Neighbour's Charm

Mr Day was a carpenter by trade, or something like it -- in the winter he worked downstairs, and Greer thought he has a workshop in his basement, but in the summer he worked outdoors with his lathe or at his workshop, and when Greer moved in, Mr Day had leaned over the fence and said he tried to make sure none of his wood shavings go astray and that he didn't ordinarily work too late at night, but to just let him know if there were any problems.

Mr Day barely ever made that much noise from his carpentry tools at night anyway, and although he'd also warned Greer about the noise from his chickens, they actually didn't bother him so much. They were quiet at night even though Day had said they could be noisy, and the loudest thing about Mr Day's house was not his chickens or his equipment or even his cat, Rover, who sometimes miaowed to be let in at odd hours.

The loudest thing about Mr Day's house was Mr Day, and that was only in the middle of the night when Greer was meant to be asleep, and it turned out Mr Day had a gentleman friend over.

That was what he called them. Gentleman friends.

Always with a wink and a fruity little smile, his cheeks apple-red and his lips pink where the rest of his face was pale white -- unless he forgot himself working outdoors and ended up with a sunburn, which Greer had seen him do twice.

Mr Day looked almost sweet when he did it, too, sitting miserably on his porch with after-sun all over his burned face, greeting Greer's return home with a mournful, "Oh, sweet boy, don't be foolish as I've been, and forget the dangerous might of that scornful Helios."

When he wasn't carpenting (Mr Day informed him that this was a word, but Greer wasn't so sure), Mr Day read a great deal of literature, especially in classical studies, and while he'd told Greer offhandedly that he was no great expert, Greer had googled him, and Bristol Edward Day was a pretty renowned scholar. He'd retired from academia fifteen years ago, and while Greer hadn't been able to work out the specifics of it, it looked like he'd been in hospital for a while, because some of the notes on a review he'd done of a new translation of the Iliad had referenced him writing from his hospital bed.

Mr Day was a flirt.

People in the area used to say he didn't mean anything by it, which Greer had never entirely understood -- it was a suburban neighbourhood and he'd took the tenancy over from a friend of his sister's once she'd found somewhere else with the kids, and suffice it to say, it wasn't really his kind of place, but even still. When he'd first gone into the corner shop, the woman at the counter, Shelley, had said, "Oh, you've just moved into 22, next to Mr Day? Don't you worry about him, he never means a word he says."

He'd done some work over at the school, and it was all women at the PTA that said the same sort of thing, had said shit like, "Oh, Mr Day likes to try it on a bit, but he's harmless," or, "Don't you mind a thing he says to you, it's all in good fun."

They thought he was straight, which he assumed was what the problem was. Mr Day complimented their husbands or winked at them and said they were lucky girls, or teased about all the attractive young men around town, and for whatever reason, they thought he didn't mean it, thought he wasn't fucking anybody, even though Greer was pretty sure that Mr Day had probably fucked more men than any of them had even met.

It was seven in the morning and he wasn't working today, and Greer had just come back from the gym -- Mr Day was in his yard and had just let out his chickens, was cooing to them and calling them his beautiful young ladies and his bantam beauties and his elegant dancing girls.

"Hullo, Mr Day," said Greer, and Mr Day's eyes sparkled when he looked up from scattering his chicken feed.

Greer knew why all the straight ladies thought that Mr Day didn't fuck -- it was because he was fat and round-cheeked with delicate, lovely hands that didn't look like they could possibly handle wood all day (the old man pointed this out very often, always with a smile that Greer recognised as lascivious, no matter how people could call it innocent), because he was the wrong side of fifty, because he lived alone and kept chickens and had a house filled with books older than he was and mismatched furniture that he restored and reupholstered himself.

They thought he didn't fuck because they wouldn't fuck him, but really it was that he'd never stoop to fucking one of them.

"Good morning, Mr Greer," he purred. "Must you tease an old man?"

"I didn't know I was teasing, Mr Day," said Greer as he came through the gate and into his garden.

"You think you're not teasing, going about looking like that?"

"I'm not teasing you specifically," Greer said, standing on the path and looking at Mr Day as he leaned his elbows on the fence, clasping his hands together and resting his chin on top of his fingers. He did this a lot, this specific pose, and it as almost coquettish, those fluttering eyelashes, that pretence of innocence that Greer had been thinking about more and more, as of recent. "It's a general tease. It's not targeted."

