Damien Francis Frazer watched, with great satisfaction, as his pinot noir splashed over the waiter's chest and their area of the restaurant became blessedly silent. Really, it was a wonder ANYONE could carry on a conversation. He glanced over at his date for the evening, Neville, who was sitting there, mouth open.
Damien couldn't resist such a temptation and tossed an olive towards Neville. Then he calmly folded his napkin, stood up and walked out of the restaurant. He could faintly hear Neville making apologies to the waiter, the other patrons, probably to God as well. But he didn't follow Damien out.
Damien tallied his recent dates in his head. So far it was Damien five, dates zero. Not ONE of the lot had called him on his behaviour, or even so much as wagged a finger at him. He paused to check his reflection in the glass. His strawberry blonde hair just touched the top of his shoulders and his blue green eyes sparkled. His licked his pouty lips, tossed his head and laughed.
Amazingly he'd remembered his cell phone and even more amazing, it was charged. He used it to call a cab, but where to? He stood there, tapping his chin with a finger. He'd drop in on Russell. Despite what Russell told his Top, Damien knew he kept secret stashes of cigs. Damien wanted one.
A brandy would be nice as well, and Simon kept the good stuff on hand.
The car was in the drive and the lights were on downstairs. He paid for the cab, and then went to knock at the front door, hoping that Russell would be the one to answer. Simon would not be very welcoming.
Luck was however not shining on Damien that evening, as not Russell but a tall dark stranger stood in the open doorway, looking inquiringly at him.
“Hello,” the stranger said in a pleasant voice. He waited for Damien to speak, and when nothing was forthcoming, continued, “May I help you?”
Damien, who had been expecting Russell or God forbid, Simon, was momentarily nonplussed. However, being Damien he recovered quickly. "You may. You could start by inviting me in."
From inside the room came the sound of muted footsteps on the carpet and a head peered over the stranger’s shoulder. “Who is it, Miles?”
Thank the Gods. "Russ? It's Damien. Will you tell your butler, or whatever he is to let me inside?"
“Damien!” Russell stepped forward and pushed Miles aside, giving Damien room to enter. “What on earth are you doing here? Well, do come on in! Its bloody cold out there and you are letting all the warm air out!”
Damien gave Miles a wink as he came inside. He wasn't half bad looking. "I've had a beastly evening. Get us a brandy and I'll tell you all the gory details."
Simon came out of the kitchen. "If it isn't the Anti-Christ. Pour a brandy for me as well Russell, I anticipate needing it. Miles, would you care for one?"
Damien snorted at the 'Anti-Christ' comment and turned to the handsome stranger. "Damien Francis Frazer, dog groomer and bon vivant". He held out his hand.
Miles took the slender hand and felt an immediate electric shock run through him. It was totally new and unexpected. “Hello – again, I'm Miles,” he said in a mild tone, admirably hiding his sudden self-consciousness. He turned to Russell. “And I wouldn’t mind a little brandy myself, thanks Russ.”
"Yes, Russ. Hurry along, there's a dear." Damien decided to take a seat. Public displays of pique just took so much out of one, at least when done properly.
Miles watched Damien quietly as he deposited himself on the sofa, in one long languid movement as though he were a dancer. Miles found his eyes straying to those pouty lips, hardly able to tear his eyes away.
Simon walked over to help Russell with the drinks and took advantage of the opportunity to whisper a few words to his Brat. What Damien could not tell, but Russ blushed a bit. They came back over with drinks in hand, and that was all Damien cared about.
Simon took note of the expression on his cousin's face and said in a whisper as he handed Miles his brandy. "Yes, he is quite the dish, but it would serve you well to remember that I called him the Anti-Christ."
“Miles is Simon’s cousin,” Russell piped in helpfully. “He comes to visit us often because he is lonely in that great big stone house of his. It’s a beautiful property, you should see it. Worth tons of money too, some would consider it almost a historical heritage.”
"I'd love to see it sometime, if you wouldn't mind. I grew up in the country, on land my parents had inherited. Haven't been back for a visit in ages." Damien took a slow sip of his brandy "So you live alone then?"
“Oh yes,” Russell said, his eyes dancing with mischief. “He needs a companion you see; Simon’s been telling him that forever! Still single, you know. It’s not good to be all alone with no one to warm your toes at night.” Russell winked at Damien, steadfastly ignoring Simon’s frown. “Would you like to be Miles’ companion, Damien?” Russell asked, opening his eyes with an innocent air.
“That is quite enough personal information, thank you Russell,” Miles said gently, although there was no mistaking the firmness in his tone. “Besides which, it is considered rude, incredibly so, to be speaking of someone in front of them as if they weren’t there.”
Russell opened his mouth to retort, thought better of it as he encountered Simon’s eyes, and subsided.
Damien nodded. "Terribly rude. It's the cause of all my problems this evening. That and Neville, who was pleasant enough I guess. But the dinner conversation was as dull as listening to your grandfather prattle on about his school days. Blah blah blah on and on about himself. I soon realised that I had been seduced by Neville's eyes and his cleft chin - he was so classically James Bondish- only to be doomed to a boring evening. To add to my woes, our waiter never once looked at or addressed me, not once. He always deferred to Neville. I might as well have been invisible, even in this gorgeous suit you designed for me, Russ. I decided I'd had enough, and tossed my mediocre pinot noir on the waiter and walked out. I called a cab and now I'm here looking for a manly shoulder to cry on."
Miles looked slightly blank, while Simon made a noise that was almost, but not quite a snort. "If you ask me, which of course you won't, what you need is a manly hand across your arse."
Damien batted his eyes at Simon. "I think you have me confused with Russ, that's more his cup of tea. Right Russ?"
The snigger turned to fire; Russell, with pinked cheeks, rose to the challenge nobly. “Oh but I have no problem with Simon’s hand on any part of me darling. On me, across me, up me.” He arched his eyebrows and said waspishly. “At least I HAVE a man, Damien. What do you have, except a string of spoiled dates?”
Damien tossed his head. "I remember you playing musical bedrooms yourself Russ, before you met Simon. So don't point that well manicured finger at me."
Simon cleared his throat. "Russell, this is your first and only warning. If you cannot be civil, then be silent. If you find yourself unable to do either, then I will take the decision out of your hands and send you upstairs."
“He challenged me first!” Russell cried out indignantly. “I don’t see you taking him to task!”
Simon crossed his arms and raised his left eyebrow. "I don't care who challenged whom first. Damien is a problem for someone else to tackle, and I wish the poor unfortunate soul good luck. You, on the other hand, are my partner and my responsibility."
“This is so unfair!”
"What's fair or not fair doesn't enter into the equation, Russell. I make the rules, I set the standards for behaviour. You follow them. Just because Damien is being an ass does not give you the freedom to be one as well."
"Excuse me." Damien could not keep silent. "I am not being an ass."
Stepping quickly into the breach, Miles spoke up, his tone soothing enough to bring Damien’s eyes to his. “I’ll be glad to take you out on a date. Only just one condition though.” He eyes crinkled with laughter at the stormy face.
Damien's chin lifted at the mention of the c word. He didn't do well with conditions, he felt obligated to challenge them. "And what would that be?"
“No throwing anything at anyone! I don’t want to be banned from my favourite restaurant.”
"Ah. Well, I can't make any promises. But in my defence this was the first time I'd thrown anything in a restaurant in, I'd say, a couple of months. I just don't like being ignored and treated as if I were nothing more than arm candy. Another accessory, like an expensive watch. It vexes me. We could always pick someplace neither of us has been before." Damien yawned. "I'm knackered and I have a charity groom-a-thon tomorrow, a benefit for the RSPCA. Which of you lovely gentlemen wants to give me a lift home?"
Russell folded his arms and pointedly kept his mouth shut. Miles laughed, giving Russell’s curls an affectionate tousle as he got up. “Stop fighting now, you cats. Well, I should be on my way too, so if you want a lift, Damien …” he left the sentence hanging.
Simon looked hopeful and Damien looked pensive, then he came to a decision and answered Miles.
"Ta very much, I'd love a lift and I'm sure Simon Sunshine would love for me to leave. Happiness and hugs all around, then."
“Thanks for the excellent dinner, Simon,” Miles said, clapping an arm around his cousin. “Next round will be my turn. We should be harvesting some fine pears in a week or so; Russell will like that. We’ll fix a date soon then. Bye guys.”
Simon looked his cousin in the eyes as if to ask 'are you sure about this?', then shook his head and clapped him on the shoulder. "I finally located my recipe for caramelised pear bread pudding, I will email it to you. It goes very well with a brandy sauce."
Damien caught Russell's eye and mouthed 'sorry' at him. He sometimes forgot how strict Simon could be.
Russell put his arms around Miles and gave him a tight hug but steadfastly refused to speak. He was actually quite fond of Simon’s big cousin, and loved it when he visited with them, but he was still too cross to behave. He glanced meaningfully at Simon and folded his lips tightly.
Simon just shook his head, and smiled at his fuming Brat. Right now the odds were in favour of a chilly bed. He decided to do something about that and pulled a reluctant Russell into his arms and nuzzled his neck.
Damien blew a kiss to both of them. "Ta very much for the brandy. You really shouldn't frown like that Russ; you'll end up needing Botox to get rid of the wrinkles before you're Simon's age."
“Oh come on!” Miles said, grabbing Damien’s arm and pulling him down the drive. “Do you never get tired of this? Don’t you know when to stop?”
Damien had not been pulled by the arm by anyone since he was a small child. His response then had been to bite. Hard. For some reason, he now found it exciting, in a strange sort of way. "Apparently I don't." What is wrong with you Damien? Allowing a man you've just met manhandle you in that way?
Russell maintained a strict silence as they watched Miles’s car pull away, shivering in the cold night air. Simon’s arm around him felt good but he would be damned before he told Simon so, certainly not in his current state of mind.
Simon gave Russell a gentle pat on the rear with his free arm "Come on then, back inside. You're shivering. You can pout just as effectively where it's warm."
Russell sniffed – a useful talent he had discovered and perfected over the years. He could bring on a whole aura of melancholy by just batting his long lashes amidst a few artful sniffs. The fact that Simon had never fallen a prey to his antics didn’t stop him from engaging in them. He couldn’t even if he wanted to; they were all part and parcel of what made up Russell Dawes.
Simon chuckled. "One of these days I'm going to list and classify your sniffs, you have such a large repertoire of them.”
Russell was of half a mind to stamp his foot (another favourite Russell trait) at Simon’s banter; but while Simon may happily ignore his pouts, Simon never ignored his stamps. Practising enormous self-restraint, Russell kept both feet firmly grounded.
“Or you could take pity on your poor Top and write them down for me as a quick reference guide?”
That proved too much for the self-restraint. One foot went up and stamped smartly down in a fluid well-practised motion. “I am not talking to you for the rest of the night, Simon!” Russell declared.
Simon responded with a solid swat to Russell's backside. "In that case, you can shower and go to bed."
He firmly guided Russell back into the house.
After getting the address and directions from his capricious passenger, Miles drove silently for a few minutes. He was not one who was prone to impulsive behaviour or wild mood swings but he had been sufficiently exposed over the years from visits to his cousin’s household to recognize and accept Brat Behaviour. He still frowned on the high drama and theatrics employed by Russell, and he sometimes wondered how Simon could put up with it and handle his brat with so much patience but that was none of his business and he had learnt to pay no heed to Russell when he acted up, and just let Simon take care of things. Russell was an adoring and lovable partner, but he could drive a sane man up the wall with his antics and ghastly temper.
The silence was broken with Damien’s yawn. "So what do you do when you aren't visiting Simon and Russell?"
Glad to start a conversation, Miles replied readily. “I am a farmer; I grow fruits, mainly pears and apples. I also have a home farm where I grow my own vegetables. None of the commercialized produce you get in the supermarkets if you please, full of pesticides and insecticides and what not besides. I cannot believe the recent scandal in China and the tainting of the most basic foodstuff, even babies ... “
He looked over at Damien’s profile and said with a little laugh, “I am boring you, aren’t I?”
"Pardon?" Damien was still processing his feelings about the whole arm pulling incident, and half listening. "Oh no, not really. You haven't once mentioned your schooldays and how you were top boy at your house, and all your triumphs on the cricket field."
“Ouch!” Miles said with a soft chuckle. “All right then, let’s talk about something more interesting; tell me about you,” he invited. “How did you get to know Russell?”
"I grew up in the country, on an estate my mum inherited. My parents raise Cavalier King Charles spaniels. They're a toy breed; you've probably seen them in paintings, being held by some member of the nobility who was sitting for one of those bloody awful, stiff formal portraits. I work as a dog groomer, and I enjoy it, but the pay's shite, so I supplement with the occasional modelling gig. That's how I met Russell. I was doing the catwalk and I wore one of his designs. We went for a drink and a chat and been mates ever since."
Miles’ eyes automatically turned to appraise the young man sitting beside him. The elegant outfit in no way hid the fact that Damien possessed a lithe and muscular physique. Quite a dish, in fact, combined with his well-groomed air.
“Well, I must say Russell’s designs are very complimentary on you.”
"Ta very much. He's actually quite good at this, you know."
