NOTE: This is part 2 of 3 of a romance novella. Whilst it contains graphic depictions of sex, this is a slow burn story told in 3 parts.
Boxing Day
Rhodri came back late on Boxing day. He walked through the door wet, cheeks piqued from the bite of the moor winds, hood hiding his face. Home had been a lot. His mam had tried to cook and nearly burnt the roast until he’d taken over and saved the chicken. She’d been annoyed by that. She liked to try and be a ‘proper’ mam at Christmas, instead of working all the time. But the truth was she was never very good at that sort of thing, and she didn’t like being reminded of it.
His brothers had also been a pain. His oldest was doing his best to fill his shoes, trying to keep the other two in check, but Dylan wasn’t him. He couldn’t control Daffyd, who was busy chasing the local girls and getting in fights. Nor could he replace the love and warmth that Rhodri had showered on their youngest brother, Alun, who at nine, was struggling with being ‘sensitive’.
He’d had to drag Daffyd out of a fight on his first day back, and they’d nearly come to blows themselves, something the fourteen year old would certainly have regretted. Alun rarely left him alone, and it had been a challenge to not snap at him after months of finally having privacy.
And as for privacy, sharing a room with Dylan again clearly annoyed them both. They’d returned to their nighttime routine of pretending to be asleep whilst the other knocked one out. He’d been dying to get back to Cwmderw.
Now he stood in the house. His new home. He’d realised that on the bus back. He’d felt like he was going home, not leaving it.
Tomorrow he’d be back at work, but tonight he would relax, enjoy Mal’s company, and just be. Freezing, he built the fire and headed into the kitchen, where, on the table, lay the half assembled form of the HMS Hood. A wide grin broke across his face, and he carefully lifted the hull, admiring Mal’s delicate work.
When Mal reached for his keys, his chest was heavy with thuds, and his hand almost shaking. The light was on, pouring through the tiny frosted glass panel set atop the door. The curtains were drawn, which wasn’t too unusual, but not normal.
He took a breath, calmed his nerves, and turned the key.
Inside was so warm it made his cheeks sting and his ears burn. The room was empty, no Rhodri, but the fire was crackling, happily full of coal, and in front of it, besides some towels, a glass, and a new bottle of rum, was a steaming bathtub.
He smiled, letting out a little laugh, and locked the door behind him.
Rhodri’s head poked around the kitchen door, a daft grin stretched ear to ear.
“Mal!” he said, a little too enthusiastic.
“I see you found your present,” Mal said, eyeing the rum.
“And you yours,” he said, entering the room. He was just in his boxers, his hair damp. He’d clearly just gotten out of the bath. Mal inhaled sharply.
“What’s, erm, what’s all this?” he asked, gesturing to the bath.
“You’ve worked all Christmas, I figured you might want a soak.”
Mal looked at the water, still hot, steam still swirling. He hung up his coat, and kicked off his boots. This time he stripped without shame, standing directly in front of Rhodri, who didn’t move either.
His shirt fell away, but their eyes didn’t. He pulled his belt off, let his trousers pool at his ankles, kicked off his socks, and finally, dropped his blue briefs.
His manhood bobbed between them. He could smell this stale piss and tang of his precum, the stale sting of his sweat wafting up from his pits, and stayed still, honouring their ritual pause.
“Thank you for the present,” he said, and tried to imbue every ounce of confused feeling he could into his expression.
Rhodri, warm as ever, nodded.
“Get in.”
Mal did as he was told, and sank into the water. It was soothing, deeper than normal, covering more of him, even his cock head.
As he settled, Rhodri sat opposite, his legs wide, shirtless, briefs tented. Whatever game they had played before had at least some form of deniability, but now, now something shifted. Their trepidation replaced with something bolder.
As the water stilled, he noticed something. Ribbons of white floating on the surface. It took him a moment, but he recognised it. Spunk. He’d cum enough in the bath to know what it looked like. Rhodri has emptied his balls, and judging by how hot the water was, it hadn’t been long ago.
Mal felt his penis ache and his own balls tighten. He almost reached for it, but caught himself. Rhodri, who had been watching, smiled. They both knew that the other knew.
His heart racing and his cock matching every beat, he waited for the lads cum to float into just the right place, then gripped the sides of the bath, and arched his arse upward. His cock broke the surface like a periscope, the ribbons of spunk sliding down and then clung to his shaft. They eyed each other a moment more, before he let himself sink back down, and the cum floated off again.
They spoke a while. Mal about work and the village news, Rhodri about home and his family. But under it all, their maleness ached.
Mal, unaware, kept rubbing at his shoulder as they spoke. It often hurt, and was one of the many common ailments they all put up with. Given time Rhodri would end up the same way. But Rhodri had noticed.
“You need that rubbing?” he said, more as statement than question.
Mal flushed, a little confused, but before he could answer, the lad was on his feet, underwear almost transparent with precum, and walking around the bath.
Then, suddenly, his large hands were on his shoulders, and his fingers began to knead. Mal let out an involuntary moan, and before he knew it, was sinking deeper into the bath, his legs pulling in to brace himself. The boy worked his muscles, causing pain that gave way to soft, loose, pressure. His cock was now so close to the surface it was visible through the murk.
“Is that good?” Rhodri finally asked, and he nodded, murmuring.
One of the boys hands left his shoulder and he felt the water pressure shift, then gasped as large, calloused fingers wrapped around his shaft. He gripped the sides of the bath, and turned, finding Rhodri’s face close to his.
They didn’t say a word as Rhodri slowly stroked him, eyes sharing so much. Mal, suddenly bold, stretched forward. He hesitated so close that he could smell the lads' breath, the slopping sound of his cock being wanked under the water joined with the crackle of the fire and their breathing. Those blue eyes were open to him as always, more so, and finally, Mal let himself be brave. He reached out with his lips, and closed his eyes.
They kissed gently, Rhodri releasing his cock so he could grab his head firmly. They bit at each other's lips, and opened their mouths enough for tongues to duel. Mal turned on his side, grabbing Rhodri by the jaw, and kissing him so hard it almost hurt.
The bath sloshed with the effort of their embrace, and Mal, eager, broke free, rose, and stepped out, not caring about the water pouring down his naked frame on to his mothers prized carpet.
He grabbed Rhodri under the arms and dragged him up to his full height, and looking upwards, pulled him close, and began to bite at his jaw.
Rhodri groaned, offering his neck, and Mal, vanishing into his animal side, ran his lips and then his tongue, sucking lightly. Just enough to make the boy exhale sharply, but not enough to leave a mark.
Rhodri stepped awkwardly out of his briefs, and took Mal by his sides, and just looked at him. Mal’s heart was racing, and before Rhodri could say a thing, he heard himself speaking.
“I missed you, lad.”
Rhodri broke into a smile so big it made his heart melt and his cock reach a new level of hardness.
“You too, old man,” he said, and pushed Mal onto the sofa.
