Smoking Hot Ch. 04

It's a jammy shot that rolls after an eternity into the middle pocket, leaving me set up on the green and not too bad for the brown. By studiously ignoring him, I manage both, the white rolling to leave a decent angle on the blue. But I cock it up, leaving it an easy pot for him, though he doesn't get the white back where he needs it. So that's then four points back to me when he fouls, level-pegging again.

He swears fairly quietly, certainly lower than the kid who's bet another couple quid on him, and pats my shoulder as I head back to the table. The other three guys in the room aren't looking at us, so he squeezes my arse as I go.

Which makes me self-conscious as I lift my leg over the table and wriggle to the best position like I'm humping the wood. Just as Izzy said. Despite trying to calm myself and distract him, I only skin the pink, resulting in it spinning back towards the cue ball and lining itself up to be potted by Dan, followed by a professional-looking sinking of the black.

He looks at me with a small grin. "Played for, and got."

"Got what?" I ask naively.

His head scans the room as he replies, "Oh yeah, we never discussed that earlier." No-one's near. "Have to decide later. Now, can I leave you here while I have a piss this week, or do I need to take you with me?"

I make like I'm going to follow him. "Oh, god, you're not one of those piss-fetish guys, are you?"

"Well... No, don't worry! I humoured a guy once. It was... less bad than you might think."

"Really?"

"Mm. Oddly not-unpleasant. Just pointless and felt stupid. You trot off and I promise I'll be right here in five minutes, right?"

Malc the old guy gives me a game, and is just polishing off his century break when Dan returns and laughs.

"Not your night?"

"Clearly."

"Oh well. Back to yours for a drink, then." Balding Malc cackles.

We're out of the building before Dan mutters, not looking at me, "Drink could be a euphemism, of course."

"You know my mantra? Embrace the power of 'and'."

I go for a smooth Lagavulin. "Budvars or what you see here - got lemonade, coke or orange to mix with. D'you drink whisky?"

He shakes his head. "I've drunk some, probably cheap blends. All I know about it is, when my uncle asks for a Bell's in the pub, don't say, 'pint or half'? My auntie's been taking the mick for years."

"You learnt. Wanna try?"

"Sometime. But tonight a beer will do, thanks.

"Aye, I'd want a long leisurely evening to convert you..."

"Sounds like trying to convert a straight guy."

"I've no need for a toaster oven. Anyhow, would have to be t'other way round with us, right - it'd be me trying to persuade you of the charms of women, which would be quite a different night!"

"You'd need volunteers."

"Sure I could manage, if I showed them a photo of you! You met Laura..."

"Yeah... what was the deal there?"

He can have his part of the truth. "She thought some cock would help me quit, next thing I know she's posted an ad for me! Fifteen minutes later, there you were..."

"Impressive woman. If also a tad terrifying."

"You have no idea."

"You slept with her?"

"Never. Known her twenty years, same uni course, never had even a kiss. I guess she's seen me all over a few times, I saw her topless, once, but despite us both thinking about it, she's always been way too sensible."

I could tell him about our bet, what I'm going to do with her this week, but I don't. Some things are so fleeting, so unbelievable, I don't want to jinx them with careless words.

"She's married, now. I'm not a homewrecker. Not intentionally, anyhow - I know half the guys who answer ads are hitched, but if I'm not seeing them again anyway..."

He nods. "You still advertising?"

That's a surprise question. "I cancelled that ad."

"Anyway... my prize?"

"Was wondering if you'd secretly hoped to find me in the smokers' den again, so you'd have a reason to jump my bones, kick my legs apart, and frogmarch me back here." I give him a cheeky grin.

"Are you saying 'punishment beatings' are your cup of tea?"

"Whaa? I never, ya cunt! I'm no fucking para with a fucking aggro complex! After me da..." I'm rising up out my chair, ready to lamp him one, when his confusion clues me in.

"Oh... Sorry, you're thinking kinky beating and shit, aren't you?"