“Yes, I think he is very talented too; when he is not too busy throwing a tantrum,” Miles said with a smile.
Damien smiled back. "Well, he is a talented tantrum thrower as well, though not in my league. I've been banned from at least five restaurants."
Miles digested this in silence, and then asked rather cautiously, “You have? Five indeed ... well, in that case I must agree you ARE in a different league from Russell ... I don’t think he has been banned from even one. But that is not to his credit, alas.”
Damien nodded in agreement. "Simon keeps Russ on a pretty tight leash. He wouldn't dare make a scene."
“Must you always bait him so?”
Damien laughed. 'Of course I must."
Miles laughed with him. “So – coming back to our date ... I did promise you a date, didn’t I?”
"So you did, but I thought it was a diversion."
“Oh no, believe me I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t mean it. I never say what I do not mean. And I always keep my word.” Miles’ voice was soft, and his tone mild, but Damien could tell it was an important point to him.
Damien smiled and rubbed his hands together. "Brilliant, I suppose we should do this then. It doesn't have to be at a restaurant you know. We could eat in, and you could impress me with your cooking, or we could cook together."
They had by this time turned onto Stones Croft and were in front of Avonmeade House, where Damien lived, which was just as well since Miles had no idea how to respond to Damien. Instead he said, “So this is where you live?”
Damien raised a haughty brow. "Yes. Wasn’t that the purpose of this little trip, or did I miss a signal?"
Miles ignored the jibe and said quietly, “This looks very cosy.”
What an impertinent little scamp, Miles thought to himself. He suddenly recalled the look in Simon’s eyes earlier, and he wondered what on earth he was doing with a character like Damien's. The Brat (for there was no doubt in Miles’ mind that he was one) was not at all his type, but he had found him irresistibly attractive from the moment he first clapped eyes on him.
"All right then, here we are." Damien looked Miles directly in the eyes. "Would you like to come up for a spot of tea?"
Miles hesitated, tempted by the bewitching eyes. “It is a bit late ...”
Damien felt a bit deflated."Well it's not really, but I do have that charity groomathon thingie tomorrow. Don't want to yawn and accidentally cut something off that's important."
Miles was not sure if he saw disappointment flash in those blue green eyes. But he didn’t believe in rushing things, and certainly not for something as important as this. “Shall we say 6 o’clock then, this Saturday? I shall come pick you up and you can choose some nice restaurant around here.” After a slight hesitation, Miles continued delicately, “and perhaps after dinner we could have that cup of tea you promised?”
"Well, I may not be in the mood for tea, but we can figure something out. Do you like curry? There's this smashing Indian restaurant a few blocks away. We could even walk."
“Great suggestion – I love Indian food,” Miles replied, and then unbuckled his seat belt, got out and came round to open the door for Damien, like the perfect gentleman that he was. “Is it quite safe or shall I walk you up?”
Damien got out of the car. "Perfectly safe. Security cameras everywhere."
“All right, good night then Damien. It was very nice meeting you, and I look forward to Saturday night.”
Damien gave Miles a quick peck on the cheek. "Saturday then."
Damien opened the door to his flat, and invited Miles inside. "It came furnished, and the decorator apparently had an Ikea fetish. Find a comfy chair and I will be back in two shakes." Damien left to put the kettle on.
Miles walked around the living area, looking at the pictures on the wall – a couple of Joan Miro prints – and noting with approval that the hardwood floors were well-scrubbed and clean. The room had a distinct European decor, chic and modern. His eyebrows flew up when he sat down and saw a book of erotic gay photography carelessly left on the coffee table.
Damien came in with the tea and a couple of almond biscotti. He set the tray down on the coffee table. "That's a book of Robert Mapplethorpe photos. He took such wonderful photos before AIDs claimed him, not all of them erotica. I have a book of his flower photos somewhere about."
“Thanks,” Miles said, accepting a cup from Damien. “I am not familiar with his work, but it looks rather ... interesting.” He took a sip of the tea and sat back with a satisfied look on his face. “Hmm. This is wonderful. You chose a charming restaurant, made an excellent selection of dishes, and now a perfect cup of tea ... a lovely end indeed to a lovely dinner; so what other talents do you have?”
Damien tapped his chin with his fingers. "A whole list of them. Do you want the family friendly or the adult version?" He laughed.
“And a bloody sharp tongue too!” Miles remarked, having by this time become inured to Damien’s language.
Damien laughed. "Don't all Englishmen? I've always thought it's imprinted into our genetic code."
Miles looked about him. “And you live alone?”
"I used to have a parrot, but he said the most inappropriate things. My mum came for a visit and he kept saying 'cock up the ass'. I thought I was going to die."
Miles choked on his tea and quickly put his tea cup and saucer on the coffee table.
Damien laughed. "Are you all right? Fortunately my mum wasn't drinking tea at the time. I have not the foggiest notion where the bird picked up such a phrase." Damien winked at Miles." I gave him to a friend who had just lost his partner, and needed cheering up. I really wasn't home much and birds are very social."
“Damien, how on earth did you survive so long without having your neck wrung?”
Damien gave him what he called his Mona Lisa smile. "It boggles the brain, doesn't it? My parents just sighed, rolled their eyes and did their best to ignore me. I think they kept hoping I'd grow out of it at some point, but I'm 20 now, so that seems bloody unlikely.”
Miles was startled into responding, “What? Twenty! I thought ... well, you seemed much older than twenty.” He ended rather lamely.
Damien smiled his enigmatic smile once more. "Do I?"
“Compliment, of course!” Miles grinned.
Damien tossed his head, he practiced it a lot, so his hair went just so, and he returned the grin. "Really, there are days when I feel positively ancient."
“I’m quite a bit older, you’d probably think me antiquated I’m afraid.” Miles said, suddenly feeling the gap in their ages. “I’ll be thirty-two next May.” He watched Damien’s expression closely.
Damien shrugged. "Well, I don't think it's time to shop for that burial plot yet, Miles. Actually we are about the same number of years apart as Simon and Russ. I've never thought of Simon as ancient, anal maybe," Damien laughed.
“Well, for a twenty-year old, you seem to have had more than your fair share of adventures. How early did you start dating, my boy?” Miles asked with mock severity.
Damien furrowed his brows in thought. "Let's see, I suppose when my balls dropped and my pubes sprouted. But I didn't do more than erotic wrestling and sword swallowing until I was eighteen. So, I've been terrorising dates for two years."
“Well, YOU terrify me!”
"Oh, piffle. I'm mostly harmless, just so long as you don't rub my fur the wrong way. I remember one date that walked out and left me at Backstreet alone on leather night." Damien shivered. "It was awful. I'd gotten pissed off and thrown my drink on this hairy Neanderthal in leather chaps. He finally managed to catch me and then, while everyone cheered, he turned me over his knee and spanked me, bare arsed." Colour rose in Damien's cheeks. "I haven't been back since."
Miles’ eyes shifted down Damien’s slender form, his mind unwittingly picturing him bent over his own knees with ass exposed. His throat tightened and he said in a suddenly thickened voice, “Do you know how dangerous that was? You could have been dealing with a real looney! Thank God he just spanked you. I can only say you have been lucky so far!”
Damien laughed. "Russ said forget the usual one guardian angel, there had to have been an entire battalion of guardian angels sent to look after me. Sometimes I think he's right."
“You know, you can’t go around throwing drinks at people.” Miles suggested gently.
Damien stuck his lower lip out in a mock pout. "Why not? Besides, I don't go round throwing drinks randomly. I only throw them at people who annoy me. Perfectly reasonable. No one would spank me for it."
“I would if you were my responsibility,” Miles said without thinking, followed immediately by a moment of pregnant silence. Trying to breach the sudden awkwardness, Miles tried to laugh it off. “Well, not that that’s going to happen ...”
Damien snorted. "It doesn't surprise me, duckie, that you'd spank me. That was some tug you gave my arm the other night when you dragged me out to the car. Very Toppie. There are a lot better ways to enjoy my ass you know, other than turning it red."
Miles’ eyebrows shot up, not quite sure where Damien was headed. He remained motionless as Damien moved closer, twirling a lock of his strawberry blonde hair as he did so. "Would you like a hands on demonstration?"
Miles felt a decided tug at his heart, and also in his lower regions. His reaction to Damien so far had been unpredictable and in some instances, instantaneous. Disastrously so. Like right now. Remaining seated, he nevertheless opened his knees wider so that the young gyrating imp walked right up to him, in between his legs and leaned over and kissed him.
"Your lips taste of curry." Damien commented. "I like curry." He kissed Miles once more, a bit longer, and then broke away. He began to undress. "Anytime you want me to stop, just say so."
Miles watched spellbound, as each article of clothing came off, revealing delicious parts of Damien’s body. Straight shoulders, flat stomach, smooth white skin, and nicely toned thighs that supported a most pert little bottom. Miles shifted to get comfortable and swallowed hard.
Damien took his time, so that he could neatly fold his clothing, but it wasn't long before he stood there, naked, beautiful and unashamed. He held out a hand for Miles. "Well, come along then, you haven't seen the bedroom yet."
Miles opened one eye and pondered for a moment; the bed felt unfamiliar. It had been years since he had woken up in any bed apart from his own. He had by no means been a hermit, but he did not make it a habit to spend the night in someone else’s bed. He usually made his excuses after the throes of passion were over and slipped quietly away. And for those rare times when he had wanted to spend an entire night with someone, he had preferred to take his companion home.
Miles cautiously turned his head to look at the face lying on the pillow next to him. Damien was sleeping peacefully, his long reddish blond locks partially covering his face. He slept like a child, totally peaceful, unmarred by troubles or dreams.
Dammit, he IS a child! Miles told himself severely. He is only twenty years old; a mere baby!
Damien opened one eye and smiled. "Hullo there."
“Hi,” Miles murmured back, softly.
Damien yawned, kissed his fingertips, and then touched them to Miles lips. "You surprised me last night, but then, it's always the quiet types you have to watch out for, right? I've never had a partner leave me totally knackered before." He sat up and stretched.
“Mmm ... it was very good for me too ...” Miles smiled in the semi-darkness. “Do you want to try it again?” Mentally, he chided himself. ‘Cradle-snatcher’ screamed in his head.
Damien smiled. "To quote Master Yoda, there is no try, there is only do or not do. I'm casting my vote for doing it again, but breakfast first." Damien burrowed back under the covers. "I'm starved and there isn't much nutritional value in semen. Pancakes would be lovely." He poked his head out briefly, "Still here? Go. Cook something."
Miles gave a deep-throated growl and dived in. “Oh no, I don’t think so, my bossy lover. Breakfast can wait; I am hungry too but you are driving me wild for quite something else!”
Damien squealed. "I'm telling Simon on you, you just wait!"
Miles’ mouth descended on Damien’s and he kissed him. Using his tongue, Miles pushed at Damien’s lips until they opened and his tongue quickly found its way in. He loved the way Damien moaned and mewed when he tongued him like that. He had found that out the night before how responsive Damien was to his invading kisses and he had used it shamelessly.
Damien decided Miles was definitely not playing fair, what was he supposed to do under such an onslaught? He felt like he'd let the genie out of the bottle and there was no putting him back in. Damn, the monster had a talented tongue.
Releasing his mouth, Miles slid down Damien’s warm body and quickly found his penis. He nuzzled his face into the soft crotch, and then engulfed the erect cock in his mouth. He heard with gratification the deep grunt that escaped from Damien as he arched his back and moaned low, grabbing fistfuls of bed sheets. Damien closed his eyes, riding the crest of the wave that threatened to break and drown him.
Miles continued to lick and suck Damien till he cried out, begging him to stop. "Miles," he said with a whine in his voice. "You're killing me you evil, evil man. You and that devil tongue."
“Turn over,” Miles ordered, as he came up for air. His hands flipped Damien over easily. “I want to take you from the back. You have the most gorgeous ass ...”
Damien got up on his hands and knees. Lying on his stomach wasn't exactly comfortable at present. "See, isn't this MUCH more fun than spanking my arse and making me cry."
To which Miles promptly responded by giving the ass in front of him a firm well-placed swat. “Oh yes, much better.”
Damien stuck out his tongue, though Miles was unable to see it. He waggled his ass a bit.
Grabbing the lube from the night-stand, Miles squeezed out a glob and started to prepare Damien. He slid two fingers in, feeling Damien squirm and tighten his muscles against his thrusting fingers.
Damien gave an impatient huff. "This isn't necessary you know, all this preparation. I'm not a nervous virgin. I'm ready, you're ready - PLEASE fuck me. NOW. It will hurt a bit at first, but it always does. It's a small price to pay for the pleasure, believe me."
That spurred Miles on. He was more than capable to deal with lovers who were scared or nervous, and he had done it with those who wrestled with him to be on top, but he had never been told to just get on with it and to fuck without preparation. Finding no reason to complain, Miles pulled Damien closer, took a firmer grip on those slender hips and swiftly entered him.
Damien responded with a noise that was not quite a moan and not quite a squeal. Well, he had asked for it, hadn't he?
Miles’ thumbs pulled the creamy cheeks apart, pounding hard into the valley in between them. He was panting. “So you like to be ridden like this? Is this hard enough? Fast enough?”
