This story is gay fiction. It is copyrighted and cannot be reproduced in any medium without my express permission. If you are a minor in your country of origin, don't read.

I have another series running on Nifty: Taylor Mountain in the scifi folder. If these two stories don't give you enough hot vampires and mortals, Starbooks has just released my LOVERS WHO STAY WITH YOU, and that has 28 tales that'll have you offering your neck to the next guy who offers to lick it. <G> You can help Nifty by using its link to A Different Light Bookstore when ordering this book.

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Dave MacMillan





Trell lay on his side with Shep spooned up against his back, the American's arm draped over his shoulder. Shep was asleep and his soft cock was pressed against his arsecheek. Sergeant Ian Trell was still awake, and the American's cock was playing a major part in the kaleidoscope of his thoughts.

He'd enjoyed the evening's sex -- both times that Shep had taken him. Trell had to keep reminding himself that they had only had sex, that it could have been any dick ploughing his arse and bringing him to orgasm that second time. It was hard to separate the man from his cock, however. Or to separate the man from the sex.

Trell wondered if he was a bit in love with the American. He knew he'd better not be. Shep Simon was going back to America after the weekend, and Trell would never see him again.

So, he was a bloody poofter after all. He liked cock up his arse just like all those pretty boys at the clubs he'd seen over the last fortnight. Bloody prats! They'd got him thinking about gay sex, wondering what it was like. He smiled.

It was still hard to believe that he'd done it. Yet, it'd felt so right afterwards. The arm around his chest and the dick nestled against his bottom felt right. He'd never felt as complete as he did now in Shep's arms. He figured that the American was only his first, that there would be other men who would hold him afterwards. Whom he would hold. Until he finally found the one who was right for him.

His hand moved down his chest and he smiled at how big his breasts were and how soft they were, lying on his side as he was. Like he supposed a woman's would be.

His eyes snapped open as the thought struck him. He looked down his front and saw his belly protruding, more than an inch of it resting softly on his thighs. 'I'm bloody fat!' he growled under his breath as he brought his hand down and squeezed a roll of several inches between two fingers. He couldn't even see his dick until he'd pulled the flab tight against his hip.

I'll never find anybody as long as I look like this, he told himself and thought of Inspector Goodson. That was a man who could get anyone. Goodson was no muscle mary, but his whole body was hard and trimmed -- a bloke could make that out even when the man was dressed in full uniform.

No more breakfast buns for me, he told himself resolutely. It's also going to take exercise to get rid of this. He reckoned he would never look as good as the Goodson, but he could still give himself definition and make himself more attractive.

I go down to the surgery first thing Monday morning, he told himself. I'll get a strict regimen from the doctor, I will. And follow it too. I won't look like this for long.

Shep snorted in his sleep and rolled onto his back, his arm pulling away from Trell's chest. His breathing quickly became soft snores.

Ian Trell pursed his lips. He was wide awake, his thoughts flitting around all over the place.

He slipped his legs off the bed and sat up. Taking a deep breath, he sat up and looked around the small bedroom. He suddenly wanted to be where it was more open. Where he could feel the night around him. If he wasn't going to sleep, he needed to think his way through all the changes that would have to be made in his life by what he'd learnt tonight. He pushed himself off the bed and stepped quietly across the room to the door and let himself out.

He leant on the railing of the cabin's porch and gazed at the dense blackness that was the trees between the cabin and the river. He was naked and it felt good to be so totally natural. He wiggled his hips and felt the insides of his thighs spread the lube that Shep had put in him to loosen him up. He grinned.

It certainly was nothing his mum would allow, that was for sure. She'd probably have a heart attack if she knew that he was naked anywhere but the bathroom. He knew she would if she knew what he had done earlier.

His mum.

Now that he had had sex and knew it was fun, he'd be a prat to go back to the half-life he'd known most of his thirty-nine years.

He liked sex. He liked being nude -- walking around and being natural with himself. That would never happen in his mum's house, though. None of it would.

