NOTE: This is part 3 of 3 of a romance novella. Whilst it contains graphic depictions of sex, this is a slow burn story told in 3 parts.
The Solicitor
Rhodri had remained on edge ever since they’d returned from Tenby. The train trip back had been quiet, with Rhodri opting to read a magazine, as Mal stared out the window.
The last couple of weeks had been morose. Their routine had felt more grinding than before, not that the work was harder. Rhodri had had a letter from his mother, one Mal knew he hadn’t replied to yet. The younger boy would swing between bursts of determination to enjoy their limited time together, of refusing to give into his mothers plans, to resignation that it was all coming to an end.
They kissed often, cuddled at night, but sex had waned. Rhodri had taken to spending time at the pub on weekends, getting rowdy with the other young lads, only to return home downcast and eager for his embrace.
Mal, however, had been busy.
“And I’ll pay extra to keep this between us,” Mal finished saying to the man, “you know how people can be in the valleys.”
He was in a dingy office, the growing light of late spring adding little cheer to the room.
The man opposite, bushy eyebrowed and bald, wore a pinstripe suit and pocket watch. He had hardly changed in thirty years, and Mal reckoned he could live another hundred and still look much the same.
“This is mighty out of character for you, Malcolm. I have to say, your old man would not approve.”
“No, actually, you don’t,” Mal said back, politely but adding an edge to his tone.
The old man was unphased.
“Well someone has to. I mean, coming here with all that and expecting me to say nothing, like it’s all fine and dandy?”
The old man leaned forward, his brow beaded with sweat.
“Are you well, lad? Is it your heart? It does travel down family lines.”
Mal shook his head.
“Can you do it, or not? Because you’re not the only solicitor in town, Ken.”
The old man exhaled as if it were a difficult question, then nodded, his expression disapproving.
“Aye, lad. I can.”
Mal left the office shaking. Not with excitement, but absolute terror.
It was two days before Mal told Rhodri.
The sun was beating down on the hills regularly now, the moors alive with heather and lambs, clouds as often white and fluffy as grey and brooding. Summer was almost upon them, and Rhodri’s apprenticeship was almost over. He had still not fully replied to his mothers entreaties, answering only those issues he wished to, much to Mal’s curiosity.
It was Saturday night when Mal finally told him.
Rhodri had been getting ready to head out to the pub when Mal had called him into the kitchen, a cup of tea on the table as a sign to sit down. Rhodri, a bit uncertain, took the cue.
“If this is about my drinking too much…” he began, only for Mal to sit opposite and take his hands.
The boy's hands had become calloused and rough the last year, but nothing like his own. To Mal, they were still soft and innocent, still the hands of a man who was braver and bolder than he had ever been.
“Dylan can’t come live here,” he began, “It’s not what I want, and it's not what you want.”
“My mam will expect me to live with him,” Rhodri interrupted, “To keep an eye on him. If he can’t live here then I’ll have to move out and find a place for us both!”
Mal squeezed the boy’s hand, but he stood up, the familiar frustration back in an instant.
“I can’t keep having this conversation,” he said to no one in particular.
“I know.”
“So that's your decision then? We end it?” Rhodri asked, bottom lip quivering, “I move in with Dylan and we just call it quits?”
Mal felt his stomach muscles spasm.
“I don’t want that!” Rhodri hissed, afraid of raising his voice so the neighbours could hear.
“Neither do I!”
“But that's what you're saying, isn’t it?”
His eyes were glassy now, and Mal was having a hard time holding his own back.
“What I’m trying to say is-”
“No, I don’t want to hear it,” Rhodri said, and made for the door, wiping his snotty nose on his freshly ironed shirt.
But Mal grabbed him by the wrist.
“Would you stop being a woman for just one moment and listen to me, lad!” Mal shouted.
Rhodri, taken aback, stood stock still.
And then Mal just said it.
“I sold the house.”
Rhodri’s eyes went wide.
“You did what?”
“I sold it.”