Damien nodded. "Yes, I do, and yes to those other things you said. Go you. Huzzahs all around."
Miles slowed down some, as he felt himself near to release. He couldn’t keep that pace for much longer and he really wanted this to last. However Damien was having none of it. He contracted his muscles and used every trick he'd learned to grind them against Miles' sheathed cock.
“Jesus!” Miles cried out as he felt Damien’s muscles tense around his rigid member. How the hell did he do that? Who taught him to use those muscles like that? Miles felt the sweat form on his forehead as he continued to drive his cock into the tight warm opening.
Damien laughed. "Not quite. More the Anti-Christ, at least according to Simon."
“Are you coming?” Miles’ voice was strained.
Damien grunted something unintelligible back at him as with a final thrust, Miles sank all the way inside Damien and exploded. His body convulsed a few times as he emptied his seed and then he slid slowly out, totally sated and spent. “God, that couldn’t have been good for my heart!” He muttered as he collapsed back onto the pillows, pulling Damien down into his arms.
Damien played with his own rapidly deflating cock. "I'm always so sad to see it go all flaccid, like a wilted balloon."
Miles chuckled and then leaned over and planted a gentle kiss on Damien’s cheek. “Don’t worry love. I know a remedy. You are delicious, and I don’t think I can ever get enough of you.”
The minute the words were out, Miles almost bit his tongue. It sounded too much like a long-term commitment and they had only just met, for God’s sake! Technically, this was still their first date! He almost cringed. He had said them impulsively, prompted by his heart, not his mind. But it was too late to retract the words.
Damien laughed. "Well, everything went off brilliantly, Miles. I haven't been annoyed or vexed once. It's just the first date. Wait until you've seen me engaging in some of my less charming behaviours, then we'll see if you feel the same way or want to throttle me. If we continue, I may just have to get a pair of undies with a 'this is a no spanking zone' printed across the seat."
“That’s not going to save your butt, my lad” Miles replied, glad Damien had turned it off so casually. He took his cue. “Did you think a pair of flimsy undies is going to deter me?”
Damien furrowed his brow. "Well, it might make you laugh and give me a precious few extra seconds. Time enough to squirm off your lap and out the door." He brightened. "Or, you might find me so amusing and adorable that you decide not to spank me."
Miles continued to gaze into Damien’s face, noting the brilliance in his eyes, the curve of his lips. “Amusing...?” He pretended to ponder, “a little perhaps ... Adorable? Oooh, I am not so sure ...” He laughed as Damien pummelled him with a pillow.
Damien tossed the pillow aside. "I'll have you know that my adorableness has been celebrated in poetry and song. Of course the poetry was the worst sort of doggerel, but it's the thought that counts, right?"
Miles suddenly turned serious, holding Damien so he could look at him. “The truth is, I enjoyed myself enormously,” Miles said, and he kissed Damien again, this time very gently. “You were magnificent, and I like the way you turn me on.”
But privately, the part Miles liked the most was where Damien had said ‘if we continue…’.
Simon was, well, flummoxed. His quiet, sober cousin and Damien seemed an unlikely match. They say opposites attract and all that, but this was pushing the limits. "Have you taken leave of your senses?"
“No, I am perfectly sensible, thank you,” Miles said politely. “Oh come on, Simon, he is not so bad. Now is he?”
Simon shook his head. "In one word, yes."
Miles rolled his eyes heavenward.
“I think you have gone totally bonkers!” Russell exclaimed. “I hear he is good in bed, but he can’t be THAT GOOD!”
Simon thought the comment inappropriate and so he gave Russell a pointed look. But to be fair, Russell had only said what Simon would have said had he not been so polite.
Miles, who rarely ever got snappy with Russell, replied with an uncharacteristic snap. “Really Russell, is it quite necessary to bring sex into every discussion, and in such an indelicate way?”
“Oh well,” Russell shrugged, unrepentant. “Damien himself does not scruple to tell the whole world, so why should I?”
Damien arrived at that precise moment, "My ears are burning, so I must be the topic of conversation. Don't stop on my account."
Miles got up immediately and pulled out the chair next to his. “Glad you could make it. Sorry about the last minute arrangement, these blokes here didn’t give me too much warning.”
Damien gave Miles a kiss on the cheek and then sat in the proffered chair. "Ta very much. Now, I'm on pins and needles to find out what horrible things these two have been saying about me."
Russell helpfully started to repeat himself. “I said …”
Sensitive to Miles’ mood, Simon cleared his throat. "I believe that topic of conversation has been closed, Russell. Are we clear on this? Or do we need to go have a private chat."
“No, not on my account, we don’t,” Russell said with polite sarcasm. “No need to exert yourself, Simon, my lips are sealed; I am the soul of discretion.”
Damien rolled his eyes. "Honestly, Simon, you're no fun at all. I love hearing juicy gossip, especially when it is about me."
Russell smiled slyly over at his friend. Leaning closer, he whispered into Damien’s ear. “Congratulations! You have landed a great catch! You can tell me all the sordid details later.”
Damien winked and whispered back. "You know I will. I haven't landed him in the net yet, but I've definitely got him squirming on the hook."
Simon smiled as he watched Damien and Russell whispering to each other, then he glanced over at Miles. He still wasn't sure his cousin realised what he was in for, even after having spent time around Russell. Knowing Damien, Miles would soon find out. "Let's look at the menus, shall we?"
“Well, and what shall we drink to tonight?” Russell said chattily, after the waiter had taken their orders. “We must drink to something ... this feels like a celebration!” he said with heavy meaning.
Simon muttered something underneath his breath. Once Russell latched on to something, he hung onto it with all the tenaciousness of a terrier. Right now, he was focused on Miles and Damien.
Damien waved a hand. "And here I thought this was a simple get together for a meal."
“I’d like to drink to friendship,” Miles said, raising his glass.
Simon thought that was a safe enough topic, so he raised his glass.
“How boring!” Russell muttered.
Damien silently concurred.
“How about romance?” Russell suggested, his eyes darting between Miles and Damien.
Damien grinned. "To older men with younger lovers, that's romantic." He purposefully avoided looking at either Miles or Simon. "And appropriate in both our cases."
“To hot and sizzling sex then!” Russell said loudly, as he and Damien broke into boisterous laughter, clinking their glasses loudly, and ignoring the dark looks from their companions.
Caught up in the moment, Damien rose a bit unsteadily and stood on his chair. Miles, totally unprepared for such behaviour, flushed deeply. “What – are you doing?” he hissed.
Damien laughed. "I'm making a toast." He raised his glass high. "To cocks up the arse!!"
Absolutely horrified by now, Miles tried to grasp at Damien to pull him down. Damien twisted neatly out of his range and things went downhill from there. Damien felt himself wobble, over-corrected and ended up falling backwards, colliding with a restaurant patron and sending him into an adjacent table. Damien looked at the chaos raging around him with big eyes. "Things certainly have gotten cocked up haven't they?" Then he burst out laughing.
Miles and Simon were on their feet by now, trying to straighten things up as best they could, and apologizing profusely to the distraught patron, while Russell guffawing in his seat did nothing to alleviate matters. Simon gave Russell a look that spoke volumes, a look that said Simon was a Top walking the razor's edge of his patience.
Miles cast one long and perplexed look at Damien and relapsed into silence.
Damien was calming down a bit now, and he bit his lower lip as he saw the disappointment in Miles face. Good going Damien, he chided himself; you've cocked up another possible relationship.
A little later ...
To the surprise of all, they were not asked to leave the restaurant. Whispered threats and dark looks from Simon, and a strained stillness from Miles had ensured the remainder of the meal was trouble free. Even Damien was unusually subdued.
"Did you drive?” Miles asked Damien as they started to rise from the table.
Damien shook his head. At least Miles was still speaking to him. "I don't have a car, just a motorcycle. When I go out at night, I either have my date pick me up, or I take a cab. And I always carry enough for cab fare back home."
Miles gave Damien a curt nod. “That’s fine; I can give you a lift.”
“B-but I thought ...?” Russell looked around, his face falling. “Aren’t we supposed to go to a pub after this?”
Simon massaged his temples. "I think I've had enough excitement for the evening, ta very much."
“We planned this!” Russell protested to Simon. “We were supposed to take Miles. I want to show Damien Alicia’s new act too. You must see her, Damien, she is gorgeous!”
Damien was feeling a bit unsettled. It was almost like guilt, but that surely wasn't possible. He never felt guilty.
Simon felt a twinge, a slight twinge of sympathy for Russell. "We did not plan on Damien showing up and making his usual scene. Not that any of this is your fault, Miles."
“How about we make it another night, Russ? It is getting pretty late.” Miles said softly, feeling sorry for breaking up the party.
Simon could read the warning signs. Russell had his lower lip stuck out, his chin tilted up and his arms crossed. So what happened next came as no surprise.
“Bloody hell!” Russell walked off in a huff.
"If you will kindly excuse me." Simon stood up and headed off to find Russell.
“Well,” Miles turned to Damien. “Ready for that lift?”
"I'm sorry things got cocked up." Damien responded. He felt a tickle in the back of his throat and he couldn't help it, he laughed. "Sorry, I can't help it. It was funny."
Miles did not look amused.
“Well it was."
Miles shook his head firmly. “No Damien, I don’t think it was. Now come on, let’s get into the car.”
Damien stood up and crossed his arms. He wasn't going to be pulled out by the arm in a public place. "Lead on. Are we going to my place again?"
“Actually, I am thinking we should go to my place this time. Didn’t you say you wanted to see my old stone house?”
Damien's eyes brightened. "That would be brilliant. My parent's house is stone, but it's not historical or anything."
“I hope you won’t be disappointed – this house may have a long history but nothing exciting that I know of. No treason or murder, no ghosts, no royal patronage.” Miles smiled at Damien. “By the way, you don’t have any other plans tonight do you?”
Damien shook his head. "No. Going out for dinner basically covers it. I hoped for an after-dinner invite, but if it hadn't happened, I was going to curl up in a comfy chair with a good book."
“Sounds charming, but I have a better suggestion.”
Damien cocked his head slightly to one side. “You have plans for tonight then?”
“Well, as a matter of fact, I did have specific plans for us tonight. I still do, but we are going to have a little talk first when we get home, hm?” Miles turned to look at Damien. His eyes glinted in the night.
Damien wasn't sure about the last part of that statement, and there was something in Miles' eyes that made the hairs prickle on the back of his neck. But he nodded. He dozed off on the drive, and woke when the car finally came to a stop. He couldn't make out a lot of detail in the dim light given off by the full moon but he could make out a large, rather rambling double-story stone building which looked imposing against the black night. It had several chimneys and the main one at the southern side of the house was partially covered by thick ivy which clung to the old rugged stones.
Several of the rooms were lighted and the yellow glow from the windows made the house look inviting, warm and cosy. A low stone wall ran around the entire house, fencing in its wide grounds and giving the property a feeling of privacy and seclusion.
Miles came around to the passenger side and held the car door for Damien, who had sat quite still, admiring the house from within the car.
Damien gifted Miles with a dazzling smile as he got out of the car. "It’s smashing. Absolutely fabulous." He followed Miles inside.
“Here, let me take that,” Miles said, stripping the coat from Damien’s shoulders easily. He dropped his keys into the dish on the table next to the staircase and put the coat in the closet.
Damien looked about curiously. The place seemed very, well, Miles. Quiet and understated, definitely masculine. And where were the dogs?
“Sit down, make yourself at home.” Miles invited, one hand on Damien’s back pushing him into the huge living room.
Damien felt the little hairs on the back of his neck raise again as Miles ushered him. He felt very much like a naughty schoolboy being shown into the headmaster's office. You're being silly, he told himself, and it’s just a living room. He sat down on the sofa.
Miles gave Damien a few minutes to absorb his surroundings before he said. “This is a very old house; my ancestors were early settlers from the Continent and they built this place and it’s been handed down for generations. It’s too dark to look outside now, but I want to show you the grounds one day. It’s a short walk to the orchard. You can see some part of the home farm from the kitchen though.”
Damien smiled. "I'd like that."
“Can I get you a drink, Damien?”
Damien shook his head. "I think I've had enough wine for the evening. Any more and I'll fall asleep and where's the fun in that?"
“I was thinking more along the lines of coffee, tea or cocoa.” Miles said with a laugh in his deep voice.
Damien brushed his hair back from his face. "Oh. No. Caffeine and I can be a dangerous combination. Just a little makes me hyper as a terrier."
“All right then, I have a question I want to ask you.” Miles came and sat down on the sofa next to Damien, looking him squarely in the face. “I have been mulling over it since dinner and I really would like to know ... why did you behave so oddly in the restaurant, Damien?”
Damien twirled a lock of hair around his right index finger. "I can't really say for certain. Russell made his toast and the idea to stand on the chair and say something outrageous just popped into my head. I seized the moment." Damien could tell that Miles wasn't buying his flip explanation.
Miles’ face was serious as he digested Damien’s words. “Seize the moment.” He repeated. “Ah! Dead Poet’s Society. Carpe Diem. That’s all very well and fine, Damien, and that is good advice to follow. But you may have misinterpreted the true meaning of that phrase.”
Damien raised his chin. "I had Latin, Miles. It literally means seize the day."