Their bodies meshed on the coarse fabric, the water soaking in, as their cocks rubbed between them, side by side, and lips pushed together in hungry competition. Rhodri’s teeth biting lightly at Mal’s stubbled jaw, their breathing ragged and hoarse, as the lads hands traced his sides, sliding south until they cupped at Mal’s arse cheeks.
It was a strange, vulnerable feeling. Peg would grasp at his ass the few times they fucked, and he hated it. Now, however, he pulled his legs back, giving the boy access, feeling how round his glutes were, until he folded them around the boy's back, pulling him in closer. It felt so natural.
Then, Rhodri pulled back, kneeling over them, his lanky form thick with matted hair, his donkey cock dripping with boy slime.
“You’re not ready for that,” he said, and grabbed both of their cocks in his hand, and began to work them.
Mal groaned, only for Rhodri to place his free hand over his mouth.
“The neighbours,” he said softly, working their cocks in unison.
He nodded, but the hand remained closed over his gob, the other holding their two, solid manhoods in firm grip. He could feel the boy’s heat, his rigid shaft, his sliding skin, the smooth of his glands against his own, the slick pour of his precum, hear the sound of their foreskins sliding back and forth, and began to squirm,
His balls tightened, and he tried to warn Rhodri with his eyes, but the boy shook his head softly, his own eyes narrowing.
Then, he felt it, the drumbeat of pulses. He crossed that threshold, that threshold he had learned as a boy, and his balls emptied. His fat, heavy cock throbbed, his back arched, and his neck tensed. He grunted into the lads hand, as thick, powerful squirts of spunk shot in pulse after pulse. And then he saw it, Rhodri’s face scrunch, and looked down, seeing the boy’s bellend expand and then unload, their duelling poles spewing alternate streams of semen, pulsing and throwing until they slowed to a gentle flow.
Mal was drenched, and suddenly exhausted. Rhodri removed his hand, and looked at Mal, a little scared, a little nervous. Mal, laughing, grabbed him by the head, and kissed him hard.
“Where did you learn that?” he asked, trying to catch his breath between boyish giggles.
Rhodri just let out a pant, and nuzzled him with his nose, “I’ll tell you sometime.”
That night they shared a bed, naked and close. They kissed, but spoke little, mostly smiles and caresses. But mostly they just looked at one another. Sharing that stare, that wordless, touchless embrace. Tomorrow they would talk, but tonight they would just be.
New Years
The last few days had been a blur of working hard in the mines, and exploring each other's bodies at night. Mal had never cum so much in his life. He was excited the moment his shift was over, and more than once had struggled to keep his cock down in the showers. Even his exhaustion wasn’t enough to keep it hanging.
Suddenly he was seeing his pit mates like it was the first time. Edgar, whose solid shoulders and soft stomach, was circumcised, his balls tight to his body. David, the young cocky lad on his crew, was short and compact, his dick was average but his ass was so round and so smooth. And then there was Elis, an ox of a man with a ballsack so big whenever he bent over it brushed his knees. No wonder he had so many kids.
He’d shared his observations with Rhodri, who, more often than not, had ended up with his hand wrapped around both their cocks, milking them nice and slow.
The first time the lad had taken him in his mouth he’d flooded it in seconds, breathing heavily and his body jerking. It had been his first time. Peg had never done it. He knew about it from lads talk, but had never experienced it. Now he’d done it three times in a week.
His own first time attempting it had been something.
The fire had been burning in the bedroom, Rhodri laid against the headboard, legs spread and balls hanging low, his manhood rigid, as Mal, laid on his front, slowly ran his tongue up the lad's sweaty bollocks and along his shaft. Rhodri had shivered with the effort, causing Mal’s dick to flex into the mattress.
When the tip of his tongue had finally met the boys bellend and the tang of that clear liquid had spread across his tastebuds, his brain had turned off and his instincts took over. The soft yet firm head had felt amazing as his lips had spread and slid down it, the ridge of his foreskin underneath soaked in precum, the solid dryness of his shaft. Rhodri had walked him through it. He’d thought his teeth might be the problem but it wasn’t. When he sucked too hard the boy inhaled sharply, pulling away instinctively. But when Mal had started apologising Rhodri had just chuckled and guided him back down, giving him advice.
He’d kept it up, talking and encouraging, until his voice had started to break and his breathing noticeably changed. He’d warned him, and Mal had been torn, but ultimately he couldn’t pull away. The boy had grabbed the sides of his head and held him in place. He could still remember how hard the boys cock had become as the heat and tang of his salty spunk flooded his mouth.
Swallowing had been reflex, his mouth already full with his tenant's cock. At first he’d been a bit disgusted, but now, sitting on the bus heading back to the house, the memory had him half chubbed.
When he got home Rhodri was already there, ironing a pile of folded clothes, a testimony to his efforts.
“Hello,” the tall boy said, smiling.
Mal smiled back, busying himself with removing his boots.
“Any decent dick in the showers today?” Rhodri teased as Mal tugged at his sweaty socks.
“None better than yours, lad,” he said, and noticed his clothes in the pile, “You didn’t have to do this.”
Rhodri just shrugged, but Mal saw the ever so slight twitch of a suppressed smirk.
“What are you up to?”
“Nothing.”
“No, no, no. I saw that!”
Rhodri doubled down, trying not to smile, but only succeeded in curling his lips inward.
“Everyone’s headed down to the bonfire later, I thought we could go.”
Mal hesitated. He wasn’t exactly known for attending. Sure, he went some years, usually out of a sense of obligation, or after being brow beaten by a neighbour, but going with Rhodri was another matter. People might talk. People would talk.
Clearly tracking his thinking, Rhodri put the iron down and came over, laying both of his big hands on Mal’s shoulders.
“I’m going with my crew. Meeting down the pub in an hour. I thought maybe you could meet your mates, then when it's time we meet down the bonfire?”
He bit his lip.
“Everyone will just assume I’m being friendly and saying hello, you know, just being nice to my landlord.”
Mal sighed, but Rhodri wouldn’t let up.
“As much fun as we have here, we can’t spend all our time in this house. People will talk about that.”
Suddenly aware of butterflies in his stomach, Mal sagged.
“Good. You’ll see, it’ll be fun.”
“You’re not the one who’s about to spend the next five hours listening to Edgar talk about his bloody car, or his missus moan about their eldest’s being a toerag.”
“Yeah, but at least you don’t have to listen to Owen go on about how he’s shagging about like some bloody Hollywood actor. Like theres any fucking way he’d get away with that around here.”
“Depends who he’s shagging,” Mal teased, and Rhodri, accepting he’d won, kissed him on the forehead, and returned to ironing.
Edgar had droned on just as he’d said he would, as had his wife. Luckily the pub was rammed for the new years, paper bunting and tinsel having added the barest hint of sparkle to the aging pub, as everyone jostled at the bar. The men stood with their pints, the women with their halves and sherries, as someone sang at the piano yet again.