“Why? Why would you do that? This was your dads place? Your grandads!”
“I don’t care,” he shrugged.
“What do you mean you don’t care? Where are you going to live? Why the hell have you gone and done this? Is it just so Dylan can’t live here?”
“Because I fucking love you, you daft sod!” he said through the familiar burn of his cheeks.
“And I can’t live without you. But we can’t be together here. I know it, you know it deep down. So, as far as I see it, we have be together somewhere else.”
Rhodri’s face was a map of confusion, hurt, and joy.
“You love me?”
“Yeah, and if you listen to me a moment you might learn something!”
He sat him down, hands held over the old table, and told the younger man about his plan.
London. He’d made £1192 on the house sale. £1151 after fees. More than enough to get them settled and starting out. He’d been keeping an eye on jobs, figured he could be a bus driver or maybe train up on the tube or something. He didn’t really care, just something to pay the bills. He might even learn a trade, take a leaf out of Peg’s book.
There was enough money for the both of them to start fresh, and in London they could hide easier. Be together, easier. People cared a damn sight less there. He wasn’t exactly expecting a city full of Glenda’s but at least there were others like them, with places people like them went. Unlike here.
He pulled out the magazine he’d been hiding, showing him listings he’d circled.
“This boarding house here, we could get a room, figure things out, and then find somewhere more permanent.”
Rhodri, however, seemed shell shocked.
“Is this real?” he finally asked, “You did all this without telling me?”
Mal nodded, afraid of how the next few minutes might pan out.
“I knew if I told you you’d never let me do it. You’d say it was too much, that you might even leave.”
“It’s barmy!” Rhodri said, laughing through fresh tears, “I can’t let you do this.”
“It’s done. Moneys in the bank. I’m giving my notice Monday. Move in two weeks. That’s if you want to come?”
The question hung in the air a moment as Rhodri worked his mind around it.
“But, what about my apprenticeship? What would I even do in London? What would my mam say?!”
“Fuck your apprenticeship. These mines are already drying up. Ask anyone with half a brain. And you can do what you want! I’ve got enough money to keep us going for well over a year, two if we’re tight.”
“But-” Rhodri began before Mal cut him off.
“As for your mam, if it's money you’re worried about I can help with that.”
“No. Absolutely not.”
“Why not? Rhodri, you’ve helped them, you’ve helped me, who’s helping you?”
Rhodri’s eyes were swimming with tears.
Mal gently kissed the boys hand.
“You’ve done everything on your own, Rhodri. Everything since your dad died. And then you come here and you…you…well, look at us. Couple of queers crying in the kitchen.”
Mal laughed at his own joke, determined to push through his discomfort.
“You’re the best thing that’s come through that door in years. I want you to come with me.”
“But…people will talk,” the boy managed through sobs.
“And we’ll be long gone when they do. I’m not coming back here, lad. I’m done.”
“But this…this is your…home.”
“Nah, it’s just a house. We can always get another one.”
Rhodri smiled, wiping his eyes with his now sodden sleeve.
“So, what's it going to be? You going to come with me?” he asked, afraid of the answer.
Rhodri’s face scrunched up as if in pain, and then the boy's long arms were enveloping him in a powerful hug that told him all he needed to know.
The Train Station
Mal leaving was the talk of the town. He’d managed to keep it quiet for all of a day before everyone knew. The final straw had been him handing his notice in at the pit. He’d never seen his old gaffer stunned before, let alone speechless. But that’s what had happened.
Mal was one of those types that drifted through life. He was born by the pit, grew up in its shadow, worked in it, and was meant to be buried next to it. Like his dad, and grandad, and great grandad. Flecks of coal had floated around the womb with him.
People like him didn’t leave. They certainly didn’t at 32 with no wife, no kids, and no prospects. Not short of a war, anyway.
The whole town was talking about it. Theorising, debating, some outright asking him. He never gave them a solid answer. Just that he wanted to see more of the world. Most found that vague, some offensive, like him leaving was a judgement on them. He guessed in a way it was, but to hell with them. A few seemed envious, including a couple he hadn’t expected. He wondered if he might even inspire someone else down the line. That would be nice.