“It’s not saying you have to indulge in all whims and urges without thought, and certainly not when you blindly jump into situations that bring chaos and disrupt other diners and cause such a ruckus. Did you really think that’s funny?”
Damien was finding it hard to maintain eye contact with Miles, but he did. This felt very much like a lecture or scolding. "Honestly, I did at the time. I'm prone to acts of impulsive behaviour that I later regret. It's cost me a lot of possible relationships."
Miles looked a little sadly at Damien. “I’d hate to think that’s where we are headed as well, Damien. All because of impulsive behaviour.”
Damien made a tsking sound. "I know. I can be very naughty sometimes."
Miles shook his head with exasperation. “Naughty or not, I would like to think my - partner for the evening - would have had a little more sense and sensitivity and that he would respect the other people around him too. It is never acceptable to have fun at other people’s expense – and no, that is not being boring. That is being considerate.”
Damien went back to nervously twisting a lock of his hair. "Yes, well, you’ve probably never spent an evening being either ignored or patronized. I've actually had some octogenarian Yank pat me on the head. And yes I know nothing of the sort happened this time. I just went screaming yellow bonkers."
“No, you just gave in to your impulses.” Miles’ lips twisted into a reluctant smile. He was glad to see the penitent light in Damien’s eyes and he said encouragingly. “I do enjoy your company – otherwise I wouldn’t have invited you for the evening,” Miles said gently.
Damien returned the smile slightly. "And I went and cocked things up good and proper."
Miles’ response was blunt; if they were going to progress at all, they shouldn’t be afraid to be frank with one another. “I’m afraid I don’t enjoy being the centre of attention, especially when it’s negative attention. So if that is the kind of limelight for which you crave, then I am afraid our friendship isn’t going anywhere.”
Damien chewed thoughtfully on his left thumbnail. "I don't mean to cause a scene, well, not usually. I am known for my entrances at parties and the like." He sighed. "This is what always happens."
“I think that can change – don’t you?”
Damien stopping chewing on his thumbnail. "Well, not without help." He paused. "A lot of help." He paused once more. "A fuckin' lot of help."
“And I think I can manage a bit of a grand entrance, if you promise to give me proper notice.”
Damien winked at Miles. "Stick with me darling and I'll make you the star of the party circuit. With your gorgeous looks and quiet ways, they'll just gobble you up." Damien looked Miles up and down.
Miles gave a lop-sided grin. “You strike such fear in me, my dear.”
Damien waggled his eyebrows. "As I should. All is proceeding according to plan, then."
“You should have warned me during our first date!”
Damien said primly. “There are many things I don’t do on a first date”
“You don’t say.” Miles sat back, enjoying the teasing.
Damien nodded. "I just did. And there are things I NEVER do, like golden showers. Euw." Damien shivered.
Miles pulled a face, obviously in tune with Damien on this subject. “Truth be told, I usually don’t fuck someone on my first date!”
Damien managed a bit of a laugh. "Do tell? I'd never would have guessed. Want to know a secret? Neither do I. So much for the gay male stereotype."
Miles leaned in closer. “I am glad to hear that.”
Damien smiled. "Because..?"
“Because I think of you as ... someone special.”
Damien grinned at him. "Well, I am gorgeous, with an arse to die for and a keen wit."
Miles threw back his head and laughed heartily. “I have to agree with you. You are gorgeous!” Miles leaned forward and kissed Damien’s cheek. “And your arse is to die for.” His voice dipped. “I know that for a fact.”
Damien laughed. "Aye, I suppose you do".
Miles held his breath as he asked the next question. “What do you think of me?” Miles’ eyes never left Damien’s face.
Damien gave him a wink. "You're pretty gorgeous yourself." He turned serious. "And you didn't walk out on me when I was being a terror. That makes you pretty special too."
Miles ran a finger down Damien’s cheek. “Come on then,” he said softly, “you haven’t seen the bedroom yet, have you?” Miles got up and held out his hand.
Damien took the proffered hand. "I do hope the bed isn't as old as the house, it might not survive."
After six weeks of serious dating, Miles made the jump and invited Damien to his place for a long weekend. Being Miles, he had made precise plans to ensure the weekend tryst would be interesting to both of them, given their varied habits and tastes. Mr & Mrs Hobbs (who helped Miles tend the home farm and keep house) had been given the weekend off to go visit their daughter; the larder had been stocked up with a healthy selection of meats and selective snacks; he had personally gone down to the cellar to bring up a couple of bottles of wine; and he had invited Simon and Russell over for lunch on Sunday.
Damien had considered not bringing anything with him. As far as he was concerned, he and Miles could spend the long weekend mostly in bed, and when not in bed, walk around starkers. But having Russell and Simon over for Sunday lunch kinda nixed a nudist weekend. Bit cold anyway. So he tossed some stylish casual clothing, flannel pyjamas (not for wearing of course, but for lounging) and a few odds and ends into a rucksack, grabbed his motorcycle jacket and he was off.
Miles went down to open the little wrought-iron gate that ran parallel with the low stone wall when he heard Damien’s motorcycle come up the lane. He held it open so that Damien could push his bike through and he snatched a quick kiss as Damien passed him. They were out in the country, Mr & Mrs Hobbs were gone, and the workers at the orchard were cut off from sight. Miles was not worried they would be seen.
Damien parked his bike and grabbed Miles in a fierce hug. "I just grabbed a few things, can't carry much with me. Like the jacket?" Damien let go of Miles and twirled around. "Three hundred quid, but it’s not really an extravagance you know. Not when you ride a motorbike."
“Anything that makes you look so good is never an extravagance!” Miles said gallantly. “Here – let me take that.” With a hand possessively on Damien’s back, Miles propelled him into the house.
"That's one of the things I adore about you, your take-charge attitude. And the fact that you are carrying my rucksack. I'll have to think of an appropriate way to tip you." Damien laughed. He tossed his jacket on the sofa.
“Let’s get your things put away into the bedroom first, okay?”
Damien felt a bit breathless. "Actually, if you could take care of that little chore, I really need to hit the loo."
Miles had set aside a drawer in his bedroom and some wardrobe space as well to accommodate Damien and he efficiently put the few articles of clothing and personal belongings away, while Damien took care of business. When Damien came back into the bedroom, he was mysteriously minus his shirt. He'd taken the time to splash some cold water on his face and run his wet fingers through his hair, leaving it damp and tousled. He looked incredibly sensual as he blew a kiss at Miles.
His gut reacting involuntarily, Miles walked over to Damien and gave him a quick unexpected shove, so that he fell backwards onto the bed. It was one of those high old-fashioned beds, sturdily built, topped with a soft thick comforter and even softer down pillows.
"Someone is a bit eager." Damien spread his denim clad legs and ran a hand lazily down his chest, past his stomach, coming to rest at the top button of his jeans. He toyed with the button, and crooked a finger at Miles, who was on him in a flash. Damien pulled Mile's head down and kissed him, his tongue going past Mile's lips, to tangle with Miles's own, while he rocked his pelvis. He broke off the kiss, briefly, to whisper "I want to look you in the eyes this time." He smiled at Miles.
Miles nodded, then forgoing Damien's inviting mouth for the moment, he dipped his head down and tongued one of Damien’s nipples. His teeth bit into the little nub, then licked it. He transferred his mouth to the other nipple when he heard Damien moan.
Miles held both Damien’s hands easily in his and brought them up over his head, keeping them captive while he laid siege on Damien’s body. His tongue travelled lazily up and down his lean torso, stopping always to play with the sensitive nipples.
Damien wriggled under Mile's ministrations, and he wondered if it was possible for one's nipples to burst. His were hard as rocks, and speaking of hard rocks..." Miles..." he tried not to sound whiny. "I'm about to burst, luv."
Miles rubbed his own erection against Damien’s, breathing hard into Damien’s neck. Unable to wait any longer, Miles pulled himself away so that he could unzip Damien’s jeans and pull them totally off. The underwear soon followed.
Damien sighed in blissful relief as the cool air hit his overheated private parts. He played a bit with his cock, while he waited for Miles to be rid of cumbersome clothes, which he hurriedly stripped, paying more attention to speed than technique by now.
Damien laughed. "And the gold medal for speed stripping goes to Miles Richards."
Naked, Miles bent once again over Damien and began to kiss him, his tongue plunging deeply into the warm wet mouth that was eagerly waiting. Miles felt Damien’s shudder as their tongues met and it made him even harder. He loved it when Damien submitted to his kisses so readily, allowing him access with such pleasure.
Damien sucked on Miles' tongue as their hands roamed and stroked one another’s bodies. Miles reached for the side table and pulled the drawer out, groping for the tube of lube, mouth still busy on Damien’s. Damien ran his hands down Miles' back, cupping and squeezing his ass, then he rubbed his cock against Miles', which was standing quite proudly by now. Damien spread his legs a bit farther apart to accommodate Miles’ body.
“Open them wider, Damien. Let me see you.”
Damien was only too happy to oblige.
Miles pushed Damien’s legs up and back, exposing his butt completely. He snagged a pillow and pushed that under Damien’s well-rounded buttocks. Then he applied lube only to his own cock, leaving Damien dry. He had learnt by now that his lover preferred to feel the friction of his cock entering him without too much lubrication.
Damien was ambivalent about lube. A little was all right, but too much, and it made for less than satisfying sex. Well, for him anyway. Made him think of medical procedures and Damien wasn't into medical kink. There was absolutely NOTHING sexy about enemas.
Miles looked down at Damien as he positioned himself. His cock rested a moment at the tight entrance. “Are you ready for me, darling?”
Damien snorted impatiently. "That would be a yes, Miles."
Grinning, Miles eased himself slowly into the opening, feeling the resistance of muscle, yet at the same time of being sucked in, enveloped entirely in the embracing warmth. An incredible wave of pleasure swept over him as he pushed all the way home, and he grunted loudly, his eyes rolling upwards for a minute to savour the moment before he brought them down to once again look into his lover’s face.
Damien had closed his eyes and focused on relaxing his muscles to ease Miles's entry, and he opened them again, blinking away a few tears. He smiled at Miles to reassure him that he was fine.
Miles pulled out completely, allowing his glistening cock to slap against Damien’s thigh. He heard the cry of frustration and he unhurriedly re-entered Damien. He felt his cock brush against Damien’s prostate.
Damien tightened against Miles' cock. "You're a tease, Miles." He gasped as Miles hit home. "Fucking hell. Do that again."
Miles repeated this over and over again, each time moving faster and harder, slowly building up the tension until Damien was screaming for release. Damien had lost his hold on his legs; they'd just gotten too slippery with sweat. His breath came in short, shallow gasps. He grasped the bed sheets as Miles continued his torture.
Miles held Damien’s hips for better grip, as he sank his cock deep into him. He angled his thrusts to ensure he was able to reach the sweet spot, gauging Damien’s readiness from his gasps and grunts. The sweat began to slide down his back as he sped up his thrusts. Damien looked so HOT with his head thrown back on the bed, his strawberry blond hair spilling over the white sheets, his thighs spread wide apart.
Damien's head moved back and forth on the pillow, his breathing grew more rapid, and he felt the tightening that indicated he was near release. He arched backwards as he climaxed and he contracted his muscles against Miles' cock, grinding him. He heard Miles cry out, and felt him spill his seed. Then Miles lay draped across Damien's chest, sweaty, slippery and panting. When his breathing returned to normal, Miles pulled out and rolled over to lie next to him. Damien rolled over onto his side so he could look into Miles eyes. "That," he said, "was definitely one for the books."
Miles quietly slipped out of bed and without bothering to put on a robe, padded downstairs in his boxers, t-shirt and a pair of mustard-coloured bedroom slippers that had seen better days. He made sure not to wake Damien who was sleeping soundly next to him. Poor boy, Miles smiled to himself, he seemed totally worn out – and no wonder. Miles’ grin grew wider as he recalled the previous night’s activities.
Miles threw open the kitchen windows, letting the crisp morning air in. He was at heart a farmer, used to early morning chores accompanied with a hearty breakfast. He began to set up the coffee maker, deciding a good strong cup of coffee was just what they needed to kick-start the day. He had bought crumpets the day before and he now put them onto the grill to warm them up. He also cut up some peppers and onions, and broke some eggs into a bowl and began to beat them up, planning to make a simple omelette for breakfast.
The aroma of coffee soon filled the kitchen, combined with the frying peppers and onions. Miles was used to the kitchen, having been taught how to cook from a young age. He moved effortlessly around the kitchen arena and was about to pour the eggs into the pan when he heard Damien come in, yawning loudly.
Damien took in the homey scenario: Miles standing there in his undies, his skin rosy from the heat of the stove, long muscular legs exposed. Damien felt a sudden jerk in his groin, the scene made his nethers all warm and tingly. Followed immediately by the thought of breakfast, which made him queasy,
“Good morning, sleepy head,” Miles said, kissing Damien’s cheek. He poured the eggs in, gave them a bit of a stir and then let it set, turning around to look Damien over. He liked what he saw – dishevelled hair all over the place, the long red golden strands half covering the beautiful face that he had come to love.
Damien accepted the kiss, and responded to the sleepy head with a non-commental grunt. Damien did not do mornings.
