Date: Wed, 5 Aug 2009 21:11:48 +0000 (GMT)
From: Alex Douglas <alex_d0uglas@yahoo.co.uk>
Subject: the price part 8

Copyright Alex Douglas 2009

Author's note: This is a revised version of a previous unfinished
story. It's taken me 6 years to finish it, so finally here it is. All
feedback greatly appreciated. Email me at alex_d0uglas@yahoo.co.uk and I'll
do my best to reply.

- - - - -

By the time the school reunion came, Ireland was in the grip of a heatwave,
and Sean took the newspapers outside into the garden, throwing down a rug
on the small lawn that was overgrown and springy with clover and daisies,
drifting off to sleep to the sound of distant lawnmowers. Getting ready
that evening, he stared at his red face in the mirror, aghast. "Of all the
days to get sunburn", he muttered, rubbing some of Cal's moisturizer into
his prickling skin, hoping it would fade a bit by the time they got to the
club.

Most of his summer clothes didn't fit anymore. He sighed as he threw off
the shirt he'd been planning to wear, pinching the fat on his belly and
vowing to lay off the takeaways and beer. A t-shirt and jeans would have to
do. He rubbed some gel into his blond hair, pushing it around and
cursing. It wouldn't lie down, or sit in any kind of style. The t-shirt he
pulled out of the wardrobe was one of Owen's, and he put it back, feeling
guilty. Since Cal had come to stay, he hadn't called Owen once.

Cal was waiting for him by the door, staring into the mirror, fixing his
immaculate hair. Black leather trousers fitted snugly across his arse. He
was wearing a black shirt that showed off his slim frame perfectly and new
black boots. Sean swallowed and shook his head.

"I didn't think you'd be coming," he said.

Cal looked at him. "Why? I'm not sick," he said irritably.

Sean stepped in behind him and glanced at himself in the daylight that was
still streaming in through the glass of the door. "Jesus, will you look at
the state of me," he said. "I look like a fucking...red negative."

A smile pulled at Cal's mouth. "You've looked better," he said.

"Cheeky git," Sean said, grinning. "Taxi's here."

Declan and Tom were waiting in the taxi, already half drunk. They were both
married and Tom had a three month old baby, whose picture he waved around
the taxi. "Isn't she fucking beautiful?" he said. "I tell you what though,
it's good to be off the leash for a night!" He popped open another beer and
the taxi driver sighed.

"Yeah, I remember those days," Declan said, fishing out his wallet to show
off his own pictures of his son. "Mine's going to primary school this
September. I know it's a cliché, but god they grow up fast!"

Cal was sitting in the front, leaning against the window. Sean wondered if
he was asleep, but occasionally he'd shift in his seat and take a drink
from his hip flask. It looked like the same one he'd had the last time they
went to the White Horse, and Sean felt the memory tug at his heart. He
didn't join in the conversation until they were pulling into the car park,
when they were discussing how to split the taxi fare. "I'll get this," he
said, pulling a £50 note out of his wallet and handing it to the taxi
driver. "Keep the change, my good man," he said theatrically. The taxi
driver shot him an angry look, then pocketed the money.

"Don't be daft," Declan said. "That's well expensive."

"Well I'm fucking loaded," Cal said, stepping out of the taxi and stumbling
backwards, falling onto his backside. He burst out laughing. His face was
flushed and there was a wild look in his eyes. "I've got fucking tons of
cash. Drinks are on me tonight, mate."

"Jesus, Cal!" Sean said, getting out and hauling him to his feet. "Are you
all right?"

"Of course," he snapped. "Stop fussing around me, will you? I won't break."
He turned around and brushed the dust off his clothes. "Right, let's get
this party started, people."

The club had been re-decorated since they'd last been there, in faux-80's
style. It was all black and green, with neon palm trees lit up over the
bar. "What do you reckon," Declan said. "Seems they've cornered the market
on nostalgic thirtysomethings trying to find their lost youth?"

