55Returning the favour
A gratuitous novella about a Good Samaritan who isn't very good, and a teenager that just wants to watch some porn. Bryn is home for Christmas, and the last person he expects to see is Shyann. Or maybe it shouldn't be that he never expected to see Shyann – he is Bryn's brother's best friend after all – rather that he never expected to see him so… conforming. Bryn tries to brush it off and get on with dealing with the pitfalls of a family Christmas, but Shyann isn't your average closet case and Bryn figures he owes Shyann – it has nothing to do with the mindblowing sex. Obviously. (Slash, yaoi, M/M). This probably shouldn't be read by anyone who is under 18 or easily offended.
Warnings: Sex with a minor (16), Dub-con, references to kinks, abuse and homophobia
NOW: One
I WAS PISSED off. Not least because I'd been stood up. I mean, I can deal with being stood up –it happens to the best of us, and the guy had a good excuse. It still didn't help my mood because it meant that instead of spending the evening chatting in a bar with the cute little thing I met last night, I was at home. If you saw my home you wouldn't get it; my Dad's an engineer in this fancy architect firm, his best mate designed the house for us and it's a really nice pad. I mean, my Mum doesn't tend to agree because she has to deal with all the glass, and apparently dust is a bitch on metal. But anyway, it's a nice house. Pushing the door open brought me out of the porch where I'd been lingering like some kind of creep, and into the back of the kitchen. It's a nice setup, clean and shiny and at the other end of the room all three walls are glass, which gives a two-seventy degree view out over the countryside.
Except it is winter and past four-pm so it's just a wall of shiny black. I can see a handprint on one of the panels and Mum is going to be pissed as hell about that if it's still there when her and Dad get back from their trip. I'm dammed if I'm cleaning up though, because the party that is currently blocking the view of the rest of the room and filling the low black sofa's with arrogant, prejudiced bastards is all the doing of my arrogant, prejudiced brother. He can clean up his own fucking mess.
Said brother heard the door go and turned to greet the late arrival with a grin that slipped right off when he saw it was me. I shot him a droll look in return and headed for the fridge. I wanted to be there about as much as he wanted me there.
On the surface my brother and I are pretty similar. He's four years older than me but with me at twenty-four we're at that weird stage where we could be anywhere between twenty and thirty five and it makes us look closer than we are. We're both six-two-ish, both broad with dirty blond hair and muddy blue eyes, and that is where the similarities end because Ashford is a dick. Ashford is studying architecture, because he's just too creative to be constrained by maths and physics like us engineers – he flunked both and had to re-sit his first year of sixth-form and switch to subjects that are more accessible to him. Doesn't stop him from lording over Dad, like drawing pretty pictures makes him better somehow. That is not the main reason that Ashford is a dick, I mean he's my brother, siblings get a free pass to be douche-bags, up to a point. Up to the point where he found out I was gay and made most of my teenage years a living hell.
A lot of the dickheads that are currently crowding up my living room are the guys and girls that gave him a helping hand. I thought when they all left school and went to uni that I might get a bit of respite, but most of them stayed local and they came back all the bloody time. Now most of them had graduated and had jobs round here which meant I still had to see them when I came back.
I went to uni as far away from home as I could manage, which unfortunately isn't all that far where I live, but I still come home for high days and holidays – this being the winter version of the latter. Except Mum and Dad failed to mention that they were going away this weekend until after I'd booked my bloody train ticket. So yeah, I was pissed. Because even though he rarely tried to beat me up these days, Ashford without my parents to temper him is still irritating enough and I'd been dealing with that for two days already. As for Ashford in full blown party throwing, douchebag mode… let's just say that is one particular persona that I had planned meticulously to avoid.
There is something about plans, mice, and men which probably applies but doesn't make me feel any better. So I made for the fridge and grabbed a beer. Ashford's friends are drinking wine, of course, because they're pretentious twats. I mean, who under thirty five drinks wine at a house party? I leant at the kitchen island to drink my first and glared at the room; I was in a foul mood and that crowd would not deserve my effort even if I was willing to make it.
I had been dressed for a date, so I was fairly well scrubbed up. I was wearing a shirt under my leather jacket that I'd actually bothered to iron – well I'd done the cuffs and around the buttons – and my least scuffed pair of converse poked out from the bottom of my jeans. I still looked massively out of place. Everyone my eyes scanned were wearing Jack Wills, or something so similar as to be indiscernible. They looked like clones who'd thought that changing the colour of what they're wearing would hide the fact that they were all identical. There was one guy who was actually wearing his jumper tied over his shoulders. I mean, old people, golfers and rich kids in American movies are the only people who can get away with that shit.
