The Princess and his Prince

But as he drove his new lover back to Beckenham, a shadow of a doubt as to what future there might really be with Adam would not go away.

* * * *

For his part, Adam was in a state of mild euphoria. Gareth he noted, looked a little serious. No doubt, Adam was sure, as intent as himself, in contemplating their new and wonderful relationship. As he chatted and Gareth listened and lent over to bestow a light kiss, he secretly wished that his man would drive perhaps a little slower so that they might be together for a little bit longer. Two minutes extra; a minute extra; even a mere 30 seconds. It was not that he disliked Beckenham and the family home. It was just that every extra second he could spend in Gareth’s company was a pearl beyond price. He listened to what Gareth was saying about the French Jazz playing rhythmically from the car speakers.

They took a left turn, down a narrow side road. Some 20 metres in, it became little more than a woodland path. As it did so Adam became aware that the car speakers fell silent and the interesting French Jazz was no more.

“Piss!” exclaimed Gareth with a sheepish grin. “I know this area like the back of my hand and here we are…. lost.”

“Good,” trilled Adam, wrapping as much of himself around Gareth as he could. When the Satnav froze and then went blank with nothing Gareth could do coax back to life, a very happy Adam merely commented favourably on there being a God after all. His confidence in this rediscovered deity overcame what qualms he had about being apparently cut off from everywhere,- even when they got out of the car and each discovered that  their phones and wrist watches  were not working.

“We’re doomed! Doomed!,” shouted Adam, addressing the trees in an atrocious mock Scottish accent.

More prosaically, Gareth looked around and concluded that they were in some kind of communications lacuna.

“Beckenham must only be about ten miles away,” he offered, by way reassurance.

“Bugger Beckenham,” laughed Adam. “look at these lovely trees and the night sky.” Lest Gareth come up with some practical solution that might speed them to Adam’s home, he took his love’s hand in his and led the way through the woods. The woods widened to reveal a gently rising hill of grass and flowers. Gareth and Adam looked in mild surprise at the exquisite scene before them. A couple of owls exchanged calls. Then, as one, they came to a sudden realisation. It was Adam who gave voice to it:

“There should not be a full moon tonight, indeed until now there was not a moon of any size.. Yet here, in this spot, there is one. It is here for you and I.”

They heard a gentle rustling and owls calling. Adam was sure he felt the whoosh of an owl in flight, as in a passionate embrace and calling our Gareth’s second name, they fell upon the bed of soft grass.

“Do you mind my calling you Ilar,” whispered Adam with almost formal good manners between the fervour of their Kisses.

 Gareth Ilar Philip Maximillian Konstandin Sebastian Robinson, ripped the expensive shirt from Adam’s body and sank his teeth first into one side of Adam’s neck  then the other. Enroute between the two, he kissed and nibbled Adam’s pecs and nipples. Adam’s screams and groans vied with the screeching of owls and something else.- Probably the owls’ supper thought Ilar,- as he kissed and stroked Adam, convulsing and then slowly calming, beneath him.

“You can call me anything you like, my pretty one. Most people in the UK call me Gareth. Everyone in Reiano Da Triesenbourg calls me Ilar.”

Then I shall call you Ilar. It will be nice calling you Ilar.- Ilar my vampire, I think.”

“Did I hurt you?, Ilar asked seeing the moon and stars seeming to capture Adam’s hazel eyes. “I swear to you Adamec,  upon my oath as a member of The Loyal Order of Saint Sebastian, whenever you say no, or stop, or otherwise not consent, I will stop whatever is happening.”

Adam moved and Ilar  followed, so that they lay side by side.

“I’ve been reading all about The Loyal Order and the role of Saint Sebastian in Fiorentine culture,” he said solemnly. “So I have some understanding of what you have just sworn.

“And no Ilar, you did not hurt me…at least not in ways I find objectionable.”

The owls fell silent. The sounds of other creatures seemed to cease and give attention. Even the moon apparently drew near. So perhaps there is a man on the moon after all.