“Breakfast will be ready in about 2 minutes. Go pour yourself some coffee, sweetie.”
Damien perked up a bit. Coffee he could handle. He poured a cup of coffee, barely paused to let it cool a bit and drank it. He then poured a second cup, marvelling at Miles early morning chirpiness. It was unnatural.
“There’s crumpets with butter and home-made jam from my own fruits. And my special omelette ... made with fresh peppers from my garden and eggs laid by my own hens.” Miles laughed at the look on Damien’s face. “This is why it’s worth the trouble having a home farm darling, so we can have the best and most fresh.”
Damien cocked his head and studied Miles. "That all sounds very lovely, but I'm not really a breakfast sort of person Miles. Surely you must have noticed I don't wake up and fix you breakfast, we always go out for brunch. I might be able to handle a crumpet. They barely qualify as food."
True, what Damien said. They had spent many mornings together but not like this. Not together on the farm, not with plans to spend the next two days together exclusively. Miles had always thought that the reason they had skipped breakfast was because they wanted to catch a last quick romp in bed before they went on their separate ways. And brunch had seemed a good compromise. This being Damien’s first proper weekend in his own house, he wanted to pamper his lover, feed him well, and include him in his usual morning routine.
“We always eat a good breakfast on the farm, Damien,” Miles said. “It’s terribly important to start the morning right.”
"Yes, I know all the pro-breakfast propaganda. That it's the most important meal of the day, blah, blah. You know whose responsible for all that rubbish? The companies that make breakfast cereals and the egg farmers." Damien crossed his arms. "If you force me to eat anything beyond a crumpet I shall be sick, and it will be on your head."
Miles laughed. “Come on, darling. It’s not that bad! Try my omelette before you decide whether or not you’ll get sick.” He turned back to give the final touches to his steaming pan, and neatly flipped the beautiful pancake onto a plate. “Voila!”
Miles placed the crumpets and omelette on the kitchen table where Damien was seated and began to butter a crumpet, nudging Damien with his elbow. “Come on, wake up! Smell this, isn’t it heavenly?”
Damien looked at the omelette, sighed, and served himself a very small piece. He put it in his mouth, chewed and managed to swallow it.
“Good?” Miles asked, the smile lurking in his eyes.
Damien couldn't resist those eyes. "Yes. It's abfab."
Miles quirked an eyebrow.
“Absolutely fabulous!” Damien provided helpfully. “Hip term.”
“Ah, thank you, I am learning all kinds of things from you.” Miles chuckled. He watched Damien put another piece of omelette into his mouth. “Knew you couldn’t resist my cooking. Wait till you try my Irish stew.”
Damien spread a bit of jam on his crumpet and nibbled on it. "Why do I feel like you are trying to fatten me up like a Christmas goose?" He put the half eaten crumpet back down. "So what is next after breakfast?"
“Well, I thought after breakfast, we could take a walk into the village. It’s only about 3 miles away, and the weather is glorious today, perfect for walking. We could browse in the shops; I need to pick up a book I ordered. Then maybe a bit of lunch, before we head back here?”
While Damien had grown up in the English countryside, he now regarded himself as a happy urban animal. A walk in the country meant a stroll around the park. It did NOT mean a 3 mile bloody hike. But looking at Miles' happy face, he found it impossible to say no. Besides, he did like to shop.
"Sounds lovely." he said and smiled at Miles.
“It’s not that far now,” Miles said encouragingly.
Damien grumbled. "You've been saying that for AGES. If I'd have known I was going to walk cross-country, I would've packed a pair of trainers. Motorcycle boots are for motorcycles and looking cool in the club."
Miles observed Damien’s pout and looked down sympathetically at those stylish leather boots. Definitely not made for walking down country lanes. His brow suddenly cleared when he looked up. “Oh, I forgot - today is Farmer’s Market Day. Look – over there, we can browse for a while. Would you like that?”
Damien wanted nothing better than to sit with a pint and rest his feet. His caffeine buzz had long since vanished, leaving him with a mild headache. He really shouldn't have even one cup of coffee, and he'd had three. But for now, he was still trying to accommodate Miles, so he nodded.
Miles guided Damien over to the patch of ground where a colourful array of umbrellas and canopies populated the field.
"It looks ever so cheery and quaint." Damien commented dryly. "It would make a great photo for a tourist pamphlet."
“I enjoy looking at the stalls every now and then. There’s usually a good selection of cheeses and fresh-baked breads, besides the usual local produce. If we are lucky, we might get some wild honey as well.” Miles waved to a man with a large selection of fresh pumpkins and turnips on display, and called out a greeting.
Damien was feeling an unpleasant sense of déjà vu. It all reminded him of his childhood. His mum was very keen on farmer's markets. Well, farmer's markets and Cavalier King Charles spaniels. Damien and his sisters had learned early in life that the dogs took priority. He knew his parents were at least fond of him, but he often wondered why they'd ever bothered having children in the first place.
He'd asked his father once and had gotten some nonsense about 'the importance of good breeding and familial duty'. Damien shrugged off his random thoughts as he watched Miles smile at an elderly couple and stroll over to say hello. He waited by the side, reluctant to join Miles even though he had seen the invitation in Miles’ eyes.
Luckily for Damien, Miles did not stay long; he came back to Damien and began to walk with him down the market aisle. He saw the slightly mulish look in Damien’s face and said gently, “A lot of the vendors are people I’ve known since I was a boy. I always try to stop by for a bit of a chat.” It was an explanation, not an apology.
Damien felt stricken and quickly nodded "I suspected as much."
“They may seem a trifle over-friendly, and I admit some love the local gossip more than I care for – you will always have the sort in any society - but overall they are a good bunch. Nice people really. I would like for you to meet them.”
Damien looked around at all the rosy, cheery faces and felt a moment's panic. "All of them? Right now?"
Miles laughed at Damien’s expression. “Not all of them and not right now, darling!”
Damien took a calming breath. "Maybe we can stop back by after lunch?”
“The market is only for the morning, Damien. They should be packing up to go in about an hour.”
“Well, go chat them up if you want, I'm going to go browse over in that direction."
Miles hesitated a moment, and then decided he needed to give Damien a bit of space. “All right then, the flowers section is usually by that corner. See if you want to pick up some seeds and perhaps we can plant them this afternoon? To kind of commemorate our first weekend together?” He said the last part softly.
Damien quirked a brow. "You know I have two grey thumbs. I manage to kill off even the hardiest houseplant."
Miles chuckled. “I will come look for you once I’ve said hello to the Braydons’.”
After giving Miles a cheery wave, Damien slowly ambled towards a produce cart. He spotted a lovely stand of zucchini. Damien loved zucchini bread. You couldn't even tell it had zucchini in it. All you tasted were the walnuts and spices. A woman, in an ugly flowered dress, blocked his access. She would pick up a zucchini, study it, go 'hmmm', study it a bit more, and then put it back.
"Pardon me, please." Damien hoped the behemoth in the ugly dress would take the hint, but no. Really. He tried once more, a bit louder. "Pardon me." This time, the woman glanced at him, and then went back to her infuriating study of each individual zucchini.
Damien was fuming. "I know you see me here, you cow. It's just zucchini, for fuck's sake. One would think you were planning on having sex with it, not eat it." Damien reached past the woman and grabbed a particularly robust zucchini. "If indeed, you are planning the former, I think this one would do nicely."
The lady in question turned with outraged eyes and her mouth hung open as she stared at Damien. Her eyes blazed with fire and she was about to respond when Miles stepped in.
Damien recognised that voice, He turned his head towards Miles and then back at the outraged woman. No, it couldn't possibly be true. The Gods hated him, that was it.
“Miles?” Aunt Beatrice took a step back as she saw Miles put a hand on Damien’s arm.
“I see you’ve met my friend, Damien.” Miles looked at Damien, his eyes sending a perfectly clear message.
Damien thought now would be the opportune time for the ground to open up and swallow him. He could feel the heat in his cheeks and knew he was blushing.
“Well!” Aunt Beatrice said, and folded her lips primly.
“I think Damien owes you an apology, Aunt Beatrice!” Miles said, his voice both soothing and apologetic. “I’m afraid it’s partly my fault. Damien is not used to these country walks and I dragged him out this morning totally unprepared. He’s hot and bothered I daresay, and feeling the heat.”
Damien, for once, held his tongue.
“That is hardly any excuse for ...” Aunt Beatrice snapped.
“You are absolutely right, Aunt, that is no excuse at all.” Miles said shortly. “Damien?” Miles prodded him gently on the small of his back.
Aunt Beatrice waited, a martial light in her eyes.
Damien wanted to be some place else, any place else. Miles prodded him again, this time a little less gently. "I apologise for my comments and my rudeness. I was completely out of line."
Aunt Beatrice did not look very convinced but she inclined her head.
Damien inclined his in return and stepped back a few steps, so he stood slightly behind Miles,
“I hope we didn’t totally ruin your morning, Aunt Beatrice!” Miles said as he bent to lightly give her a peck on the cheek. “My love to Sarah and the kids.”
Damien half expected Miles to take hold of his arm as they left, but he didn't. But there was no mistaking the stern set of Miles' lips, He appeared royally pissed. So Damien decided to keep a low profile for the remainder of their excursion.
They selected some seeds to plant, Miles picked up his book, and they had a light lunch at a little village inn. No reference was made to the unpleasant incident, and things were polite and civil between them and Damien felt like screaming. He wanted Miles to say something, do something so they could clear the air.
Although Miles did not bring up the incident during their trip, it did not mean he had let it go. It wasn’t in his psychological set up at all to ignore such conduct, nor was he the type to timidly sweep his feelings under the carpet. The truth of the matter was he had been rather shocked at Damien’s behaviour. Miles’ own upbringing had been strict; he would never say anything to intentionally hurt anyone and he could not comprehend why Damien would resort to such manners. In the six weeks they had been together, there had been a few times when Damien had said some really incorrigible things but so far those he had been able to overlook. Even when Damien had shown a few flashes of bad temper, nothing he had done had been as rude or discourteous as this. This was definitely something Miles could not and would not condone from someone he cared about.
Once they reached home, Damien tossed his jacket onto a chair and kicked off his boots. "I think I have a blister or three."
Miles regarded his young companion for a moment, and then said gently. “Damien, come sit down with me. I would like to have a word with you, if you please.”
Damien's hair had fallen into his eyes and he pushed it back. "Is it about Aunt Beatrice?"
“Yes, it is about the incident with Aunt Beatrice.”
Damien sat down. "I didn't know she was your aunt, Miles."
Miles sighed. “It does not matter whether she was my aunt or not. You should not have spoken to anyone like that.”
Damien opened his mouth, closed it and opened it again. "She started it, you just missed that part."
“Did I really? Even if she did, you had no cause to respond in kind. I consider it extremely bad manners, actually.”
Damien huffed. "I was polite. I said pardon me twice. The second time she looked at me, so she knew I was waiting. Really, Miles. She was rude first."
“I hardly think you have a case to argue this, my lad.”
Damien stuck out his chin and his nostrils flared as he gifted Miles with a haughty sniff. "Well, I beg to differ. I think if anyone is the injured party in this, it's me. I should have just pushed my way in front of her instead of trying to be polite."
“In that case, how about you take a few minutes alone to think this through?” Miles countered.
Damien stood up and crossed his arms. "No. I'm sorry I embarrassed you, but that is ALL I'm sorry about."
Miles shook his head at the young man in front of him. “Please sit down, Damien. We are not done talking.”
Damien stamped his left foot in frustration. Granted, since he was in his stocking feet, it was lacking in dramatic effect. "We're not talking. You are lecturing. You aren't fucking listening to a word I say."
Perturbed by Damien’s obvious obstinacy and annoyed with his choice of words, Miles got up and reacted from pure impulse – he swatted Damien neatly on the seat of his pants. “It hardly calls for this display, Damien. I am trying to understand why you would behave in such a manner. You are acting like a child. Now will you be still?”
Damien's eyes went wide in shock. Miles had actually swatted him. Really swatted him, not like a playful smack during sex. His hand went instinctively back to the seat of his jeans.
"Ow!" he said, though in truth it hadn't hurt.
Miles raised one eyebrow. “That,” he said with a twisted smile, “could hardly count!”
Damien stomped with his right foot and tossed his head back "It does so count Miles, even if it didn't hurt. That wasn't a play swat."
“Of course it wasn’t!” Miles said coolly.
Damien stomped his foot once more. "You meant to swat me like Simon swats Russell. That's just so unfair."
Miles had no intention of arguing further, so he took a firm hold of Damien’s arm and pushed him firmly into the study. “I think some quiet time in the corner will be just what you need, Damien.”
Miles was so quick Damien had no time to react. "The corner?" He squeaked out. "You can't fucking mean that, Miles."
“Yes I do!” Miles positioned Damien firmly into a lovely little corner, next to a set of large windows. Hopefully with nothing to do, coupled with the serenity of the gardens outside, he would be able to calm down. “Now stand there and be still.” Miles ordered, keeping his hands on Damien’s shoulders to make sure he stayed put.
Damien's emotions were all jumbled up and he couldn't sort them out. He crossed his arms, and he kicked at the wall half heartedly. "I'm too old to be put in a corner, Miles."