I rolled my eyes, dropped my empty into the recycling and fished out two more.
The safest option for all involved was for me to retire to the snug and watch something banal and amusing to distract me from my god-awful mood.
I was snatching a bag of crisps from the cupboard when my attention was pulled round by a particularly anal laugh. Reluctantly – in that same way that you can't help but stare at the headlights of oncoming traffic even though you know you need to concentrate on your own stretch of road – my inner moth turned toward the sound.
I knew the girl. Couldn't remember her name – Stacy, Tracy, Macy, perhaps? She'd gone out with Ashford for a while back in the day. Now she was pawing at the arm of the guy in front of her. Her nails were like talons, I don't even mean figuratively, she'd literally taken the time to file them into points. I was used to these things, they washed over me in the same way her face and appearance did.
And then I stopped. I dropped the bag of crisps from where I'd been holding them between my lips in order to free up the most space for beer supplies. When S/T/M –acy turned to glare at me I finally realised that I'd been staring, my mouth still half open, my forehead creased.
I shot her a fake smile and turned my attention back to the guy she had been pawing. He was dressed like everyone else in the room. His attention was fixed on Macy (I think), who was now pointedly ignoring me. I didn't really care. I stared at the guy, his spring-green striped shirt, plum chinos and perfectly coifed hair marked him as a firm part of the crowd. As I watched another girl came up to the pair, another girl that had been around for a while.
He shot a puzzled look over his shoulder and caught my eye in perfectly bland, brown eyes. A nervous crease formed between his brows, accompanied by a questioning half-smile. I continued to glare at him and he darted his eyes away from mine.
This happened a couple more times, and then I realised that I had finished both the beers I'd intended to take with me to the snug. I studied the empty bottle, drummed blunt nails against the granite worktop and sighed. This fucking day just couldn't get any better, but it could undoubtedly get worse, and staying here in a – now downright furious – mood was only going to end in the later.
I went back to the fridge, fished out another pair of beers, tucked my bag of crisps under my arm and headed for the other end of the house.
There were three bedrooms on the first flood above the kitchen/living room, but when things had got really bad between me and Ashford, Mum had moved me to the spare bedroom on the ground floor. It was just the other side of the snug, and I had full intentions of dumping my coat and shoes, taking my snacks and beer to the snug and watching some stand-up comedy box-sets.
Right up until I heard footsteps following me down the hallway.
I took a deep breath and mentally ran through how would be the best way to defend myself without wasting my beer. Not that Ashford attacked me much these days, he didn't much enjoy the beating he got in return, but he'd had a drink so who knew.
Except it wasn't Ashford.
'You've got to be fucking kidding me,' I muttered beneath my breath.
'Pardon?' The guy even sounded lame. I cocked an eyebrow and didn't deign him with an answer as I eyed up the door to the snug on my right. The toilet was down here too, so it was hopefully just a coincidence. With a click of my tongue I toed the door the rest of the way open, my bottles clinked as I set them down and chucked the crisps toward the coach.
Outside I could hear footsteps. I leant against the wall, effectively blocking the door, arms crossed against my chest as I sent my jacket in the direction of the crisps. The guy appeared in my field of vision. He had a bland kind of puzzled look on his face as he noticed me. Except, now that he was closer I could see the little tells that said the expression was there on purpose.
Or maybe that was just me, seeing what I wanted to see.
'Erm, you're not really supposed to be down here,' he said.
Which was fucking annoying, even as it confirmed what I had already fucking guessed. It also didn't make any fucking sense, because he really hadn't looked surprised enough to see me just waiting here for him.
'Well aren't you just the good fucking Samaritan.' My voice was heavy with sarcasm. In response his head tipped, so slowly that I couldn't really tell. Not until it was there and he was studying me with his face at a stupid bloody angle, his eyes still creased with puzzlement, just the edges corrupted beyond that fucking perfect blank that was beyond irritating.
I let out a short huff of air. Not really a laugh, but in my head it was bloody hysterical.
'Want a beer?' My question was tinged with an edge of scorn that he heard and didn't understand. I held one of the untouched bottles out for him.
He thought about it for a second. I watched the 'thank god, wine is fucking awful' flash silently through his features. His hand was pale, his fingers long, a smudge of graphite along the edge of his index, and I wondered if he was studying architecture too. I stamped quickly on the flare of hope that he wasn't. I flashed him my teeth, an animalistic gesture which he noticed too late as my hand left the bottle in his and gripped his wrist instead.