There was a banner hanging over the dance floor, and balloons held in a net
overhead. "SAINT THOMAS'S CLASS OF 91- MAY THE PARTY CONTINUE!" Sean looked
around for Cal, but couldn't see him. Many familiar faces, and some of
their old teachers gathered in a clump in the corner, shielding their ears
from the pumping music. He was impressed with Declan's organization and
bought him a double vodka to celebrate, and one for himself, just to be
polite.

The old skool tunes were filling the dance floor far more than they had
done first time round. Declan and Tom pushed through the crowd and started
dancing. "Hey, stranger." A female voice at his side, and he turned
around. A slim woman with short red hair, sipping a cocktail.

"Julie?" he said. He never could tell them apart. But Heather was in New
Zealand, so he figured it was a good guess.

"Heather," she said, smiling. "Julie couldn't come. She's having a baby,
like tomorrow or something. That's why I'm back here. Couldn't miss the
party, could I?

Sean grinned and hugged her. "Damn, it's good to see you," he said. "And
everyone else." The alcohol was making him feel nostalgic again. They sat
down together and started chatting, catching up on the years. She'd become
a nurse, travelled a bit, did a couple of years volunteering in Africa
where she'd met her husband. Sean found himself telling her everything, all
about the accident and Cal and his mouth had run away with him before he
remembered she was the one Cal had slept with the night it had all gone
wrong.

She looked thoughtful. "You know, we never did it," she said. "Although I
really wanted to. I used to fancy him so much! But he came back to mine and
we sat there and had a cup of tea. He was really messed up. I guess you
guys had had a fight."

"You could say that," Sean said, draining his glass. "Another one?"

She grinned. "Sure."

As Sean made his way to the bar, he ran into the rugby team who were lining
up tequila shots and ten minutes later, his head was spinning. He
remembered Heather's drink and carried it to her carefully, concentrating
hard on keeping the umbrella from falling out of it. She was with a group
of her old girlfriends so he left her and wandered off, humming to the
music, songs he'd forgotten were ever made.

Where was Cal? He went to the toilets to look, but there was only Tom,
hugging the toilet bowl and semi conscious. His wife was going to be happy
when he came home. As he re-emerged from the men's room, he heard whoops
and cheers on the dance floor. In the middle of the clapping group was Cal,
dancing like a disco god. They were playing Staying Alive, some version of
it that had been knocking around in the early nineties. Under the strobe
lighting, Cal's body moved as if in slow motion, and Sean stopped and
stared. He had no idea Cal could dance like that. His eyes were closed, his
hair damp. He looked beautiful, and Sean shook his head. No, no, no.

He turned away, feeling sick to his heart. Everything he wanted was right
there, and he couldn't have it. It was so frustrating, it sucked, it
hurt. He went back to his rugby mates and had a few more shots to dull the
treacherous thoughts that were creeping into his brain.

By the time midnight came and the balloons bounced down on all the dancers,
he was drunk and hoarse from talking. His phone was crammed with new names
and numbers, and his head full of half-formed plans to meet up with so and
so, catch up properly. He was starting to feel ill, and pushed his way
outside into the car park. The wind was warm in his face, and he staggered
over to the wall to take a piss. Just as he was finishing, he noticed
someone sitting in the shadows, just around the corner, smoking a
cigarette. Then he recognised the boots. It was Cal, hugging his knees to
his chest, a half empty pint glass on the ground beside him.

 "Are you ok?" he asked, bending down to look.

Cal looked up, and Sean could see streaks of tears on his face. His body
was trembling, his breath hitching in his throat. He stubbed out the
cigarette and tried to stand up, but he was so wobbly that he had to grab
onto Sean's shoulders to catch his balance. His breath smelt of smoke and
beer. Underneath it all, the smell of aftershave and sweat.

Unable to stop himself, Sean thumbed the tears away from Cal's
cheeks. "Let's get you home," he said gently.

Cal's face crumpled again. His body melted against Sean's, and he clung to
him, burying his face in his shoulder. Staring at the blank wall behind
them, Sean held him, stroked his hair, helpless. Maybe someone would come
from the club to rescue him, someone who wanted to share a taxi. But it
wasn't time for the party to finish yet. The car park was quiet and full of
shadows.