Miles said agreeably. “Yes, you are, but not when you behave like a six-year old. Which is exactly what you put me in mind of right now.”
Damien couldn't help himself, he stuck his tongue out. True, it was at the corner and not at Miles, but it did give him a measure of satisfaction.
“When you are done with your tantrum, you can come out of the corner. Not before.” Miles said calmly even though he had seen the kick. It reminded him of Russell, who had similar tendencies to abuse the wall when put there by Simon.
Damien kicked at the wall again. "I'm not having a tantrum, you're being unreasonable. And I'm not going to fucking stand in the corner." Damien turned around and tried to move past Miles, which earned him another stinging swat.
Damien yelped this time. "Ow! Stop it."
“Damien!” Miles’ voice held a definite snap. “The only reason you are in the corner now is because you deserve it. Don’t bother to answer me, you know I am right. I want you to behave now.”
Damien tried to push Miles out of the way. He might as well have tried to move a boulder.
“You heard me.”
Damien glared at Miles. "You can't do this, it's against the rules."
“I’d say it's not against my rules, and this is my house. Now no more talking please. Face the wall. Hands by your side. Stand up straight!”
Damien turned back to the corner, fuming and muttering to himself.
The ringing of the phone pierced the stillness; with one eye on Damien’s rigid back, Miles went into the hall to pick up the cordless receiver. “Yes, hello?” he said, slightly distracted.
At the other end, Simon raised an eyebrow at Mile's tone of voice. His cousin sounded flustered. "Is that the way you normally answer the phone, Miles?"
“Oh sorry, Simon. I was – er, you caught me in the middle of something.”
Simon exchanged looks with Russell, who was standing nearby, fidgeting and trying to eavesdrop. "Do tell. I hope it wasn't sex.”
Miles rolled his eyes and gave a short bark of laughter. “No, it wasn’t sex.”
Simon chuckled. “Ah. I was wondering what time Russell and I should show up, wine in hand."
“Oh, twelve-ish would be fine.”
"Ask him how it's going." Russell could hardly contain himself. Simon smiled and shook his head at his Brat.
"How is the weekend with the Anti-Christ going? Russell wants to know if you have throttled Damien yet. We have a bit of a wager going on."
Miles turned to regard the straight back facing the window. “It is going well; we took a walk, went down to the village this morning, just got back in fact. Damien’s in the study now, enjoying the garden view.”
Simon put his hand over the receiver and whispered to Russell. "Miles says it's going well and Damien is in the study looking out the windows." Russell snorted. "Aye, it sounds like a load of bollocks to me too."
Miles heard the whisperings and demanded. “Say Simon, is Russ there with you? Ditch him for a bit will you?” Miles suddenly lowered his voice, stepping into the living room and closing the door, “I have something to ask you.”
Simon pushed a protesting Russell out of the room and shut the door. "I expect you have a lot of questions, Miles."
“Remember what we talked about earlier, about how similar Damien and Russell are in terms of temperament?”
Simon chuckled. "Yes. Damien gave you a demonstration, I take it?"
“Oh yes, I had a grand view of it this morning, if you must know. That little scamp was quite rude to, of all people, Aunt Beatrice at the Farmer’s Market. I didn’t quite know where to put my face!”
Simon chuckled again. "Well, you should have let Aunt Beatrice sort him out. I remember the old girl as having a rather formidable swing."
“I couldn’t leave him to such a fate, Simon. She would eat him alive!” Miles laughed and briefly brought Simon up to date on events. “I know you occasionally have to ‘deal’ with Russell when he gets like that; tell me though, would I be performing a social solecism if I went with my instinct and swatted him?”
Simon clucked his tongue. "My dear cousin, you should do far more than that. I think Master Damien needs his arse warmed good and proper.”
Miles cut in. “You don’t say!”
“I believe I just did. You keep overlooking his little social gaffes and tantrums, and they will keep happening. You need to make sure he realises that this behaviour will not be tolerated, and that to persist in it will have consequences. Russell knows what will happen if he breaks the rules, though it doesn't always keep him from misbehaving or trying to plead or argue his way out of a punishment.”
“He’s hardly a child, and yet he behaves just like one!” Miles grumbled. “I was talking about Damien, but I guess that goes for Russ as well.”
“Yes, well. He's a Brat, and a drama queen. You need to set down some rules, and see to it that Damien understands and follows them, no exceptions. Making exceptions will only leave him confused and feeling insecure in the relationship. Trust me on this.”
“Look, I know you occasionally spank that brat of yours. Are you saying I should do the same with Damien? We haven’t really – talked about it or anything. How do I know he won’t freak out?”
Simon had to chuckle again. "Oh, I dare say Damien will protest loudly. Russell certainly did. Damien, whether he admits it or not, is looking for someone who will call him to task for his misbehaviours."
“You know, I actually suspect Damien is testing me? As if he is waiting to see what I would do if he pushed far enough. Well, there’s nothing like a good old-fashioned spanking to clear the cobwebs and keep a young lad straight, and I will do it if I have to. Didn’t our parents reinforce that most effectively, cousin? It bloody hurt too!” Miles chuckled at some past shared memories with Simon.
“Yes, Damien is testing you. His previous lovers just threw up their hands and walked away, you know. A spanking is supposed to hurt. Damien will cry and promise you anything to end it. And he will mean it, at least until the effects of the spanking wear off."
“You should know – Russell keeps you pretty much on your toes, I can see that. I guess you find it works?”
Simon chuckled. "It does indeed, so that is my advice. For lesser offenses, you can use the old tried and true method of punishment lines or corner time. Whatever works. Every Brat is different."
Miles sighed. “I was hoping to spend a quiet, romantic weekend together, not have to negotiate around a discipline session with my very young and very temperamental lover!”
Simon sighed as well. "I've been in that position myself, many times. It doesn't have to spoil your weekend though, think of it as a minor interruption. Just sort Damien out and then move on. You just have to accept that discipline is going to be a part of your relationship."
“I know. Well, all right then, let me go work something out with Master Damien and we’ll see you both tomorrow around noon? Thanks for the encouragement, though I hardly think Damien will share my gratitude!”
After Miles left the room, Damien turned around. He was upset, confused and angry, and he couldn't make sense of any of it. He thought maybe a walk outside would help him clear his head, and he quietly made his way out of the study, and then out the front door, without jacket and without boots. He hugged his arms close to his body and tried to calm down as he walked. He'd really cocked things up good and proper. He sniffled in abject misery and blinked back a few tears. The day was waning and the temperature was dropping, so he decided to head back to the house, though he wasn't sure he was ready to face Miles again.
Miles entered the study, and immediately saw the empty corner. His lips set into a stern line as he went in search of his missing brat. He thought at first Damien might have gone upstairs to have a good cry on the bed, but the search proved fruitless. He came back downstairs and was about to go look outside when the front door opened.
Damien took one look at Miles's face and thought about making a run for it. "I'm really cold." he said, and before Miles could respond, he found his arms full of an emotionally distraught Damien. Damien wrapped his arms around Miles and buried his head in Miles' chest and the words came in a torrent. "Everything's gotten so cocked up, and I'm sorry and you probably hate me and want me to leave and I don't want to leave and I'm cold." Damien shivered.
Miles held the shivering bundle in his arms and with one foot swung the heavy front door shut. He let out a long breath of mixed relief and resignation, but his arms did not relax their tight hold.
“Come on into the living room, Damien.” Miles led Damien to the old-fashioned fireplace, sank into the well-worn leather armchair placed next to the hearth, and pulled Damien down on top of him. “Can you feel your toes and fingers darling?”
Damien nodded. "I wasn't out that long. They're just cold."
“No wonder, you’ve not got your boots on. What were you thinking?”
Damien snuggled his head underneath Miles' chin. "That my feet hurt, and I didn't want to put my boots back on."
“I thought I told you to stay put in the study.”
Damien bit his lip. "Well, you wanted me to stand in the corner and it wasn't helping and my feet hurt, even without my boots. I really do have blisters."
“Show me.” And Miles tenderly examined the cold feet when Damien held them up as pathetically as he could swing it.
Damien stuck his lip out in a pout and peeled off his right sock. "See? Right there on the toes and there is another one on the heel." He peeled off his left sock and was disappointed to find no blemishes of any sort. "Bugger it, this one's all right. But it sill hurts."
Miles patted Damien’s thigh. “You didn’t answer my question – why did you leave the house when I asked you to stand quietly in the study?”
Damien “I thought you were mad at me ... and wouldn’t want me around ... I was sure you would send me home ...”
“Who says I want you to leave?” Miles inquired mildly.
Damien moved his head so he could look Miles in the eyes. "Don't you?"
“As a matter of fact, I rather like having you in the house with me.” Miles nuzzled Damien’s neck.
Damien's mood brightened. "So we're done with what happened with Aunt Beatrice? It's sorted out, water under the bridge, old news?"
“No,” Miles said carefully, “it does not mean we are ‘done’ with this morning’s episode. I don’t mean to be a nag or sound like a broken record, but the conversation is far from over. You were supposed to stay quietly in the corner to think about your behaviour to Aunt Beatrice.”
Damien sighed. "Oh. I couldn't think in the corner. I was just getting more and more worked up, and I thought maybe the cold air would help. It did, a little."
“So are you able to tell me now why you behaved so rudely?”
Damien made a small sound of frustration. "I tried to be polite, you know. I did. It wasn't my fault. Well not entirely. I'd say it was an even split."
Miles bit back a smile. “Will you be able to behave better in future?”
Damien rolled his eyes. "I could lie and say yes Miles, of course I will. The truth is I will probably cause you public embarrassment again at some point. It's just my nature, you know. I can promise to try, which should be good enough for a hot cocoa to help me warm up?"
Miles shuddered and wondered what Damien’s perception of public embarrassment was versus his own. He thought it best to straighten out a few things. “I really do not appreciate public embarrassment - come to think of it, I do not appreciate embarrassment of any kind! So for my health and yours, I want you to try very hard to behave civilly in future.”
Damien rolled his eyes a second time. "Didn't I just say I'd try? And keep in mind that my idea of trying very hard may not be the same as yours, me being an impetuous youth and all."
Miles leaned down and put his lips against Damien’s cold cheek. “Let’s make a deal then, shall we? You promise and I will keep an eye on you to help you along. You will get one and only one warning, after which if you still persist to misbehave, I will spank you. Like what Simon does to Russell. You are aware of their arrangement, aren’t you?”
Damien shifted his position a bit and frowned. "Yes. I suppose this counts as my one warning then? Bugger it. If I'd known that I'd have done something more spectacular."
Miles raised one eyebrow. "Yes, this counts as your one warning, and I think you demonstrated your talents very well already, thank you. Frankly, I have always thought that Russell has benefitted from those sessions.” Miles’ lips twitched. “The only unfortunate thing is the effect is not very long lasting!”
Damien gifted Miles with an indignant snort. "Well, that's not the way Russell tells it. He's always saying his arse is doomed, or that he is in mourning for his arse."
“Well, he should know. Russell can’t survive without a spanking for more than two days.” Miles put his arms under Damien and with apparent little effort, scooped him off his lap and stood up. “Now what do you say we go get some cocoa, put the music on, and snuggle up?”
"I'd say about bloody time, Miles Richards." Damien laughed.
Miles was busy in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches to lunch when he heard the crunch of tyres. He sent Damien to greet their guests.
Damien opened the door and in his best posh, public school accent said "Welcome gentlemen. The Master of the House is fussing over the roast in the kitchen, so I am answering the door in his stead. May I take your coats?"
Simon rolled his eyes and Russell grinned appreciatively as they both removed their coats and handed them to Damien, who promptly tossed them onto a nearby chair. "I didn't say I was going to hang them up." he said laughing, as he gave them both a hug.
“Well, something sure smells good,” Russell said enthusiastically. He had made an effort to eat less breakfast that morning, aware of Miles’ culinary skills. “I’m famished. When can we eat?”
Damien jerked his head towards the kitchen. "When everything is finally done to Miles' standards. You'd think Her Majesty was going to stop by, or Gordon Ramsay, the bloke who does those restaurant shows."
“But I am hungry! I only had toast and coffee this morning!” Russell protested.
Simon gave Russell a gentle pat on the bum. "And whose fault is that?” he held up a finger as Russell opened his mouth. "And don't you dare say it's mine, my lad."
Damien and Russell exchanged a conspiratory look. “Tops!” Russell muttered under his breath.
“We will eat in about twenty minutes,” Miles announced as he walked up, wiping his hands on an old apron. “Think you can hold out till then, Russ?” He asked, giving Russell a quick kiss on the cheek.
“I suppose,” Russell said, then asked eagerly. “So what’s for lunch, Miles?”
“Pumpkin soup, and roast beef and potatoes, plus fresh veggies from the home garden. Damien picked them this morning.” Miles smiled at Damien, who rolled his eyes.
"I wasn't given much of a choice. Really, I don't know if I am a houseguest or a houseboy. All morning it's been fetch this, pick that, stir this. I even set the table."
"I've brought a few bottles of Chateau Le Bon Pasteur 2004 Pomerol." Simon said. "And as I'm not one to overlook the finer details, they are already chilled. The wine is very similar to a Merlot. We can sample a bit right now, if you wish?"