No. He wouldn't go back to that kind of life. No life, he corrected himself. Only, he couldn't exactly move out, either. His mum depended on him. His income kept them living comfortably, but he had it in his head that the house was hers.

He could take a bedsit. Spend a few nights a week there, in his own place where he could do what he wanted to. He nodded to himself as the thought enveloped him. A bedsit was a good idea; he could even bring a man to one and his mum would never know. He had the money.

He grinned widely, proud of himself. He'd decided how to take care of his mum and how he was going to work himself free of her. He was thinking more clearly than he ever had before. Taking the chance and exploring sex with Shep -- that had opened his eyes wider than anything he could have imagined. For the first time, he was thinking his way through his problems before they could rise up to slap him.

He might as well take on his job too, then. Get all of the dirty laundry in the wash at the same time, as it were. This clear thinking might not be a permanent condition and he could be as bumblingly blind tomorrow as he'd always been in the past.

He had another six years to retirement. He'd been living for that day, holding onto being every CID inspector's go-fer these past twenty years -- just so he had that retirement.

He wasn't worried about being gay in the department. The Met had an anti-discrimination policy in force. It wouldn't keep his colleagues in CID from making rude remarks behind his back or even playing unpleasant jokes on him. But it would keep him in his job without any show of overt prejudice. He wasn't going to be as open as Inspector Goodson -- good God, no! -- but he wouldn't deny what he was if asked.

What bothered him about his job now that he was thinking about it and considering how to fix things in his life was -- well -- he was still everybody's lackey. Twenty bloody years and all he was good for was to make coffee and bring his superior breakfast buns every morning.

It wasn't that he wanted to make Inspector. Nothing like that. He knew his limits. He just wanted to be a real part of the force. A real detective. A man had the right to be worth something. To do his job right.

He felt a fingertip touch his neck and begin to trace lightly down his spine and smiled. 'Shep?'

'Having second thoughts?' the American asked. Trell pushed back against him, his hands going to his hips to hold him and finding him naked too. He shook his head and turned his face to nuzzle the man's ear, feeling the man cock begin to grow. 'Your job then? This drug thing?'

Trell nodded. 'Yeah.'

'It's almost morning. It'll be Saturday; is that a big party day over here?'

Trell thought a moment, trying to figure the crowds he'd seen the past fortnight in the clubs. 'The weekends bring in the crowds,' he answered.

'Good. Then we'll head back in the morning and see what we can find at the clubs tomorrow night.'

'You don't have to leave.'

Shep snickered. 'I'd better be with you. You still stick out the moment you walk into a club.'


'Ian, I hate drugs. The scum that sells them are worse than murderers. And heroin is about the worst drug there is. I want to see you get this guy.' He shrugged. 'Besides, it ought to be amusing -- I've never been involved in a drug-bust before.'

Trell turned to face the man, his eyes misting. 'Shep, I can't thank you enough for everything you've done for me these past few days.'

'Yeah you can.' The American grinned. 'Besides, you need more training.'

'You mean...?'

The American grabbed both of his arsecheeks and kneaded them hard. 'I like your big butt, boy. I like opening it up, and I like pounding you to a quivering orgasm. Let's go back to bed.'

* * *

Jesse Patel's gaze followed the inspector and the English boy as they left the dining room. Mich was practically dancing with anticipation, and the Asian smiled as he thought of what blondie would be feeling shortly. Inspector Goodson was big enough to fill anybody up and show them a good time. He nudged Doug with his elbow; his lover turned and grinned knowingly at him.

He noticed the hand on his lover's thigh, its fingers extended over Doug's cock and kneaded it as it grew. He shrugged, smiled, and watched his mate turn back to the brunette cutie on the other side of him, a Russian. Sex was in the air, he could smell it. Bloody hell! He could almost taste it.

There were nine of them still left at table, all together. He permitted himself to wonder how they would sort out. Which ones did he want? He reckoned that he and Doug were splitting up and getting into it on their own tonight from the way things were playing out. The realisation bothered him, but not much.

'You are not African?' he was asked by the guy on his left. Patel turned and shook his head, studying the muscular blond. He had already picked up on the Russian accent during dinner.

