by D. V. Patton
Ciaran nonchalantly swept Chris’ arm from his throat and rammed his lips into his captors. Their noses and foreheads cracked together. Chris ignored the pain and drove his tongue into Ciaran’s mouth. His felt the pure force of the younger man’s tongue against his. Suddenly pain flared in his bottom lip as Ciaran bit. He felt a taste of copper in his mouth.
Ciaran stood in the doorframe panting, a feral wild look in his eyes. “I don’t want you…I never wanted you.”
Chris ignored him. Instead he stepped forward, and with one powerful push, knocked him backwards into the dark office. Ciaran lost his balance, and fell backwards, a small desk stopping him from hitting the ground. Chris stepped into the room. He violently pulled Ciaran’s shirt off him, but it snagged on his elbow. Chris pulled harder and the sound of ripping cloth reached his ears.
Ciaran was panting, his slim muscular chest rising like that of a feral beast. Chris felt a mist descend on him, a pure lust unlike anything he had felt in his life before. In one swift move, he drove his palm into that sculpted chest, and flattened the younger man like a wrestler. His hands pulled at Ciaran’s leather belt, and it slid free with fierce resistance.
Chris’ cock strained against the tight denim that imprisoned it. His erect penis was actually hurting, bent back as it was against the elastic of his shorts. A sharp dull pain filled his entire crotch. His fingertips pulled at the rim of Ciaran’s shorts, his nail scratching the smooth skin of his captive. The tight khaki began to loosen as Ciaran’s buckle broke. His smooth firm bubble butt slipped free, the peach eerily white against the cloth, his asshole an inviting dark slit. His hard cock lay flat against his belly.
“Chris!” he growled.
“Shut up,” he retorted in a low guttural growl. Chris roughly pushed Ciaran onto his side, fully clothed up to his thighs, naked above. Ciaran’s erect cock poked between his dark bush of pubic hair, half camouflaged between his athletic thighs. Chris roughly pulled his own pants halfway down and awkwardly released his thick cock. He knelt down and began to slurp his tongue between the two trapped milky white ass cheeks. He spat saliva all over Ciaran’s asshole.
Ciaran’s nipples were like two bullet tips, and he was already playing with the tip of his cock. His eyes were twisted shut, and he sounded like he was hyperventilating.
Chris spat as much spittle as he could manage onto his palms and rubbed it onto his cock. There was no hesitation or resistance. He gripped the head of his cock and placed it against Ciaran’s center. The man’s ass was slick with sweat, and he had become entirely submissive.
Chris raised himself on the tips of his feet using his body weight to force entry into the tapped ball of muscles and skin that lay trapped beneath him. Ciaran cried out loudly, but made no attempt to push him away.
He was tight, tighter than Chris remembered, but Ciaran’s starfish opened wide to engorge him, and his cock slid deep inside his tight hard asshole. The lack of proper lubrication drove an animalistic feeling of heat right up his prick. Chris’ hips had a life of their own, and he roughly drove his thick cock in and out of his man.
Ciaran’s ass slurped in tandem with the sound of Chris’ pelvis hitting his buttocks, and Ciaran yelped with each thrust.. Chris’ thighs burned as he pounded his asshole. “Oh,” he gasped as cum shot right through him, a salty endless river that ran into the most beautiful man he had ever touched. Chapter Forty-Five
“My ass hurts,” said Ciaran ruefully.
“Sorry,” said Chris.
“No, I like it,” said Ciaran. “It feels like you.” Chris didn’t know what to say to that. He looked out into the shop front. “Aren’t you worried Donna might get wind of this,” he asked, as much to change the subject, as anything else. He noticed he had indeed torn Ciaran’s tshirt.
“She ain’t never coming back from Spain,” Ciaran reassured him. The air was heavy with the smell of sweat and a deeper musky odour. Chris’ heartbeat had finally returned to something normal, but he still felt strangely detached, as if his body was here, but he was in fact somewhere else. “How much did you get?”
“Does it matter?”
Chris looked at him, and relented. “I guess not.”
