Date: Tue, 12 Mar 2002 03:12:03 +0000 From: Java Biscuit Subject: Corbusier, chapter 3 This is a story involving teen/teen, male/male graphic sex and not intended for reading by minors. If you are a minor, or this type of material is illegal where you live, please stop now, and go read something else! This story is a fantasy meant only for the purpose of pleasurable reading. For those of you who've asked, other stories of mine in this archive are: Boy in a Pink Box, Vancouver Island, Willow, Back to the Playground, and Babying Reuben. The stories can be found in the young friends and adult/youth sections. Feedback, always appreciated, may be sent to: javabiscuit@hotmail.com Corbusier ~ chapter two by Biscuit Colin showed up as if he sensed I was struggling to banish him from my mind and wasn't going to let that happen. Billie Holliday was playing in my mom's studio. Never a good sign, but at least it wasn't blasting. It was the third Saturday in a row that I didn't know what to do with myself. Megan wouldn't be showing up at my door, prying me out into the world. She wouldn't be calling to see what we were going to do. Thanksgiving had passed. Me, my mom and my grandmother had gone out to dinner and stuffed ourselves. The holiday was like a big wasteland to me without Megan. She fucking hated me. As far as she was concerned I was the biggest chickenshit asshole in the world. She said I'd not only humiliated her, cheated on her, but that I'd done the one thing that she couldn't forgive -- which was totally shut her out. "You couldn't just tell me. I had to find out from fucking Marisa Conolly that my boyfriend's giving blowjobs in the bathrooms!" She was so mad she could hardly look at me without spitting fire. My lame defense -- I only did it once. At that I thought she'd strangle me. If she'd known about Colin Daley she probably would have ended my life on the spot and called it a mercy killing. Before she stormed out of my house she said "fuck you," to me like I'd never heard it said in my life. Like it was ripping right out of her heart. Within a week she'd started dating a guy in our oils class, Todd Mackey. I should have known she was only doing it to hurt me, to protect herself. He'd been panting after her for a long time and she'd never even liked him. It killed me to see him put his hands on her, right in front of my face. Maybe it doesn't make sense, but whatever I was, I missed touching her, being with her, seeing her look happy just because I'd walked into a room. And what had I traded that for? I didn't want Chad Grossman, that's for sure. He was being kind of sheepishly nice to me. He apologized for letting the proverbial cat out of the bag and even tried to get me to hang out with him. But we were no more into being friends than we ever had been. We had about zero in common with each other beyond our hard dicks. He and I weren't going to go to thrift shops together looking for clothes and jewelry, or get high and make out in the park. Yeah, right, making out in the park. Don't even think about that. Which of course I did, just about a million times a day; Colin Daley. I'd fucked up my life over a guy I didn't even know, a guy who didn't want to know me. For all that every kid in three grades thought I was having sex like crazy in the bathrooms, I was getting exactly nothing but real familiar with my right hand. If a guy at school even looked at me I panicked. So let the Billie Holliday records spin. At least my mom was painting which was more than I was doing, lying on my bed hour after hour, feeling sorry for myself, swearing I wouldn't even let myself think about Colin Daley when I jerked off anymore. That particular Saturday, I think my body finally rebelled against doing nothing. I was sitting at the drawing table in my bedroom, facing the glass wall, a sketch in front of me. I'd done more sketches of the maple tree in the garden outside my bedroom than you can imagine. I'd been drawing pictures of that tree since I first picked up a fat crayon as a six year-old. Taped across the top of my table were pen and ink drawings of the roots. It was a project for one of my classes, a stupid texture exercise, using different small shapes to create the patterns of dark and light in a series of renderings of one subject. It suited my mood, anyway, to sit there making tiny repetitive shapes in black ink. That's when Colin Daley appeared on top of the garden wall. I heard the noise, a muffled scuffling like a squirrel clamoring up the vines and glanced outside. There he was. He'd swung himself up and was sitting on the top of the wall. The wall was only about five feet high. He didn't come over it. He was just sitting up there with his legs hanging over, brushing off his hands and looking right in at me. I was about to drip a big blob of India ink right in the middle of my so carefully rendered roots, staring back. Fuck. I put down the pen and went to the window. It was set in the other outside wall and I couldn't see him from there, but I called out. "What are you doing out there?" "Why don't you answer your fucking doorbell?" Maybe the Billie Holliday volume had snuck up, I hadn't heard anything. Holy fuck he's here, I thought, my brain and body starting to churn. "I'll meet you at the door," I yelled out. Colin Daley had come back and I hadn't cut my hair yet or gotten any older. What the fuck, I hadn't even taken a shower and I was dressed in nothing but sweats and the tee-shirt I'd slept in. Nothing to do about that. He'd already seen me. Well, fuck him, I wasn't going to let him touch me anyway. Was I? Shit, my mom. Her studio went quiet just as I was heading for the front door, and she