It wasn’t as if he didn’t like the pub, or even the people, it was just so predictable. Even for someone like him who counted his visits by the month, not the week like most. Bored, he stepped outside for a fag. A couple dozen were outside here too, but he found a shadowy corner and lit up. Only an hour or so to go before everyone headed to the bonfire. They’d light it at midnight. There was the usual talk of fireworks, but it was always just talk. No one ever seemed to get any. The bonfire would be enough because it had always been enough.
As he stood in the cold, the dim buzz of the crowd inside bleeding into the night, he saw the approach of silhouettes on the road. Tall, lithe, young. About a dozen or so. He straightened up and brushed himself down without realising it, eyes scanning for Rhodri. He spotted him, one of the tallest of the bunch. The beat of butterfly wings fluttered inside him.
They were being loud, lads and lasses teasing and joking and laughing, clearly drunk.
Then, the butterflies stopped. Beside Rhodri was a girl, her hand on his shoulder, smiling. He recognised her. She was the shy type, but clearly taken with the tall outsider who’d taken a room with the local loner. He said something too far for Mal to hear, but clearly it had amused her as she laughed, and playfully placed a hand on his chest.
She paused for a moment, lingered, inviting a kiss. Mal tensed. He watched Rhodri’s face, his shoulders, his chest, looking for any hint of him leaning forward to meet the girl's lips.
The moment passed.
Her smile hid disappointment, but also patience. Mal exhaled, and realised his pulse was thumping in his ears.
He didn’t go to the bonfire.
The only light was the roar of the fire, as Mal sat in his fathers armchair, glass in hand, his mind wandering. His eyes kept falling on Peg’s books, unmoved since her abandonment, as the rest of the village termed it.
It had been such a carefully planned thing. A correspondence course in secretarial work. She’d claimed it was so she could advance in the mines offices, but no sooner had she completed it, than she’d left. The letter she had left on the table was still his only real proof she was okay.
It had been a short letter, more remarkable for what she didn’t say than what she did.
Their marriage had been the sort born of expectation rather than love. He had his duty as a man, she hers as a woman. He was expected to carry on the family line, her’s to raise it for him. It was just the way things were. He had never truly considered an alternative because there wasn’t one. Now and then a smart kid might get taken off to one of the fancy universities, but he hadn’t been a smart kid.
He’d courted her as expected, chosen her because she was shy and not as forward as some, less threatening he supposed in hindsight. His parents had been very taken with her, especially his Tad.
They’d died convinced he would have a family. Instead they’d consummated the marriage, and done little else.
That night he’d done what was expected. They’d laid under the blankets, he in his pyjama top, her in nightgown. It had been mechanical. Kissing, fumbling, his cock parting her lips, sinking until the root hit her bush. It had been a manic set of eager, clumsy thrusts, her laid there, him between her legs. He’d gone rigid, then dumped the content of his balls inside her, and rolled over.
The whole thing had been maybe five minutes.
She tried to coax him into it more often in the early months and years. Lingerie she’d sent away for, drinks down the pub, teasing him with her hands. But he had only given in so often, and always she was left unsatisfied. That they had no children was his fault.
His inattention to her, combined with their static life, had proven too much and she had plotted and executed her escape. Their divorce, when it came, had been conducted by lawyers, and he had not sought to deny it. He’d been a poor husband, after all.
His musings were interrupted by the creak of the front door and whoosh of cold wind.
He almost refused to look back, to ignore him, but that was stubborn thinking, and he greeted Rhodri with a nod and half smile.
The tall lad left his coat on as he approached, before sitting down opposite.
“Where’d you get to?” he asked in earnest, his voice tinged with concern rather than annoyance.
That both heartened Mal, and weighed on him.
“I saw you with that lass,” he said, smiling sadly, “I thought it best I stay away.”
Rhodri recoiled, clearly surprised, then launched into an explanation.
“Nothing happened! The lads have been trying to set me up with her for…”
Mal waved his hand, his features calm.
“I understand, really. I did the same when I was your age.”
“But I didn’t do anything.”
“But you will.”
Rhodri seemed confused by that, his eyes narrowing as if he’d said something stupid.
“People don’t like people like us, Rhodri. People round here expect young lads like you to marry young girls like ‘er. They don’t wanna know you’ve been sucking off a man 13 years your senior, they’d burn us out of this house.”
A stern expression crossed Rhodri’s features, and he leaned back, his body language suddenly stiff and commanding.
“Malcolm,” he said, his tone measured but assured, “I’m not a fucking idiot.”
“So you will marry her, then? Or if not her, someone else.”
Rhodri's face scrunched up.
“What bollocks are you talking, old man?”
It was the first time that the lad had called him that and he actually felt it. Old in unwanted wisdom. Weighed down by experience of a world that had proven a straitjacket in more ways than not.
“Yes, you will. I was married. You know that. Why do you think that was?”
“It’s different now..” Rhodri protested, but Mal refused to let him get a word in.
“Because it’s what we have to do, lad! Or do you want to spend your life as the weird old man everyone whispers about, all alone and…” he trailed off.
Rhodri slid off of his chair and knelt, taking Mal’s hands in his own.
“And what? Like you?”
Mal tensed.
“You did what they wanted, Mal. And you were miserable. So no, I’’m not going to do it.”
“You don’t understand,” Mal began, but Rhodri just squeezed his hands.
“I do. I’m just not going to do it.”
“You will,” he muttered, “You say that now, but you will.”
Rhodri just smiled, and rolled his eyes.
“Come to bed.”
He took the drink from Mal’s hand, and guided him upstairs. Not that he was drunk, Rhodri just wanted to be close to him, worried for him no doubt. It made his heart swell and hurt in equal measure.
The bedroom was cool, the heat of the downstairs not fully breaching the ancient floorboards. Rhodri kissed him firmly on the lips. Mal, happy just to be with him, even if it was a fleeting fantasy, let him.
Their clothes were soon on the floor, their bodies pressed against each other in the dark, cocks firm and trapped. Rhodri, as usual, took the lead, pinning Mal to the bed, his lips tracing a trail of hungry kisses from his jaw down to his now trimmed bush. His back arched as he felt the lads' lips slide over his head, taking him fully into the warmth of his mouth.
The weight of his thoughts lifted, but didn’t dissipate. They hovered at the edge of his consciousness, banished temporarily by the pleasure and intimacy of his lover.
His hand found the soft, unruly mop of black hair that crowned the boy's head, and ruffled it soothingly, as his cock throbbed and leaked along Rhodri’s tongue.
Only the outline of dim, yellow shining around the drawn curtains provided any light, and he could see Rhodri on all fours, his knees drawn in, arse raised, the fuzz of his bodyhair crowning the round globes of his arse.
His back muscles flexed as he worked Mal, his right hand milking the lower few inches of the older man's prick as his mouth sucked and swirled over the top.
They stayed like that a while, until Mal sat forward and pulled the boy's lips to his own. Hands found cocks, the heft of Rhodri throbbing and leaking down the older man's fingers, the spit coating Mal’s leading to a jump and sigh.
