Copyright © 2003

By Lee Mariner

The author's copyright, and all provisions of the original disclaimer remain in force.  All Rights are reserved.

This story depicts homosexual acts and it is intended for ADULT READERS ONLY.  If you are not of legal age in your locality  or should you disapprove of this type of material, please leave.

My friend, Dean has edited this work and his invaluable assistance is greatly appreciated.

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Chapter #17

I didn't feel Derek slip out of bed the following morning,  but the aroma of coffee and cinnamon helped me awake from a deep restful sleep.   I was reluctant to get up and  lay on my stomach with my arms over my head buried half under my pillow.  As groggy as I was with sleep, it registered in my mind that Derek had to be making; the coffee but the cinnamon aroma puzzled me.   I thought to myself as I rolled onto my side in answer to nature's seemingly perpetual call,  "What is he fixing that smells like cinnamon?"

Before I could get up, Derek answered that question when he walked, naked, into the bedroom carrying a tray laden with a pot, cups and, from a distance, what looked like a plate of cinnamon buns.

"Good morning, Sleepy Head," he said cheerfully as he approached the bed.

"Oh, God, Derek, how can you be so cheerful and look so good this early in the day?" I groaned as I swung out of bed, placing my feet on the floor.

"It's easy," he answered, setting the tray on a table next to the bed before continuing.   "Keeping good thoughts and getting plenty of loving from someone who loves me almost as much as I love him, helps make the day bright, " he said as he sat on the edge of the bed and turned his beaming face to me.

His clean, masculine body odor and the soft shine in the sapphire blue depths of his eyes was intoxicating.   I felt a surge of pride engulf me as my heart beat quickened, my lungs expanding as I inhaled, a feeling of contentment flowing over me.  Leaning over, I brushed his lips with mine whispering softly, "Good morning, Gorgeous."

His eyes flashed briefly, and his face lit up, a broad smile spreading from ear to ear while he ran the tip of his finger over my chest, outlining the definition.  "You keep telling me that, but you forget that you are just as gorgeous," he whispered as he tweaked the tip of my hardening breast nipple. 

I cringed for a moment as a sharp, ecstatic, pain shot downward into my groin causing my asshole to flex and tighten as my cock started swelling.  When I lifted my arms to take him in them, he laughed; and, falling against me, we both fell back onto the bed.   He lay half on and half off me with his left leg over mine and his knee pushing up under my ball sac.

"You dev..., " I started to say; but, quickly sliding his arms under my head, he covered my mouth with his.  His tongue slipped between my lips, and I felt him moving his body, covering me.   Moaning softly, I put my arms around him returning his tantalizing  kiss.   Sliding my hands downward over the velvety softness of his back to the hard softness of his butt cheeks, I squeezed gently as I pushed my hips upward feeling his hard cock roll over mine. 

Derek broke the kiss and, lifting his head, looked down into my face, his eyes glistening with desire.  Running the tip of  his tongue over my lips, he grinned impishly and asked, "Horny this morning?"

"Oh, my Lord, what do you expect, you teasing Devil?" I exclaimed. "You torture me and then ask if I'm horny.  I'm not made of stone."

"Oh, really?  Something down there feels like stone," he replied, grinning and starting a slow rotating motion with his hips.

Moving my arms, I started to place them over his shoulders and surrender myself when he arched his back, lifting his torso with the power of his muscles. The veins in his neck and on his chest stood out from the strain of holding his body in an upward position when he suddenly relaxed and, grabbing my arms by their wrists, he pinned them over my head.  I felt the stickiness of pre-seminal fluid oozing between us as he increased the tempo of his rotating hips, rolling his steel hard cock over mine.

"D," I groaned, feeling the pressure building in my loins, "Keep it up, and there's going to be a mess between us," I said as sweat started to pour off both of us. 

"I know," he said softly while rotating his hips.  "Let me do the work, you just lie there."

He was dry fucking me face to face, and I could tell from the intensity showing on his face and the way his muscles were slowly tightening that he was as close as I was.  Ignoring what he had said, I responded to the feelings boiling inside of me and started moving my hips in contrast with his, creating greater friction. 

It was not so much that I ignored him as it was an involuntary reaction to the intensity of the passion and the wave of erotic euphoria that swept over us.  Closing my eyes,  I could visualize the glistening, sweaty magnificence of Derek over me, his face beaming.   When I felt the intensity of his hip movement increase, I matched the intensity,  feeling the boiling magma of my balls starting to rise.  We both were panting and breathing heavily from the excitement rushing through us when he suddenly slammed his groin against mine and cried,  "Now, Larry, now."

The pressure of his pelvis slamming into me and the feeling of his erupting cock spewing hot sperm between us sent me over the edge hissing with passion.   I groaned my answer, "Yessssssssss, yessssssssss, Jesus, fucking Christ, yesss."   I felt the hot sperm exploding from the head of my cock and the pulsing in my nuts as it gushed thick streams to mix with what Derek's cock had already delivered.    The intensity of the moment passed, and his relaxing body slowly settled down on me. He released his grip on my wrists; and, when he laid his head next to mine, I put my arms around him holding him closely as we drifted in the warmth of the soft afterglow that always followed.  

We both had been breathing heavily, but our breathing slowly returned to normal as our spent cocks wilted between us.   Turning my head slightly, I kissed his cheek and whispered, "The coffee and those buns are getting cold."

"Damn, " he answered as he turned his grinning face toward mine, sliding one arm up and touching my cheek with his fingers.  "We just finished our first dry fuck, there is a mess of cum between us, and all you are thinking about is coffee and cinnamon buns."