"Well, now I don't feel special," complained Mr Day, his lips curving up at their edges, his head tilting to the side.

Greer didn't normally talk to him for this long, didn't normally stop to do it -- he normally just laughed and tried not to get too flustered when Mr Day said how delectable he was looking this morning, how handsome he was, what a darling figure he cut. What flustered him most was when Mr Day ostensibly addressed his chickens and told them not to stare at him no matter how much he glistened with his morning's labours at the gym, no matter how square and perfect his jaw, no matter how kissable his lips looked, that he wasn't an eligible bachelor.

"Are you alright, dear boy?" asked Mr Day, and the fruity friendliness, warm and theatrical, was toned down to something with a bit more realism, something a bit more muted. There was real gentleness in his voice, real care, and all of a sudden Greer felt like bursting into tears.

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I'm alright. Look, I know I'm sweaty but -- Would you like to come in?"

Mr Day stared at him, his expression not moving at all for a moment, his brow furrowing. "Beg your pardon?"

Greer let himself smile slightly, and he put his hands in his pockets, leaning forward, closer to the fence, without actually stepping off the path. "I haven't done this in a while, Mr Day," said Greer quietly, his half-smile sheepish on his face. "I'm, um... inviting you in."

"Troubles with the fiancée, I take it? I'm the solution to a great many things, my boy, but not that."

He was adding an e. Greer knew he was adding an e, that everybody around added an e, that they just naturally assumed that there had to be an e, because Greer had half-stumbled out of the closet at university but never gotten out of the habit of acting straight, whatever that meant, and when they assumed that Ashley was a woman, he normally just let them. He didn't lie, exactly, just... didn't correct.

"Me and Ashley broke up," said Greer.

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," said Mr Day quietly.

"We broke up three weeks ago."

"... Oh. Well, I'm sure that given time -- "

"I've been engaged to Ashley since about a month before I moved in here, Mr Day -- that's, what, a year, a year and a half?"

"I suppose it is."

"You've never laid eyes on him."

"Him," repeats Mr Day, eyebrows raising. "I rather thought -- "

"Yeah," said Greer. "That I let people assume that is, uh, part of the reason for the breakup. Plus the fact that I won't try and call my parents to invite them for the wedding -- he thinks that's important. Forgiveness, he thinks that's important."

"Mr Greer, I believe this is the longest conversation we've ever had."

"Yes, Mr Day, I think it is."

"In about three minutes you've confessed to me your premarital woes and implied to me you're estranged from your parents. Rather the most I've ever learned about you in this year and a half but for your penchant for tight vests and 80s popular music."

"Imagine what you'll learn about me in the next three minutes," said Greer. "For example, if you come inside for a cup of tea."

"A cup of tea?" repeated Mr Day. "Is that what you're offering?"

Greer swallowed, trying to remember how he'd used to flirt, back in university -- or, more accurately, how other people used to flirt. He'd never been good at it, had pretty much always let other guys take the lead, and it wasn't always easy to find the ones that would, because of him seeming so...

"I was offering a little bit more," said Greer.

"Only a little bit?"

"It's closer to average. A bit bigger than average."

Mr Day actually laughed at that, turning his head away slightly, and said quietly, "My dear, are you really sure you'd like to -- "

"I haven't had sex in about six months," said Greer. "I've been wanking over you for about eighteen."

The look on Mr Day's round-featured, handsome face was abruptly vulnerable, a sudden dawning like the light of sunrise, his eyes widening, his lips parting. He looked so entirely taken aback that Greer swallowed, shifting uncertainly on his feet.

"If you've been masturbating over me for a year and a half, dear thing, do you not think that might have been making the slightest contribution to the decline of your no-longer-to-be marriage?"

"Maybe," said Greer. "Does that mean you're not going to come over?"

"I'd say you don't need to ask me twice, but I suppose you just did," said Mr Day, moving to the end of the garden and dipping through the gate. He moved his hips, his waist, like a dancer did, and Greer was hypnotised by the fat swell of his arse, so much so that he was quiet as Mr Day came through Greer's gate, closed it behind him.

"Are we going to stand here all morning?" he asked in a soft, silken voice, and Greer turned and led him into the house.

"I can shower," he said.