But Rhodri’s hand didn’t stay wrapped around Mal’s pole for long, drifting to his weighty balls, then to the hairy place below, his knuckle suddenly finding a warm, forbidden spot. Mal jumped again, surprised and suddenly self aware, but before he could pull away, the boy pinned him with his free hand, and kissed him deeply.
Rhodri travelled down Mal’s body, passing his cock, and raising his thighs until his arse hole, hairy and sweaty since the pit showers earlier, was exposed to the cold air and his cock hung close to his chin. Mal breathed heavily, the smell of beer and scotch thick in the air, waiting to see the boy sink his fingers inside him.
Instead, the boy’s face vanished and the wet intrusion of a tongue forced his ring open. Mal’s whole body convulsed and he let out a loud yelp, but Rhodri didn’t let up, forcing more of his tongue inside, opening him up wider, his hands firm on Mal’s muscled cheeks, holding them apart.
He was panting, shocked, disgusted, enthralled by what Rhodri was doing. How had the lad learned this? He knew about poofs taking it the arse, but he never thought that meant a tongue.
And fuck was it good. He felt his cock pulse and a stream of precum dribbled down onto his chin.
“Fucking hell, lad!” he said, breathless as the boy plumbed new depths. He didn’t even care that his back was starting to ache.
Then, the boy surfaced, and even though it was dark, he knew he was smiling.
“Enjoy that did you, old man?” he asked, taking in big gulps of air.
“Where did you learn that?” he asked, legs settling either side of the young apprentice.
“Same place I learned this,” he said, pulling Mal’s legs onto his shoulders.
This time the pressure he felt against his hole wasn’t a tongue, but the firm, rounded head of a burning hot penis.
Mal hesitated. Nervous. Rhodri, perhaps sensing it, perhaps just being a considerate lover, lent forward and kissed him gently, whilst his hand wrapped around Mal’s dick.
“I’ll be gentle. Take my time.”
Mal nodded, running a permissive hand over Rhodri’s chest.
He heard the boy spit, and then the head, rubbing up against his hole, began to push.
His hole instinctively closed.
“Don’t clench. Push,” Rhodri said.
Mal, heart hammering, did as he was told, and the boy's fat head burned a path inward. He gasped, hands grabbing a hold of Rhodri’s arms, and the boy stopped. It hurt.
“Just wait a moment, it’ll get easier.”
Nodding vigorously Mal tried to focus on his twitching muscles. After what felt like minutes, he managed to tame them into submission, and as they loosened, he felt himself suck more of the lads shaft deeper. The fullness stretched him, pushed against him, and the pain was suddenly joined with pleasure, and he felt his whole body release tension he didn’t know it had been holding.
It took a little while, but the full, thick bush of hair was soon pressed under his balls and Mal knew he had taken the whole of him. A small swell of pride joined his excitement, and then Rhodri began to fuck.
Unlike when he had been inside Peg, rutting like a rabbit, the boy was slow, his cock gliding in and out in long, purposeful strokes. Mal felt each one sharply at first, his virgin hole straining under the donkey dick that was abusing it, and yet every thrust made him squirm in delight, made his cock harder, and sent his brain into a swirl of pure pleasure.
As Rhodri found his rhythm, he leant forward, their lips touching. Mal pulled him down hungrily, his hands travelling over the younger man's back, exploring his flexing muscles, sliding ever south until they found the lads taut, hairy buttocks. His nails sank into the soft skin, greedily pulling the boy deeper, who responded with eager, harder thrusts.
It was a good job the neighbours were still at the bonfire, because the headboard was really starting to slam now.
Rhodri was dripping with sweat, their breathing a chaotic soundtrack of effort and ecstasy. He wished he could see them, watch the beautiful boy in all his glory, but no sooner had the image entered his mind than he felt his orgasm building. He hadn’t even touched his cock, which laid hard and slick between their bodies. But Rhodri was hitting something underneath it, below it. He felt like he needed to piss, but also his cock was getting harder, his balls were tightening.
“Rhodri!” he managed between breaths.
“Oh fuck, Rhodri!” he said again.
The boy didn’t let up, he fucked harder and deeper, grinding his hips.
“I’m…” he managed, and Rhodri bucked faster.
His hole clamped down, Rhodri’s manhood expanded, and Mal grunted like a boy having his first orgasm. He pulled the taller man down onto him as he came, his cock jumping and spraying between them, as Rhodri’s fucking became erratic, then frantic, before slamming deep. The boy didn’t grunt, but his breathing was ragged. They were cumming together. Two men, two cocks, one hole, a gallon of squirting spunk.
The silence that enveloped them as Rhodri collapsed on to Mal, breathing hard, was one of relief and shock.
Mal, despite himself, started to laugh. What the fuck had just happened?
The boy winced and pulled out.
“Sorry! Sorry!” he said, his voice thick with amusement, “It’s just that when you laughed, you clamped down and I’m really sensitive after.”
Mal instinctively clenched his hole shut, aware of the spunk now sitting inside him.
The boy's spunk was inside him. Inside. Him.
His still hard cock jumped at the thought.
“That was…” he trailed off.
“I know,” Rhodri said, slumping next to him.
“I didn’t know it could be…I didn’t think it would be so….I don’t know what I’m trying to say.”
“You needed it,” Rhodri said.
“I did?”
“Yeah, you did.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re, erm, how can I say it without being a dick? A bit, you know, stuck in your ways.”
Mal didn’t argue the point, which Rhodri took as permission to continue.
“That stuff you said earlier, it’s true. That is what a lot of men like us end up doing, but not all of us. I’m not saying I’m going to tell everyone I’m a queer or anything, but I’m not going to go out with some girl just to hide it, either.”
“But-”
“Let me finish. Please?”
“Alright.”
“Lets take one step at a time. I’ve still got a few months on my apprenticeship. As far as anyone else knows, you’re just my landlord. As long as we’re careful there’s no reason anyone should get suspicious.”
Mal thought about it a moment, before leaning his forehead on the lad's sweaty shoulder.
“Okay. I guess we’ll cross each bridge when we come to it. For now, anyway.”
Rhodri reached over and kissed him, then flopped back, clearly tired.
Mal pulled on his pyjama bottoms and went downstairs, finding his way to the toilet.
The door shut, he let the lads spunk fall free, and thought about what he’d said.
It was a great fantasy, and maybe they could pull it off for a few months, but eventually the reality of expectation would have to be dealt with. Standing, he looked down, seeing the huge amount of cum the boy had filled him with and smiled. A few months was better than nothing.
Easter
Winter had been the usual cold and wet, but the house had been warm and happy in a way Mal couldn’t remember it ever being before. Rhodri would cook, Mal would prepare the bath. Rhodri would watch Top of the Pops, teaching Mal who was who, and bopping along to the music. Mal had even learned to like some, and had been caught humming more than once on shift. That had raised some eyebrows, but nothing untoward had been suggested.
They shared a room now, but for the sake of keeping Beth unawares would make sure Rhodri’s old bed always seemed slept in. When they fucked, they removed the headboard before hand, and tried to keep as quiet as they could. But every so often one of them, usually Rhodri, would have to put a hand over the other's mouth as they came.