He’d sold the house with the furniture. Letting go of the house itself was one thing, but everything inside it was another all together. He’d taken to sitting in his tad’s armchair more than normal, as if imprinting the memory of the thing into his mind and body. But it, like most everything else, would soon be gone from his life.
Whilst Mal had been taking heat from the community, Rhodri had been taking just as much from his mother. She had been irate in her letters, threatening to come over and talk sense into him.
London, she had exclaimed down the phone, was a fool’s gambit. He had a steady job with a good community at his back, and here he was running off on some foolhardy adventure just when she needed him most.
He hadn’t reacted well to that last comment. When didn’t she need him most? He’d promised to keep sending her money, to help as he always had, but she’d cried and slammed the phone down. After that only Dylan would answer, and the boy sounded upset whenever they spoke. He no doubt felt abandoned, like he was responsible for them all now. Rhodri had tried to make clear that wasn’t true, but he hadn’t made much headway.
In the end he’d opted to save his shillings, reasoning that letters and time to cool off might prove more productive than screaming matches down the local telephone box.
His apprenticeship would end in two weeks time, and with it his obligations. Only Mal and his family were aware. As far as everyone in town knew he was staying for the long haul. Whenever people asked him questions about Mal he always said the same thing.
“He wants to see more of the world.”
It did not satisfy many, though it usually led to everyone's new favourite game; speculating where the loner was off to? Cardiff? Was he off to find his ex-wife after all these years? London? Maybe Paris? No, not Paris. Italy! Too far. Berlin to see the wall?
The conversations went around and around like that until people got bored. Secretly he enjoyed them, and would tell Mal about them when he came home. They even made a game of it, Mal trying to guess where he was supposedly off.
They had agreed that Mal would leave first, it would give him time to get them set up whilst Rhodri completed his apprenticeship. The house wouldn’t be changing hands for another few weeks yet, giving them both time to vanish into the world without additional challenges.
The day finally came. Mal had his suitcase and a holdall packed since the night before, both now at the foot of the bed. Neither had slept much, both of them pretending the other didn’t know they were awake.
Sometimes they’d break that unspoken truce and cuddle, other times, one would fall into a restless sleep whilst the other listened to the ticking of the clock. Eventually the alarm shook itself off the chest of drawers, and it was time.
Breakfast had been a quiet affair, just tea and some dry toast. Mal’s heart was thumping, and Rhodri was clearly upset. He was putting on a brave face, but the boy was struggling. Though they’d only be apart a short while, and Mal was more than capable of handling himself out in the world, Rhodri felt a sense of loss he couldn’t quite put a finger on. What if he didn’t see him again? What if he changed his mind? London was a dangerous place, something might happen to the older man.
And then there was being alone, here.
He held his teacup firmly, hoping the action would steady his hands.
When the time came to leave for the station, they kissed before opening the door. Holding each other, breathing in the other's scent.
Outside, what passed for a crowd had gathered. Groups of women, mostly, milling about as if it were the most natural thing on Earth to wait outside someone's house.
As he left, Rhodri stayed behind. He’d watched from the door a moment, then closed it behind him. They had agreed he couldn’t see him off, it would arouse too much suspicion and put Rhodri in danger.
As the gossip slowly followed him toward the station, he spotted Edgar and a couple others that considered him a friend of sorts.
“So, you’re off then?” Edgar said, holding out a hand.
Grasping it firmly, he gave the old weathered face a smile.
“Seems like it.”
“I don’t get it myself but I wish you the best. And if you get bored of, what do they call it? Jet setting? Well, you know where we are.”
Mal nodded, but offered nothing more. Mal’s wife gave him a hug and slipped him a paper bag he knew was full of sandwiches, and that was that. He boarded the train. As he settled into his seat, he looked out the window at the little farewell committee, when he spotted him. Just passed the fence, behind the bushes, the tall, dark haired figure of Rhodri. The boy waved, and Mal, concerned and elated, waved back.