"I was. Shoulda thought about my words... Sorry." He knows, once he thinks about it, that's not a phrase to use flippantly. Both sides' forces used 'punishment beatings' to keep order. It tended to be 50:50 whether the recipient kept use of the same number of limbs after the paramilitaries had had at, and made the Royal in Belfast the top hospital in the world for knee-cap replacements. My father was one of their early attempts; his didn't take so well.

"Nah, that's all right. Remove power from the phrase. Call it what it is - fucking vigilantes. Dealing with drug-dealing scum, sure no-one has a problem with getting rid of the gangs, but wee kids joy-riding and that... And the reprisals, and the feuds..." I take another sip. "My da got kneecapped, back in '79. He'd refused the 'Ra."

"Ouch. I'm sorry."

"Eh, that's what he says. Me mum says it was just a dispute with his cousins, which is as maybe, but then a couple of them were Ra members, for sure. Who knows - all dead and gone, now. For the best. Sorry, you were sayin?" One reason I didn't go back after uni - the widespread beatings of 'homosexuals'. Much more likely if you're a Presby than from the IRA, but given it were all family feuding with a big name...

"Like 'honour killings'." He does air quotes. "Shouldn't dignify them with a label."

"Suppose. Anyhow, what were ye saying before I got all wheeshtin'?"

"Oh, just speculating on chances of you wanting to be leapt on again, and whether you like..." He's considering carefully how to phrase it. "Bit of physical discipline from a man in uniform, was all."

"You have a uniform?"

"See the boots." He points at his feet. "Got my old army jacket for Spring. Was gonna ask if you'd be OK, if you saw me wearing it."

"Why not? Loads of guys wear them, never been near the army!"

"Got barred from a couple pubs in Kilburn..."

"Ah, well, County Kilburn, that's different... Was it McGoverns, or Biddy's?"

"Could be; rings a bell. Anyway, Irish pubs where the Queen's finest, was made very clear - not welcome."

Kilburn in north-west London is basically Ireland over the water, though it's become more mixed, now. Can't walk ten yards on a weekend morning without tripping over an Irish builder dead drunk in the gutter. "Yeah, you didn't miss much. The Crown up in Cricklewood is the only one worth going to, great craic at their lock-in. But serious, wear the jacket, I don't mind. Appreciate the heads-up, though." I pause for effect. "Wouldn't mind being leapt on, neither."

I chuckle, thinking about the possibilities. "You could do a full-on knock on the door, search the place, find a dodgy Republican geezer, do a cavity search and all that!"

"Was thinking of you bent over a table, opening up to... persuasive interrogation techniques."

"Very... penetrating questions?"

"Exactly."

I inhale. Where's a fucking fag? Oh, yeah. Arse.

Diane had a policy - always be totally honest about matters of sex. So I tell him, "Could be aces; it could make me freak out, big time."

"Sure. It'd only be a game, though. You say stop, look scared for real, whatever, I drop you, yeah?"

What I'd need, if I did, wouldn't be being dropped. It'd be a hug in those strong brown arms.

I say nothing.

Until I have a much better idea for tonight.

"On Monday, like, had you never been rimmed before?"

He looks embarrassed. Good. About bloody time it wasn't just me being a mental fuck-up round here. "Nah. I mean, I had, sure, but not so enthusiastically."

"Oh, boy. And we had to rush that! C'mon, get yersel' naked and spread out on my bed. It's not ten yet - can ye spare me a couple hours?"

"Hours? You'll 'av me going spare!"

"You say that like it's a bad thing..."

He drops his kecks like Usain Bolt on speed, legs it to my bedroom, then does a quick shuffle across the corridor to the bathroom before I get to him. I'm reclining on the bed in my undies when he returns, sticking-out glorious and knowing it.

"Where d'you want me?"

Over every surface twice and three times on Sundays, I'm thinking, but all I say is, "On your front."