“You made me cum just now when you were being my Mr Vampire, My boxers are full of cum caused by you and the necklace of love bites I am now wearing.”

“Yes, I know,” agreed Ilar, keeping to himself the knowledge that this was the first time he had ever love bitten anyone to a hands free orgasm. He rose to his feet bringing Adam with him.  

Ilar surveyed his handywork. Kissing Adam’s eyes he reached to unzip his trousers. Sure enough Adam’s trousers and in particular his underwear, were full of warm cum.

Ilar sniffed and tasted and ravenously.

“My kinky vampire,” Adam pronounced as he draped his arms around Ilar’s neck, his mind still contemplating the orgasm. However they got to this magical little place, so close to Beckenham, yet even closer to the moon that cast its rays of light around them, Adam neither knew nor cared. Suddenly, Adam decided to voice an innermost secret that was known to only one other person. He had come close to sharing it last summer with his cousin Oliver, during a quick visit to their grandparents in Skelthorpe. But when it came to the crunch Adam’s nerve failed him. Not even  words of solace from Simon entirely restored his spirits. And for the following week or so Oliver Groves was left wondering why his cousin and friend had cut off all communication between them.  

What beautiful grey eyes Mr Vampire has, thought Adam as he gathered his thoughts. But before that process was completed it was Ilar who spoke.

“Strip. Undress. Completely.”

Adam shivered with delight. The note of command hinted at all the time when Mr Robinson spoke as a teacher,-a master indeed- at Thornberry Independent School was now explicit. Adam’s cock rose as he obeyed Ilar.  

At last Ilar had this nineteen year old beauty gradually revealing himself; and as Ilar observed with growing appreciation, was doing so slowly and sensually without the need of further direction.  Guesswork or not, Hugh Ellison’s appraisal of the princess as what was it, A slut? A tart?, for which trouble Hugh had received a beating from Simon Crawford, did not seem too wide of the mark from where Ilar was standing. Adam repeated one of those little twirls he had performed for Mrs Simson earlier; and which with only generous intent, he had once foolishly teased the unfortunate Hugh Ellison.

Wordlessly Ilar beckoned Adam closer.

“You are stunning,” he whispered, holding Adam close as he ran his hands delicately down his lover’s back.  He nibbled Adam’s lower lip and gently at first pressed an index finger into that gorgeous bottom. Little cries of need and delight heralded Adam drawing Ilar’s tongue suction like down his throat and not letting it retreat. Elsewhere, he simultaneously humped the now two digits urgently penetrating his hole.

The innermost secret remained to be spoken. Adam became convinced he would die,- albeit of happiness,- if he did not now share it soon with Ilar.

“Gareth…Ilar,” I need to tell you something,” he at last managed to gasp.

“Later, my sweet bitch.” The words sent another delicious shiver down Adam’s spine. “First, you will remove every stich from my body.”

“Of course,” Adam agreed, lowering his eyes in an act of supplication that went like a bolt of electricity to Ilar’s manhood.

Two years ago, in 2015 when Gareth Robinson became a teacher at Thornberry Independent Grammar School and Cressida Hilton-Archdale-Smyth fell into a swoon.  Adam was only saved from doing so thanks to being held upright between Simon and the aforementioned Hugh Ellison. How he might be,- as he now was,- standing naked before Ilar and undressing him, had been something of a pre-occupation for Adam Langdon.

Only the very slightest breeze in the night air and murmurs of appreciation from Ilar, kept Adam from a dizzying faint. Almost reverently, he removed Ilar’s top and beheld a broad chest and shoulders. He ran a finger along each collar bone, enacting a small detail of desire that he had done 100s of times in his imagination. He had long decided that Ilar’s pecs and the nipples adorning them, would undoubtedly prove to be tributes to masculine beauty,- should he ever get to see them. Ilar read his eyes. Placing a strong hand behind Adam’s head, he pulled him close, the better that Adam might worship and admire them. With every move, Adam lived up to Ilar’s expectations and was rewarded with endearments, loving and profane in equal measure.

