pencil again to toss it to the floor. He stared after it as if
wishing it were once again within reach.
Sebastian had a feeling his jaw was slack and
did his best to seem less affected than he was. A bit late,
considering that after they had both finished he had eased down to
murmur, “Beautiful, “ into Peter’s skin as he had always wanted to
do, and Peter had answered, “Bash,” just that, over and over until
he had recalled himself and grown silent.
“What?” Perhaps Sebastian could think of an
answer if Peter clarified his meaning.
Peter narrowed his eyes. He could have been
angry but it was hard to say with certainty. He might have been
embarrassed. “Did you… you have been with many, Sebastian. I know
that from how you know how to please me. But you have never done
that. Was it—?” Peter stopped himself.
Sebastian put a hand to his chest. “We often
did that when we were younger.” There had been moments, rare and
precious, where Peter had dared to touch him then. Only in the
beginning, and then Peter had left school and come home to his
father. They had not touched each other again in that fashion until
after the man’s death. Sebastian tried not to lower his voice but
it was no use. “We would find each other and pull the covers up
over our heads and not bother to undress. I’d kiss your mouth and
you would tremble and put your hands over my arms, at my hips
sometimes.” He could not seem to stop talking.
“Do you think I don’t remember those days? I
will never forget them.” Peter’s eyes went wide. Sebastian almost
didn’t hear the rest of his words over the rushing in his ears. “I
mean, that is not what I mean, Sebastian,” Peter hurried on. “I
meant you’ve never touched me again so soon after taking me.” He
spoke like someone who did not think they should have to speak, as
though his words were obvious. It was a wonder to hear him mention
their school days. Sebastian did not know what to make of it any
more than he knew how to take Peter’s tension now.
“Are you angry?” Sebastian considered him and
took a cautious step into the room. Peter tossed his head and lost
his ability to meet Sebastian’s eyes. “’Taking’ you?” Sebastian
pressed. “Have you been watching romantic picture reels? I almost
prefer it when you say bugger.” The jesting tone was almost habit
but it granted him a tiny moment of peace from the cold fear in his
chest.
Peter straightened, the very image of
discomfort. Sebastian was strangely unsympathetic. Peter had
brought this up; he could go where the conversation took them.
Sooner or later, whatever happened, he was going to have to accept
that Sebastian loved him.
There was a moment of silence. Then Sebastian
frowned and crept closer. There was colour in Peter’s face. His
ears were pink. “You have, haven’t you?” Sebastian realized out
loud in something like awe. First poetry and then romantic moving
pictures. Peter was researching love.
Sebastian thought he might faint, another new
experience. He sat on the other end of the sofa just before his
legs gave out. He took a deep breath. “Did you mind that I touched
you? Did you like touching me?”
“You know I did. You watched me finish and
then slipped your hand into my trousers to stroke me until I could
take it no longer. You took some of my spunk and put it in your
mouth.” Peter was reassuringly blunt about it but he had his steam
now. He was so agitated that the notepad slipped to the floor. His
puzzled frown seemed less like something for Sebastian to admire
fondly and more something for him to answer to. “Why did you? Why
did you do it this time?”
“Swallow?” Sebastian looked away at his own
evasion. “I like to sometimes.” He studied the cabinets, the
gaslights and the shadows they created. Then he sighed. “Even you
yield to baser passions once in a while,” he started, but Peter
interrupted him.
“That is not what I mean.” Peter kicked the
notepad
wishing it were once again within reach.
Sebastian had a feeling his jaw was slack and
did his best to seem less affected than he was. A bit late,
considering that after they had both finished he had eased down to
murmur, “Beautiful, “ into Peter’s skin as he had always wanted to
do, and Peter had answered, “Bash,” just that, over and over until
he had recalled himself and grown silent.
“What?” Perhaps Sebastian could think of an
answer if Peter clarified his meaning.
Peter narrowed his eyes. He could have been
angry but it was hard to say with certainty. He might have been
embarrassed. “Did you… you have been with many, Sebastian. I know
that from how you know how to please me. But you have never done
that. Was it—?” Peter stopped himself.
Sebastian put a hand to his chest. “We often
did that when we were younger.” There had been moments, rare and
precious, where Peter had dared to touch him then. Only in the
beginning, and then Peter had left school and come home to his
father. They had not touched each other again in that fashion until
after the man’s death. Sebastian tried not to lower his voice but
it was no use. “We would find each other and pull the covers up
over our heads and not bother to undress. I’d kiss your mouth and
you would tremble and put your hands over my arms, at my hips
sometimes.” He could not seem to stop talking.
“Do you think I don’t remember those days? I
will never forget them.” Peter’s eyes went wide. Sebastian almost
didn’t hear the rest of his words over the rushing in his ears. “I
mean, that is not what I mean, Sebastian,” Peter hurried on. “I
meant you’ve never touched me again so soon after taking me.” He
spoke like someone who did not think they should have to speak, as
though his words were obvious. It was a wonder to hear him mention
their school days. Sebastian did not know what to make of it any
more than he knew how to take Peter’s tension now.
“Are you angry?” Sebastian considered him and
took a cautious step into the room. Peter tossed his head and lost
his ability to meet Sebastian’s eyes. “’Taking’ you?” Sebastian
pressed. “Have you been watching romantic picture reels? I almost
prefer it when you say bugger.” The jesting tone was almost habit
but it granted him a tiny moment of peace from the cold fear in his
chest.
Peter straightened, the very image of
discomfort. Sebastian was strangely unsympathetic. Peter had
brought this up; he could go where the conversation took them.
Sooner or later, whatever happened, he was going to have to accept
that Sebastian loved him.
There was a moment of silence. Then Sebastian
frowned and crept closer. There was colour in Peter’s face. His
ears were pink. “You have, haven’t you?” Sebastian realized out
loud in something like awe. First poetry and then romantic moving
pictures. Peter was researching love.
Sebastian thought he might faint, another new
experience. He sat on the other end of the sofa just before his
legs gave out. He took a deep breath. “Did you mind that I touched
you? Did you like touching me?”
“You know I did. You watched me finish and
then slipped your hand into my trousers to stroke me until I could
take it no longer. You took some of my spunk and put it in your
mouth.” Peter was reassuringly blunt about it but he had his steam
now. He was so agitated that the notepad slipped to the floor. His
puzzled frown seemed less like something for Sebastian to admire
fondly and more something for him to answer to. “Why did you? Why
did you do it this time?”
“Swallow?” Sebastian looked away at his own
evasion. “I like to sometimes.” He studied the cabinets, the
gaslights and the shadows they created. Then he sighed. “Even you
yield to baser passions once in a while,” he started, but Peter
interrupted him.
“That is not what I mean.” Peter kicked the
notepad
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