“Like I said, Mattie owed me a lot more.” Chris picked up a comic, and began flicking through the pages nonchalantly. He stared at the pages, but saw nothing. “If I hadn’t come to Dublin, you’d never have seen me again.”
“I told you, I believe in fate,” said Ciaran, but that sounded false to Chris’ ears.
“I don’t think this can work,” said Chris. It was like a dart through his stomach.
“You haven’t even heard what I was going to say.” Chris held out his hands, and Ciaran continued. “You could help here. There is another room that we could turn it into a café or a diner. I can help buy the stuff you need. I’m struggling with the business sides of things, that other stuff…tax…VAT…we could be partners.”
Chris sighed. “A back street diner making greasy breakfast rolls for builders. It’s not the stuff of dreams, Ciaran.”
“It’s a start…and it would be yours,” said Ciaran earnestly. “Or ours, maybe.” Chris was forced to admit to himself that he really was trying. And who the hell was he to be so snobby—it was a long way from where he was reared as his old mother would say. “Ciaran, you’re talking like we’d be partners.”
“We would be.”
“No, partners—partners.”
“Oh,” said Ciaran, sounding unsure for the first time. Chris felt thoroughly deflated. The high had passed to a low. If he had thought he would get closure, then it seemed he was sadly mistaken. “I have to go, Ciaran,” he said standing. The younger man stepped across to him and put his hand on Chris’ shoulder.
“This is hard for me,” he said, in a voice so low that Chris had to strain to hear him.
Chris was flummoxed. “I have to go,” he repeated. “Will I see you again?” asked Ciaran, but Chris looked at him one last time, stepped out the doorway, and left. He didn’t look back once.
Chapter Forty-Six
Peter came in to the cafe after ten, and for a second Chris was struck by a passing resemblance between him and another certain London gangster he’d had the misfortune of meeting. That was where the similarities ended though. Peter was a genuinely nice guy, and Sarah wasn’t a million miles from the truth in what she had said about him. Life certainly would be better if he could’ve felt some attraction to the man other than that of a friend.
“That’s not a happy face,” said Peter, amiably enough. Chris smiled back ruefully. “It must be all the rain…reminds me of home. It makes me melancholy, at least.”
Peter stared at him for a full thirty seconds. “Ah…thinking of going home?”
Chris nodded. “I’m thinking long and hard about it, alright.” “Well, I’m over in London all the time, so you can’t avoid me!” said Peter, an evil grin playing across his face.
Chris laughed. “I wouldn’t avoid you, you big old queen.” “One does try,” said Peter affecting a royal voice. “Have you told your sister?”
“For fuck’s sake,” said Chris exasperated at how easy he was to read, “you two should get together!”
Peter smirked. “I’ll take that as a no!” Chris made the two cappuccinos for them, and they took a seat by the door. “What have I got here? I live with my big sister, and I work as a barista on minimum wage. Hardly the stuff dreams are made of!”
“Chris—”
“No, no, that’s not a criticism. You were good enough to look out for me when I hit rock bottom. I won’t forget that,” said Chris, reaching across to squeeze Peter’s forearm.
“Honestly, if I could give you a franchise to manage, I would!” said Peter.
“Honesty, Peter, if I could afford one, I wouldn’t buy one,” he retorted and they both laughed. Peter took a sip of his coffee, and eyed the younger man keenly. “There must be a man involved?”
Chris looked up into his friends face. “What make
s you say that?”
“The fact you haven’t denied it?”
“Touché,” said Chris. “There is a guy.”
“From Spain, perhaps?” asked Peter intuitively. Before he knew it, Chris let the story pour out of him, from start to finish. He didn’t think he had ever been that honest with someone before, and in truth he didn’t really know Peter all that well. “He’s even offered to go into business with me.”
Peter sighed deeply, put his fingers behind his head and stretched. “You’re a nice guy Chris, but your life…it’s seems a bit rootless. London, Barcelona, Dublin…maybe London again. Maybe it’s not this guy who’s afraid to commit.”