Their fucking had gotten to be regular but not routine. Three or four times a week Rhodri would be inside him, thrusting and filling him up. They’d fucked on the bed, the settee, even the armchair. They’d talked about him taking the younger man’s role, but truthfully he was happy with things as they were. He felt more alive when the taller man was on top of him, inside of him, than at any other time he could remember.
But still, the clock was ticking. Rhodri’s apprenticeship was already in its fourth and final year when he’d arrived. He’d been sent to Cwmderw for his practical placement, the year all of his training would be tested and brought together. Soon he’d be signed off as a qualified miner, a miner with full pay. He could stay a while longer, but more than a year, especially a year without a girl, and the talk would start.
Whenever he thought about it his chest tightened and he’d be forced to shake it off.
Rhodri had gone to bed early, he’d been so tired he’d asked Mal to cook, and crashed not long after. Mal had stayed up, the radio playing lightly behind him. Not that he was listening to it.
He was reading a magazine. One that had caused him sleepless nights beyond anything since the run up to his wedding. One that could destroy both their lives. And yet he’d somehow mustered the courage to send it away for it.
One of the more, as his tad would say, ‘learned men’ at the pit had left a copy of The Guardian in the canteen, and Mal, ever the scavenger when it came to books and the like, had picked it up. Inside the newspaper's many articles, he’d stumbled on one about the spike in ‘gay’ venues and publications since decriminalization the year before. They’d named one of them.
It had arrived by post in a plain envelope, under some pseudonym about travel agencies. The postman, Ricky, had raised an eyebrow when he’d seen him later that week, ribbing him about holidays to Benidorm.
Now, in his hand, he was thumbing through the pages of Spartacus International. Most of it was about parts of Europe he only knew of from tracking the war's progress as a kid, but there was a decent section dedicated to London. People like them weren’t just living there, they were finding a way to live as themselves.
He hadn’t told Rhodri about it, not yet. If he was being honest he wasn’t quite sure what he was doing. Or did he? His eyes flicked to Peg’s old books.
In a few days they’d both be headed out of town. Ostensibly for Rhodri to visit home, and him to the coast for a rare break. In reality for them both to get away together. It had been Rhodri’s idea, he’d broached the topic a month earlier, and guilted a reluctant Mal with the knowledge his birthday was coming up. Twenty. A big year, or so Rhodri had said whilst he’d been fucking him. He smiled at the memory, the blatant manipulation, his half hearted refusal, the sudden uptick in thrusting that saw him ‘give in’. The lad was never cocky, but he sure was confident. He half wondered where he came by it.
Their cover story wasn’t a total lie, Rhodri would be going home. And he would be going to the seaside for a break. It was just that no one knew that they’d be meeting up a few days in, the boy joining him at a bed and breakfast.
Tucking the magazine safely behind his mam’s record collection, where the ‘cool’ Rhodri would never think to look, he stretched, and headed to bed, eager to cuddle up to the six foot man who had introduced him to so much.
Rhodri’s trip home had been uneventful. The bus’s suspension notwithstanding. His mam hadn’t been home to greet him, but Dylan had. He was studying, now into his second year of a miners apprenticeship. He wasn’t actually in the mines proper yet, but that would come.
“I fucking hate this safety bollocks,” had been his greeting.
Rhodri gave Dylan a brotherly slap on the shoulder, “Don’t let mam hear you talk like that.”
Dylan waved him off.
He was shorter than Rhodri, but broader. Despite being seventeen his face was still smooth, though his jet black hair hinted at a future five o’clock shadow though no razor would be able to banish.
Now that Rhodri was gone the poor lad had to be the man of the house. He dropped his duffel on the floor
.
“Mam made you a cake for your birthday,” Dylan called from the living room as Rhodri made a cuppa.
He groaned loudly.
“Don’t worry, she burnt it.”
“Thank God.”
They talked for a while after, until Alun burst in, his smile already broad, widening when he saw Rhodri, and almost knocked him with the hug he enveloped him in.
He spent the next hour learning all about the boys rugby team, how he’d stood up to a bully, and critiquing the boys latest drawings.
Daffyd had turned up late, a faded black eye under a scruffy blonde fringe. He’d said a polite hello, before shuffling off upstairs.
“He’s a dickhead,” Alun had whispered.
When Rhodri had pulled him up on it, the little boy had pointed at Dylan, “He said it first!”
“He is a dickhead. He’s gonna knock some little tart up before he’s sixteen, you wait and see.”
Rhodri frowned, but opted not to bite. He wasn’t responsible for them anymore, not in that way.
“Come on little man, let's go for a walk.”
Alun had jumped up and ran to get ready.
In the park he passed the rugby ball back and forth, listening to Alun’s stories. The sun was growing stronger, not yet warm exactly, but enough for the trees to be turning green with new leaves, and the grass to look alive again, not the gritty green of deep winter.
Whilst Alun played with some schoolfriends, Rhodri sat and let his mind wander.
He wondered what Mal was doing. In theory the older man should be on his way to Tenby by now, but you never knew with him. He was the skittish type, always nervous, always worried about risks. That had changed a bit, but a small part of him imagined arriving at the train station in Tenby only to find Mal had chickened out and stayed home.
But then he thought about how Mal looked at him, and not just when they had sex, but when he came home from a shift, or found Rhodri cooking, or they watched tv together. The older man’s face lit up. Their relationship had been as much a shock to him as to Malcolm.
The moment he’d got off the bus he’d been attracted to him. He was a handsome man, with his brown hair specked with grey, those dark green eyes, and his broad chest. But what had developed between them had been a surprise. He’d clocked it before Malcolm. The way his eyes lingered, moments he’d feel the older man’s eyes on him, the way he seemed to come out of his shell whenever Rhodri was around.
He smiled thinking about it, and wondered if anyone watching knew it was a smile of someone in love. Surely people who had been in love recognised it in someone else?
His eyes fell on the old squat block across from the swings. Half covered in ivy and with bars on the glass brick windows, the toilets had been his gateway into sex. Starved of privacy at home, he’d started detouring there on the way home from school to toss off. The cubicles being his only privacy. But in time he’d realised he wasn’t the only one using them like that.
Turned out it was a little hub of boys and men like him, finding ways to give in to a part of themselves they couldn’t elsewhere. He almost felt tempted to visit, see if anyone was around. But Alun was on the climbing frame, and it felt wrong now he was with Mal. Whatever ‘with’ meant.
The next day his mam had planned a special meal for him. It was tradition for all their birthdays. Although Rhodri ended up cooking, insisting she rest for a change. Dylan, in a display of growing resourcefulness, had bought a cake from the shop, sparing them all disappointment.
Later, a few gins down between them, his mother had raised the issue of money.
“You’ve been such a good lad, Rhodri. Your tad would be proud of the man you’ve become.”
He’d stifled a smile at that, knowing full well his father would be utterly horrified at what kind of man his son was. Not that he was a bad tad, just a typical bloke. Knowing his son liked a cock in his mouth would likely have seen him beaten within an inch of his life.