The train pulled out, and he left Cwmderw behind.
Rhodri had never felt so alone. The house was emptier than it had ever been. His own bags wouldn’t be packed for a while yet, his ticket not yet purchased.
He had work in a few hours, but first he dragged the old bath out, and filled it with scalding water. It was the closest thing to Mal’s embrace he could think of.
London
The boarding house was a bit rougher than he’d expected. The other guests were, well, a mix. Some were friendly, most weren’t. The old man that ran the place was gruff and uninterested, but at least seemed the type to throw out anyone too troublesome.
He’d expected some rough’uns, but not the cold, practiced disinterest that seemed to permeate the place. People in London, he had quickly learned, looked past you, not at you. He supposed that was what he’d come for. The protection of disinterest.
The big surprise has been his neighbour. He’d never met a black man before. He’d seen them now and then when he’d made his rare ventures into Cardiff, but never had occasion to talk to one.
The man was a bit older than Rhodri, broad shoulders, his hair shaved, his suit immaculate, his English exceptional. Mal had been a bit unsure at first, unsure how to act. But the man had been very kind. They shared a bathroom and a wall and would often chat. James, he had learned, had come from Jamaica, and was working at a local warehouse.
It had been a couple of days before he realised his interest in James was more than just exotic fixation, but sexual. They had been chatting one night before bed, one coming out of the bathroom as the other was heading in, when Mal had felt the lengthening of his penis in his pyjamas. Worried his rapidly growing tent would be noticed, he’d made his excuses and headed back to his room.
That night, as he stroked himself to climax, he imagined James, a few inches of brick away, doing the same thing. He wondered what he looked like naked, how a black cock would compare to his, or Rhodri’s? The thought had sent him over the edge, and cum had pooled on his stomach and in his belly button. He’d slept hard that night.
He had found some temporary work easily enough, answering an advert down the job centre for window cleaner. He wasn’t afraid of heights and it was only temporary whilst he found his footing. The crew he worked with was, well, a bit lacking in the old grey matter, but knew their stuff. He was a bit slow by their standards but they didn’t seem to mind. Few people wanted to do their work.
He had spoken with Rhodri only once on the phone. Two days before the train would arrive. He’d meet Rhodri at the station at 3:12. They’d drop Rhodri’s stuff off at the boarding house, where Mal has arranged for them to share his twin room. The old man had barely raised an eyebrow when he’d explained his younger brother would be joining him in a couple weeks. It was just more money to him.
The morning that Rhodri was due to arrive, he was practically giddy. If he’d been much of a dancer he might have celebrated with some moves, instead he whistled like his old man used to.
When he exited the bathroom in just his pyjama bottoms, teeth freshly brushed he ran straight into James. His good mood had negated any embarrassment he might have felt, and he talked to the younger man, whose dashing smile once more sent blood south.
“Are you enjoying your new job, sir?”
James always started their conversations by addressing him as sir, despite Mal telling him not too. He would eventually drop it after a few minutes, but every time the same polite start. He wondered if it was a manners thing or a black thing, but he never thought to ask. It seemed rude.
“It’s…a job. Pays the bills.”
“Work is good for a man,” James said, “Keeps him focused.”
“Ah, I can think of plenty of things I’d rather be doing,” he said, smile practically beaming.
James cocked his head slightly, then grinned.
“Ah I can see that,” and glanced down, “men be men mostly in the morning.”
Mal went red as blood turned his semi into a full on tent.
James sauntered past him, then turned.
“Best take care of yourself before work. Don’t want that getting caught in the ladder.”
Mal nodded, embarrassed, but as James turned into the bathroom he saw that he too was sporting a boner beneath that politely stripped cotton.
Once back in his room, he quickly dropped his pants and let his pole spring flat against his stomach. Stroking hard, he remembered the outline, relived the conversation, recalled that smile. But as his cum rose, he thought of Rhodri, London bound, and let go.
