Rory and Sebastian

- Everyone in this story is over the age of eighteen at the time it begins -

I wish I could say it was love at first sight. But it wasn't. And it wasn't one of those instant hatreds either. The kind where a weird tingle shoots straight to your balls and you want to pound the fuck out of the person -- whether it's with your fist or your dick, you don't quite know. Yet.

But when I first met Rory Masterton, it was nothing like that. To be honest, I don't think we really noticed each other at all. From the first time we spoke in class, I was pretty sure he was gay. I didn't have a problem with it; hell, by that stage, I was pretty sure I was too. England has a much more laid back attitude to the whole thing than the States, weirdly, particularly in the private schools. So I guess I was lucky with that! There were two guys who were already "out" in our grade when I transferred in and I came-out shortly afterwards. People were more surprised with me, I guess, because I was so 'jock,' but again, no-one gave me any hassle about it. (When I read stories on the Internet about how rough other people have it when they come out, the way my school mates generally reacted makes me feel incredibly blessed.) Rory came out the same year I did and by the end of high school, there were eight guys known to be gay.

Rory and I were eighteen when we began to speaking to each other properly. At the time, one of the guys I'd been hooking up, Joshua, had gotten pretty into me. A lot of e-mails, phone-calls, letters. It was a bit much and I hate clingy behavior; I gave him the brush off pretty brutally. Dumping him via text was definitely a personal low point.

If Rory knew anything about my private life (and he knew pretty much everything about everyone in our year), he gave absolutely no sign of it for the first two years of knowing me. I can't say I knew much about him either. I knew he was pretty well off, like most of the people at our school; he was friends with most of the popular girls and half the polo team. I knew he played tennis, went to a lot of parties and was fluent in French. I'd heard once, I think, that he'd been hooking up with a guy in the year above us -- Stefan, or something. Beyond that, I really didn't know much about him. I think I registered, vaguely, that he was handsome, in a sort of unremarkable way. He was tall (not as tall as me; still isn't), thin, toned, brown hair and had the most beautiful pair of big brown eyes. Those I noticed later. He wasn't campy or anything; just slightly flambo at times, very well spoken and, I don't know, I guess I want to say "elegant" in the way he moved. Even the way he pointed or gestured. There was something pretty old school about it. I also knew he was smart. Really fucking smart. It kind of oozed from him and he managed it in a way that was so completely unpretentious. In class, I'd heard him talk about the six wives of Henry VIII, the US constitution, Catholic theology and Margaret Thatcher in a way that just reeked of quiet, intellectual confidence. This kid knew his shit.

But if you'd asked me before the final year of school if I thought Rory Masterton was a nice guy, I'd have said no. I'd probably have hesitated before I said it, but I'd still have said no in the end. Firstly, he was friends with some of the biggest bitches in our whole year -- Virginia Reilly, his so-called BFF, was (and is) a total bitch. Secondly, there was something about him that was vaguely cold at times and definitely superior. He had a way of flicking his eyes up and down over people who he wasn't interested in knowing. It wasn't necessarily intended as mean, but it was definitely soul-crushing all the same. As if you weren't even worth his time mocking.

Me? Now, here's the other moment in the story where I wish I could click neatly into the stereotype. You could say that next to this cool British socialite, I was the tall, dumb American jock. Only I wasn't dumb. I was smart; I loved History, I had a good grasp of math and science and I fucking loved being able to take a Latin class. I mean, c'mon - how retro cool is that?! I guess I was a jock though. In a way. I loved sport and all my mannerisms were pretty masculine. (I hate it when people say 'straight-acting.' Guys, unless you're having sex with a woman, it's not 'straight acting,' for fuck's sake.)

Anyway, I was originally from Richmond, Virginia. My mom was English and she always wanted to move back there. We were well off enough and me, my brother and my sister got into the local private school, Saint Edmund's, a pretty beautiful red-brick building in the southern county of Kent. The school had apparently been set up five hundred years ago by one of the Tudors. My sister was a history nerd, so she nearly wet her pants with excitement when she heard that. It was pretty neat and I made friends quickly. I could ride horses from having done it as a kid on my grandparents' place back in Georgia and I had played lacrosse back in the States too. I kept growing and I found I had a talent for rugby. Great game; much more savage than football back home. I absolutely loved it and I loved the guys on my team. Well, most of them. I was happy at Saint Edmund's and happy in England. I more or less kept my American accent though and got to crack out some words like 'arse,' 'wank' and 'banter' on a pretty regular basis.