“I still need to tell you something my Ilar,” breathed  Adam, kissing his way down his love’s torso and boldly undoing Ilar’s leather belt. He kissed that belt and ran his tongue across the buckle, savouring its taste. Adam began opening the denim jeans before which he knelt with all the reverence he knew the occasion demanded of him.

Ilar’s white briefs shone every bit as brightly as the moon and the stars illuminating the night. Within, the great log of a cock strained. He did not need Ilar’s urgent masculinity to tell him to release it. But when that direction came nonetheless, its timbre intoxicated the younger man as much is the adamantine maleness freed as Ilar stepped gracefully out of his briefs.

Adam snatched up Ilar’s briefs as if retrieving carelessly discarded treasure and pressed them to his face. The heat, the essence of Ilar they contained almost made Adam stop breathing. A more delicious intoxicant Adam could not imagine. It seemed to compel Adam to grasp Ilar’s cock and wank him with a skilled devotion made more so by Ilar’s cries to the moon and stars, of encouragement and appreciation.

“Oh sweet Adam… Yes..please don’t stop. Yeah..I’ve wanted you since the first moment I saw you..”

Nearer and nearer Ilar was brought to an Adam fired climax.

“I love you…honest to god…I  love you my Adamec.”

Shaking and hardly able to remain standing thanks to Adam’s enthusiastic ministrations, Ilar could not help slipping into Fiorentine. His brain recalled him to English at the moment  he could no longer keep his climax at bay and the hand gripping his cock was but a fast moving blur.

“I’m gonna breed you every fucking day of the week,” Ilar cried as his load shot all over Adam’s gorgeous features.

“Always carry a clean handkerchief, you never know when one might meet a lady who has need of it,” had been a sage piece of advice from his paternal grandmother Gareth had taken to heart. So it was that he pulled a handkerchief from the back pocket of his jeans and taking care to grab a condom from the same place, scampered back to Adam.

As they lay naked under the stars, Ilar wiped Adam’s face.

“This is all your doing, he whispered. I wish I had been a bit more romantic with you when you were giving me that beautiful hand job” Whatever doubts Ilar had earlier in the evening after his confrontation with Simon Crawford, they were banished by this magical place. “Now sweetheart what is it you must tell me?”

They kissed. Adam squeezed even closer. They kissed again, listening to some small creature with whom they shared this night, scurry by.

“It is about me and Simon,” began Adam.

The Princess and his Prince, thought Ilar. “I thought it might be,” he replied with  studied caution.

“I love you Mr Vampire. You do believe me don’t you?”

  No longer in the immediate throes of passion, Ilar appeared to contemplate his response. He stroked Adam’s face and licked a stray spot of his own cum from his fingers. “Yes.” he replied firmly.

“Simon isn’t a sadist or a psychopath. In fact he is not really violent at all,” Adam began.

Ilar wasn’t expecting this. Immediately he began to reappraise the conclusion he had only just come to; the one that had banished all doubts about a relationship with the young man with whose body his was now entwined. Hugh Ellison came to mind. And with greater force, images of his good friend Steffan Kress, now dependent on a powerchair and others to do the simplest of things, dominated Ilar’s thoughts.

He nodded, aware that some response was expected before Adam would continue.

“The thing is Ilar, Simon likes S & M, bondage, spanking and pain to some degree as part of sex, a significant part, to be honest…”

Adam’s voice fell to just above a whisper. So that their eyes no longer met, he buried his face in Ilar’s shoulder.

“…And so do I…” Adam just about managed to say. “As the recipient, I mean, of course”

“So I don’t see your problem,” was the incredulous observation Ilar was about to make. But in the circumstances, that, he thought, was a little insensitive. Before he cold formulate a more considered response, it seemed that Adam was ahead of him.