He’d save himself for later.
The train station was everything about London that Mal had decided he did not like. A constant rush and crush of people, stale cigarette smoke, and noise. The tube was much the same. He figured he’d get used to it, but that didn’t mean he cared for it.
He smoked as he walked to the platform, wondering what Rhodri would make of James. Would he find him just as interesting as he did? Or would he instead be jealous? Not that he needed to be, of course. Mal was just looking, after all.
As he headed to grab a paper, he was caught by a headline.
“MINE ACCIDENT KILLS TWO”
He grabbed the evening edition from the stand and read as fast as he could.
A partial collapse of what the National Union of Mineworkers have termed a "litigiously under-maintained shaft” killed two workers and trapped three others early yesterday morning. Whilst those trapped have since been rescued, the names of those killed have not yet been released. The collapse, which took place at the aging Cwmderw pit…
Mal practically fell to the floor, steadying himself only by placing a hand on the nearby wall.
Rhodri. His heart sank into his shoes and his stomach rolled. Was Rhodri in the mine?
He had to know. Still holding the paper, he ran to the platform, the proprietor shouting after him as he vanished into the crowd.
The clock was ticking down to the train's arrival time, all whilst Mal, eyes wet with the threat of tears, clutched the crumpled paper in his hands.
Not Rhodri. Not kind, patient, beautiful Rhodri.
He was shaking, desperately trying to keep his composure as people nearby regarded him with a mix of fascination, disapproval, and worry. But he didn’t care about them. He just cared about Rhodri. Either the boy would get off this train, or Mal would be getting on it.
He had to know. He had to be safe. He had to find him.
The train finally began its laborious approach, pulling in at an excruciating pace. People swarmed the doors both within and without, and Mal, panicked, climbed atop a bench to see over the crowd.
People began to pour off the train. Old faces, young faces, tall, short, men, women. He couldn’t see Rhodri anywhere.
As the carriages began to empty he still couldn’t see Rhodri. Tears were now openly falling down his cheeks, and his gut turned. He’d been in the mine, hadn’t he?
That was how fate worked, right? It dangled things in your face and then twisted them or took them away.
He crumpled on to the bench.
“You alright?” a voice said, and he waved them away, his heart hurting.
It physically hurt. Not just an ache but an actual pain. If he didn’t know better he’d think he was having a heart attack.
A hand slipped around his shoulders.
“Hey, what’s wrong?”
Through a blur of watery eyes, familiar, dark haired, youthful features slowly came into focus.
It was Rhodri.
Mal pulled him into a hug so hard their jaws collided.
“I thought…” he managed through gasps, as Rhodri held him.
“Mal, people are starring,” he said, softly, but with a hint of warning.
“Don’t care…Thought you were…”
Rhodri pulled free, and dragged Mal to his feet, using his taller, broader frame to shield Mal from prying eyes.
“Thought what?” he asked.
Mal’s shaking hand offered up the paper.
Rhodri took it, and with dawning horror, understood.
“Jesus fucking christ,” he muttered.
Looking at Mal, he took a hanky out of his pocket and gave it to the older man.
“Not here,” he whispered.
Mal nodded, pulling on suddenly returned strength, and stifled his sobs. By the time they were outside in the early summer haze, Mal was as unremarkable as anyone else. Except, perhaps, for the occasional glances he traded with the tall young man next to him.
The Headboard
The boarding house was pretty much what Rhodri had expected. Dank, dreary, and grey.
They had talked on the tube, pouring over the paper and wondering what had happened the day prior. The accident must have occurred just as Rhodri was leaving, and with the lad going straight for first train he’d missed the undoubted commotion which accidents always generated.
Neither knew who had died, and they likely wouldn’t until the morning papers landed. Rhodri could see Mal was worried. He was too, he had friends he cared about, but not as much as Mal, who certainly knew whomever had died.
And yet Mal couldn’t stop looking at him with soft, thoughtful smiles.
“I’m fine, mam!” he said down the phone to his crying mother.