Cal's body calmed against him, his breathing eased. Sean felt Cal's fingers
brushing against the nape of his neck, sliding down his back, under his
t-shirt. Cal's palms were cool against his sunburn and he felt himself
breaking out in goosebumps. It was as if everything was moving in slow
motion. He felt his cock starting to harden and took Cal's hands in his,
bringing them together in front of him.

He looked into Cal's eyes and shook his head. "Don't," he whispered.

"Don't what?" Cal murmured, freeing his hands, stroking Sean's
face. "You're burning."

"Sunburn, remember?" He knew he should step back, but he couldn't. Cal's
finger's brushed over his cheeks, his lips. He closed his eyes and felt
Cal's breath on his face, then the brush of his lips, so light, so slow. He
was breathless as Cal kissed the corners of his mouth, ran his hands down
over his chest, touching his nipples briefly before travelling down. Cal's
breathing was shallow, his lips like a magnet. Sean pushed his thigh
between Cal's legs, feeling the hardness in his crotch. There was a melting
sensation in his chest, his stomach. Cal hooked his fingers into the
waistband of his jeans and pulled him closer, his lips dancing millimeters
away from Sean's. They were breathing each other's breath, just for a
second.

The last functioning part of Sean's brain sent him the previous image of
Cal, in tears and alone, so vulnerable and messed up. Summoning up all the
self control he could, he took Cal's hands in his again and stepped
back. "Don't," he said again, more firmly this time. "You're drunk." He let
go of Cal's hands and cleared his throat, looking around the car park. He
had been so transported he had almost forgotten where he was. He fumbled in
his pockets and fished out his mobile phone. "I'm calling a taxi."

Cal slumped back against the wall. "Damn you, Sean," he sighed, biting his
lip.

There was the sound of footsteps, of someone singing, another stumbling and
heaving. The noise of vomit hitting concrete. It was Tom, on his knees
again, with Declan humming the theme from Footloose and rubbing his
back. He spotted Sean and waved. "Got to get this one home," he said. "You
want to share a taxi?"

"Sure," Sean said, hoping Declan wouldn't notice his hard on. He was so
bursting with the desire to fuck he could hardly talk. He gazed into the
darkness, waiting for the taxi lights, trying not to think about what had
just happened. His rescuers had been two minutes too late to save him.

= = = = =

The next day, Sean woke up on the sofa, fully clothed. He checked the
buttons of his jeans. Everything was locked safely away. Good, so it meant
nothing more had happened when they'd got home. His mouth was dry, and he
felt the beginnings of a headache starting behind his eyes. The cushion was
stained with blue drool. Then he remembered the blue lagoons he'd ended up
drinking and groaned. He'd been stupid and out of control. Now there would
be an agonizing wait for Cal to get up, then awkwardness and silence. His
blood felt itchy with the desire to go up to Cal's room and just wake him
up to get it over with. But he was afraid of what would be said, and went
into the kitchen to get a coke and a Nurofen and immerse himself in the
newspapers. Too much thinking was hurting his head.

The hours crept by. He was reading but always aware of the time, longing
for Cal to get up but dreading it at the same time. His stomach came out of
its funk and began to rumble, and he finally folded up the crossword he had
failed yet again to complete. There wasn't a lot of food left in the house,
and he couldn't be bothered going to the shops. Just about enough to make a
salad, and half a loaf. It would do.

As he rinsed the lettuce, he heard the floorboards creaking upstairs, the
rush of the shower. Cal was finally up. He left the lettuce and stuck his
iPod into its dock. Unable to decide what to listen to, he put it on
shuffle and took out his sharpest knife to cut the soft tomatoes. Footloose
came on and he smiled, remembering how Declan had been murdering it in the
taxi. Then he remembered going over to Cal's when he was a young teenager,
watching the film over a bacon and mushroom pizza which Cal had ordered in
honour of Kevin Bacon. They'd tried the final dance routine more than a few
times, and been completely rubbish.