“Simon will dom anybody with a pulse. Male, Female, Gay, Straight, Bi, Trans, couples and combinations thereof when the mood takes him. But he absolutely refuses to even contemplate being my Master. I’d be happy to be his sub for just some of the time, if that is what he wanted. But he won’t hear of such a thing.”

“Poor sweet bitch,” soothed Ilar, his cock stirring.

Adam allowed his chin to be raised, his lower lip to be bitten.

“Simon says that he would rather die than cause me pain. We tried it once at his house when his parents were away. But he could not bring himself to do more than spank me gently. Much more than that and my beloved Simon was a sobbing heap, apologising for his failure.”

“Not what a willing and devoted slave most desires, I agree,” condoled Ilar, holding Adam’s neck in away that no one ever had before.

“Open your beautiful mouth.”

Adam obeyed. The obedience itself a source of pleasure to him.

Ilar let lines of spit pass slowly from his mouth to Adam’s.

This small act of dominance by one and subservience by the other, fascinating Adam as if he were a disinterested observer. He did not need to be told to swallow, though in truth he regrated the absence of such direction. Too late, Ilar perceived the other’s disappointment. For now, he allowed Adam’s lips to bite and suck his nipples.

“I will ever and always respect your boundaries,” he managed to say amid the arousal and shots of utter pleasure Adam’s attention to his nipples gave him.

“There is one more thing about Simon and me I should mention,” Adam ventured, as they gazed up at the moon. “It might shock you a little bit.”

“I like your shocks darling.”

“Err..Well..You see…,err, sometimes Simon lets me rim his arse;- It is a very sexy arse, I should perhaps mention at this point, and pretend that is your arse. So I am rimming Simon and I can pretend that it is you, Gareth…Ilar.”

A breeze whooshed by in echo of Ilar’s surprise.

“What it is to have such a friend as Simon Crawford. You are a very fortunate guy.”

The words were spoken almost to himself as Ilar glanced around them. He clicked his fingers.

“Follow..No not like that. On your hands and knees will do just as well.”

“Yes Ilar,” came the response,- One uttered more for Adam’s delectation than Ilar’s information.

Ilar had not noticed the large boulder before this moment. But it would certainly do.

Ilar stood,- soldier like Adam thought,- not that he had ever seen a naked soldier before. Arms stretched in front; palms pressed firmly on the large boulder. Legs apart, seeming to accentuate the beautiful orbs that constituted his arse and that exquisite and mysterious crack that separated them. Adam paused, for the moment taken aback at what he beheld. He gasped in desire at Ilar’s so manful rear. The torso. The powerful back and wide shoulders. The strong legs with a covering of hairs, but not too many, were particularly pleasing. It was Adam’s cock already oozing  precum and deeply  impatient of even the smallest delay, that pulled him the final metre towards Ilar. On each of Ilar’s sides he noted a surgical scar. Neither of them big; but  each one different to the other.

“Show me what you can do.” The rough and jagged surface of the  large boulder felt good against Ilar’s straining cock and heavy balls. “Get that tongue in so far and deep I’d feel it against my tonsils if I still had them!”

Sometimes, reverse inspired by the example of Mrs Fothergill in the film ‘Modesty Blaise’, Adam was as happy to sip his pleasures, as unhappy as the murderous lady was to sip hers. For more than two long years of his young life Adam had longed for this moment. Reverently he placed a tentative kiss  on each arse cheek before daring to allow his tongue to bathe Ilar’s bottom.

Such beauty sighed Adam. Murmurs of delight from Ilar- Ilar what a lovely name he decided,- served as an additional encouragement. He ran his hands across the most sexy arse in the world before parting it.

“Oh my Ilar,” he heard himself say. The man in the moon seemed to want a closer look too. Moon beams already generous in this strange little place afforded even greater  illumination. A more inviting and frankly butch manhole Adam was sure he had never seen. He sniffed. Sniffed almost politely at first, as any well brought up young man might. That aphrodisiac uniquely Ilar, assailed his senses. He could resist no longer. Inhaling deeply his only mission in life at that moment has, to get not just his tongue as deeply as he could into Ilar’s depths, but as much of his face as he possibly could, as well.