“I thought you were dead!” she shouted in grief.
He felt his stomach lurch at that, and had to wipe his eyes clean.
“I was at home when it happened.”
“But you would have been down there, wouldn’t you!” she said, her composure ragged, “If you hadn’t quit! You’d have been…”
“But I wasn’t though, was I?”
“I’ll never forgive myself!” she said, “I tried to make you stay! God, I wanted to send Dylan there!”
“It’s the risk we all take, mam. You know this, you were married to a miner.”
“I’ll never forgive myself!” she repeated.
It took him five minutes and a fair few more coins in the slot to finally calm her down.
When he was done with the payphone, he’d returned upstairs to find Mal chatting to a handsome black man in the hall.
“Rhodri, this is my friend James. James, Rhodri, who I was telling you about.”
James extended a hand, his face solemn.
“I am sorry to hear about your mine.”
Rhodri nodded his thanks, taking the hand.
“Well, I best be off to bed. Don’t worry about noise, you two will need to talk after everything that’s happened.”
The newcomer left, turning into the door directly next to theirs.
“How’s your mam?” Mal asked, concern once again returned to his features.
“Blaming herself,” he said, and told him all about it.
That night they lay in bed, the darkness broken by a single shaft of streetlight.
Both were naked, bodies entwined, lips occasionally touching, sometimes talking, hands brushing along thighs, arse, and torso. Tonight they just wanted to be close, knowing that back in Cwmderw, life was about loss right now. Pressed together in their nudity, arms holding and caressing, penises rising and falling, they soothed each other's fears, and felt the reassuring thrum of breath and pulse. Slowly, they drifted off, the exhaustion of worry pulling them under.
Mal woke first. Something in a dream had beckoned him into the waking world, something that existed in both. A noise. A rhythm. It was quieter in his dream, but now, awake, it was hardly loud. Just a slight, recurring sound to his left.
He gently let the back of his hand touch the wall, and the rhythmic sound reverberated into his bones. Something was hitting the wall on the other side.
Mal’s pulse quickened, and his cock, already half way hard, went to full salute.
Rhodri was still sleeping, but it was a light sleep, his own impressive manhood solid and bobbing with his heartbeat. Whatever dream he was having, it was a good one.
Mal, certain he knew what was happening on the other side of the wall, slowly slid down the bed, before spinning his body. Rhodri’s cock, the horse cock as his friends had labelled it, bobbed in front of his face. The dark pubic bush wasn’t trimmed anymore, having grown wild after Mal had mentioned his love of it.
He liked it better this way, it was how lads had been when he was younger. He remembered back to when he’d been a teenager, comparing his manhood with the other apprentices, and realising he was doing better than he thought. Though all different sizes and shapes, everyone’s had been crowned with a mass of curly hair. He gently ran his hand across the soft tangle.
The boys precum smelt strongly, clinging to the inside of his nostrils, activating the feral side of him. Without so much as a second thought, he opened his mouth, and engulfed the head.
It tasted tangy, bitter, and pressed upon his tongue and mouth with pleasant heat.
Rhodri didn’t stir at first, leaving Mal to savour the taste. Then, he began to slide lower, his lips slipping past the flare of the lads helmet and down his shaft, sliding the foreskin gently as he went, until he had a full half of the boy in his mouth, and he felt the first flex, and telltale movement of his lover waking.
Rhodri made a noise, caught between word and moan, before spreading his legs wider to give Mal better access.
“What you doing?” he finally asked, as Mal continued to work.
Mal ignored him, savouring the flavour, the heat, the smoothness of his taut skin. His own prick firmly wrapped in his rough hand, the other gently tugging on the lads tightening nut sack.
Rhodri didn’t ask again, his body relaxing under Mal’s attention.
Then just as he felt the tell tale tingle of cum starting to rise from his root, Mal pulled off of him, and even in the gloom he could tell the older man was smiling.
“Had to get you ready,” he said, then flopped down beside him, and pulled at the taller man's shoulder until Rhodri was on top of him, their cocks now mashed together between their hairy stomachs.