was looking down over the railing to see what was up. "Is Megan here?" she called down to me. Her studio, well I keep calling it that even though supposedly we shared it. I never used it when she was like she'd been since, well for almost a month and a half. It was set at the top of the stairs to the second floor. Open on two sides overlooking the living room and part of the kitchen. My mom wasn't happy about what was happening between me and Megan. I'd told her that Megan was seeing a new guy but I hadn't told her why. She was on my ass about it all the time, although she said she didn't necessarily think it was a bad thing for Megan to see somebody else. It was weird. She was half protective of me, and half protective of Megan. She suspected me of doing something fucked up to make Megan want to see somebody else. And she was right. "No, it's not Megan," I said, hoping she'd start up her next Billie Holliday tape and go back to work. But she was standing right there watching as I let him in the front door. He looked incredible. Like a dream come true, standing in the doorway in his tight jeans. He was better looking than I even remembered, like I'd dimmed him down in my mind. He was wearing a Knick's sweatshirt that looked worn and soft and rode his hips under his leather jacket. Colin had a grin that was a little lopsided. His teeth weren't exactly even, which is something I find really sexy, a little prominent canine tooth gave his pretty mouth an almost sneer. She was looking down, her arms across her chest. He was looking up at her with his hands on his hips. Both of them had their heads cocked to the side and all I could think was that she knew everything, just looking at him. "Mom, this is Colin." The guy I punched. The guy I fucked. "You guys want some lunch or something?" she asked. Jesus. What a time to get maternal on me. "No thanks, we're going out soon." I started away toward my room and prayed that he'd follow me. I knew I'd have questions to answer later, depending on how much wine went down up in the studio, but I wasn't going to stand there and explain him to her. The relief of getting behind the closed door of my bedroom almost sent a shudder through me. Or was it just being alone with him? I'd walked in fast, keeping a distance so that thing couldn't happen like last time where he just grabbed me. But my body was remembering what it was I was avoiding, and when I did turn around my dick was already stirring. I crossed my arms over my chest, kind of like my mom had, but I was doing it to hide the tightness I could feel in my nipples. "What are you doing here?" "What do you think?" God help me. I'd been jerking off to the memory of him for more than a month; dreaming about sucking his dick. Remembering fucking him. Now he was dropping his jacket over the back of the chair at my drawing table, glancing at the sketches. "Nice," he said. Jesus, he was stepping out of his shoes and when he turned toward me I could see his cock was hard, a thick ridge climbing up his hip. And he saw me looking. Then he was right in front of me, raking his fingertips up the backs of my arms into the sleeves of my tee-shirt. It sent up waves of goose bumps that met like a crash of shivers at the back of my neck. Oh man. My head dropped back and I grabbed him. It felt every bit as good as I remembered, his lips on mine, his tongue moving in my mouth. I was rubbing my dick into the hard bulge in his jeans and I could feel the juice starting up out of me. Billie Holliday was singing again and Colin's hands were down the back of my sweats, curving around my bare ass. He had a cheek in each hand and was pulling me tight to his crotch. I could have come right then in my pants if he'd kept that up. But he pushed me away from him a little, holding me at arm's length, looking at me. So gorgeous. His cheeks were pinked up and his mouth was shiny and his eyes were doing a slow pan of my front. "Miss me, princess?" What was I going to say, standing there with my sweatpants stuck on my throbbing boner, breathing like I couldn't get enough air in my lungs. Why did he have to stop kissing me -- it was so much easier when we were just joined at the mouth. I felt like he wanted to humiliate me, making me say it. But I said it. "Yes." One simple word and I could feel the blush in my face, the miserable pout shaping my mouth. He smiled. I didn't know then that he had more than a nodding acquaintance with the wall outside my bedroom. I didn't know he'd been haunting the grove where he first saw me in the park, hoping I'd show up. As far as I knew, he'd just gotten the urge to fuck me again and shown up, confident that he could waltz right in and do it. And he could. "Mom's not gonna walk in, is she?" he asked. He let go of my shoulders and took hold of the bottom of my tee-shirt, lifting it up over my head. He dropped it on the floor. He slid his hands over my pecs and I had to bite my lip to stay quiet. "Is she?" he said. I shook my head. She never just walked in my room. My hands were almost shaking, reaching for the top button of his jeans. I wanted him naked. Colin only stopped me from pulling his pants down his hips long enough to get the condom out of his pocket. I knew, even if my mom had never barged into my room, that it wasn't the smartest thing in the world to be doing what I was doing but I couldn't stop. I was on my knees on the floor, my face pressed up to his cock through the warm fabric of his briefs. I was rubbing my lips on him, trying to fill myself up with the smell of his body. Sliding my fingers into the waistband of his underwear was about the most exciting thing I'd ever done. It was so good I wanted to