“My Adam!! Oh fuck YEEESSS!” he heard his man shout. “Deeper! Give all to my fuckhole.”

Hopes and desires that until now had been but shadows in the wings of Adam’s imagination hovered. Not even his devoted Prince knew of them.

The bliss of rimming Ilar, of eating him out. His taste, that mixture of pheromones passion, sweat and what Adam decided must be just a hint of soap, brought tears of joy. “I  want to be my Ilar’s devoted slave for life,” said one of those hovering hopes and desires, stepping from the wings of his imagination. Adam’s head spun. His worship and devotion of Ilar’s glorious arse had him in its total thrall. He reached down to his cock. Steel like in its devotion to Ilar, it enjoyed the momentum of Adam’s attentions as much as it was fired by Adam’s increasingly frenzied tongue shagging of Ilar. Another of those hopes and desires stepped forward from the wings of Adam’s imagination.” I want to eat my Lord Ilar’s shit,” thought Adam, still capable of being at once both amused and rationally serious at such a possibility, despite his heightened state of sexual arousal.

The rediscovered deity to which the happy Adam had earlier attributed the good fortune of their being stranded in this strange place not far from Beckenham, was it seemed to make one further appearance.

“My sweet beautiful slut. I  want you, so much,” he heard his Lord Ilar shout. “Soon, one day very soon Adam, you are ging to eat my shit.”

“ Please!! Oh Yes, oh yes, my Lord Ilar,” exclaimed Adam shooting his rods of Ilar devoted spunk.  

Ilar spun round, gesturing Adam to  stand up.

“So I am your Lord Ilar, am I?”

“Yes please,” Adam grinned, taking Ilar’s rock hard cock in his hand.

“Hmmm. Nice. Just there I think,” Ilar decided, indicating a particular spot. He gently unbalanced his lover so that they fell together. They were silent for what seemed ages but was only halve a minute, if that. Adam became aware of a searching expression before him.

“I know perfectly well princess that if your prince clicks his fingers, you will come running.”

He paused to allow a word of protest. It did not come.- As he was certain it would not. He lifted Adam’s hand to his lips.

“All I ask Adamec, is that if we are going to share any kind of life beyond what seems to be happening here and now, it is our life, not one in which Simon receives a running commentary.”

Welcome as Adam’s assurances were, it was the sincerity in his voice and the look of perplexity that preceded them, that really mattered to Ilar.

They kissed. Slowly at first. But then, with increasing ardour, their passion and need filled this magical place louder and more fully than anything it had ever heard before. Adam was devoured and desired with greater fervour than he had  believed was possible.

“You belong to me now my Adamec,” asserted Ilar kneeling over Adam and fucking his sweet face with a passion which included pausing at least twice to proclaim his love by the gentler means of kisses to his lips eyes and nose. When the series of final orgasmic thrusts came, the loud proclamation of the Fiorentine version of Adam’s name seemed to have a backing chorus of a kind, from the resident Parliament of Owls.

Whatever gag reflex Adam knew he possessed suspended itself to the earnest thrusts of his lord Ilar’s insistent cock. As the man cream Adam most wanted was propelled down his throat, a distant corner of his brain registered the delicious feel and bouquet of Ilar’s pubes against his nose.

A little later as panting, the lovers took a restorative breather, Adam whispered seductively into Ilar’s ear. “kneel on all fours for me please Ilar. I need to worship your arse again.”

“You are such a slut,” laughed Ilar. “But how can I possibly refuse?”

He could not of course. Obediently, he knelt on his hand and knees. Ilar had been rimmed by other guys and twice by women. But there really was something different about the way Adamec worshipped his bum. Perhaps it was because he was almost sure he loved Adam. Whatever it was, it was special.

Abruptly, Adam ceased his devotions.