Damien laughed. "Well, I don't know about Miles, but I certainly wish."
Sunday lunch at the farmhouse was usually followed by a lazy afternoon and the party wouldn’t break up for at least a few hours after, so no one had a problem to indulge a little.
Russell observed that a plate of macaroons had been set out next to the wine glasses. His eyes gleamed; he loved visiting Miles because he always made sure there was something special for him. And he was very partial to macaroons. “Oh my favourites!” He immediately picked one up.
Simon peered over his wine glass at Russell and smiled. "You may have two Russell, even though you forgot to ask permission, and I've yet to hear a thank you."
Damien wrinkled his nose, he wasn't big on sweets. Wine, now, that he could appreciate.
They had a couple of round of toasts before they sat down to lunch, where the soup and roast were highly praised, and they rounded off the meal with a dish of ice-cream each. And more wine. By the time they got up from the table, Russell was giggling quite uncontrollably.
Simon shook his head at Russell as he reached for the bottle to refill his glass. "I think you've had quite enough wine, Russell. You are becoming quite silly."
Damien had been pressed into service once again, this time to help clear the table. Russell found this hilarious, and started on a new round of giggles, making Damien roll his eyes.
“Just leave the dishes in the sink,” Miles said. “We’ll get to it later.
Damien didn't like the sound of that 'we'll' get to it later'. Miles did not have a dishwasher, or perhaps he now thought he had. One Damien Francis Frazer. He'd have to nip that idea in the bud. He caught Russell's eye and mouthed 'let's go.' "The mad giggler and I are going for a walk, let the cold air sober him up a bit."
Simon perked up and snagged a macaroon. "Sounds brilliant. You and the giggler go off and do some brat bonding. Shoo. Away with you."
Miles gave Damien a kiss on the cheek. "Don't stay out too long and make sure you take your jacket."
"Yes, mum." Damien said and laughed as he dodged a swat. “Come on, Russ."
Once outside, Damien headed straight for where he'd parked his motorcycle. "When I said a walk, I meant going for a ride. I just didn't want to stand there arguing with Miles about it for the next twenty minutes, then being told no, then doing it anyway and pissing him off. This way, he never has to know. Is that brilliant or what?"
If Russell had been thinking clearly, he would have told Damien that he was using typical brat reasoning and that it always ended badly. But he wasn't, so he didn't.
“Are you sure you can ride this thing?” Russell whispered.
Damien whispered back. "Why are you whispering, there's just the two of us. And of course I can bloody ride it; I rode it here didn't I?"
“Well, you were sober then!” Russell pointed out. “You don’t seem very sober to me right now.”
Damien snorted. "I'm sober enough to think of rolling the bike down the road a bit before starting the engine."
Russell giggled again. “Well, I think Simon isn’t going to hear anything much in a while – he has that glazed look which means he is already three parts asleep.”
Damien burst out laughing. "You're just awful, mocking the elderly like that. No bloody manners at all."
“Shh ...” Russell hissed. “Do you want to wake the dead?’ And then he burst into laughter at his own joke, rocking a bit unsteadily on his feet. He clambered onto the back a bit clumsily. “Stop rocking the bike, idiot!”
Damien gave Russell a punch on the arm. "I haven't even gotten on yet, you git." He got on and started the bike.
Once they were clear of the perimeter fence, they sped off, Russell holding Damien loosely around the waist. The motorcycle weaved dangerously along the small lane, swaying right and left as Damien negotiated the bends and turns. Russell jovially bouncing and singing along in the back seat did not help matters.
Damien gritted his teeth. "Could you manage to keep still Russ before we end up in casualty?"
“Watch out!” Russell cried as they zipped past a lady walking towards them, narrowly missing her by inches.
Damien swore as he manoeuvred out of the way of the pedestrian, and instead went through a puddle of muddy water, drenching her. "What the fuck is she doing out walking in the road like that? Fucking traffic menace."
“Oh fuck, you almost killed her!” That seemed to be an exaggeration, but Russell’s mouth fell open in dismay as he turned back to look. “Oh fuck!” he said again.
“What?” Damien glanced in his side view mirror and gave a sudden gurgle of rude laughter. The lady was standing stock still, arms outstretched in stupefied disbelief, dripping from her monstrous Sunday hat to her shiny pink shoes. Her ample chest was heaving in shock or indignation (probably a bit of both), and she was undoubtedly wet and muddy, but otherwise unhurt. “She’s not dead!” Damien declared.
“You asshole!” Russell screeched. “Do you know who that was?”
Damien wished he had something to stick in his ears. "Would you kindly stop screeching in my ears, Russ? You're louder than most bloody rock concerts. She seemed a bit familiar, but with all the mud I can't be sure."
“We are both so dead! Aunt Beatrice!”
Damien took one hand off the handlebars and smacked himself in the forehead, "Oh bloody fucking hell."
“Turn back, quick!”
Damien shook his head. "No fucking way, that woman is bigger than me, and she's angry."
“I don’t mean to go help her, you moron!” Russell snapped. “We need to get back to the house as soon as possible. I think Aunt B is on her way there. She drops in occasionally when we come for lunch.”
Damien cursed in every language he knew, slowed down, and turned the bike back for home. He thought Miles could have warned him about the possibility of a visit from Aunt Beatrice. The woman scared him.
Russell was babbling in his panic. “I don’t think she recognized us, do you? It all happened so fast. We can still pull this off – we can go back to the house from the other lane, beside the orchard. I know a short cut. Turn there!”
Damien made the turn. "It's getting dark and like you said, it all happened rather quickly. So no need to panic yet."
“She hasn’t seen you ride this bike, has she?”
Damien shook his head. "No, we've just met the one time, at the farmer's market yesterday."
“Good. That lady can be a mean bitch. She’s got me into real trouble a few times with Simon already, no wish to have that happen again!”
Damien snorted. "Well then! We got a bit of payback on her today. Actually, she should thank us for ruining that ugly dress."
Russell thought that was a good joke and laughed loudly until Damien shushed him. They had reached the house by then, and Damien killed the engine and both young men got off, quickly pushing the bike the rest of the way to the house and out of sight. They looked at one another and choked back their laughter. Suppressing their mirth, they slipped quietly into the house from the kitchen.
Damien grabbed Russell by the arm and whispered "Let's go clean up a bit, before she gets here. Remember, don't panic. We play it casual and no one will ever know."
“Who could that be?” Simon jumped at the loud imperious knock on the front door.
Miles groaned and dragged himself up from the arm chair where he had been lounging. The urgent tapping of the solid brass knocker on the front door made him hurry. “Coming!” Miles called out, pulling the door open. He bit back a gasp at the sight before him and said instead, “Aunt Beatrice? Whatever happened to you?”
"Hoodlums on a motorcycle." Aunt Beatrice. "Laughing like a couple of loons. I thought I was going to meet your uncle Stanley in heaven, but they swerved at the last minute and went through a puddle. Ruined my best Sunday hat, the hat your Aunt Agnes gave me for my birthday." Aunt Beatrice sniffed briefly in mourning for her hat, then her eyes turned steely. "This is what comes of poor parenting in the home, hoodlums roaming the street, frightening decent folk. They don't get discipline at home nor at school. It's a far cry from when I was a girl and every headmaster had a cane or a tawse."
Simon just nodded. You didn't interrupt Aunt Beatrice in mid tirade.
Miles quickly put out a hand and led Aunt Beatrice into the living room. “Sit down, Aunt. Are you hurt anywhere?”
Beatrice shook her head. "No. A bit of brandy should set me to rights. I'll not sit though, I'm a mess and you have such lovely furniture."
Miles was already pouring out a glass of brandy and he handed it to Aunt Beatrice. “Here Aunt, drink this. It will calm your nerves and warm you up a bit. Did you see who splashed you?”
Beatrice shook her head. "I didn't get a good look at them, no. I should have had someone drive me, but we're out in the country. I felt safe enough walking here."
Simon stifled a yawn. "Well, you're not hurt, apart from your dignity and that is the most important thing."
Beatrice sipped her brandy. "My dress, my hat, my handbag and my shoes are ruined Simon. And the odds of those hoodlums being apprehended are slim to none, I'd wager."
“I’ll get you a towel ... why don’t you take that ... um, h-hat off ...” Miles encountered Simon’s eye and struggled for a moment to regain his composure. “Simon, can you help Aunt Beatrice with her hat please? And her shoes as well, if you don’t mind – they are soaking wet!”
As far as Simon was concerned, the two hoodlums on the bike had performed a public service when it came to the hat. "Come along Auntie, let's tidy you up a bit."
Leaving his unexpected guest to Simon’s ministrations, Miles grinned to himself and ran lightly up the stairs to get some towels. He was just about to go downstairs again when he heard the shuffle of feet in the bathroom and a murmur of voices.
Miles pushed open the door and asked in surprise. “What are you two doing in there?”
Damien jumped. "Don't sneak up on folk like that Miles. What if I had been in mid-pee? It could have been messy and embarrassing."
“When did you get back? We didn’t hear you.” He said, and then added suspiciously, “What happened? What’s with those muddy clothes?”
Damien looked at his and Russell's clothing as if surprised to find them mud-splattered. "I guess we are a bit muddy at that. We did a bit of puddle jumping, youthful high spirits you know."
Miles raised an eyebrow.”Oh really?”
“I think I drank too much wine over lunch, Miles. I better go lie down.” Russell said, as he tried to slip out of the bathroom. He wanted no part of the conversation.
“Not so fast, young man!” Miles blocked his path with a powerful arm.
“But –“Russell protested. “I don’t feel well!”
Damien was starting to feel a little ill himself. He caught Russell's eye and shook his head slightly. Then he looked at the floor. The floor was safe, no suspicious eyes there.
Miles’ eyes narrowed as he regarded the two angelic faces before him, not trusting those innocent looks one bit. He said coolly, “Aunt Beatrice is downstairs, drenched from head to foot by a nasty splash from a motorcycle that was going way too fast. Her hat is ruined, and she’s got mud in her shoes, which look just like those muddy stains on your pants. So if there is anything I should know, now is your one chance to tell me.”
Damien continued to look at the floor. "Nothing to tell, Miles. Really, I don't understand why we are getting the third degree. It's been raining, it's muddy. We went outside, so now we're muddy."
Russell toggled on the fence; his experience had taught him that nothing good would come out of lying at this stage. They were already in too deep - much better to come clean and plead for leniency; you at least had a much better chance of survival.
“Well, Russell?” Miles had seen that look, and he immediately pounced on the link that was the weakest.
Damien raised his eyes and tried to communicate to Russell than he needed to keep quiet and stick with the plan.
“It wasn’t our fault!” Russell blurted out. “She was just standing at the wrong place at the wrong time! There was nothing we could do – we either splash her or hit her. You don’t want her dead, do you?”
Damien was sure he could spot the Grim Reaper out of the corner of his eye, swinging his scythe and laughing. They were dead, all that remained was to be spitted and cooked. And he knew just which part of him was going to be roasted.
Miles drew in a sharp intake of breath. “You two took the bike out after drinking all that wine?”
“Oh ... um .... “ Russell rolled his eyes at Damien, stuck.
Damien glared at Russell. "I was able to avoid hitting Aunt Beatrice, so I couldn't have been all that drunk. Right? I thought it would be safe enough, we're out in the bloody country."
“We are going to be talking about this in much more detail in a while. I need to get these towels downstairs. You two may go wait in the spare bedroom. And I don’t want to hear a sound from either of you – understand? If I hear so much as a squeak, you may come downstairs and face Aunt Beatrice to explain your conduct.”
Damien wanted to stamp his foot in frustration, or barring that, punch Russell for caving in, but instead he quietly followed Russell into the spare bedroom.
Simon noticed the set of Miles' jaw as he returned with the towels. Something was up, and it wasn't hard to guess it involved Damien and Russell. He sighed.
Beatrice dried herself as best she could. Fortified with brandy and feeling a bit more collected, she called her daughter to come and fetch her. Then she had a second brandy.
Miles and Simon sat and chatted with her until they heard a honk outside. The two men exchanged a look of relief as Aunt Beatrice got to her feet. She insisted on kissing both her nephews goodbye, before she allowed them to walk her safely out the door.
The moment she was gone, Simon turned to Miles, his eyebrow raised. "So, are you going to tell me the reason for the thunderclouds on your brow?"
Miles cast a look up the staircase and said dryly, “I think you are going to be very entertained in a few minutes.” Raising his voice, he called out. “Damien! Russell! Come down here please.”
Simon wished two things at that moment. The first was that he hadn't had so much to drink, as he had the beginnings of a headache. The second was that he had kept a closer eye on Russell. Damien was Miles problem.
Damien and Russell took their time coming down the stairs. Damien glared at Russell's back as they descended to their probable doom.
“Why don’t you tell Simon what you have been up to?” Miles said.
Simon crossed his arms. "Yes, please tell me. Either of you wish to start?"
Ignoring Simon, Damien gave Miles his best pleading penitent look, complete with glistening eyes. Miles remained impassive. Fucking bugger it.
“I wasn’t the one driving the bike!” Russell said in self-defence. “I had no control over where it went. It’s not even mine!”