“The way you’ve helped with your brothers, sending us money each month. It’s been a lifeline, honestly. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Rhodri allowed a slight smile.
“Well, Dylan will be earning more soon, and once he’s away on placement-”
“About that,” she said, interrupting, “He’s talking about Aberfan.”
“Okay?”
“It’s just so far. It’s bad enough you being in Cwmderw. So I was thinking, maybe he could join you there? Keep the family together, like.”
Rhodri tried to keep his face from betraying him, but she was his mam.
“Now I get it, you’ve got your freedom and you don’t want your little brother getting in the way. But he looks up to you, I know he doesn’t show it but he does. And you know people there, you could introduce him to folk. Keep him out of trouble.”
Rhodri sipped his drink.
“Maybe he could even move in with you? I’m sure your landlord wouldn’t mind the extra money coming in.”
Rhodri gulped down his drink so hard it burned. Move in with him and Mal? There was no way on Earth that was happening.
“Mam, Aberfan pays better than Cwmderw. Like, a lot better,” he began, opting to avoid his own objections, “If he went there you wouldn’t need to work as many hours.”
“I just want my boys to be safe and happy.”
“Daffyd needs a parent, mam. He’s turning into a right one.”
She stiffened at that.
“I’m well aware of what my sons are up to.”
Rhodri failed to subdue an eyebrow raise at that.
“Are you sure of that?” he dared, but she let the comment go, though not without shooting him a look of warning.
“All I’m asking is that you think about it.”
She went to bed not long after that, leaving him to stew.
There was no fucking way his younger brother was coming to Cwmderw. None. But his mam wouldn’t wait for his answer. This wasn’t so much a question as a notice of intent. And when, not if Dylan gave in to her, he’d be forced to choose between his family and Mal.
How would they keep up their little relationship? He’d be hiding not just from the rest of the village, but from his younger brother. Mal would panic for sure. Even if he refused to let Dylan stay, he’d be around all the time. Watching, pulling him deeper into the routines of the other people their age. Expecting his big brother to be on the prowl.
What the fuck was he going to do?
Tenby
The salt gently stung his sinuses. Mal breathed it deeply, remembering the rare trips with his parents, and the ‘honeymoon’ with Peg. That had been at Barry, though. Full of noise and drunks and nosey types eager to judge and, if inclined, brawl. As if a few dozen miles gave you license to devolve into thuggish behaviour.
Tenby was different. More expensive, posh. But not too posh he couldn’t swing it for the both of them. He’d changed trains at Cardiff, where, without meaning to, he scanned the face of every woman to see if any were Peggy. Not out of romance, just curiosity. In the hour he’d waited he’d rehearsed what he’d say to her.
That he was sorry he’d married her. Not out of spite, but out of genuine apology. He’d used her, and she’d suffered. He understood that now. She hadn’t abandoned him like the old gossips said, she’d just decided she deserved better.
Beyond that though, he didn’t know what he’d have said, and the train to Tenby had pulled in before he’d decided.
The sky was clear, the sea calmly lapping on sand and cliff when he arrived. The bright colours of Tenby’s seafront greeted him, the bold blues and pinks and yellows of townhouses on the shoreline, the white accented windowframes, the vinegar drenched cockles on sale for a few pennies, the stench of freshly landed fish mixed with the alluring smell of their fried counterparts.
His little suitcase was all he had, a relic from his tad’s holidays.
The bed and breakfast was a little back from the front, narrow and old, it was neither grotty nor premier. He’d chosen it because of the absence of the sign “No Blacks, No Irish, No Dogs.”
Figuring that anyone like that might raise an eyebrow at two men sharing a room, even if they were in a twin.
A grand old dame type had welcomed him at the desk. A lit fag drooped from one corner of her mouth as she spoke.
“Just the one, lovie?” she asked, her accent reminding him of Barbara Windsor in the Carry On’s films.
“For a couple nights. My mate is joining me on Thursday.”
She nodded, flipping through bookings and exhaling a cloud of bluish smoke. The whole place stunk of fags.
“Tricky, tricky. But not impossible, my love. If you don’t mind switchin’ rooms, that is?”
He nodded, a faint, polite smile on his lips. She returned to her book, HP pencil tapping as she went. She was decked in necklaces, her hair permed and tinged purple, her chest pushed up by what he assumed was an old bustier.
He kind of liked her, he had to admit. She gave off an air of someone half deluded, half not giving a fuck.
“I think we can make that work. First floor first two nights, single bed room. Toilet and bathroom down the hall, shared with three others. Then when your mate turns up, second floor, twin room in the attic. Breakfast included each mornin’ of course. £4 16s and sixpence alright with you?”
He whistled.
“Thats a bit steep, isn’t it?”
A smirk graced her aging features.
“This ain’t some dive in Blackpool, duck. We’re a classy establishment. And you won’t find cheaper at this quality, mark my words.”
He kept silent, pretending to consider it. A trick his old man had used back in the day, and one he’d learned to deploy from time to time.
She regarded him for a moment, a long, obvious stare. Sucking in a deep breath, she exhaled and launched into a revised pitch, her tone exaggerated.
“Oh, silly me. I forgot! We do have the attic room. Very cramped, double bed. Own toilet, but have to share the shower on the first. That would be £4 and 5s, including your single room for the first two. If you and your mate don’t mind top and tailin’ that is.”
She held his gaze, the hint of a knowing look hidden behind her slightly glazed pupils.
“We’re both miners, we’re used to cramped conditions.”
“Marvellous!” she said, and held out an expectant hand.
His first day solo had been relaxing. He’d walked the seafront, then wandered the beach for a while, exploring the crevices and blind spots of the cliffs below the castle. He’d read in the warming midday sun, tucked in the dunes so no one would disturb him. The Spartacus magazine hidden inside another on the History of Egypt he’d nabbed at the WHSmiths.
He’d enjoyed a fish and chips drenched in salt and vinegar for tea, and had slept lazily until nine the next morning.
Breakfast was half empty, a couple of families and a lone old woman who’d struck up a conversation. She’d come here for years with her late husband, and had kept the tradition up in his absence. They’d spoken for a fair while, before she’d made her excuses and ventured out into Tenby.
His second day was less relaxing, the anticipation of Rhodri’s arrival interrupting his every activity. Despite that he had managed to get some work done, scribbling in a notepad in a cafe as a light drizzle fell outside, a metal teapot and cup his proof of purchase.
His calculations kept changing, but always within the acceptable range he’d set.
Every so often he wondered how serious this was? How real was it? Sometimes he liked to tell himself it was just total fantasy, a fun activity he liked to indulge. Other times he was deadly serious, and adrenaline and fear mixed together in a heady cocktail that strong tea did not help.
The truth? He wasn’t sure yet. He just knew that he had more research to do, more avenues to close off.
On the third day he’d been so excited he’d barely managed toast at breakfast, so much so the old widow had clocked it.
“Lady friend joining you, is she?”
When he didn’t answer she raised an eyebrow.
