covers. His fingers idly plucked the material.

I was old enough to know better. I was twenty-four not some fourteen-year-old kid tempted by the promise of free beer and comic books. I was twenty-four and sensible. I had always been the sensible sort. Too sensible some said. As a kid I was more adult than some adults. The only crazy thing I had ever done was… He trailed off and glanced sidelong at Michael. You know.

Michael nodded and smiled briefly. He did know. Crazy indeed.

I was praised for my grown-up attitude. I was praised for being cautious and careful. They sounded like compliments but I started to hear something else in those words. I wasn’t cautious. I was fearful. I wasn’t careful. I was frightened. That was especially true after my father’s assault.

He heaved a sigh.

I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of men I’ve been with. I mean actually been with. All the way. And when I think about them I realise how similar they were and how very…sensible my choices were. Average, ordinary guys. Nothing outstanding or dangerous about them. Nice guys. Nice and somehow…grey. They were guys who drove reliable cars and mowed their lawns on Sundays, after taking the dog for a walk. The sex was nice – once I got past my father’s screaming voice in my head. It was nice, ordinary, grey sex. It was sensible sex. It was cautious sex; careful sex. They always made sure to have condoms and that the bedroom door was well and truly locked. It was all very planned. A call to ask if I wanted to come over, a set time, a nice meal, a nice kiss and then some nice sex. There was no spontaneity, no quick breathless fumble in the car before going to work.

He sighed again and frowned.

"It wasn’t like I was desperate for a nasty guy or anything like that. I wasn’t looking for a guy on a motorbike who liked a smoke and gave the finger to the law. I just thought it might be nice to be with a man who really wanted me. A man who thought about me while he was at work and called me to say he couldn’t get me out of his head. A guy who grabbed at me the way you did…with hunger. I wanted to be more than just a note in some guy’s diary. Wednesday 8 p.m. have sex with Will. I wanted… He shrugged. A little excitement. Not some wild, dangerous out-of-control ride but something. Just a little…something."

He smiled ruefully.

"So perhaps I wasn’t really thinking that night. I wasn’t being sensible. I knew it was madness to step away from the bus-stop and approach that van. I knew it was crazy to open that door and climb up next to that guy. I had two voices in my head that night. My father’s, screaming at me, asking me what kind of a moronic fool did I think I was being; and my own, yelling at me to stop. You’re going to get in this van with this stranger? He could be anyone. A psycho killer. A raping, murdering nutjob with an axe under his seat. As he drove me away from the bus-stop I even thought this’ll be the last time I’m seen alive. Yet for some reason I couldn’t stop myself from getting in that van."

----

It was a strange compulsion and seemingly impossible to resist. It was as though his feet were moving independently from his body, carrying him towards the van. In his head his father’s voice screeched…

What are you doing?! Are you looking to get murdered? You don’t know who this guy is. You do know he drove past you three times on purpose: checking out the area, making sure no one else was around and watching as he lured you into his murder-van. Stop! Stop walking. What are you doing?!

He honestly didn’t know. What he did know was that what he was doing wasn’t sensible and that gave him a strangely enjoyable tingle. He was being foolish. He wasn’t being careful. He was taking a risk and it felt good.

Sure, he might pay for it. If the guy was a psycho he would pay dearly for this pleasant little tingle but he just couldn’t seem to still his feet or prevent his hand from reaching up.

He tugged the handle and the door opened. He barely even hesitated. He climbed up into the seat, pulling the door closed, and turned to smile at the driver.

Thanks, he said. I was afraid I’d be stuck there all night waiting for that bus.

It’s no problem.

The man looked at him for a minute then pulled away, not hurrying, driving confidently, eyes fixed now on the road. He didn’t ask where he lived and he didn’t tell him. He knew the man wasn’t driving him home and found himself curious as to where he was taking him.

He was oddly not afraid, even though his own inner voice had added itself to his father’s raging vitriol.

Where is he taking you if not home? Somewhere dark and deserted I’ll bet. And then what? What will he do, do you think? Will he rape you before he murders you? Maybe he’ll kill you first and then do nasty things to your corpse.

He’d seen enough true-crime and fictional crime shows to know that the world was seemingly filled with weirdos who liked to do nasty things to people but despite the voices in his head he felt strangely calm and curious.

He glanced sidelong at the man.

He was quite big. He looked like he worked out. He seemed tall. His seat was pushed all the way back, giving him more leg-room. He had a broad chest. A T-shirt was being stretched taut across it. He was wearing a short leather jacket with a fleece lining and matching black leather gloves.