He stared at the contact for the second I left him there. Confusion still the most prevalent emotion on his face, cracking slowly to reveal something darker.
I laughed again as I dragged him over the threshold of the snug. My hold on him pulled him past me, my free hand slammed into his opposite shoulder, to force him back against the wall I'd just be lounging against.
He was smaller than me, not by much, but he was narrower than me by plenty. I stepped into his personal space, not quite touching as I grinned at him. There wasn't even a slither of fear in the pervert's gaze. My face was inches from his, I could feel his heat through his shitty designer clothes. His nostrils flared as he breathed.
'We're really not allowed down here.' He spoke quietly. 'And I'm guessing you're new, so you should know that this kind of thing really isn't –'
'HEY!' Ashford's voice cut off the guy's spiel as he called down the corridor outside. Finally a flare of fear emerged in the brown eyes that were so very close to mine. 'Beyond the bathroom is off limits,' Ashford continued to call, his footsteps clacking against the marble floors as he came to investigate who had broken his precious rules. The guy started to struggle against my hold, but my grip was hard enough to bruise at his shoulder and wrist, and I stepped forward so that my body forced him against the wall.
'Fuck off, Ashford,' I called back, my mocking smile still very much in place, my eyes never leaving those of the man I had pinned to the wall. 'I can go where the hell I want, it's my house too.'
Recognition uncurled in the brown eyes locked on mine and he stopped struggling.
There was a muttered curse and the footsteps stopped, just out of sight of the snug doorway. Despite the prospect of imminently being caught in a compromising position by one of the biggest bigots in the country, my prisoner was not doing a very good impression of someone trying to get away.
'Just do the world a favour and stay down here then, Bryn.' Ashford's snarl was undermined somewhat by the fact that he sounded like he was speaking through his nose instead of his mouth.
'My pleasure,' I whispered and cocked my head to one side.
'Shit,' muttered the guy against the backdrop of fading footsteps.
I just grinned. 'So, was there something you wanted, Shyann? Or am I not your type now that I'm not barely legal?'
THEN: One
LIFE REALLY, REALLY sucked. I mean, I was sixteen and everyone took great pleasure in telling me how much life sucked for everyone at sixteen, but as it stood I felt that I was at the extreme end of life-sulkiness. My brother despised me, as in, not some kind of argument over who got the last bag of crisps or called shot-gun, but full on hated my guts. To the point where twelve months ago Mum finally had to give in and let me move down to the spare room. I also had a panic alarm – which I refused to use – and a lock on my bedroom door. I mean my life was four to five days easier of late, depending on when Ashford came home from university. But sometimes I thought that just made it worse because I kind of forgot what a complete and utter dick he was, and then he would come back and catch me off guard.
My best friend Kyle reckoned it was because Ashford is secretly in the closet, and was just taking out his frustration on me. I told Ashford that once and I ended up in A and E with a dislocated shoulder.
His last year at sixth-form was the worst: he failed his first year he had to re-sit, and all his friends went off to Thailand or university and he was stuck at home. He took his anger out on me in a big way, until Mum had no choice but to give him a final warning – they're not all that big a fan of my sexuality either, but they haven't quite kicked me out so that's something. These days he's chilled a little and we have a wavering truce. In that, I try and avoid him and on the rare occasions that I fail he doesn't beat me up too badly. The wavering part is that sometimes he forgets this agreement – usually when he's had a drink, or there are girls around, or certain friends – and beats me up anyway.
So yeah, when I say my life sucked, you by now probably get that I wasn't overreacting. Which meant you could probably understand why I might be loitering in a hallway of my house like surprise party gone wrong.
It was eleven-pm on a Friday night. Mum and Dad were out and I was certain I'd heard the front door go ten minutes ago. I was starving, because Ashford was home and since he wasn't back all that often I generally chose not to eat with Mum and Dad on the days that he was around. We all understood how it worked and I usually waited until I heard Ashford leave or go to bed before I snuck into the kitchen to retrieve leftovers from the fridge.
But right then I was staring at the fridge, with a whole room between me and an end to the hunger in my stomach, whilst I tried to decide what the hell to do, because the TV was still on. I could see the flickering lights, and from my position in the hallway I could hear some kind of gruff moaning and muttering. I was thinking zombies in an absent, slightly hopeful way. If anything could cover the sound of me raiding the fridge, it was zombies.
I hopped from foot to foot and my stomach gave another hollow gurgle which I was pretty sure was louder than the zombies – who watched zombie movies with the volume so low anyway?
In a burst of brash bravery I stuck my head round the corner.