“Well, I just hope it’s not a Brief Encounter situation. Brilliant film, terrible precedent.”
“It’s not,” he assured her, remembering the film fondly.
She nodded approvingly, dunking a custard creme into her morning tea.
It was raining when the train pulled in. Mal was half wet, having paced in and out of the tea room.
There was a moment, before the doors opened, where he suddenly feared that Rhodri wasn’t onboard. That something had come up, something happened, and he would be stuck here all alone. A lump formed in his throat, and his spirits dropped.
But no sooner had the thought taken root, than the tall, dark haired boy stepped off the train, holdall in hand, hair growing shaggier by the day.
It was all he could do not to run up and hug him.
Rhodri spotted him, a smile dimpling his cheeks.
“Mal!” he shouted, and they embraced the way men do.
Once inside their room, however, Mal had him pinned against the door and was kissing him like he’d been away to war. Rhodri’s hand slid under his jumper and along the smooth muscles of his back. Blood rushed south, and Mal’s hands were tearing at the younger man’s belt.
“Woah, hold on!” Rhodri managed between kisses, and Mal backed off, but kept his hands hooked in the waistband.
“What?”
“Slow down!” he cupped Mal’s face, eyes sparkling, “We have time. I want to hear what you’ve been doing.”
Malcolm exhaled, and then slid his arms around him.
“Relaxing, exploring,” he paused, “missing you.”
Rhodri let out a deep breath, his arms enveloping Mal.
“You’re daft, you know that?”
“What my old mam used to say.”
They spent the afternoon walking the town, dipping into a chippy for tea, a pub for a few quiet ones, before getting reacquainted with each other's bodies at night.
Breakfast the next day was eye opening. Rhodri loaded his plate up with food. Eggs, bacon, sausages, baked beans, fried mushrooms, a seared tomato and two slices of buttered toast. All washed down with a pot of tea snug inside of a hand knitted cosy.
Mal didn’t know whether to be concerned or astonished at the scale of food the lad was putting away. His own marmalade on toast seemed quaint in comparison.
“Hungry?” he asked through a mocking smile.
“Mam,” he managed to say by way of explanation.
Ah, to be twenty again.
The old widow sat down in her usual spot. He nodded politely, even raising a hand, but upon seeing Rhodri, she stiffened, and raising her nose into the air, pointedly looked away.
Apparently not all old dames were the same. It hurt, surprisingly. He ran his hand through his hair, and tried to shake it off. But frankly, he couldn’t wait to get out of the dining room and away from the shadow of her judgement, the risk her condemnation represented.
Friday was thankfully warmer and sunnier than the day before. The sky was blue, and the heat warm enough to need a tee-shirt; jackets optional.
“What do you want to do?” Mal asked as they left the B’n’B.
“What do you want to do?” Rhodri answered.
“The birthday boy gets to choose. Or was all that guilting for nothing?”
Rhodri smirked, “I don’t remember you complaining?”
Mal scanned the road around them before whispering, “Hardly fair considering you were balls deep inside me at the time.”
The lad answered with a playful punch to the shoulder.
“Oi!”
“You won’t want to do it!” Rhodri said, answering the original question.
“So long as it’s not riding a donkey”
Rhodri raised an eyebrow.
“That wasn’t meant to be dirty!” Mal hissed, his cheeks red.
“What a shame. But, no. I actually wanted to go to an arcade.”
To his surprise Mal broke into a broad smile, “Okay.”
“Seriously?!”
“Yeah! I know just the one.”
The arcade was like any other. A garish carpet topped with games, strip lights buzzing dimly above. Kids ran riot between units whilst adults got lost in the thrill of silly gambles. They spent a fair chunk of time on the penny drops, earning a cascade of coins on the first try.
Their winnings paid for a half dozen goes at the rifle range. To Rhodri’s surprise, Mal was a crack shot. Winning dozens of tokens over and over, and helping Rhodri to improve his own poor aim. At one point the young woman who ran the stall had given them a funny look, and they’d cooled their fun, wary of being questioned openly.
They’d finished up with an old fashioned bowling lane, both of them proving terrible, before exchanging their tokens for a packet of fags, a lighter, and a bag of marbles.
After that they’d walked along the beach, meandering slowly along the rich golden sand, barefoot, socks in their pockets, talking about their lives.
Rhodri shared how his late father had died of cancer before he was a teenager. How it had thrown the family into near poverty, his mother being forced to work long hours and neighbours helping out in the first year. How Rhodri had stepped up as they stepped away. How Daffyd had started to act out not long after.
They even broached the topic of Rhodri’s sexual history, with Mal uncomfortable but understanding.
“But you were so young,” he’d said.
But Rhodri had no regrets.
Then, sitting on the crest of a sand dune, families slowly filtering back toward the town, Mal told him about Peggy. About the compromises, her efforts, his disillusionment, their break.
“What do her family think? Are they still in Cwmderw?”
“Yeah. Her dad punched me. Said I’d ruined his daughter's life. Can’t say I blame him.”
Mal traced circles in the sand as a lone seagull squawked overhead; their only witness.
“But her mam blamed her, said she’d always been difficult. I heard she refused to reply to her letters.”
Rhodri placed a hand on his.
“Family, eh?” Mal said, melancholy, “Leaves a queer and still gets the blame.”
It was the first time Rhodri had ever heard Mal call himself that, and to his surprise, he hadn’t said it with bitterness.
“Is that what you are then? A queer?”
Leaning forward, Mal looked around for a moment and, sure no one was near enough to see, gave him a quick peck on the cheek.
Rhodri wondered if it was a brave thing to do, or a cowardly one. He smiled either way.
They sat in silence a while, the clear sky dimming as the sea threatened to swallow the sun. Rhodri thinking about what his mam had said. Mal about his secret project. Both wondering if now was the right time to broach their individual topics? Both deciding not to break the peace of the moment with reality.
The cold of spring night finally replaced the lingering heat of the day, and silently, the two men walked back toward the yellow lights of the distant sea front.
The Castle
The good weather of the day before had been replaced by grey skies and rain that oscillated between spitting and a soaking haze. The widow had been absent at breakfast. Had she left? Or had she locked herself in her room in protest at the queers downstairs. Mal didn’t know, he was just glad of her absence.
Rhodri was markedly less hungry today, only bacon and buttered bread with a side of runny egg had graced his plate this morning.
Mal, however, was once again thinking about his idea. It was drastic. Very drastic. It was insane, really. Anyone he knew would say as much. And yet no matter how many times he talked himself out of it, let the reality of the world weigh on him, he kept coming back to it. The idea refused to die, and that had to be a sign. Right?
He dunked a jammie dodger in his black tea.
“Away with the fairies?”
“Mmm?” Mal asked.
“You’re distracted.”
“Oh. Sorry. Just thinking.”
“Isn’t that what we came here to get away from?” Rhodri said, quietly.
He wasn’t wrong.
“Okay then, what do you want to do?”
“It’s not my birthday anymore. You choose.”