It had been so long since he'd heard it, not counting Declan's rendition,
and he couldn't help dancing. It helped put the situation out of his
head. Cal would be ages in the shower. He shimmied over to the fridge and
pulled out some cucumbers, singing into the knife as if it was a
microphone, then chopping in time to the music. So many memories attached
to one song. He put in on again and hummed along, smiling as he remembered
lying with Cal on the bed, flicking mushrooms each other, greasy faced and
full as the credits started to roll. Why on earth he never listened to all
the 80's tracks Megan had filled his iTunes with? Seeing all his old
friends had sent him back in time. He got out the last bit of cheddar in
the fridge and was wiggling his arse around and singing when he heard a
noise behind him. He almost dropped the knife and looked around.

"Jesus, you scared me," he said, feeling the blood pounding in his ears.

Cal was leaning against the doorframe, Megan's robe pulled across his
body. His hair was wet, his skin scrubbed and shiny. The corners of his
mouth turned up. "Don't stop on my account," he said. "What are you
making?"

"Salad, sort of." Sean turned around and concentrated on his chopping,
irritated. If Cal was going to stay any longer, he was going to have to buy
him a new robe. That one was just all shades of wrong. Out of the corner of
his eye, he saw Cal yawning and stretching, and the robe crept up to an
indecent level. The cheese sweated against his hot hands.

"Need a hand?" Cal said, coming into the room, pulling the robe down again.

"Well, you could make some sort of dressing," he said. "I've run out of
salad cream."

"No problem." Cal said. "You got balsamic vinegar?"

Sean shrugged. "There might be some from ages ago," he said, remembering
Owen had brought some around, appalled at the thought of salad cream. "That
stuff you put on chips, it won't do?"

Cal looked horrified. "Who taught you to cook?"

The robe gaped again as Cal leaned down to hunt in the cupboards for
ingredients. Sean forced his eyes to stay on the cheese. It was in tiny
pieces now, so small he might as well have grated it. There had to be
something else to chop. What else went in a salad? Anything to stop him
from looking at Cal's body. His cock was already starting to stiffen,
bypassing his brain, telling him exactly what he wanted. There was a couple
of elderly carrots in the vegetable basket, and he grabbed them.

"You're not putting those in, are you?" Cal said. He was pouring olive oil
into a jug, stirring in some pepper and balsamic vinegar. "I don't like
carrots."

"Fine," Sean threw them back where they came from. "What else will I put in
it? And don't use too much olive oil."

"Are you in a bad mood?" Cal said, his voice neutral.

"No," Sean said. "I just wish..." He bit back what he was going to
say. Onions, that would do. They were even salad onions. At least that was
what he thought the purple ones were for. They hadn't worked out so well
last time, far too chunky.

"You wish what?" Cal came to stand beside him. The robe was starting to
slip open. Dear god, Sean thought. There was nowhere to look. Cal's right
nipple was visible, and the gold piercing glinted in the sunlight that
streamed through the window, illuminating his body in golden light and
deep, tantalizing shadows.

"I wish you'd put on some fucking clothes, that's what!" he snapped. If he
looked at Cal again, he would either hit him or fuck him. His cock was rock
hard, beating a tattoo in his jeans. He pressed himself against the kitchen
counter and kept chopping, willing his erection to subside.

Cal set the jug down. "Are you getting sick of me?" he said. "I know I've
overstayed my welcome a bit. The floors will be finished tomorrow, or the
day after."

The date of his operation. He didn't want Cal around then, to be trotting
back and forward to the hospital again.Then Cal's words really registered
in his brain. "Are you stupid?" he said, incredulous. "Don't you see what's
going on?"

Cal frowned and folded his arms across his chest. "No, I'm not stupid," he
said. "But I think you are."

"Oh really!" Sean said, facing him, forgetting he was tenting his
jeans. "Please, enlighten me. I hear you crying at night, and then you're
off out drinking and shagging around and god knows what, then prancing
around in front of me in next to nothing, so yes, forgive me indeed, if I
haven't got a clue what you're playing at!"

Cal looked shocked, then anger split across his face. He uttered an
inarticulate sound, grabbed the jug and dumped its contents over Sean's
head. Just as soon as it had come, the anger left his expression, and he
froze, his eyes wide.