Rory and I bumped into each other at a few parties. He always invited me to his and I returned the favour. But I couldn't say we ever had a proper conversation. We had quite a few friends in common and anytime we did end up in the same circle, at parties or at school, he was polite, I guess, but he didn't seem overly interested in me. See, there's a slightly snobbish side to Rory, that used to make me bang him harder when we were eventually together. At the time, it made me think the guy was a bit full of himself. He'd stare at me, as if he couldn't quite work me out. Like I was some sort of American tourist attraction that he didn't find particularly entertaining. I was 6'4 by the time we entered final year and he, at 6'1, apparently seemed to think that I was too tall, a little bit too built and maybe a bit too cocky.

He was probably right.

The first time I thought of him as being in anyway attractive was at the start of October in our final year. I'd turned eighteen that summer and Rory had a big blowout eighteenth for himself a week before school started. On the day we began speaking properly for the first time, I'd sprained my ankle a week earlier when I fell when I was out running; Rory had suffered the world's most massive nosebleed that morning after chapel and the gym teacher, Mr Gortchin, made him sit out class that afternoon in case there was a repeat of the situ. I don't think Rory was overly devastated by that decision, to be honest. It was a September morning, but still summer really. There was a cool breeze blowing up off the playing fields and I was leaning on a rail near the changing rooms, looking down on the fields and my team-mates. Rory stepped up next to me and wrapped both of his hands around the rail. He leant back slightly, 'Sick?' he asked.

'No,' I answered, still looking at the gym class. 'Sprained ankle.'

'Most people would count that as sick, Sebastian.'

I heard the slight giggle in his voice and I smiled back. A half-smile. He had a point.

'So,' he said, turning to face me. He leant his hip against the rails and bit his bottom lip in a smile. His eyes were bright; sparkling with amusement. 'I hear things with Joshua Peterly haven't gone too well?'

Rory had that, you know. That quality I'd later see him use on other people. All of a sudden he'd turn on you and hit you with the full force of his charm. The eyes bright, the smile mischievous; every tiny bit of his body inviting you to confide in him. He looked so confident and so charming. And so fucking smug. My cock twitched.

I turned to face him and ran my tongue along the inside of my bottom lip. A cocky smirk was on my face -- well, half-cocky, half-rueful. 'Yeah, dude, they didn't turn out too well. He came on a bit keen.'

'Joshua likes to do that,' Rory said. 'Enthusiasm's his thing. It makes up for not having much of a personality.'

Ouch. I laughed. The kid might be a bit of prick, but he was right about Josh. 'So what was the policy? Treat 'em mean, keep 'em keen?' Rory asked.

I looked down with fake modesty. 'I didn't have to have much of a strategy to keep him keen, dude.'

He smiled and exhaled, like a slight laugh. He turned his head to look out at the pitches. He was wearing the white school shirt, the black and silver tie and the gray charcoal trousers. 'Via text message though? That's pretty savage.'

I shrugged. 'Probably not my finest hour. Is Josh upset?'

Rory waved his hand in the air slightly, as if Josh's feelings were an irritating irrelevance. 'Apparently. He's making a lot of fuss. He says he was just another notch on your bed post, so now you can say you've messed around with every gay guy in the year. And four of the straight boys, although he wouldn't say who.'

'Well, I've never hooked up with Sammy O'Brien,' I said, referring to the gay kid in the Science class I hated.

'Who would?' Rory laughed. 'He's so ugly, I'm sure he struggles to have a wank.'

I laughed. Shit, Rory really was funny. And mean. But so fucking funny.

'Or you,' I said after a moment, giving him a cheeky grin. 'I've never hooked up with you either.'

'True,' Rory replied, as if he'd never really thought about it.

'I could stand behind you and fuck you right here? Get it over with?'

I hadn't expected him to laugh at that. But he did. 'I'm sure Mr Gortchin wouldn't mind. Would you be able to get up enough momentum with that ankle of yours?'

'Dude, if you think an ankle's essential for fucking, you've been doing it wrong.'

Rory giggled again. Christ, his eyes really were beautiful. 'I'm sure you could show me a thing or two.'

'I'd fucking destroy you, Rory.' I was getting a semi and it was the first time I'd used his name in the conversation.