"Don't you dare," replied Mr Day, and Greer shivered as he led the way up the stairs. He was quick about stripping off his clothes, just as Mr Day was, and the other man made a show of inhaling, sliding his hands over the back of Greer's hips, squeezing the jut of them and leaning in, pressing a kiss to the centre of his back that made him groan quietly. His fingers stopped on the waistband of his joggers, not pushing them down yet, and Mr Day's hands slid over Greer's. "Don't you think it's a charming contrast, hm? Me squeaky-clean from my morning's shower, you freshly debauched with sweat from the gym?"

"If you like the smell," said Greer.

"I do," purred Mr Day, and he moved his hands under Greer's, down over his thighs under the fabric of his joggers, squeezing his thighs, sliding around to his arse. Greer shuddered, leaning back into him -- Day was a good deal shorter than him, his cheek pressed to the centre of this back, a little below his shoulders, and that was as high as he could get. "I realise I don't know your first name. What is it?"

"Greer."

"Greer is your...?"

"Greer Delaney."

"Two surnames, aren't you just spoilt for choice?"

"Big talk from a man with a first name like Bristol."

"You've been letting me call you Mr Greer for quite some time."

"I liked it."

Mr Day laughed as he pushed his joggers down and Greer stepped out of them, and he fell back onto the bed, feeling his body throb with heat as Mr Day crawled on top of him and pressed their mouths together. His kisses were neat and precise and they made Greer's lips tingle, weren't the sloppy, open-mouthed kisses that Greer normally liked but there was something in them, something wonderful.

Mr Day's cock slid against his, and Greer groaned at the sensation of Mr Day's cock, of Mr Day's belly pressing against his, keeping their cocks shoved tight together, Mr Day's arse on top of his thighs, Mr Day's carefully manicured fingernails scratching pleasantly over the top of his shoulders.

"Fuck," moaned Greer, grasping at Mr Day's waist and pressing his fingers hard against him, sliding his hands around to grab handfuls of his arse, putting as much pressure as he dared on the flesh and grinning in satisfaction at the way it made Mr Day laugh, tipping back his head and leaning forward. Obediently, Greer leaned in, pressing kisses against the skin, and Mr Day gripped at it his hair.

"Now now, dear boy, you're gripping my arse so nicely, you can put a bit more pressure with your mouth, can't you?"

"Yes, yes, yeah," said Greer, and bit.

The moan Mr Day let out was something he wanted to commit to memory forever, starting a little croaky in the base of his throat before it came out all the way, and Greer felt hot all over, his cheeks flushed, his body burning with want. "Oh, you good boy," Mr Day purred, and Greer's hips jerked up without his permission, his cock giving a jump. "Now, what exactly have you been touching yourself over all these months, hm? Is this what you wanted?"

Greer dragged his teeth down the white column of Mr Day's throat, grunted to himself at the slight marks he left, and then sucked a hickey into place -- sucked a new one over the top of two or three that were almost healed, and felt triumphant at the way Mr Day jumped and then laughed.

"This, this, you," mumbled Greer, nipping and biting along Mr Day's chest, dizzy with delight at how easily he bruised and marked up, how he showed the marks like he was a fucking piece of canvas. "Wanted to fuck you, sink into you, wanted to hear you -- "

Mr Day moaned when Greer leaned to suck one of his nipples into his mouth, feeling the softness of his chest, and fuck, but he wanted to bury his face between Mr Day's tits and how warm they were forever.

"Like those, do you? Like an old man's generous chest?"

"Fuck, fuck," groaned Greer as they ground their hips together, and he awkwardly shimmied back on the bed with Mr Day on top of him, keeping him balanced in his lap. "Are you okay? Are you warm enough?"

"Am I warm enough?" Mr Day asked, and laughed like a bell ringing. "What next, sweetheart, going to send me off to the pensioner's home?"

It was either the sweetheart or the sarcasm that did it, but either way, Greer almost whined, and Mr Day chuckled as he caught him in a kiss again, kissed him deeply, crushed their lips together and slowly nudged Greer back and back onto the bed until he was lying flat.

"Condoms?"

"Top drawer," said Greer, and he stared at Mr Day from underneath as he leaned over top of him, at the swell of his belly, his breasts bouncing a little as they came away from his chest and hung down. He was sweating, he knew, his skin hot all over, and his cock felt so hard he thought it might explode.