'My family's from near Dacca in south India, but I was born in London.'

'And you are at university?'

'King's College, University of London.'

'You are very interesting,' the Russian said. 'Very attractive.' His hand went to Patel's knee and began to move up his thigh. The silence between them was deafening as the Asian's cock started to grow in greeting. 'We can go somewhere more private, yes?'

Patel nodded.

'I am Yorstovitch,' the Russian told him as he stood up. He pointed to the two other blonds at the table and turned back to Patel. 'We will go upstairs and become much better acquainted, yes?'

'Your friends too?' The Asian had seen the other two stand as he was doing the same.

'Of course. They think you are attractive, as I do.' His hand moved to Patel's elbow. 'They want to know you as well.'

The Asian shrugged and allowed himself to be led from the room. The other two were nice looking blokes and looked to have healthy packages; he could enjoy himself. And, perhaps, even learn something from these men.

Yorstovitch led them as they climbed the stairs. Patel followed directly behind; the others stayed together behind him. Patel watched the arsecheeks ahead of him move and flex under the man's jogging bottoms as he climbed -- and wondered if the Russian was versatile. His bum certainly seemed to cry out for attention. He rubbed his crutch and couldn't believe how hard he was -- and none of them were even close to being undressed.

Yorstovitch led them around the landing to a room with the largest bed Patel had ever seen. Toe-ing off his trainers, the Russian grinned at him. 'This is large enough for all of us to be comfortable while we become acquainted, no?' he asked and began to pull his T-shirt over his hard belly.

Patel glanced at the others and they were stripping fast as well. He smiled and pushed off his trainers as had the Russian, at the same time pulling his shirt out of his jeans and quickly beginning to unbutton it.

One of Yorstovitch's companions finished first and jumped on the bed. He looked over to Jesse and grinned as he stroked his erection. 'Come on, mate,' he called in a London accent. 'Let's 69 -- I've never had Asian cock and I want to find out how spicy it is.'

His fingers in the waistband of his boxers, he glanced at Yorstovitch and then the other man. So, that's how it's going to be, he told himself. He reckoned that the Russian would be taking him. He watched the jogging bottoms push over the man's buttocks and drop to the floor. The Russian's cock was about his own size and width.

Patel grinned and licked his lips. He didn't mind at all having that weapon plugging him. He shoved his boxers down his legs and stepped out of them. He turned his attention to the English boy waiting for him on the bed.

He straddled the blond Englishman's head, spreading his legs wide as he worked himself up to the man's shoulders, and leant over him. He dived for the respectably sized tool waiting for him between the man's legs.

He felt the mattress move under his legs but did not look up. He knew what was coming, even before he felt Yorstovitch's knees work their way between his legs and the prone Englishman's head.

The Englishman's legs were raised and he put his arms over them to hold them. The man's thighs pressed against his ears. He pulled off most of the cock in his mouth and looked up to see the other blond position himself in front of him.

'Hold his legs for me, mate,' the second blond said and began rolling a condom down the length of his dick.

'Harry loves to suck dick and Nigel loves arse,' Yorstovitch said from behind the Asian. 'I too love arse and yours is very inviting, my friend.'

Patel pulled off the cock long enough to ask: 'Condom?'

'Of course! An English brand, too.' Yorstovitch kneaded the Asian's bumcheeks, spreading them.

Before Patel, the blond he figured to be Nigel placed his dick at Harry's back entrance. As his lips reached Harry's pubes, he was studying Nigel's package. The bloke didn't have a monster like that Russian's during the afternoon. Its length was respectable -- but it had the girth of a beer can. He remembered then that he'd not seen any lube brought out and that this Nigel hadn't made any effort to stretch the boy's hole.

He watched in horrified fascination as Nigel humped his hips forward hard. Beneath him, Harry groaned around his dick as he was impaled. Dry. He felt the covered, unlubed head of Yorstovitch's cock press against his pucker.