Sean stood stunned, as the salad dressing trickled down his neck, his
face. He stuck his tongue out and tasted it as it dribbled past his
lips. "I told you not to put so much fucking olive oil in it!" he bawled
suddenly. "What the fuck's wrong with you!" Then he noticed Cal's dilated
pupils, the flush in his face. The robe wasn't hiding a lot now. Cal was
just as aroused as he was. It was all becoming clear now. "But..." he said,
his eyes locked on Cal's. Then he turned back to the kitchen counter. "Get
out of here now," he said, his voice tight. "If you don't, I swear to god,
I won't be responsible."

"Sean..." Cal put a hand on his arm. "I know it's wrong, and I should be
grief stricken and crying myself to sleep and all, and I am. Jeff's dead,
Sean. Look at me!" His eyes were like hot coals, burning into
Sean's. "Jeff's dead...but I'm not! I know it's wrong, and bad, and evil,
but I can't remember the last time I felt..." A plaintive note came into
his voice as it dropped to a whisper. "It's been so long since anyone
touched me..." As Sean faced him again, he stepped closer. He ran his
finger down the side of Sean's cheek, then sucked it into his mouth. "That
salad dressing is fucking perfect by the way." The robe was hanging open
now, his arousal fully visible. He wasn't wearing any underwear.

Sean felt his control snap. He pushed the robe off Cal's shoulders and it
slid to the floor. He watched the rise and fall of Cal's chest, the slight
dusting of dark hair which got thicker around his belly button. Cal opened
his mouth to speak, but Sean pushed a finger against his lips. "Ssh," he
whispered, his eyes resuming their journey over Cal's body. His cock reared
out of its dark bush, plump balls hanging below. A small pearl was forming
at the slit. Breathless, he reached out swiped the droplet of precum onto
his fingertip, then brought it slowly to his mouth and licked it.

Cal was watching him, his breathing shallow. Sean's eyes were drawn again
to his chest. Slowly, he ran his fingertip over one nipple, playing with
the golden piercing as the dark flesh hardened, watching Cal's cock twitch
and ooze. He bent his head to its twin and kissed it lightly, then tongued
it as his hand found Cal's cock and began to slide up and down, slowly,
slowly, until Cal was clutching his hair and gasping. "Please," he blurted
out, and Sean silenced him with his mouth, kissing him, feeling the scrape
of his stubble against his chin, the softness and the heat of his lips as
the hunger spilled over into his veins. As their tongues tangled together,
Sean parted Cal's thighs with his leg and hoisted him up onto the kitchen
counter, sweeping the onions to the floor. Cal wrapped his legs around him
and kissed him harder, his hands fumbling at Sean's t-shirt.

Almost panting now, Sean pulled it over his head and threw it on the floor,
grabbing at Cal again, desperate to feel skin on skin. His lips fastened
onto the gold piercing again and Cal's back arched. But it wasn't a great
position, the counter was too high. Cal seemed to know it too, and slid his
body down Sean's until his feet touched the ground. His skin was hot and
smooth. Sean snatched another kiss from Cal's eager mouth. "Turn around,"
he said, pulling at the buttons on his jeans, dropping them around his
ankles. Glad he hadn't bothered with underwear either, he wrapped an arm
around Cal and sucked hard on his neck, drawing the blood to the surface
while his fingers teased at Cal's nipple again. Cal whimpered and melted
back against him. His cock ground against Cal's arse and he pushed him
forward over the kitchen table. His trembling hand grabbed the bottle of
olive oil. Not great, but it would do. Cal cried out as Sean's fingers slid
down his crack and into his hole, opening him up. Sean was almost shaking,
trying to ignore the impulse to ram his aching dick home. He positioned
himself at Cal's hole and began to push forward into the tight, hot grip of
Cal's inner muscles. Cal grunted and sighed, pushing back against him until
he was in to the root. He rested his head between Cal's shoulderblades,
panting, his head filled with red mist.