"Oh, you've a plethora," said Mr Day. "What a well-prepared young man you are -- were you a Scout, by any chance?"

"Yeah, actually, but there's no badge for safe sex," said Greer, and Mr Day laughed as he picked out one of them, a thin skin-feel one, and Greer felt a little hesitation. "You want to use one of the ribbed ones? They're the red -- "

"No, no, they're much too thick, I'd like to feel the real shape of you," said Mr Day, clucking his tongue. "Plenty of time for me to customise this handsome cock of yours to my liking once I've enjoyed its default settings, hm?"

"Fuck," groaned Greer. "Why's that hot?" He tried not to buck as Mr Day leaned back slightly to wrap his hand around his cock, pumping him twice before he slid the condom down over him. He was breathing heavily, couldn't get over Mr Day's soft palms and beautiful fingers -- there were a few scars on his hands, but he wore gloves a lot when he worked, and Greer knew that he had a very particular moisturisation routine.

"This is quite a nice size," said Day quietly. "Not one for casual lays as a rule, hm?"

"Not since I was in university," grunted Greer, and he watched eagerly as Day leaned forward, splaying one of his palms on Greer's chest as he reached behind with his fingers wet with excess lube from the condom packet. Day's face crumpled, his lips pressing together, his eyes closing, and he hummed from low in his throat before he shifted to straddle Greer's hips again. "Are you sure that's enough to -- Fuck!"

He tipped his head back into the pillows, moaning at the sudden tight heat around him, Day's arse slamming down against his thighs as he took Greer into him in one fucking go, and when he opened his eyes, he saw Mr Day had a look on his face of pure, complete satisfaction, the kind of fucking look Greer had been dreaming about.

His balls felt heavy and tight, and he couldn't breathe as Mr Day braced his palms on Greer's chest and raised himself up until just Greer's cockhead was still lodged in him, so that when he clenched Greer felt the tight muscle twitch, and then he dropped himself down again, his chest bouncing, and the noise Greer made was humiliating.

Not quite as humiliating, of course, as why he made it.

His hands gripped tight at the luxurious thickness of Mr Day's thighs, his waist, and it must have shown in his face or the precise, uncontrollable jerk of his hips, or maybe Mr Day just had a magic arse and could feel his cock pulse through the thin latex of the condom.

It was wonderful, overpowering, impossible, and Mr Day stared down at him a moment, his lips parting, eyes sparkling. "Oh, my dear boy," he said, pouting out his wonderful lips and tilting his head to the side, the condescension sending thrills through him that made him ache. "Really? Already? Just from that?"

"You're really," Greer managed to say, even drenched in humiliation. "You've got a really nice -- I was just so, um, excited, you're so..."

"Gorgeous," said Mr Day indulgently, sliding his soft palms up Greer's chest, one squeezing the base of his neck and another flicking his nipple, making Greer jump underneath him, shuddering out a gasp. "You last longer when you get yourself off, hm?"

"Not when I think about you," muttered Greer, and Mr Day laughed, leaning in and pecking the side of his cheek, his jaw, his chin.

"You do know how to flatter an old man, don't you? Shame you can't please him just as well."

"Fuck," Greer groaned, feeling himself twitch and thrill at that. "I'm sorry, I can go again, I swear, I'll last longer next time, can I -- can I eat you out?"

"Can you?"

"May I?" Greer attempted, and Mr Day started laughing, leaning back on his softening cock, his palm on his chest and his head tipped back, showing pure joy and amusement.

"I was making fun of you for asking, you strange beast, not demanding better etiquette. You can and you may rim me as you please."

Greer rolled them over, and Mr Day let out a flustered, but not at all displeased sound at being manhandled, even as Greer pulled out and scrambled down the bed, dropping his head between Day's thighs and shoving his cheeks apart, swiping a line up his hole and tasting sweat and the mildest hint of soap and the lube from the condom, and Mr Day moaned.

"A pillow, my dear, you can't, ah, can't quite get the angle there -- "

He clumsily pushed two of the pillows off the bedhead, and Greer shoved them underneath his lower back and threw himself back to work with aplomb, sucking at the edge of Mr Day's rim before he swiped his tongue around its edge, then thrust in.

"Good Lord," hissed Mr Day, and grabbed so tightly at Greer's hair that his cock tried manfully to perk up again at the pain, no matter that he needed at least another ten or fifteen.