That’s so he won’t leave prints, his father’s voice snarled in his head. This van is likely stolen. He doesn’t want to leave any evidence of himself in it. Gloves equal no prints and with that hair cut so short he won’t leave any of those either.

Will looked up. The man had very short hair. Not a skin-head but close and clean-shaven.

All over or just his face?

He looked away, flushing, wondering why he had thought that.

Probably because of Anthony. His last lover. If lover was really the right description for that man.

Anthony had worked in his father’s office. They had met at some dinner party that his father had insisted he attend despite him having zero interest in following in his diplomatic footsteps.

He had got talking with the man, finding him pleasant enough if a little bland, and some weeks later had shared a kiss with the man. Also bland now that he recalled it.

Three years later (a couple of weeks after his father’s death) the man had stopped by the house to express his sympathies and they had shared another kiss. A little more encouraging that time. Will had been ready to go to bed with him right there and then. He had even considered doing it in his father’s bed. That might have driven out his screeching voice once and for all. Sent it fleeing in shock and horror. But Anthony had been very self-controlled and orderly. He wasn’t the sort to just leap into bed without thinking. He set the time. He arranged the place. He made sure there would be no interruptions.

When they finally got around to it Will was surprised that Anthony hadn’t come into the bedroom toting a clipboard with a sex list on it.

Freshly-laundered bed-sheets. Check.

Plumped-up pillows. Check.

Curtains closed. Check.

Door closed and bolted. Phone off the hook. Wine chilled and ready. Check. Check. Check

They had showered before and after. Anthony had been very diligent about cleanliness, and that was when Will had discovered that some men were very averse to even a smattering of body hair. Anthony was waxed and seemingly polished. He was very into moisturising. His body had slid so smoothly against his.

The sex had been smooth – smooth steady thrusts going on and on, never varying in pace until the very finish when Anthony had sped up for the very few last thrusts before collapsing on him.

They had had sex maybe a dozen times before William realised that for Anthony sex was just some annoying nuisance that he had to do. The man would rather be doing other things – like attaining political power (he adored power far more than he did flesh) – but he was at the mercy of his body. Sex was an itch he had to scratch but once scratched he had no interest in anything further. The kissing was a prelude to sex. He didn’t want to do it after. He didn’t want to snuggle up and sleep together. Once the sex was done he showered and set about tidying the room. It was like he was trying to expunge any evidence of their lovemaking.

He glanced again at the driver’s gloved hands. What was this man going to do to him and what would he do after to expunge the evidence?

----

He drove for about an hour. Out of the city we went and suddenly we were driving down some country lane. Just the sort of place perfect for committing murder. Yet still I felt no real fear, only a growing sense of excitement. I wasn’t being sensible and it felt good.

Clearly the guy didn’t murder you, unless you’re a ghost.

Michael reached beneath the cover to slide a hand up Will’s left leg.

Feels real to me. Alive and fleshy.

Will smiled. No. I’m no ghost.

So…?

----

The van stopped so suddenly William jerked forward in his seat.

Sorry, the guy replied. Old brakes. I should replace them really.

Will looked out of the window. Not that he could see much beyond the glass, just trees and darkness.

They had come to a stop off the road and were parked up behind some massive advertising board – one that had clearly not been used in some time. Whatever product had been displayed there was unclear – the poster was deeply faded and torn in places. The board behind the paper was weather-beaten and splintered. There was no danger of anyone coming down here soon to replace the poster. The perfect place for a psycho rapist axe-murderer to ply his grisly trade.

Will sat back and turned to regard his muscular chauffer.

The man was half turned in his seat and gazing at him with an unreadable look. Will smiled nervously, wondering what to do now.

The man turned all the way and suddenly slid across the seat towards him and placed his hand on his leg.

There was no mistaking his desire. His hand was right up on his thigh, mere inches from his groin and it wasn’t resting on his leg – it was gripping, warmly, not tightly but very meaningfully.

If there was any room left for misunderstanding that was certainly dispelled when the hand swiftly rose up, covering those last few inches in a second and was now between his legs, circling rapidly, squeezing him through what now seemed absurdly thin trousers.

He swallowed.

It had been two years since Anthony. He was out of practise and sex had never been the most enjoyable of experiences for him – not since that first year after losing his virginity. Two years since he’d last been with a man; six since it had actually been good.

What should he do?