Several things caught my eye at once. One was that Ashford had made a mess, which he would undoubtedly blame on me. Two was that the guy sat on the couch was not Ashford – the shoulders just visible above the low back were too narrow and the hair was too dark. The third was what really caught my attention, because the moaning was not zombies.
The guy was watching something on Ashford's iPad, but the tablet was still synced to the telly and was broadcasting the film in the high definition that was the reason Dad paid so much for 100Mb broadband.
It was porn, but not just any porn. I watched, utterly frozen in place, instantly hard. A Hispanic guy with more abdominals than I thought possible was making out with a paler guy whose smooth washboard stomach was just as fascinating. The Hispanic had the pale guy pressed up against a wall, and the undulating motion of his hips was causing the paler guy to make the noises that I had so naively assumed were zombie moans.
My computer had a filter on it, but I'd watched straight porn with my friends – before they realised that despite myself I was far more turned on by them being turned on than by the porn – and it did about as much for me as YouTube cat fails. So this was quite literally the only time I've seen anything remotely like it. But I wanted it.
I took a half, unwilling step forward, my knees weak. I stumbled, but as my cover was blown I couldn't even be bothered to check the guy's face to see how badly I was going to be beat on, or hide the seeping tent in my sweatpants. My whole attention was on the TV and the pair of guys portrayed in glorious high definition. I groaned and folded at the waist, my head still angled to watch as the Hispanic guy dropped to his knees and took the pale cock in his mouth. I thought I probably would have come right then if I hadn't been at least partly aware of the other guy in the room.
The video paused.
Finally my eyes darted to the guy on the sofa. Shyann was one of my brother's oldest, and worst, friends. He'd gone off to university two years ago and I'd silently given thanks for the small mercies in my life. Now I took my thanks right back. Of all the people to end up in this situation with, Shyann was by far the worst, because he was one of only a handful of my brother's friends who would pick on me for his own amusement even if Ashford wasn't around.
'I'm sorry, I'm –' I cut myself off. Any residual arousal was instantly quashed. My head darted over my shoulder and I debated whether I could get to the fridge or if it was safer to just run back to my room – and the lock.
But the hesitation was my undoing. Shyann was in front of me. I could smell beer on his breath and I wondered how he'd moved so damn fast. His hand wrapped around my wrist and pulled me fully upright. His eyes lingered at my crotch, where a small circle of pre-cum had stained the pale grey cotton.
'I'm reluctantly impressed you didn't just jizz your pants.' I was still shorter than him and he leaned down to grin in my face. His teeth were perfectly white, and the depths of his brown eyes shone with mischief that I had never seen before. When he hung around with my brother, even when he used to beat me up of his own accord, it had always been with the same bland expression. I stared – I hated myself and my complete lack of self-preservation – and hoped that it was the lingering effects of the porn, because he suddenly looked gut wrenchingly attractive.
He laughed darkly, a knowing little smirk curled one corner of his lips. It made the effect even worse and he laughed again, because clearly it was written all over my face like a great big 'hit me' sign.
'You caught me at a bad time,' he leered. 'Ashford got a booty call and dumped me for some bitch, so I was just going to Facebook rape your bro with a bit of a gift signed from you…'
The fact that he had been trying to set me up didn't even register. Because even I wasn't stupid enough or scared enough not to realise that he didn't have to watch the video to post it on Ashford's wall. Not that this realisation was any use at all to me, given that Shyann was bigger and stronger than me, and that no one would believe me over him no matter what I said.
'Okay, can I just get my dinner and go back to my room?' I whispered. So I'm a lame-ass who doesn't stand up for himself, you'll get over it. I was hungry and embarrassed, and mostly I wanted time to digest my food – and possibly squeeze in a quick wank – before Ashford discovered Shyann's little prank and came to beat me up.
A strange look flit across his face. On anyone else I might have thought it was pity, but this wasn't anyone else. As if to prove my point, he grinned, slow and merciless, his hand still tight around my wrist.
'Tell you what, you watch the video without coming in your pants, and I won't post it.'
Unwillingly my eyes flit to the TV screen, where the ripped guy still had a mouthful of pale pink cock. The time bar at the bottom said it wasn't even quarter of the way through. I'd almost come from some making out and thirty seconds of a blow job. There was no way in hell I'd last through whatever was left.
I shook my head. 'Nah, I'm kind of hungry.'
Shyann's fingers stroked the inside of my wrist. Utterly throwing me off track.
'So eat, and then watch. When are you going to get a chance to watch something like this again?'