Neither had an umbrella, but their raincoats did the trick as they walked up to the castle. Despite being a Saturday the streets were largely empty, the weather keeping people indoors. Besides a few families and the occasional old lady with a plastic headscarf, they had the ruin to themselves. Sat perched on a headland carpeted in deep green grass, the crumbling tower of dark stones was a shadow of the fortification it had once been. The castle pre-dated the English conquest, and was linked to figures his old man had once told him tales of when he was a boy.
Now it made for a nice walk.
He shared some of the stories with Rhodri, becoming lost in a mixture of history and fantasy, even reminiscing about the time he read Lord of the Rings over the course of a year. A slog that was a mixture of wonder and exhaustion. But Rhodri was in a quiet mood, and his questions and reactions were few and far between.
Dinner had been a salt heavy battered sausage and chips during a break in the rain, and Rhodri had brightened somewhat. By nightfall they had taken a corner of a dive pub, hidden in the nooks and crannies of the place and hunched over a small table. They drank quietly.
“Whats wrong?” Mal finally asked, tired of hoping the boy would eventually come out and say whatever it was.
Rhodri exhaled, but still didn’t talk, lifting the pint to his lips as if to buy time. But Mal refused to give in.
Finally, their gaze locked. Rhodri sagged in defeat.
“When I was home my mam told me about an idea she had.”
Mal listened as Rhodri’s usual calm gave way to an increasingly agitated, flushed faced annoyance that threatened to turn into real anger.
When he’d finished, they returned to sitting quietly, Mal drinking deeply as if imbibing a solution.
Rhodri stewing, clearly not expecting an answer to the problem.
His brother? Now that was a problem. Of course he knew automatically that Rhordi would do it. It was his nature. The boy who stepped up, who sent half his wages home wasn’t about to abandon his family now. Not even if it hurt him. He was selfless.
But was Mal? If Rhodri asked, could he let the boy move back into his old room, share it with his brother, give up the only place in the world they could be together? Watch as life wore Rhodri down until his optimism and confidence gave way to compromise and conformity?
Mal’s drink swilled around in his stomach with an anxiety he didn’t care for.
“I’m going for a fag,” Rhodri said, despite the ashtray in front of them, and headed for the door.
Mal found himself at the bar, waiting on another round he didn’t remember ordering.
“Oh, hello there!”
It took a moment for him to realise the voice was talking to him.
“Oh dear, have you had one too many already?”
It was the old dame from the B’n’b. She was dressed up for a night on the town, a glamorous shawl draped around her neck, her make up so thick it cracked when she smiled, her pearls glinting in the lamp light.
“Err, no,” he stammered, “just in a world of my own.”
“Hmmm. I see,” she said, and tapped a wad of fag ash on to the carpet.
“What ‘ave I told you about that, Glenda! There is literally an ash tray right there!” a woman complained.
Glenda rolled her eyes but bowed her head in apology.
“Where did your friend go in such a hurry? He seemed a tad upset.”
Her eyebrows raised in accusation, “Bit of an, erm…tiff?”
An uneasy heat flooded his cheeks and stomach.
“Oh, don’t look so panicked, chick. I’m only teasing. Life can be a bit dull around ‘ere if you’re not a visitor.”
She gestured for him to come closer, and he was soon sitting on the stool in her little corner, the strong smell of perfume and sherry stinging his nose.
“He seems like a nice lad. Strapping! He’ll break many a heart before he’s done, I’m sure.”
Mal suppressed a squirm.
“Of course, there’s more than one way to do that. Oh, yes. Old Glenda’s been around long enough to know that.”
“Where are you from?” he asked, desperate to change the subject.
“Eastend, love. Though not a true cockney, I’m afraid. Born in Kent, so the accent came a bit later.”
“I’ve never been to London,” he said in a sort of daze.
“Marvellous city. Marvellous!”
“Then how did you end up here? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“Ask away! All I do all day is ask people about their lives, where they’re from, what they want. It’s exhausting. I much prefer being the centre of attention.”
She cleared her throat, then inhaled another cloud of smoke.
“But to answer your question; it was a mistake.”
“A mistake?” he asked, confused.
“Oh, yes. I was in my late forties, I was tired of running a boarding house. My husband had gone. Run off with a shop girl half his age, can you believe it? And one day I just decided to up and sell, and I ended up here. Peace and quiet, I thought. But the truth is,” and she leaned in, her voice lowering, “small town life leaves much to be desired.”
“Oh yes, it's very peaceful. For a time. But everyone is so bored they gossip more than my old mother on washing day. A little controversy is the most exciting entertainment anyone here can hope for.”
She eyed him, teasingly, and despite himself he felt the corner of his mouth twitch.
“Mmmmm,” she said, and stubbed out her fag in the ashtray.
“Thats the thing about London, I miss most. You never know who you’re going to meet. An American GI in the war? A dashing Polish exile? A painter from the Royal Academy?”
She paused and gave him a once over, “The sensitive types.”
“Oh yes, plenty of those in London. Good dancers,” she said, lighting up a new fag.
He smiled, pensively.
“But that's enough about me for a moment. Tell me, what's it like down those mines? If you do a good job you may even make me appreciate my lot in life.”
Rhodri sat alone in the room, the yellow glare of the streetlight the only illumination in the attic. He could hear muffled conversation from downstairs, the laugh of a woman, the low grumble of a man. He was certain if he waited long enough he’d hear their fucking through the floorboards.
He hadn’t meant to come back alone, but once he’d exited into the night air he’d just kept walking. He was so angry. Everything he wanted was at risk.
It wasn’t fair. Not on his brother, not on his mam. Dylan should be able to rely on him the way he always had. He wasn’t a burden, he wasn’t Daffyd. He was responsible, quiet, got on with things. He didn’t deserve Rhodri resenting him from afar. He didn’t deserve his older brother giving him the cold shoulder whilst he visited.
And then there was his mam. She was only looking out for her boys, for the family, the way she had always done. She didn’t deserve his anger, his frustration at being robbed of something he could never explain to her.
He could feel his heart rising in his throat, and tried wringing his hands to distract himself.
Mal didn’t deserve this, either. Being pulled into his family drama. Worse still, being proven right that their little romance was nothing more than a flash in the pan. He’d tried to tell him, but Rhodri had been so certain he could handle things. He was confident he could hide in plain sight for years if he had to. He hadn’t bet on being side swiped from his own family.
But then again, he hadn’t bet on Mal, either.
The thought of giving him up twisted his insides until he felt his eyes sting.
As if on cue, the door opened and Mal, wet and red faced, came in. The look of annoyance at being abandoned gave way to concern, and suddenly a cold arm was wrapping around him.
“I’m sorry,” he managed, “I didn’t mean to…” and then the tears came.
He wept as Mal held him.
They’d talked little for the rest of the night, Rhodri embarrassed, Mal uncertain what to say. The younger man had fallen asleep around midnight, his heavy breathing rhythmic as Mal stared at the ceiling, thinking hard, until, when daylight crept around the curtains, he had made up his mind.
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