'Push down, my friend,' Yorstovitch told him. Before Patel could think to react, the Russian was shoving the head of his prick through his sphincter. He lifted off Harry's cock as he cried out at the pain that shot through him.

Nigel's hands went to the back of Jesse's head and pushed his mouth back onto the cock under him.

Yorstovitch pushed all of himself into Patel, his bollocks swinging forward to hit the Asian's.

The Russian didn't give Patel a chance to adjust to his being inside him. He began to fuck him with long, hard strokes, his tapered knob-end pulling out past the Asian's sphincter before being rammed back into his bowel.

As he sought to adjust to the pain in his arse, Patel wondered at how Harry could have recovered so quickly. The Englishman's dick was as hard as it had ever been and he was now tasting pre-come. He couldn't imagine it -- taking something the girth of a beer can in his arse dry. It had been bad enough taking Yorstovitch that way.

Patel began to slip into the sex; the pain ebbing. His cock returned to its normal sex-mode size. And Harry was sucking it like a pro.

His lips sped down the boy's shaft, and he opened his throat to take the head of the English dick deep. His nose pressed against Harry's ball sack and he hummed. Nigel's six-pack bumped the top of his head each time he slammed his dick into the boy beneath him. Yorstovitch continued to plough his arse. His bollocks began to tighten against his shaft. Jesse Patel gave himself up to the sex.

* * *

Doug Yorston watched his lover leave the dining room with the three other men. He felt nervous suddenly. He'd never liked being in a sexual situation where he didn't know anybody; and this one was even more uncomfortable because there were four men he didn't know. Four men with whom he supposed he'd soon be having sex. It didn't matter that the guy beside him had been playing with his dick for the past half hour; he didn't know him, either.

'You are at University with the others?' A Russian-accented voice asked from across the table.

Yorston looked over at the man and smiled. The bloke was well-shaped, not muscular like the blond Russian that Jesse had just left with -- just a nice tight body. And what was almost a pretty face framed with nearly black curls. On second thought, he decided it was a pretty face.

Yorston nodded and smiled. 'First year at King's College,' he offered. 'Still learning my way around, I suppose.' He was trying to be a bit naїve with these guys, reckoning that to be his best guise if things started to come unglued anywhere along the line.

'I am Myransky,' the Russian told him and pushed his chair back to stand up. 'Let's go where it is more comfortable.' His finger swept the table, indicating all of the others. 'Vodka to bind new friendships together, yes?' he called out and stepped to a sidetable. He poured five glasses and brought them back to the table.

The other three men cheered as Myransky downed his vodka in one gulp. Yorston looked from one to another of the young men still at the table with him as each threw back his own glass of vodka. Every one of them had a definite English voice. As he rose, he permitted himself to wonder just how many Russians there were in this house. He downed his own glass and tried not to gag as the firey liquid hit his throat. Still blinking back the tears, Yorston joined the others in following after Myransky as he led them from the room.

They reached a large room facing the terrace. Yorston looked around curiously, remembering how the inspector had derided the interior designer for destroying a perfectly good manor. It looked comfortable enough to him. There was a fireplace, large TV, three long divans, and enough chairs to seat double their number -- all facing one large chair near the French doors. He could see, however, where a wall had been knocked out about halfway into the room.

'Nick,' Myransky called from across the room as he sat in the chair. 'Pour us all another vodka.'

Yorston looked towards the Russian quickly. The man's words, and even the tone of voice, had been friendly enough. They had been a command, nonetheless. He quickly spotted the bloke he assumed was Nick. The brunette had moved to the sideboard and was placing glasses on a tray. He continued to watch the boy as he pulled out a large bottle of Stoly's and expertly poured a jigger of vodka in each of the five glasses.

'Come sit on the floor beside me,' Miransky called to Yorston.

Shrugging, he crossed the room.

'Your friend, is he African?' the Russian asked as he was lowering himself to the floor and the boy named Nick passed out drinks.

'Asian,' Yorston answered. 'Apparently, some of the people from the south of India become quite dark.' He noticed that Nick had sat close beside another man and his hand already rested on top of his package.