Which was the truth, and so not the point. But my attention was completely focused on him now, on his eyes, his lips. I knew this was probably a trap. Chances were Shyann knew Ashford was going to walk through the door any second now. But the attention was intoxicating as it distorted reality into a situation where this guy wanted my company, wanted to see my face as I was turned on.
'Let me eat' was my embarrassingly breathless agreement. His grin was just as merciless as he released me and I sprang across the room into the open plan kitchen.
'Eat while you watch, it might distract you.' I could hear the amusement in his voice as I buried my burning cheeks in the fridge and found tonight's leftovers. The thirty seconds the microwave hummed for was possibly the longest thirty seconds of my life. It was still cold in the middle but I was beyond caring. I kept my eyes on the ground, grabbed a fork, wound round the dining room table and plonked myself into the corner of the sofa. I wedged myself as far into the edge as possible, set the plate on my knee and stared at the screen.
Shyann let out a low chuckle and sat down on the cushion next to mine. I looked round at him, a flare of bravery let me glare, but he just grinned and glanced at my lap.
'Need to see when you lose.'
Not if. When.
He pressed play on the iPad and dropped it on his other side as it played in full HD on the widescreen in front of us. I swallowed down the sudden moisture in my throat as the blowjob continued. I could see every undulation of his throat, the creases in his fingers as he fondled the ball sack that brushed at his chin. Pale fingers wound through dark hair, the guy's head arched back, his face creased in absolute pleasure as he let me know exactly how wonderful a blowjob would feel.
Eating kind of helped. Each mouthful was tasteless, but it did distract me from the burning pressure in my cock. Shyann was silent, which surprised me, but I was concentrating too hard on not coming to care much. I highly doubted I was going to make it to the end, but the guy had a point, and I suspected the show would be turned off when I lost, so I intended to last as long as my adolescent body could manage.
I let out a breathless squeak as the pale guy came; his back arched from the wall, his face screwed up as the dark guy swallowed every drop. It was exquisitely torturous. All I wanted was that same thing, but I wanted more as well. I shifted against the pressure that threatened to overwhelm me.
Shyann finally moved, he reached for the plate covering my lap. I glanced round at him, surprised by how close he was. His eyes were blown out, a faint glow of red sat high on his cheeks. For half a second I entertained the ridiculous idea that he was about to kiss me.
Then his eyes glanced down to the tent in my lap. The dark patch at its peak had grown.
'Looks like you lost.' His voice was low, gravelly. I wanted to hear him moan my name as he came.
'No…' I swallowed around the words hardly able to speak, completely missing the token dialogue that had been interjected between the sex scenes. 'I didn't.'
'Doesn't look like you didn't.' He was baiting me, I could see it in his gaze, and a shot of something fierce twisted in my gut. It was different than the other pleasure, sharper, sweeter. In a frantic movement, before I could think about it, I hooked my thumbs beneath the waistband of my joggers and tugged the constricting material down. My bare ass hit the couch and my cock bobbed free. The end glistened, but not with cum, and I was still obviously hard.
He laughed at me. But it was kind of breathless, his eyes wider than they should have been as he didn't look down.
'Staring at me wasn't the challenge now, was it?'
Almost instantly my eyes flicked back to the TV. I sucked in a strangled breath and held it there as my cock throbbed at the sight. We'd missed the boring part. The dark skinned guy was stretching out the pale guy, a finger disappeared inside the hairless, puckered hole that was exposed between spread ass cheeks. I'd done my research, I knew what was in store for me as a guy that liked other guys. I had shoved a finger inside myself a few times, but the angle was awkward and all I ever achieved was a need to go to the loo after I'd wanked.
This guy looked like the process was far more enjoyable when it was someone else doing the fingering.
'Oh shit,' I gasped as another finger was added to the pale guy. My whole body jerked upward and caused my aching cock to bounce against my abs. My breathing was ragged, my hips pressed upwards erratically as I searched for friction that wasn't there and I wouldn't give. And then a hand was on my thigh, finger tips five points of pressure digging into the muscle beneath. It was hard enough to bruise, and I had a faint feeling that the pain should have distracted me, and yet it just created a beautiful contrast to the pleasure.
'Oh god.' I pressed up against the hand that tried to press me down, my eyes screwed shut by now, because I didn't need the porn. I was so wired I was on another planet.
'Fucking hell,' Shyann's curse was breathless and gruff, and against my ear. 'You're so fucking hot.'
A/N: I should really be editing publishable stories, but ah well. I wrote this one 4am when I couldn't sleep, it's banal and fainitly ridiculous, I hope you enjoy it all the same.