“Sit on my face and tell me that you love me,” he demanded with confidence.

“Your every wish is my command,” the deed accomplished in fewer seconds than the words spoken.

Ilar set about his task with his usual verve. Simon who had served in the office of substitute Ilar’s arse sometimes remarked that when in full rimming mode Adam was like a hound on a truffle hunt. The bliss of Ilar sitting on his face and howling to the moon that he loved him, was a delirium in itself for Adam. But with the addition of the beauteous darkness of that fundament, and Ilar’s masterful hand wanking him once again, Adam’s torrid imaginings had him  devouring all Ilar’s bottom had to offer- and cumming in under a minute. 

Carefully, Ilar lay down beside the trembling Adam and held him close.

“So you like my bum, I’m guessing?”

“Oh Yeah, Ilar.”

“I’m glad.” He kissed Adam.
“I like the rest of you as well.”

“I’m glad of that too.” He kissed Adam again.

“Think of a word. Any unusual word which you will be likely to recall if you need to.”

“Ooo, a word puzzle.”

“No. Not exactly,” replied Ilar stroking Adam’s neck with solicitous care.

“Logo,” enthused Adam,

“Well…alright then. Logo it is.”

“Logo is what?” asked Adam enjoying the sensation Ilar’s care was giving him. Any penny casually making its way around Adam’s consciousness was resolutely refusing to drop.

Ilar pulled at the loops of his crumpled denim jeans, just within his reach.

“What is this Adamec?”

“Your belt,” came the perplexed reply.

“My LEATHER belt,” Ilar clarified.

A veritable treasury of pennies began to drop.

“Kiss it Adamec. Feel it. Introduce yourself. It certainly wants to get to know you.”

“Oh fuck! Oh yes,” beamed Adam. His eyes shone as brightly as anything in the night sky. Logo may be his ‘escape word.’ But he never ever wanted to use it.

“Whatever am I,- I and my trusty belt; not forgetting its shinning buckle here, to do with you, Adam Daniel Langdon?”

Anything! Anything! screamed every fibre of A.D. Langdon’s being, as he draped the belt lovingly across his body, between his legs and of course between his arse cheeks.

To his man, he affected a coy, “I don’t know Ilar.”

“Well, it’s a good job I do,” said that man.

Ilar took the belt from Adam’s hand. He kissed the belt and then brought it to Adam’s lips to do the  same.

“Repeat your escape word.”

For the briefest moment a sense of puzzlement knotted Adam’s brow,- something Ilar realised was rather cute. “Logo!”

Ilar nodded. Softly he added, “I’m sorry I only have this belt. If I had known, I would have come better prepared.”

Adam trembled in a combination of fear and anticipation, wondering almost philosophically if Ilar’s collection of dominance gear was as extensive as Simon’s.

“Get up bitch!”

Adam stood, looking so fucking haveable in the moonlight as Ilar led him to the large boulder. The first kiss of the belt stung his chest. The next landed on  his upper legs, the shinning belt buckle sending a longed for agony to his rampant cock. He cried out with each subsequent blow just about keeping his balance, never taking his eyes from the naked and masterful Ilar. When eventually he fell to the ground the softness of the grass and the flowers beneath Adam received his sobs of joy.

“No, please don’t stop my Lord Ilar,” he pleaded almost tenderly. His reward came as more searing pain from that belt as he winced and crawled. Instinctively his body sought to protect itself. But Adam fought back, the better to yield to his Lord Ilar’s words and his Lord Ilar’s belt and the agonies with which it favoured him.

Ilar knew his own limitations. He was not, he rightly suspected, as experienced in his role of the moment, as Adam’s prince. But at least it was he and not that thuggish bastard Simon Crawford who was giving Adam what he needed and was in control of him.

“Hell, you’re beautiful,” gasped Ilar, hoping that all the while Adam would not realise that he was reigning in, (or at least hoped he was reigning in,) his blows sufficient to give all the pain Adam wanted, but no more.