'Some of the people from our former Republics are quite brown like your Asians here -- but not that dark.' Miransky held up his glass of vodka. 'To Yorston and his friends. Salud!'

He brought the glass to his lips and took all of the spirits down in one gulp. Yorston watched the others do the same before bringing his glass up to his lips. He threw the vodka against the back of his throat and swallowed. His eyes teared this time but he was able to control the gagging sensation.

Miransky laughed. 'Soon, you will be able to drink like a Russian, English. Do you work or try to live off your scholarship?'

Yorston laughed. 'Live off my scholarship? That's a bloody laugh -- even with Jesse as a roommate. We're both going to need to find part-time employment soon.' He noticed the third man in the Russian's group had sat down on the other side of the boy named Nick and was working his zip down his jeans.

Myransky followed his gaze to the sofa. 'We all like to play, Yorston. Hopefully, you do too.'

'I've been known to,' he answered, turning to meet the Russian's gaze.

'Yes? The boys already seek to play and I, too, feel like doing so. Would you join us?'

'What did you have in mind?' he asked as he smiled his acceptance to the man.

'The usual -- but, first, we need to put ourselves in the mood, yes?' He looked to the boy who had opened Nick's jeans. 'Lewis, fix us the pipe.' He turned back to the blond Englishman. 'I like to feel mellow when I have sex. You will join us by smoking hash, yes?'

'I never...' Yorston blushed. 'There was never any extra money and I just didn't.' He watched as the man named Lewis went to a cabinet and took out a long-stemmed pipe. Then he brought out a plastic bag.

'It is okay, my friend,' said Myransky gently. 'There is always a first time for anything, and you will then know what you have missed.'

Lewis brought the Russian the pipe and bag, his hard dick a thick tube in the front of his shorts. He sat down on the floor on the other side of Myransky's chair. Across from them, the two on the couch stood up. Nick slipped his jeans to his ankles, pushed off his trainers, and then pulled the denim over his legs before standing up and joining the others. Yorston stared at the size of the boy's cock as well as its flaring head pushing up through the waistband of his pants as he walked across the room. He felt his own prick straining against his jeans.

'I will taste our new English friend first,' Myransky told them. 'We will do this daisy chain we have come to like, Yorston...' He grinned. 'You would like to taste Nick, yes?' Yorston was ashamed to answer, he just nodded.

The Russian lit the pipe and took a long hit. Holding the smoke in his lungs, he passed it to Yorston. The blond Englishman took it hesitantly.

'Take as much as you can, mate,' Nick told him, his fingers going to the pipe stem and guiding it to Yorston's lip. 'If you're going to slurp on this thing...' he grabbed his dick through his pants, 'I want you real mellow, you know. Do a real good job and I'll give you a ride on it that'll make you forget your Paki boyfriend.' Nick looked into the pipe bowl. 'Take a bloody hit before it goes out!'

Yorston drew smoke into his lungs. He had lied to Myransky. He had smoked grass occasionally in school with his mates. But he'd never really enjoyed it, especially the lethargy that had always come over him. He had had plans for himself even then, and they hadn't included him fucking up his head only to call it mellowing out. He held the smoke in his lungs and passed the pipe to Nick.

He felt himself relaxing, wisps of the drug oozing through his brain. And he felt hornier than he could remember feeling. He reached over and traced the hard tube inside Nick's briefs with two of his fingers.

'Undress,' Myransky told them as Nick passed the pipe on to the next man. The Russian toed off his shoes as he pulled his shirt over his head. Moments later he was pushing his shorts and pants onto his thighs.

Nick smiled back at Yorston, telling him: 'Take my y-fronts off for us, mate. I'm going to show you a real good time.'

Yorston smiled back at him and moved his hands up to waistband of the underpants. 'Lift up,' he told him as he began to pull the cotton slowly down onto his buttocks. He felt someone working the button at the waist of his jeans and turned enough that they could reach his flies. He smiled when he saw that his undresser was the Russian. He slid the pants down Nick's legs and pulled them over his hips. Only then, did he permit himself to really look at the man's weapon.