“I know, it’s been said of me before. But I can’t forget how I was left in Spain, left hanging without a word of warning.” Chris exhaled deeply. “And I’m not sure I really want to be involved with someone who came into their money…in those dubious circumstances.”
“He stole the money?”
“Yes,” said Chris. It felt like a part of him died inside. “He said that it was owed to him, but…” “You’re in love with him?”
“Yes.” “Then perhaps people can change. It sounds like he’s trying to do something with his life.”
“I don’t think people change,” said Chris. “We are who we are.” Peter shook his head. “You’re wrong, Chris. That much I do know. I’m not the man I was twenty years ago.”
“What do you think I should do?” “I can’t tell you that.” “I know,” said Chris, mentally adding, but I want him so bad. And that, in the end was the crux of the matter.
“I think you should talk to your sister,” said Peter. “Blood is thicker than water.”
Chris chuckled. “You and your sayings,” he mocked, but Peter just watched him silently, his black eyes revealing nothing.
Chapter Forty-Seven
After slipping away from Peter, Chris jumped on a bus out of town and eventually found himself sitting in the park in front of Sarah’s house, watching the swans float freely in the pond. Sarah had told him some old Gaelic legend about children turning into swans, but Chris couldn’t remember it. They seemed carefree enough, at least, oblivious to the day-to-day struggle of ordinary folk. Chris envied them, in a way.
“So this is where you’re hiding,” said Sarah, causing him to look up suddenly. He hadn’t even heard her approach, so lost was he in his own thoughts.
“How’d you find me?” he asked with mock seriousness.
“Connor was out playing football with his friends, and he spied you.” “Traitor,” said Chris. A playful smile crossed his lips to show he wasn’t serious.
“What’s wrong, little brother?” asked Sarah, joining him on his old bench. She scooted over beside him, so that their arms and shoulders touched.
“That obvious, huh?” Sarah turned to look at him directly. A lock of her hair came loose, and she absently flicked it back. “You just don’t seem happy. Is it Ciaran?”
Chris exhaled, not surprised at how she had worked it out. “Maybe—I don’t know. Actually, I’m just kind of thinking of how I ended up here today, sitting watching these swans. It’s been a strange year.”
“I understand.” “Do you?” he asked. “My marriage broke up, remember?” said Sarah with absolutely no tinge of regret or discord in her voice. Chris looked at her guiltily. He hadn’t forgotten, but he had…kind of. He was so caught up in his own world that he had excluded those closest to him. “I’ve been an asshole to you,” he said, but Sarah just sighed.
“Are you going to go back to London?”
Chris shook his head. “No…no, I don’t think so.” Sarah didn’t try to hide her happiness at the news. Instead she worked her hand into his, interlacing their fingers together. “When did you decide this?”
“I talked with Peter. He made a lot of sense.”
“You two aren’t…”
Chris laughed. “What? No…I’m pretty sure I’m in love with Ciaran.”
“Pretty sure?”
“No, I am,” he reassured her. “He just doesn’t make it easy.”
Sarah nodded her head knowingly. “And he loves you?”
“Yeah, I think he does.”
“Think?” Chris smiled. “I don’t think he knows it himself. I can’t explain it, Sarah. I’m going to have to try so hard to make this work, but I’ve never felt this way before. Never.”
“Well I am glad you’re staying,” she said giving him a sudden hug. “And for what it’s worth, I think you’re doing the right thing.”
“I’ve learned family is important. You were here for me when I needed you.” Sarah smiled. “Always the charmer, Chris! Ciaran’s lucky he has you, and he’d be a fool to let you get away.”
They sat in silence for a while, content in each other’s company. “It’s pretty here,” said Chris.
“I told you it was a nice estate.” Chris stretched back and put his arm around his sister. He realized something had been bothering him. “I always meant to ask.”
Sarah looked at him. “Why come here?” she asked. Chris nodded. “I just wanted to get away from London. We were mixing in bad circles.”
“Mattie?” asked Chris, cursing the man’s memory. Sarah’s ex had been one of his right hand men. “How did you convince Charlie to come to Dublin? I mean, I thought he was well in with Mattie.”