There was a silence in conversation for a bit. It wasn't awkward; we were both still smiling.In theory, it was all still just good natured banter. After a moment, I looked over. 'What about you? I've given you some gossip for Virginia and Caroline later. Give me some in return, bro. Any guys?'

Rory shrugged and kept his eyes on the pitch. Another gust of wind blew past him. It was warm and his tie danced for a moment around his chest. His hand came up and elegantly held it back down where it was supposed to be. 'No,' he answered. 'Not really.'

'Not really?' I teased. 'What does that mean? Are you a fan of the hump and dump strategy?' Why could I not stop talking about sex with this guy? My semi was firming up.

Rory didn't look at me this time and the smile was less warm. I wish I could say it was because of the beginning of his romantic infatuation with me, but honestly I firmly believe it was because he just didn't find the phrase 'hump and dump' to be particularly entertaining. And, let's be fair, who can blame him there? It wasn't exactly Voltaire, was it?

'No, "hump and dump" is more your strategy, Sebastian.' Everyone calls me Seb. But it sounds so Brideshead Revisited-meets-naughty young twinks when Rory says 'Sebastian.' I wanted to face fuck him right there and then. Holy fuck. Hold it together. Stay calm. Do not get a full boner. Not here. Not here. Not here.

'I wouldn't dump you, Rory,' I said, with mock romanticism.

'You wouldn't get to hump me, either, Sebastian,' he retorted. He wasn't looking at me again, but the smile was back. That was something.

*

I got home that afternoon to find Joshua waiting in my living room. My mom was fussing around him, making him tea and biscuits.

'Sebastian,' (okay, her and Rory use the full name), 'your friend Joshua is here from school. He stopped in to say hi.'

'Hey, Seb,' he said, with a friendly smile. What the fuck was he doing here? I'd told him we were through. I'd tried twice to do it to his face, but he wouldn't listen and he cried so hard. And now he was here. Talking to my mom and in my family home. It was too far and I didn't like it. Come to think of it, I think that's one of the reasons why I'd never really liked Josh. Underneath all his desperation and cries for attention, I'd always had the impression that deep down, it was manipulative. At his eighteenth birthday last summer, I could remember seeing him crying because he said one of his friends didn't love him enough. What a mess. It just seemed so phoney. Looking back on it, Josh just couldn't handle being alone and he didn't care what he had to do to avoid it.

'Oh. Hi, Josh.'

'I have to nip into the village to get some things for dinner, but it was lovely seeing you Josh. Seb, if your father calls, tell him that Evan and Jenny are at badminton club until 5.30. Tell him I'll pick them up.'

'Sure thing, mom.'

She leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. 'See you later, Josh.'

'See you later, Mrs Carson. And thank you so much for the tea and biscuits.' Little shit.

The door closed and we were alone in the house. Josh set down his cup and began to saunter towards me. He must have thought it was sexy. Maybe it was.

'Josh, what the fuck are you doing here?'

'I missed you, baby.'

Irritating. 'Oh. Sorry.'

'You didn't seem sorry today when you were talking to Rory Masterton. Is that who you ditched me for?'

'Rory? Rory's just a friend!' I snapped. Why did I say that? He's not a friend. Today was the first time we'd ever properly talked to each other.

'Since when?' Josh shot back.

'Josh, we're through.'

'Seb, baby, please, don't say that.'

God, he's annoying! He was right in front of me now; his Zac Efron-like brown hair and hazel eyes, his slight tan and lean figure. He was quite hot. His hand reached out and stroked my crotch. My dick flared a little and Josh smiled. A sneaky, sexy smile.

'Fuck me,' he purred.

'Pardon me?'

'Use me. Do whatever the fuck you want to me, Seb. Just fucking use me like a dirty little cumslut.'

I nearly creamed my pants. 'Josh, I don't want a relationship with you. With anyone.'

'I know that,' he pouted, continuing to stroke my thickening dick through my trousers. 'I know that and I've accepted that. We can just have a little fun, can't we? I mean, we're both gay, baby, right? Let's just fuck. Let's just do it. I miss that big dick of yours. I need it. I want it. Let me please you, baby. Let's just have some fucking fun.'