Ilar had never felt so enervated as he did now. At his feet, writhing to his belt was sweet Adamec. His strong and youthful 19 year old back and so desirable fuckhole, bearing the marks of his dominance. One day Ilar decided, he would punish Simon for destroying the life of his friend Stefan Kress and reducing him to total dependence and a powerchair. Ilar shook with anger. He would bring the vile Simon here, thrash him and rape him until he bled.

“Ilar..My Lord Ilar,” said a lovely voice.

Adam was standing beside him and drew Ilar into his arms.

“You seemed very far away for a minute or two there.”

“Yes, Adamec, I’m afraid I was.”

“You should not worry. You are a wonderful master.”

“I hope so my slut. I want to f… To make love to you.”   

“Just so long as you shag my back legs off whilst you are doing it,” Adam responded, pulling them both down to the soft grass.

“for now we must use one of these,” Ilar rolled a condom down his ample manhood, as he voiced his regret. “But if we have a future together, we can transition to bareback. I so much want to breed you,- if you will allow.”

“I will allow my Master and Lord Ilar anything,” assured Adam as they rolled and kissed in the moonlight.

Starting at Ilar’s forehead Adam took a cascade of kisses down Ilar’s masculine body.

“Darling Adamec.. Oh babe,” began Ilar’s gentle but increasingly urgent encouragements, as every part of his body other than his straining cock, received Adam’s attentions. On each side of Ilar, Adam again noticed a scar. The soon to be Graphic Art and Design undergraduate at Eastampton University, noted how different they were as he bestowed a kiss to each; and was that a slight wince he felt?

Adam only just managed not gurgle in incoherent delight as Ilar deftly moved from beneath him.

“I will be gentle,” he was assured, as his long legs were garnished with kisses and placed over Ilar’s broad shoulders. It suddenly occurred to Ilar that if his Adamec had not been fucked by Simon, then he quite possibly has never been fucked at all. Unbidden but compelling, the thought that he was going where that bulling bastard Simon Crawford had not, gave added drive and purpose as he entered Adam for the first time.

Pain and pleasure suffused Adam at that first and earnestly desired penetration. His calling of Ilar’s name was muffled by Ilar’s tongue thrusting is determinedly in his mouth as Ilar’s cock pounded his arse. The pain subsided, to be replaced by a bliss that he could not adequate describe as he called Ilar’s name and first begged for more and then demanded it. If Adam were to live to be 100, he knew that no moment would be as happy as this.

“My Ilar. I love you,” he cooed.

“I love you too Darling. You are mine now.”

“Yes..Yes.. I am,” agreed, Adam, enjoying the tears of happiness Ilar was kissing away.

“Keep your arms around my neck Adamec. Whatever you do, don’t let go.”

Slowly, Ilar began to rise to his feet, bringing Adam with him. As he did so he told Adam to keep his legs where they were, wrapped devotedly around his man’s waist. All the while, Ilar made sure that his cock remained in Adam. Where this might be leading, Adam did not know. But instinct told him to clench his arse cheeks, keeping Ilar’s heavenly cock where Adam most wanted it to be.

Now, Ilar stood, legs wide apart strong and proud with Adam coiled around him. The feel of Adam’s feet crossed over each other, around his back, just above his bum, was strangely satisfying to Ilar. They gazed in happiness at each other. The Parliament of Owls reconvened to observe them kiss. Ilar began thrusting into Adam. His strength seriously impressing Adam,- as indeed it was intended so to do.

“Oh Adamec,” cried Ilar at his fourth thrust into the depths of lover, “you such a total beautiful gorgeous fuck.” His cum shot into the condom as he swayed and again biting into Adam’s sweet neck brought the two of them to the ground as carefully as his now Achieng body could allow. He lay panting on his back, with Adam’s attention’s soothing him.

“Wow! Mr. Vampire.” So saying, Adam carefully removed the condom from Ilar’s only slightly deflated cock and with a flourish made much of swallowing its substantial contents.