Simon caught on at once, and nodded. "I see. So you were just along for the ride and you think that excuses your behaviour? You know better Russell. You could have said no. You were both too drunk to be riding a motorcycle down the drive, let alone on the road."
Damien stuck his lower lip out and crossed his arms. "If I'd been drunk, I would've hit Aunt Beatrice instead of managing to swerve at the last minute. And I didn't see her at first because it's starting to get dark and there were lots of trees and shadows."
“And who is talking about Aunt Beatrice?” Miles demanded. “You told us you were going for a walk. Didn’t you?”
Simon smiled. Miles was getting the hang of this. He felt so proud.
Damien threw up his arms. "We changed our bloody minds!”
Miles narrowed his eyes. "That's a load of bollocks and you know it, Damien Francis, You knew that neither Simon nor I would have given permission for a ride. You just didn't anticipate being caught. Well, you've been caught good and proper my lad."
Simon had taken Russell by the arm and placed him in a corner. "Not one sigh or kick at the wall Russell. Miles, might I borrow your hairbrush? "
“What?” Russell swirled round, his eyes widening in disbelief.
Miles hesitated a second, before responding. “There’s one in the bathroom – I’ll get it for you.” It didn’t take Miles long to retrieve the hairbrush.
“S-Simon?” Russell’s voice quivered as he watched the hairbrush exchange hands.
Hairbrush in hand, Simon sat down in one of the overstuffed arm chairs, and then called Russell over. He normally would never think of punishing Russell in front of others, apart from an occasional smack. With that in mind, he decided to allow Russell to keep his boxers, and a little dignity. This should prove to be educational for both Miles and Damien.
Russell could not believe this was happening, but one look at Simon’s face told him there was no getting out of it. His bristled angrily as he walked over to where his Top was sitting, but he never for one moment thought of disobeying. Their relationship was built on absolute trust, and that led to absolute obedience.
"Trouser's down, Russell. You may keep your boxers."
His hands mechanically went to undo the buttons, used to obeying that tone of voice. He turned his back to the audience, slowly pulling his zipper down and wondering if he could for once stand by his resolve and NOT plead. With a sad sniff, he thought probably not.
Damien had moved over to Miles and he took hold of Miles' hand. He couldn't help it. Simon was going to spank Russell, right here, right now. "This isn't right." he muttered softly.
Miles clutched Damien’s hand tightly in his, but he stopped Damien from disappearing behind his back.
Simon couldn't help but feel a bit of sympathy for Russell, since he was being used as a teaching aide of sorts. He adjusted Russell's position, and then patted him gently on his boxer covered rear. "Why are you being punished, Russell?"
Bloody hell! Russell thought mutinously. Not only am I being spanked in public, I now have to recite my list of wrongs in front of them as well? Rebelling, he growled. “I already said it wasn’t my fault!”
"You and Damien both lied about your intentions. You never intended to take a walk. Then you risked your health and well being, which I am sworn to preserve, by riding the motorcycle when you and Damien were drunk. I don't care who was steering the bike. Your arse was on it." Simon didn't want to draw this out, for both their sakes, so he began. He brought the hairbrush down hard, and timed his blows to be a second or two apart.
“OW!” Russell yelled loudly, breaking his resolve at the first swat. Damn!
Simon ignored the yell and started at the tops of Russell's well rounded cheeks, then worked his way down to the top of the thighs. Over and over, with Russell yelping and twisting in his grasp, growing more desperate by the second. He was going to have a very uncomfortable ride home. After one particularly hard smack, Russell almost managed to wriggle off. Simon set the brush down for a moment, and then positioned Russell so that he was bent over Simon's left thigh, with his legs trapped between Simons to keep him in place.
Russell sniffed piteously, his backside blazing with heat and pain. He grunted and protested loudly as Simon bent him further forward, then concentrated his blows on Russell's sit spot. Russell jerked with every smack and openly cried, not caring by then if a whole battalion was standing behind him watching. Simon had a most wicked arm and he used it with altogether too much fervour.
After ten more smacks Simon stopped and helped his sobbing brat to stand. "All over with sunshine." Simon said and opened his arms. Russell dived into those arms and tried to smother his cries in Simon’s chest.
Damien stood there watching in horrified fascination, his hand squeezing Miles'. He wanted to bury his head in Miles' chest too, but he couldn't look away. And Miles was going to do this to HIM? Not that he didn't deserve it mind you, but still. It looked much too painful for Damien's taste.
“Why is he not being spanked as well?” Russell took his face off Simon’s chest and demanded, indicating Damien.
Simon wiped away the tears on Russell's cheeks and kissed him softly on the top of his head. "Patience, sunshine. It's Miles' move." Simon held out the hairbrush. "Miles?"
Miles had had enough time to work out what he needed to do. He had frequently heard Simon chastise Russell in the past and even seen Simon swat his Brat now and then, so he was not totally shaken. Still what they had witnessed had been a pretty severe spanking – more fitting for an experienced Brat. He was not altogether sure if Damien was up to something so public, since this would be his first time.
Miles looked at Damien. If it wasn't for the fact that Miles had a tight grip on his hand, Damien would have run. He wasn't at all sure he was ready for this.
"Miles?" Damien’s voice came out a bit high pitched and shaky, so he took a deep breath and started again, "Miles, I c-c-cant’ ..."
Miles gave Damien’s hand another reassuring squeeze and said, “Go on up to our bedroom, Damien. Go now. Wait for me there.” He then turned to Simon. “Simon, you will have to excuse us for a while. Make yourselves comfortable. Have tea, and some biscuits, you know where everything is.”
Damien, grateful for an excuse to leave, scurried towards the stairs. Once there he hesitated, as he realised what was going to happen when Miles joined him in the bedroom. Why in the bloody hell was he in such a rush?
Russell’s head snapped up. “What? Why is he getting spanked in private when I was on public display?”
Simon gave Russell a comforting squeeze. "It is Damien's first time, and it is going to be hard enough for him."
“But that is so unfair!” Russell cried out angrily.
Simon shook his head. "Fair or not, Damien is Miles' responsibility and it is Miles decision on how to deal with his mischief."
Miles reached out and tousled Russell’s hair affectionately. “Yes, it is rather unfair I am afraid. But that’s what it is. You can complain all about it to Simon over tea, Russ.” He smiled at Russell’s explosive face and followed Damien up the stairs.
Once they were in their bedroom, Miles firmly closed the door and sat down on the end of the bed. He laid the hairbrush down beside him and reached for Damien. “Come here, and let’s get this done. Know one thing Damien. This time I am letting you off easy because this is your first spanking. Next time you and Russell get up to such mischief, you WILL be spanked in just the same way as Russell. Got it?”
Damien wanted, oh how he wanted, to argue that letting him off easy would not involve a spanking. But he couldn't trust his voice at the moment, so he just nodded.
“All right, these are coming down.” Miles undid the button on Damien’s jeans very efficiently, having had sufficient practice.
Damien's eyes grew big. "Miles ...,” he managed to squeak out, as his jeans pooled around his ankles.
“And since we are doing this in the privacy of our room, we can take these down as well,” Miles said, indicating the white cotton briefs. He quickly peeled the underwear down, exposing Damien’s firm white bottom.
Damien's face flushed scarlet. This couldn't be happening. Not to him. It was bloody embarrassing. “Miles, please ..."
Miles patted his thighs and pulled a hesitant Damien over them, not giving him the chance to resist too much. Once he had Damien firmly clasped between his stomach and arm, he didn’t waste any more time, and he raised his right arm and brought it down on one of the white cheeks.
Damien yelped, more out of surprise than pain. Miles was really going to go through with this.
Miles was a natural. He had had his fair share of spankings in his boyhood, and he instinctively knew where to place the swats. He had Damien squirming and gasping within a few seconds.
Damien wanted to keep still, he wanted to be stoic about this, but those smacks were starting to sting. And Miles wasn't stopping. "Miles..." he hated the whine in his voice.”I'm s-s-sorry. Please s-s-stop."
Miles did not respond to the pleadings, focussing instead on the task at hand. Once he saw that Damien’s bottom was evenly pink, he picked up the hairbrush. He noticed the cheeks clenching and knew Damien must be dreading the first impact. He intended to get the punishment over as soon as possible; he meant only to give Damien a taste of discipline, not scare him.
Damien squeezed his eyes shut, but it didn't stop the tears from escaping and flowing freely down his face. Over and over he said "I'm s-s-sorry."
The sound of the hairbrush smacking the quivering bottom reverberated around the room, amidst the cries coming from Damien. Downstairs in the kitchen, Simon paused as he poured the tea. "Do you hear that? I believe that is the sound of justice being served."
Russell looked slightly mollified as Damien’s protests reached him. “About bloody time!”
Simon chuckled. 'I quite agree with you there, sunshine. It's long over due. I can't help but feel a certain satisfaction."
Russell squirmed on the hard wood of the kitchen chair. “Well, my butt is sore as hell, so why shouldn’t his be?”
Simon nodded. "Indeed. Partners in crime, partners in punishment."
Russell, who had been concentrating on the sounds coming from above stairs, raised his eyebrows. “That’s over quickly!” He said, a little indignantly.
Simon couldn't help but chuckle again. 'I'm certain that Damien feels differently. Miles as well, it being the maiden voyage for both of them."
Remembering the first few times he had been spanked by Simon, Russell felt a little sympathy for his friend. Yes, those had been rather ... memorable.
Simon reached over and tousled Russell's hair. "You look as though you're taking a trip down memory lane. Drink your tea and quit brooding."
They were on their second cup of tea when Miles came into the kitchen, followed by a red-eyed, sniffling Damien.
"I'm sorry I got you into trouble, Russ," Damien said, then carefully sat down, wincing a bit. He folded his arms on the table and buried his head in them.
Miles immediately stepped up to Damien and laid a gentle hand on the bent head while Russell looked sceptical. “Are you really sorry or just vying for sympathy?” asked Russell, rather bluntly.
Damien didn't know if he could look anyone in the eye, but Russell's comment hit a nerve and he raised his head. "I said I was sorry Russ, if that is not good enough for you, then sod off."
Simon shook his head. "Russell, you do have a talent for asking exactly the wrong thing at the wrong time."
“Well, I’m asking because I want to know ... and I am just being honest like you always ...” His voice trailed off as he saw the look in Simon’s face. “Fine! All right, I’ll shut up then.” He folded his arms with a huff.
Simon took a sip of tea. "Good. That would be very wise of you."
Russell pouted. “Well, I can’t really say I am sorry, Damien!” He saw Simon start to get up and hurriedly explained. “No, no, what I mean is I am not sorry because now you know what its like to be in this kind of relationship and its kinda cool to have someone who can relate to me.”
Simon continued to watch his brat as he sat back down. Poor Russell - open mouth and insert foot. He shook his head and smiled slightly.
Damien broke off a bit of biscotti and tossed it at Russell. "You could have warned me, you know. I always thought you just exaggerated - you can be such a drama queen." Damien stuck his tongue out at Russell's outraged expression. 'Oh all right, I can be one too. But we really need to talk, without the Top-types around."
“How about another cup of tea?” Miles asked, going to the kettle and filling it with water. “I think Damien could use a nice cuppa just about now. And there’s still some macaroons left in the tin, Russ.”
Russell’s face lighted up while Damien sighed. "I guess tea will have to do, since I expect the wine is all gone. Maybe you could put a shot of whiskey in my tea?"
Miles smiled. “Nice try, Damien. Count yourself lucky I haven’t decided to restrict alcohol totally from your diet. Come to think of it, perhaps I should think about that seriously, seeing how alcohol affects you.”
Damien huffed. "Don't go pointing that holier than thou finger at me Miles. You and Simon were both tipsy when Russell and I left." He and Miles had a brief stare down.
“Well, come on then,” Russell said to Damien, getting up with obvious discomfort. “Let’s leave before they start getting any more ideas! Let the old foggies alone for a bit, I can see they are dying to compare notes. We can go out to the living room where there’s a bit of cushion for our tortured behinds.”
Damien picked up his cup. "Brilliant idea, Russ."
“But first another macaroon, if you please.” Russell took the whole tin and clutched it possessively under his arm.
Simon couldn't believe Russell's cheek. "Put that tin down, now Russell."
“Oh, let him. Russ knows I made them for him – don’t you pumpkin?” Miles said indulgently and was rewarded by a blinding smile and a quick hug around the neck.
Damien snorted. "PUMPKIN?"
“Are you jealous?” Russell inquired, swaying his hips suggestively. “Ow!” he yelled as he felt a firm swat on his sexy rump. He glared at Simon. “What was that for?”
Simon smiled. “For being an annoying tart. And just to let you know, I don't have to have a reason. Sometimes it's just too hard to resist giving that gorgeous rump a pat."
Russell decided acknowledging the compliment and showing off his praised posterior was a much better alternative than taking umbrage at being called an annoying tart. So he gave his butt another sway and looked pointedly back at Miles, who promptly threw his hands up in high drama, shielding them from temptation.
Damien laughed. "I've got questions I want answered, so quit shaking your ruby red arse at my boyfriend and come on."
Russell blew a kiss at the Tops and quietly followed Damien out.
T H E E N D