The sound of kissing, of sharp exhales and little laughs now overlaid the quiet, steady rhythm of James’s headboard.
Mal was eager, his heart racing with excitement, and he wrapped his strong legs around the lads waist, and pulled him in close, his bobbing cock now brushing against the hairs of Mal’s arse hole.
“You’re really randy tonight, aren’t ya?” Rhodri breathed into his ear, teasing.
“Fuck me,” he said, “fuck me like a dog in heat, lad.”
And to emphasise his point, he dug his hands deep into the younger mans arse cheeks, and held him between his legs in a vice like grip.
“Be rude not to,” the younger man said.
Within minutes Rhodri’s full length was buried inside him, his balls gently slapping back and forth as the lad relaxed his arse muscles. Mal groaned, lightly.
Rhodri, hitting a good stop, targeted it again, only this time harder.
“Like that?”
Mal just nodded, forgetting in the dark the lad couldn’t see him.
Rhodri was grinding, working him with a knowledge and skill Mal still couldn’t reconcile with his years, yet which was causing his hole to flex without his control, and his cock to drool.
He began to pant and moan, only for Rhodri to place a hand over his mouth.
“Got to be quiet, remember? We don’t want to give ourselves away,” the younger man said, his rhythm reduced to a slow tempo that dragged his cock in and out in agonising slowness.
“James…” he managed, quiet enough for the hand to be removed, “I think he’s like us.”
And he nodded to the wall.
Rhodri stopped, his cock half buried, and regarded the wall as if willpower would remove it and reveal the answer to Mal’s assertion.
The rhythmic thudding that had been going on for at least fifteen minutes continued. It wasn’t precise enough to be a machine or a pipe, it lacked a pattern that lasted more than ten seconds or so.
Mal knew in his gut that the man was tossing off, maybe even listening to their rutting as a source of fuel. He wanted to be a part of that, and in the darkness, gave off a pleading aura.
Rhodri, however, answered by pulling out entirely.
Deflated, both sexually and literally, Mal grasped for his lover, only for the young man to firmly grab him, and flip him.
“On all fours,” he commanded, his voice firm.
Mal rose up, his heart racing, until he was in the position.
Rhodri mounted him, legs either side of his own, cock angled down as it parted his ring and all those spectacular inches slid effortlessly inside until the curl of pubes brushed the base of Mal’s spine.
Then the lad began to piston. Like a machine he began to fuck Mal with a force and power he had never seen before, and he had to bury his face deep into the pillow, hands clawing at the bed, as groans and sharp inhales escaped him. His tunnel was taking a beating, his cock flailed beneath him, as Rhodri stabbed and jabbed at every angle he could manage.
Sweat rained down on him as the room heated up. A musical rhythm of thighs slapping cheeks, of the deep guttural grunts of a man doing what his instincts commanded, only added to the intensity of sensation.
The lad railed him so hard Mal wasn’t sure he could handle it much longer, his insides feeling tender. Then, Rhodri fell forward, resting his weight on the strength of Mal’s powerful back, and humped him like a randy teen.
“Going to spunk,” he managed between breaths, his body struggling to maintain any semblance of rhythm now.
“Inside me,” Mal said, frantic, his arse muscles clenching down on command.
“Oh!” the younger man said, in surprise and clear ecstasy.
Mal did it again, and again. Rhodri’s thrusting solidness seemed to grow wider, engorged with rising seed.
“Oh fuck,” the boy groaned, and he buried himself so deep it hurt, but Mal didn’t stop milking.
“Ugh! Ugh!” the boy grunted, over and over, humping him like a crazed animal.
“It’s coming!” He growled a little too loudly, and Mal swore the thudding of the other headboard increased in tempo.
Then, with a gasp, Rhodri slammed down, his body went rigid, and he grunted loudly with each surge of semen, every rope of cum his fat cock squirted deep into Mal’s arse.
Finally spent, sweat sticking them together, Mal collapsed to the bed, and a tired Rhodri rolled away, trying to catch his breath.