They laughed at the spectacle of it all.

“Another thirty seconds and I would have dropped you no matter what,” said Ilar, stroking Adam’s head.

With his tongue Adam finished cleaning Ilar’s cock.

“I don’t care,” replied Adam snuggling up close.

Ilar and Adam drifted into an exhausted but very contented sleep. For how long, neither knew. But when they awoke it was still night. The stars still shone. The moon still bathed them in its generous light. Only the owls seem to have deserted them.

Ilar looked at his watch and then his phone. Adam did the same. They were still not working.

“We should think about getting back to the car and Beckenham, sweet heart.”

They dressed quickly. As they turned to leave their mysterious spot, they paused for a final look at the stars the moon, the grass and the flowers. The large boulder seemed to stare back at the two visitors.

“You do love me: really I mean, Mr. Vampire.”

“As surely The King and Queen are in Corozal Palace, Adamec.”

They retraced their steps. As they went down the hill and just before the lovely trees gave place to the path leading-they hoped to Ilar’s car, two owls called a farewell.

The very second that Ilar and Adam saw the car, night became day. No emerging dawn. Certainly no gathering dawn chorus. Simply night became day in less than a flickering of an eye.

Adam’s watch suddenly said that it was 7.30 am on 18th August 2017. Ilar’s did not demur. Their phones silent since they last stood here, sprang into life.

“The Ps have arrived in Costa Rica,” announced Adam, scrolling through his messages. Even Ilar’s Satnav seemed to know where it was.

“I miss will you,” said Adam trying not to sound too needy.

“And I will miss you even more. But we will meet up in October when you start at Eastampton Uni.”

“Ah! Said Adam, “We will be together before then. When me and Simon have done our trek through Belgium, The Netherlands and  Luxembourg, we are planning to spend a week at my grandparents in Skelthorpe.”

“Hmm.” Replied Ilar casually. “That reminds me. Before I start my job,- actually two jobs, in Eastampton, I am going home,-to Triesenbourg for a week.”

“May I ask you something my Ilar?” The tone was tentative, cautious.

“Always and anything,” said Ilar sincerely.

“Those two scars. How did you get them. You got hurt  serving in Afghanistan., didn’t you?...I’ve seen the Wikipedia pages.”

“I don’t have a Wikipedia page,” said Ilar taken aback and needing a moment to gather his thoughts.

“I know. But your mum and dad have one each. As does your uncle the Foreign Minister of Triesenbourg…” Adam had done his research into the man he dared to hope might one day love him. It wasn’t the truth of what Anton Lazar had written that was cringe making, it was the tone of it. The look on Ilar’s face, told Adam that he was not wrong in his estimation of Ilar’s kinsman.

Anton Lazar’s Wiki page was understandably restrained in it’s  litany of the politician’s restrained attainments. But on his two nieces and one nephew, he gushed without restraint.

“How uncle Lazar ever became Foreign Minister, heaven only knows,” sighed Ilar shaking his head in disbelief as he always when did contemplating his uncle’s  political career.

“Anyway… Those scars. It is very simple really. The scar down my left side is from a wound acquired in the service of Queen Elizabeth; the one on my right side, in the service of King Nicholas.”

Adam opened his mouth to speak. But something he had never seen in Ilar’s demeanour stop him dead. It was as if everything he knew of Mr Robinson was set at nought. It was as if the last few hours had not happened.

“If we are to have any kind of future, Adam, you will never in any circumstances question me about my service in Afghanistan again. What happened is only for me and my comrades to speak of. Please say so if that is completely clear to you.”

“It is completely clear, sir.”

“Good.”

Ilar took Adam’s hands in his.  He kissed them in a pattern he did not of course understand. But Adam was currently reading a book on this specific aspect  of Fiorentine culture translated from Fiorentine into what he considered rather poor French.

“Some of these kisses mean I do love you with all my heart. The rest I hope will become self-evident to you in due course.

To be continued.