hurry, like I had to get to everything I wanted to do, but at the same time I was already anxious, trying not to rush, thinking about how he was going to take off again as soon as we were done. His dick was so hard I had to pull it down to get it in my mouth. He tasted a little soapy but there was a tang to the flavor of the pink head that felt so smooth in my mouth. I rubbed my tongue against his slit to taste him and he made a noise that sent a huge rush to my dick. A condom wasn't the only thing he'd taken out of his pocket. He had a small tube of lube, too. He said it would feel better to use it and he was right. Not that I didn't want to fuck, I did. But even though I knew I'd liked it, the part I really did remember, when the time came to do it again, was how much it had hurt at the beginning. On my back with my legs spread, my knees hooked over my arms, so wide open, I got this pang of shame. I mean, it was my ass I was showing off, how could he want to be looking at that? Until he started rubbing that cool wet stuff into me. The cold feel of it around his warm finger and his icy eyes looking down at me, like he was dying to fuck me, made me feel like my ass was beautiful, that it was sexy. If only he wasn't going to look at me a whole other way afterwards. I told myself it didn't matter. So what if he took off, at least he had come back. Another part of me, dumb and hopeful, was thinking that maybe he wouldn't run off so fast, act so indifferent, this time. Pretty soon I wasn't thinking much of anything but, fuck me. It did still hurt going in, but not like the last time. And then it was so good. That feeling of being stuffed turning into being full and stroked. I still didn't know what made it feel so good but I kept wanting it over and over, I couldn't get enough of it. And then his hand, sticky and wet with lube, closed around my dick and started pumping. It was too good, like one too many plugs got plugged in and I shot into overload, spurting cream like a can of Reddi-whip. My legs felt like they were never going to straighten out again and my ass felt wide open and soaked. Colin had fallen off to the side of me and that's when I heard my mom tap on the door and realized I wasn't hearing Billie Holliday anymore. "Corby?" "Yeah mom, don't, don't come in, okay." Oh God. When had the music stopped? How long had she been out there? "Janice is here. We're going downtown. Do you want to go?" What the fuck, she never asked me to go with her and Janice. "No. I'll see you later." "Everything okay?" Jesus, she must have heard us. What did she think? I forced myself not to panic. "Everything's fine." God, I could feel her wanting to open that door and see for herself. "All right, sweetie," she said finally and I breathed. "I won't be home late." My legs were finally flat on the bed and I groaned, covering my face with my hands. So close. My heart was taking its time slowing down to normal. Right then, Colin Daley could have disappeared altogether and I'd have thanked God. But he didn't. And the minute I felt him take hold of my wrist, pushing my hand away from my face, I was so glad he was there. What a face he had, and just then it was like seeing him in the park, him looking back at me as if my face looked just as good to him. He started kissing me. Our lips were swollen and his tongue felt different, like it was at home in my mouth, like we'd swapped so much spit that we tasted the same. He was rubbing the cum on my stomach. I felt him raking it through my pubes, and he wound his hand around my soft cock. Damn if it didn't twitch like it wanted to get hard again. He grinned in the middle of a kiss, pulling back when he felt me starting to get stiff in his hand. I couldn't believe it when he slid down and started sucking me. It was nothing like getting blown in the bathroom at school. The one had felt really good, but this was something else. This was him, wanting my dick in his mouth, not just two guys who were horny trading blowjobs. This was Colin Daley washing my balls with his tongue and eating my cock like it was dessert. And when I said I was going to shoot he just sucked harder. He did leave after that. Me, like the dead, hearing him in the bathroom, washing up. He came out dressed, his face looking scrubbed, his hair a little damp at the edges. "What," I said as he put his jacket on, "you're not going to tell me to get my hair cut." What I said didn't matter, it still came out sounding like I was dying because he was leaving. And I was. "I already told you that," he said. But he did pause and walk over to the bed. "Come on," he said, just waiting next to the bed. "Sit your ass up and kiss me. You know you want to." I'm sure my face was as sullen as it felt, but I did it. I sat up and he leaned down and kissed me. He tasted like my toothpaste and I figured he must have helped himself to my toothbrush. God, I was shameless. I put my arms around his neck and tried to hang on. He just peeled them off. "Okay then. I've got to go." "How come?" I might as well have taken a shovel and started digging my grave. I saw that look coming over him, like the time before. Like he might have made the biggest mistake in the world by fucking me. "It's called work, princess. Some people have to do it to live." It was no answer. Not really. I mean he could have had a job and still asked me for my phone number or given me his. He could have said he'd see me again. No answer but it was a clue to the answer. Colin Daley didn't see any way to fit me into his life. I'd figure that out, eventually. He wanted me. As much as I wanted him. More, to hear him tell it, when the time finally came he was honest with me.