It was at least as big as Jesse's and circumcised. The glans was a wide, thick mushroom already leaking pre-come. Yorston leant over and licked it. Behind him, Myransky had his jeans onto his buttocks, and Yorston raised his hips so that the Russian could pull them off. He'd managed to get Nick's knob-end into his mouth and was working his lips down along the shaft when both his jeans and his boxers were pulled over his feet.

Nick moaned as the tip of his helmet touched the entrance to the new blond's throat.

Yorston felt lips touch his own crown, pushing the tight skin ahead of them towards the flange of his helmet. A tongue bathed his knob-end as the lips pushed his foreskin onto his shaft. He forgot about any of the others -- his attention rivetted now to the cock he was trying to swallow and the mouth that held his dick so tightly.

He was horny. He couldn't get enough of the prick in his mouth; he could feel his bollocks already tightening against his own shaft as Myransky sucked him expertly. He could hear the slurping of the others as they sucked each other, but that wasn't registering in his brain. The sex that was happening to him was everything. Nothing else mattered.

Someone knelt behind Yorston and, as his lips stopped just behind Nick's flange, closed one of his nostrils with a finger as a small bottle was held to the other nostril. As he breathed in, sexual need exploded across his brain. His heart pounded in his ears. His hips pumped hard and fast against Myransky's face sucking him, trying to secure the sudden rush of need.

After he and Nick had come, Doug Yorston lay back and tried to focus his thoughts. He was still horny, his dick still achingly hard. He absently thought of having Nick between his legs. He could even feel the phantom movements in his arse. He wanted that.

He realised that Nick was sitting beside him and offering him the pipe again. He raised up on his elbows and the brunette put the stem to his lips. Yorston took a deep toke this time and held it as the pipe was passed on to someone else.

He began to feel lethargic immediately. His erection remained and he wanted Nick in him. He knew it would happen, however; so, it didn't matter when it came. He'd be ready whenever.

'I will take you first, English,' Myransky whispered at his ear.

Yorston realised he lay on his stomach in the middle of the floor and that there was weight against his thighs and buttocks. He looked over his shoulder to find the Russian straddling his legs, his dick looking already to be positioned.

'Then, you will have Nick, all of us.'

'Condom?' Yorston thought to ask.

'I protect us both, English. That is smart.'

Myransky began to push against Yorston's entrance, his dick exerting increasing pressure until it had popped through the anal muscle and was sliding into the tight sheath of the Englishman's bowel. Yorston relaxed, his hard cock riding the soft carpet beneath him as his mind galloped him off into a sea of exploding colours.


Yorston felt chilled. It was enough to pull him through the fog that had settled in his brain. He opened his eyes to darkness. His belly felt wet and his arse well used. Regaining more of his senses, he lifted his head and made out that he was still in the same room where he remembered having sex with Myransky and the others.

He pushed himself to his knees and, grabbing the chair by the French doors, pulled himself to his feet. Wobbling, he made it to the door into the corridor. He shook his head, trying to clear it of the fog that still clung to his brain. Holding to the wall, he made it into the hall.

There, he was confronted with twenty or more steps that he would have to take to make it to the staircase. He took a deep breath and shook his head again. The fog stayed plastered to the inside of his mind. The hand he'd been using to guide himself along the corridor dropped and splatted against his hip. Suspiciously, Yorston looked down at himself and saw that he was naked. And that his erection was pointing straight out from his crutch.

'Christ!' he groaned to himself. 'What kind of shit were we smoking?'

He concentrated on lifting one foot and extending it forward without losing his balance. He kept repeating the mental exercise until his hand gripped the closest banister of the staircase. He climbed slowly, bending nearly double as he moved.

Vertigo threatened him and he gripped the banister tighter. He needed to sit down but stayed on his feet. Reaching the landing, he collapsed to his knees. The landing felt as if it was moving under him. Doggedly, he forced himself to make his way to the room he and Jesse were sharing.

He made his way through the dark room to the bed and fell onto it. Fog descended over him again.