Sarah looked at him as if he were stupid. “Neither of us wanted our boy growing up around that nonce.”
Chris’ expression didn’t change, or at least he hoped it didn’t. “I didn’t know Mattie was a pervert.”
“Why would you? You didn’t know Mattie at all, but I saw him starting to take an interest in Connor. So did his dad, so we came here.”
His eyes scanned across the park to where Connor was playing with his friends. “He’s lucky his mother looks out for him,” he said flatly.
“I know we could go back to London, but Connor’s settled here. He’s more Irish than English now,” said Sarah, seeming to place no significance in the conversation. Chris looked at her blankly, his mind miles away.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chris made his excuses to Sarah, but by the time he got back into town, night had fallen. There was a chill in the air, and Chris could see his breath frost in front of him. It was after six, but most shops in the city center stayed open late on a Thursday. Chris had no idea if the mall where Ciaran worked followed suit, but he headed straight for it nonetheless.
His mind was in turmoil after his conversation with Sarah. Everything had fallen into place. It was like he had been staring through a dirty murky window frame, and now it had finally been cleaned. Chris realized he had seen into Ciaran’s soul all along. Ciaran was damaged, and the things he did, the decisions he made, had been an outward manifestation of his demons.
The mall was closed. Chris stood outside the dark interior of the stone façade and cursed. He could still see people inside tidying up their stalls for the day, hawking to the last few stragglers. Chris waited until someone was let out. Eventually the metal barrier rose for the briefest moment, and he slipped inside before anyone could object. Chris smiled sheepishly at the middle-aged woman who glared at him like a surly schoolteacher. “I…eh…just need,” he started to say, but abandoned the sentence.
Chris slipped between the abandoned and stripped stalls and made a beeline to the shop. It was locked up, with no sign of any light escaping from the bowels of the darkness. “Just missed him, mate,” said a voice behind him. Chris turned, and spied a young man, barely more than a teen addressing him. “You’re looking for Ciaran?”
“You know him?” “Sure, we all know each other around here.” “Cool,” said Chris. Except, it was anything but cool, he thought. Chris felt the moment slipping away.
“You must be the English guy… Chris,” said the stranger. Chris must have balked, because the guy held up his handand smiled. “He talks about you a lot.”
Chris didn’t know what to say to that. In fact, he fel
t a bit like a prize shit. The stranger took pity on him. “Ciaran always gets the sixteen bus home. If you rush you’ll probably catch him.”
Chris smiled widely. “Thanks!” he said, turning back to leave the way he came. He heard the guy calling after him. “If you go the back way, it’s quicker if you go up the top of the street and turn left.”
Chapter Forty-Nine
He had no idea why he was running, as he had surely missed Ciaran. Chris cursed to himself. Why the hell hadn’t they swapped numbers? He knew why, of course. The time for indecision had passed. Chris spied a familiar looking jacket up in the distance, and as he drew closer, a flop of blond hair poked from under a beanie cap. Chris’ nose hurt in the freezing night. As if on cue it began to rain, a dirty sleet that quickly began to thicken and turn to snow. “Ciaran,” he shouted, but got no acknowledgement. Chris paused, wondering if he had made a mistake, or worse, whether Ciaran didn’t want to see him after all. He felt giddy as a teenager, but as he grew closer he saw the white headphones underneath the hat.
He laid his hand on Ciaran’s shoulder, and the man turned, eyes darkening. When he recognized Chris, his mouth opened in a comical O. Ciaran pulled one earphone from his ear, and Chris heard the faint sound of a break beat. “What are you doing here?”
Chris couldn’t tell if he was happy or not to see him. “I came to see you!” “Why?” asked Ciaran, that same unreadable expression on his face. The snow around them began to get heavier, less sleety and more pure white fluff. Ciaran’s dark cap already sported a coating of white. Even in the dark murky light, his eyes seemed impossibly blue.
“Why?” he repeated, more forcefully this time. “Because I’m in love with you,” said Chris, finally releasing the words. They hung between them, just like the frozen breath that escaped their lungs.