He knew what his father wanted him to do. His voice was scampering around in his head telling him to get out. Get out of this van. Push this creep away. Tell him to get his dirty hand off. Anthony Richmond was one thing. I can sort of forgive you for that. He was a nice young man. He was one of us. He was our sort. But this man… This stranger…

You know nothing about him. Who is he? Where does he come from? Are you going to let him keep touching you? Are you going to let this…brute fuck you right here in this dirty van? It was bad enough when I discovered you were one of those limp-wristed nancy-boys but now you would shame our family name even further by screwing a stranger in a van, in a public place?!

What if someone sees?

Out here, who would, Will thought? No one will see or hear.

Exactly?! No one will see or hear when this creep rapes you and stabs you forty times before burying your body just beyond that tree-line.

Like you’d care if he did any of those things, Will thought, suddenly angry. You never cared about me. All you cared about was our precious family name. Like anyone gives a shit about stuff like that these days.

He gasped softly as the driver squeezed him meaningfully.

Well? the man said softly, his voice deep and gravelly – the voice of a man who enjoyed a drink. A good one. Not the cheap sort. He might drive a beat up old van with bad brakes but William easily pictured him enjoying a nice rich Scotch.

Well? Will breathed.

Do you want to get in the back or do you want to do it here?

The man glanced down.

The seat was comfy enough and the lad wasn’t as tall as him and could stretch out here easily enough. His own height would prove trickier. He wanted to move to the back. Everything was set up there.

There would be more privacy in the back. Not that anyone is likely to wander down here but you never know.

He did know but why make the lad nervous? Though he certainly didn’t seem to be. Promising, he thought.

In the back, Will replied, licking his suddenly dry lips.

The man smiled and he found himself smiling in response.

What are you doing, his father’s voice raged as he slid out of the seat and walked around to the back of the van? Are you a moron?! Why don’t you just ask the guy to kill you right now? Why not just kneel down and show him where best to place the axe on your neck?

He ignored that voice, watching as the driver joined him at the rear of the van. He unlocked the doors, swinging them wide open and letting Will get a good look.

----

The back of the van was spacious, nicely painted bright white with a set of string battery-powered lights dangling from hooks in the ceiling. Will glanced at Michael and then away, blushing slightly. And there was a mattress. It was a double one. Clean. New from what I could tell. There were sheets on it, even pillows. But it was clear that this was no makeshift caravan. The guy didn’t live out of his van. There were no clothes or utensils or anything else in the van. Just the mattress. It was quite clear what its purpose was and it wasn’t for sleeping on.

He’d been driving around, looking for someone to pick up; someone he could have sex with.

And I got in that van, knowing that. Maybe I didn’t say that to myself but I knew. I knew what he wanted.

And did you give it? Michael asked, his voice husky, dry with curious excitement. Did you climb up into that van, strip and lie down on that clean mattress?

Will’s pink flush deepened to red.

I stripped first, he whispered. As he instructed.

----

William stared around at the inside of the van. His eyes kept being pulled back to the mattress and each time he looked to it the thing seemed bigger. It was a clean soft-looking mattress but it didn’t say sleep. It said sex.

He glanced at the man.

He was looking at him intently, perhaps gauging his reaction.

When he didn’t run away screaming the man moved close and ran a hand down his arm.

Remove your clothes, he said.

Will blinked, not sure he’d heard right. His ears seemed to be fizzing and drowning out all other sounds.

The man’s lips curved up in a small smile.

Remove your clothes, he repeated.

Will moved towards the van.

No. Here. Before you get in. Take off your clothes and give them to me.

William shivered but found himself complying, slowly removing his clothing one item at a time, draping them over the man’s outstretched arm.

Once he was naked the man moved back to the front of the van and placed his clothing on the seat. Then he came back and gestured.

Now you may go inside.

Will climbed up into the back of the van and approached the mattress. He perched on its edge and watched as the man climbed up after him. He pulled the doors to and locked them. Then he turned and sat for a moment looking at him. Then he removed his own clothing, slower than Will had done, again seemingly gauging his reaction.

When he was nude and Will hadn’t tried to make a break for it he moved towards him, urging him back onto the mattress.

Lie down, he uttered, almost moaning the instruction. Lie down, lad. Lie down. Still now. Don’t move. Just lie there.

Will lay back and gazed up at the gleaming lights. He could feel the man spreading his legs, bending them at the knee, pushing them out to the sides so he could get a good look at him.

Oh yes, the man breathed. Very nice.