He began to move, trying to make it last but he was so desperate, so
aroused, he'd waited so long that for the moment that he was almost at the
point of climax already. He bent forward again, reaching round for Cal's
stiff prick and starting to jerk it hard. "Tell me when..." he gasped, as
his hips urged him forward, to thrust harder, and he totally lost control
of himself, starting to pound until he felt Cal's body tremble beneath
him. Cal's fists balled as his inner muscles began to contract and he was
coming, gasping and crying out, and Sean held on as he felt it starting in
the pit of his stomach, his balls...his slippery fingers grasped at Cal's
shoulders as his cock exploded inside him. His movements slowed down until
he clung to Cal, panting, all thoughts deleted from his brain, his body
paralysed. "I love you," he mouthed against Cal's damp skin. He had never
come so hard in his life. Minutes later, he felt able to move, and his cock
slid out of Cal's arse, still half hard.

Then he noticed Cal's body shaking, and realised that he was crying.

No, he thought, not again. His brain switched back on and the elation
started to fade. He had seen regret and anger in Cal's eyes once before,
and it had nearly destroyed him. He couldn't bear to see it again. As his
breathing slowed, he held on to Cal, resting his cheek against him,
stroking his hair. But the sobbing continued and with a tired push he
separated himself from Cal and walked out of the kitchen. His legs felt
wobbly and he ran a hand through his oily hair. He grabbed his keys and
some clothes and pulled them on, blundering out into the street, into his
car.

His hands shook as he drove, trying not to think of what he'd done, how
stupid he'd been to take advantage of Cal no matter what he'd been saying,
how he'd gone and spoiled everything again. And the operation was looming,
after which he'd be helpless and not much up for fucking. If only he could
have held it for another few days, to give Cal the time he needed.

"You stupid, stupid shit," he said to himself, glancing at his reflection
in the mirror, noting his ruined hair, only then realising that he too was
crying.

= = = = =

Megan hid her shock at his appearance well. Barefoot and covered in salad
dressing, his face streaked with tears, he couldn't speak as she led him
into the living room and sat down. He lay down, his head in her lap,
staring at the images on the TV, not making sense of anything. She stroked
his cheek and sad nothing, waiting for him to tell her what had
happened. Eventually the story came out. He told it in a toneless voice. He
felt exhausted and crushed, and now he was thinking about Jeff, he felt
guilty too.

When he was done, his eyelids were starting to droop. "Nuh-uh," Megan said,
forcing him to sit up. "You're going to have a shower, now you've ruined my
sofa. Then I'll go round and speak to him. There's no need to beat yourself
up until you know for a fact that he's feeling the way you think he's
feeling."

Sean shrugged. "OK," he said. "But I've got nothing to wear."

She laughed. "You haven't got anything I haven't seen before, baby
brother," she said, kissing him on the cheek. "Anyway, I have a bathrobe
upstairs you can put on. I'll pick you up some clothes."

Stepping into the shower, he breathed Cal's scent one last time on his
hands before he turned on the tap and washed the oil from his skin. He felt
slightly better when he was clean. Maybe Megan was right. Having sex with
someone new was bound to be weird for Cal, especially so soon after... His
shoulders slumped with the weight of guilt as he thought of Jeff. I
promised you I'd be his friend, he thought, not fuck him silly and mess
with his head. God, I'm sorry. He clutched his head in his hands and tried
to stop thinking before it drove him mad.

Megan's bathrobe was pink and fluffy and came to three quarters of the way
down his thighs. He grimaced at himself in the mirror. It was the same type
as the one Cal had been wearing, and looked a hell of a lot better on him
than it did on Sean.

Jack was asleep in his crib. Sean looked in on him then went downstairs and
flopped in front of the TV. He remembered that he would have to go home
anyway, since Jude was coming in the morning to move in some of her
things. The TV was boring and monotonous, and he realised how hungry he
was. After he'd eaten the remains of a pizza that he found in Megan's
fridge, he was sleepy again and it wasn't long before he was snoring on the
sofa.

He awoke to a light touch on his nose. "He's not there." Megan said.

"Not there?" Sean repeated dumbly, rubbing his eyes.

She sat down beside him. "His stuff's still in the room, I checked," she
said. "So I guess he'll be back. He's probably just popped out somewhere."
She was trying to look convincing but her eyes were worried, scanning his
face.

Sean shook his head. Another interminable wait. He was tempted to call, but
he decided against it. If there was going to be recriminations and regret,
it could wait, just a while longer.