For good reason, there's no frame at the foot of my bed. I can kneel there and stretch along between his delightfully furry legs - the lamp-light catches the hairs making him all golden - and get my face stuck in.

Oh, yeah, this is the life. The most adorable warm wee buns wriggling against my oul eek, and I grab them, pulling the tops of his thighs apart with my thumbs, so I can get my tongue in there. Little licks of the tense muscle, sucking my tongue to get more spit on the job, washing his hole - it does taste faintly of bitter soap, but I suppose that's my own fault, back to the Simple next time - and, slowly, he starts to relax and purr beneath me.

I come up for air for a moment, and do a sweeping massage stroke down his back. "You like? D'you like fingers, too?"

His answer is casual, "with lube," but I don't need to be a qualified masseur to tell that he's not completely comfortable with that idea. Or not with me, any rate. Fair enough.

"I'll keep my hands up here," I assure him, replacing them on his little muscly arse, and replacing my mouth between his cheeks. A glorious suck of his whole ring gets him whimpering happily, and I'm lying on his legs to hold them as he finally relaxes, opening up, and I can slide my tongue inside him, such a lovely tight wee hole that unexpectedly clamps down on me and opens again. I just hang on for the ride, licking and sucking what I can as he hisses and whines and starts to rub himself against the bed, my weight pressing down on him.

"Oh, please..."

Either too much or not enough or both. Definitely a signal to keep going!

"Oh! Oh! Eee!" I think he's biting the duvet, now. I can hardly control him, he's bucking and all so much, but I'm not letting go. I can keep going until he collapses.

I think.

He's fit, and managing to keep breathing easily, whereas I can't get much air. I have to let go for a moment, raise my head, then shove it back down, bashing against his cheeks as I get back in there to stay. Wet gentle licks of his ring, all round.

"Aaah!

Mmm...mff.

Uh." A grunt, rocking underneath me. He drops, all his tension spent.

I keep going, just for a minute. He's so open and adorable and so nice round my tongue.

But then I collapse and roll off him, sweat running down my chin.

He motions me to lie next to him, and I do. He's got a tired grin, whacks an arm over me, and draws me into a deep kiss.

Just as well he washed, earlier. In his own interest. It's kinda nice.

He's sucked me off good too, later, and he's just getting dressed to go when he says, "I'll have to see you again, y'know. Still got my credit note."

"Ah, forgot that. Well, will have to check next delivery."

"Are you free, Friday or Saturday?"

"I'm busy Saturday. Friday... yeah?"

Only two days away. On the other hand, it's just sex with a mate. Isn't it? Silly running joke. Why not?

"OK, fab, see you sevenish. Um - two questions...?"

"Sure," I say, thinking, 'oh shit'. For some reason, Laura coming by on Saturday is the first thing I think of.

"Are you positive? I mean, it's OK, just want to know..."

I decode his meaning. "No. Amazingly. Still negative when I last tested about eight months ago. I've only sucked cock since then. Been sucked a bit. Present company excepted. You?"

I await his answer. Surely the universe couldn't have infected this beautiful lad? I know, it's treatable now, not the death-sentence it was when I was a student, but I've seen the tablets and the side-effects...

"Me neither. I was worried, once..."

Only once? The sweet, innocent child...

"I'm so glad." I reach my arms up round his shoulders and give him a huge, genuine kiss, just because I want to. And he smiles as he turns to go.

"Hey, you said two questions?"

"Oh, yeah." He'd steeled himself for a different answer. "Um... where d'you want to go on Friday?"

That's sounding a bit too romantic, my snogging aside. I stay deadpan and reply, "I was thinking more of a takeaway while you fuck me five ways."

"If your condom stash and lube can last long enough, I'll fuck you all night," he promises.

"The five was just until we run out of pizza," I agree.

He's gone, and my hole's throbbing in anticipation.

At this rate, I'm gonna have to dig out the toys that have been under the bed since I moved here. Ah well - better that than smoking.