I knew he was lying. I knew the second I shot my load in him, he'd be back to texting me twenty times a day. Minimum. But as he dropped to his knees in the middle of my living room on a Thursday afternoon and unbuckled my belt, I threw back my head and gave in. My dick bounced out of my boxers a few seconds later and his mouth was over it almost instantaneously. He started slobbering up and down it, making noises he must have heard in a porno. I gripped his hair and thrust a little. He yanked my boxers down to my knees and my school trousers hit my ankles. One of his hands began tracing my ass cheeks. I could hear the slosh of his spit as my cock ploughed through it in his mouth.

At least this way he wasn't fucking talking. Some of his spit dribbled down onto my balls.

After a few moments, I looked at my watch. I had ten minutes before my mom got home; that's if she drove fast. I wanted to cum. So I pulled Josh off my dick. He looked up at me. His face was flushed and spit bubbles were at the side of his mouth. It was hot. He pulled a small tub of Vaseline out of his pocket. He'd come prepared. And I was going to fuck him on the floor of my living room.

He undid his pants while I lay back on the floor and undid my shirt. I had a nice six pack and I knew Josh liked it -- may as well let him see it. He was fingering his asshole; lubing it up. And then he leant down and kissed me, running his hands through my short, blond hair. Great -- now there's ass sweat and Vaseline in it. He sat back and began to arch slowly onto my dick. I unbuttoned his shirt as he did it and put my hands just above his waist. Once he was settled on it, he began to bob up and down on it. All the time, he kept telling me how big I was, how full he felt, how it was so. Fucking. Good. I imagined how Rory would look up there. Or Robbie Kirkpatrick, the hottie who played outside centre with me on the rugby team. Or the real Zac Efron.

After a few moments, I knew I needed to finish, so I spun him over and began pounding in and out of him like a maniac. He was squealing like a stuck pig and urging me on. I spat on my fist and began jerking him off, since I didn't want to be a selfish prick about the whole thing. I wasn't wearing a condom, which was stupid. Josh might have been with anyone else since we'd stop fucking two weeks earlier. I mean, given that he was sucking and fucking me in broad daylight in my own living room, I don't think chastity was high on the list of the kid's priority. But then when you're balls deep in someone yourself, it's probably best not to cast judgement.

I let out a loud groan and slammed into him, holding myself there as I came. It was a lot, I could feel that. And Josh said something stupid like, 'Yeah, that's it, Daddy -- breed me! Breed me real good.' I mean, we're both 18, so I'm not your daddy, dipshit, and 'breed me'? C'mon! Who the fuck speaks like that?

Anyway, he shoots a second or two after me and I pull out as quickly as I can. I start getting dressed and he just lies there, on my living room floor, practically naked, with a load of cum about to leak out of his asshole and his cum drying on his chest. 'Dude, you need to go,' I say. I hope I don't sound like a total asshole. Shit, the room smells like sex. I buckle my belt and walk over to the window to open it. When I return, Josh is still lying there, with cum puddles on his chest and a stupid look on his face. 'I can't believe we came at the same time,' he sighed.

'I came first.' I held my arm out and helped him up. At some point during sex, I'd planted a hickey on him. Wise move, dumbass. He'll probably be showing it off to everyone this time tomorrow.

Slowly Josh gets ready, still looking at me with twinkling eyes as I move around spraying room deodorizer. 'I meant what I said,' he said after a moment, 'this was just fun. No strings.' I hate myself as he says it and I don't like him either. I'm a fucking slut. A dumb fucking jock, who thinks with his prick and has just ram-fucked some dumb slut on my parents' living room floor. What if they'd walked in and seen us? Did I have any fucking respect for them? They knew I was gay, but it's not like they needed to see their second son jack-rabbiting someone on their carpet. And now, while Dad's at work and mom's grocery shopping, I'm running around trying to disguise the smell of sweat and jizz. Classy, Sebastian. Really fucking classy. AND I've just got sucked back into Josh's demented game of fatal attractions because I couldn't keep my dick in my shorts. Great!

*

Josh leaves and I go upstairs for a shower and a nap. I climb into bed and my eyes close the moment my head hits the pillow. I wake up and there are two texts waiting for me on my iPhone. One's from Rory. I smile; he's never texted me before, except with party details.

"Hope your ankle is feeling better. They say it's a key erogenous zone."

I smile. I'm about to text back and then I see the other one's from Josh.

"Hey. Today felt really special. What are you up to?"

Fuck.