William gulped as the man’s hands were suddenly between his legs. He’d removed all his clothes except the gloves and the warm leather rubbed his sensitive skin delightfully. The man gripped and stroked his cock. He examined his scrotum, gently rolling the flesh between his fingers. He caressed his buttocks and thighs then pressed his gloved fingers to the taut skin of his anus. Will moaned as he rubbed him gently.

So sensitive, the man remarked. You shudder so at a mere touch. Do you enjoy it when men touch you here?

Sometimes.

Only sometimes?

Not all men know how to touch me to make me shudder.

The fingers drew back and Will looked down to see the man gazing thoughtfully at him.

Do you think to flatter me? he asked.

Will frowned. No. He shrugged. What I said was the truth. The last man I was with treated me like…like I was an appointment in his diary – his very busy diary. One filled with more important things than me.

He didn’t know why he was telling this stranger these things and closed his mouth, feeling silly.

The man gazed down at him overlong, making him squirm. Had he killed the mood? It wasn’t like he was in a relationship with this man. This was clearly going to be as casual an encounter as there could be. A quick fuck in the back of a van with a strange guy (who would hopefully not murder him afterwards). Why was he sharing personal information with him?

The man reached down to caress him again, slower this time, the leather wonderfully warm against his flesh.

Then suddenly the man was reaching past him. His hand ducked beneath the pillow. When it withdrew there was a plastic bottle in his grip. Will watched with wide eyes as he unscrewed the cap and upended it, coating two of his gloved fingers in a shiny colourless liquid.

The bottle was then placed to one side. Will stared at it, seeing Glide ‘n’ Slide printed on its label.

Then there was heat between his legs, heat and pressure. A single gloved finger slid up his rectum, gliding with ease thanks to the lubricant.

Will squirmed and uttered a loud moan that was cut off mid-way through.

Anthony had never cared for such noises and had counselled him against them. Vulgar he had said. Very vulgar.

Cry out, the man uttered, his finger sliding out. Don’t hold back your noises. I want to hear them. Cry out.

His finger slipped all the way out before sliding back in, joined by a second finger.

Will writhed helplessly and moaned, unable to keep quiet though now both his father and Anthony were in his head.

Dirty little faggot, his father snarled.

Do you have to make such noises, Anthony uttered. It’s very common. Only whores moan like that.

And how would you know, Will thought? He couldn’t imagine Anthony deigning to lie with a whore. How many showers would he have needed afterwards?

He writhed harder, squirming and groaning loudly.

God, it was good! Had it ever been this good before? Not since the beginning, he thought. Only in those first few months after discovering sex had he felt true and complete pleasure. Since then it had been ok and so-so and fair enough.

Now he squirmed and groaned and it wasn’t even the guy’s cock making him do so. If this was how it felt with just fingers how would his cock feel inside him?

He was suddenly desperate to know but it wasn’t something he could ask for. He’d never had the confidence to ask.

----

But I didn’t need to as it turned out, Will said, moistening his mouth.

It had gone very dry during his recollection. He really needed a drink and swiftly leapt out of bed and hurried into the bathroom to get himself a glass of water. He needed the fluid but not quite as much as he needed the time to compose himself. Telling Michael how he had got in a stranger’s van had been difficult enough. He knew how stupid it had been and hadn’t been looking forward to hearing Michael say it. Though thankfully he hadn’t.

Telling him about stripping off and then lying there, writhing, impaled on those gloved fingers had set his pulse racing. Jesus! Those fingers. How they had worked him. It hadn’t been that man’s first time. He’d known what he was doing. Quite an expert. He’d worked him slowly and swiftly, finding each and every sensitive spot and setting it aflame.

He dreamed about it quite often. The fingers. The gloves. The warm leather scraping against the walls of his spasming rectum. How many times had he woken in the morning after such a dream, his cock standing stiffly upright, straining against the duvet, sticky fluid warm on his belly? How many times had he masturbated to that memory?

Five years he’d gone without the real thing but he’d done what he could to satisfy those little urges. How many times had he lain in his bed at night, hand gripping his cock, jerking it while he thought about those gloved fingers? How many times had he reached into the bedside drawer for his special toy?

He blushed, thinking of it now. What if Michael found it? What would he think? The dildo was large. Not freakishly huge like some he’d seen but certainly big enough to raise an eyebrow. It was quite realistic looking, the colour of flesh and had a suction base for, as it had said on the box, hands-free fun.

He blushed harder, thinking of the times he had attached the thing to smooth surfaces: the tiled wall in the bathroom, the doorjamb of the bedroom, the side of a sturdy cupboard in