James headboard was now clearly banging against the wall, and the muffled sounds of an impeding orgasm we’re clear.
Sweaty and stinking of sex, Mal grabbed his pole and worked it, his hole still warm with the lingering heat of Rhodri’s cock and cum.
The sounds of James wanking, and their own insanely good fuck, we’re driving him close to a huge shot of spunk he could feel it.
Then, as if on cue, Rhodri shot up, bent over, and took him in his mouth, his hand wrapping around the base, and went to town.
It didn’t take a minute after that, before Mal felt his big bull balls pull tight, his back arch, and his cock throb as it pumped cum into Rhodri’s warm mouth.
Mal must have been louder than he realised because when he came down from his orgasm, he suddenly heard the frantic banging next to him as loud as his own headboard has been minutes earlier. Then, it stopped, followed by muffled groan.
“What did I tell you?” Mal smirked in the dark.
Rhodri, still licking his cock clean, chuckled.
“Who knew that old Malcolm…liked an audience?” he teased.
The Bar
The last few weeks had been a challenge. Mal had spent most of his life tired, but somehow navigating London, his job, searching for a flat, had proven more exhausting than anything since he’d started his apprenticeship all those years ago.
He and Rhodri remained tight, their rare free time spent together testing out the local pubs to see which one would be their regular hang out. They’d quickly learned which ones not to set foot in.
But the truth was Mal wasn’t that interested in them anyway. He knew where he wanted to go and Rhodri, once he’d told him, had lit up at the prospect.
It should have made him happy, but instead Rhodri’s excitement had scared him. It was out there now, a commitment he had made, and one he had to make real. Not only that, but there was the issue of having absolutely no idea what they would find inside the place. Who they would find. If they would be welcomed or treated with hostility? What if it was the wrong place? What if his magazines were wrong? What if the management had changed? How would he react if he saw men kissing? He’d never seen a man kiss another, not even in his magazines.
Every question swirled through his mind until the stress of the commitment woke him up in the dead of night, heart racing, and not even waking Rhodri up for late night sex seemed to fully vanquish his anxiety.
And now here they were, in an alley off a nondescript street, rain threatening to pour overhead, fags dangling from their mouths as they tried to summon the courage. Rhodri, brave and headstrong Rhodri, had gotten quieter and quieter the nearer they got, until now Mal was afraid he would have to be strong for the both of them.
He’d read the instructions in the magazine a hundred times, so much so that he’d started to smear the ink where the advertisement sat.
On their second fag each, both glanced at one and other, nerves on display. But Mal had made a timer of his cigarette. By the time he reached the butt, he would have to go.
This was why they had come, afterall. Why he had sold up, moved on, left behind his whole world. To be with Rhodri, yes, but also to find others like them. To not be alone.
He’d been alone so long. His whole life, really. And then by chance the tall, handsome man opposite, the one with a mop of black hair and quiet confidence had not just come into his life, he’d upended it. He’d shown him who he was, and what he could be, and Mal loved him for that.
The fag was half way burnt down, and Rhodri was smiling at him.
“What?” he asked, smiling back.
“I just…can’t believe we’re here.”
Mal’s heart swelled, his worries retreated and he tossed the fag to the ground in a rush of adrenaline.
“Come on, lad,” and he grabbed Rhodri’s wrist.
“Wait!” Rhodri protested, but Mal kept walking.
“Waited long enough!” he said, a broad grin answering Rhodri’s worried expression.
The taller man hesitated, for a moment pulled back by his own nerves, then something hardened within him, and a devil may care look took hold of his handsome features.
“Alright, old man. First rounds on you.”
Hand stuffed in their pockets, shoulders occasionally rubbing, they walked toward the hidden door and whatever lay beyond it.
To most passers by they were just two blokes out on the town, but to those practiced at seeing what is hidden, of identifying the subtle glances, clocking the flash of toothy smiles, intuiting the ease and comfort of being close, they would see love.
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