"No, I'm not thinking of just that, D.  I'm thinking that if you don't let me up so I can piss, there will be an even bigger mess to clean up,"  I said with a note of some urgency.

                                                                              * * * * * * * * * * * *

"We can't have that now, can we?"  He giggled loudly as he rolled off me, and I bolted to the bathroom with him laughing and following me.  While I relieved my bladder, he turned on the shower and, adjusting the water, showered while I shaved.  He left the water running and, with us switching places, shaved what little peach fuzz he had while I showered.

The coffee had gotten cold during the interlude following Derek's bringing it in from the kitchen; and, still naked, he took it back and re-heated it.  I still hadn't brought all of my clothes from my old bedroom, so I wrapped a towel around my waist and carried another with me for him.

He laughed softly when he saw me with the towel.  "Looks like we better unpack a few things," he said as he poured the coffee.

"You do, but I've got to bring more of my things from the house," I answered.

"It would be nice if we didn't have to wear clothes at all," he said as he sat down.

"Oh, yeah, that would be great," I said.   "The only problem with that is nothing would ever get done; and I would have to fight off every Tom, Dick and Harry that looked at you."

"There you go again," he said, his eyes filled with merriment.  "Don't you think I might have the same problem?  I've been trying to tell you that you have nothing to be ashamed of, and that there are a lot of dudes who would want you but probably not as much or in the same way that I do."

"That goes two ways, D," I answered as I sat my coffee back on the table, grimacing.  "I can tell that I'll have to teach you how to make coffee."  I said, getting up from the table.

"I'm sorry, Larry.  The bag of coffee didn't have directions like the Pillsbury can of rolls.   Besides, I've never made coffee."

"Nor cooked very much either, but you'll learn.  We both will learn;  it only takes time and practice," I said as I made a fresh pot of coffee. 

We each ate two of the rolls he had fixed and then spent the rest of the morning going through the boxes and boxes of his clothes and accessories that Beca and Henry had  brought from his house.   He had found two pairs of gray athletic shorts in one box and had thrown  me a pair so that we could put them on.   It soon became evident that there was not going to be enough closet space in the apartment for his and my clothes.  It was obvious to me that some modifications to the interior of the small apartment would need to be done.

"You know, Larry, we don't have enough room; and, even if we separate the winter things from the summer stuff, we still won't."

"I've been noticing that as we've been unpacking," I answered.   "Guess we better talk with Dad and see about enlarging the closets and maybe the bathroom at the same time.  He will probably say it's okay, but we had better ask him."

"That's the only way I can think of, but it seems a shame to spend the money since we will be going off to college."

"Not if we go to one of the local colleges, it won't," I said, looking over at him sitting amongst piles of shirts and sweaters.

"I hadn't thought about going to a local college, Larry," he answered.   "My Dad was always talking about going to that place in England or one of the West Coast colleges, like UCLA, Stanford or USC.  I never was very keen on going too far from home, but he always insisted that Kingsley men went to only the best colleges or universities."

"We can talk about it later, D, and decide what we want to do.  I've still got to check to see what grants I might be able to qualify for and just how much it's going to cost.  Mr. Carlson, at work, has a plan for his employees; but it won't pay for everything.   Mom and Dad would help, but they don't really have very much, and I wouldn't want them to take anything from their retirement accounts.  Right now, we need to see about more storage space for both of us."  I said, breathing in deeply before lifting and carrying a box into the bedroom.

"D," I said, returning to the front room.  "Are you going to wear a suit to the bank this afternoon?"

"I think we should, don't you?"  he answered.  "I was just about to look in the clothes bag, when you called, to see which one I'd wear.  Probably a dark blue but no pin-stripes."

"I've got a blue suit but it's in the house.  I'll have to run over and get it,"  I said.

"Don't you think you should put on a pair of briefs under those athletic shorts," he said, laughing. 

I had forgotten that we were wearing his athletic shorts with no underwear and stopped in half stride when he said it.  I could feel the heat in my face, and I knew I was blushing from embarrassment. 

"Damn.  We've been so busy, I'd forgotten what we were wearing," I replied, turning toward him red faced.

"I don't think your mom has seen you au natural for sometime," he said grinning and standing up.

"Not since before I was thirteen, she hasn't," I answered, still slightly embarrassed.

"You have nothing to be ashamed of, Larry," he said as he slipped his arms around my waist, molding his body to mine.   "As far as I am concerned, there is nothing God has created that is more beautiful than the male body; and, when he made you, he threw the mold away."

His eyes shone with the sincerity of  his words; and his lips were soft, our tongues moving languidly as we kissed.  I felt the stirrings of passion between us; and, breaking the kiss, I leaned my head back slightly and looked into his eyes.   I saw an impish glint; and then he laid his head on my shoulder kissing my neck as he whispered softly, "Have I told you how much I love you?"

I felt the strength of his hard cock pressing against mine and the desire building in my loins.  Swallowing hard, trying to suppress the urge to take him, I croaked, dryly, "Not in so many words today, but you don't have to put it in words all of the time, Derek, I can feel it," I answered, moving my hands over the soft skin of his unblemished back muscles.

Lifting his head from my shoulder, he gazed at me and rotating his hips as he had done earlier; he grinned evilly, "Me too, but we don't have much time right now."

"Oh, shit," I moaned softly as he dropped his arms, stepping away.   "You're going to catch it later on, you Devil.  Get a man all hot and bothered with those cute little antics of yours and then cut it off."

"I am counting on it," he replied over his shoulder.  "Later and later and later...," he giggled coquettishly as he went into the bedroom.

                                                                                * * * * * * * * * * * *

Mom was not in the house, but she had left the door unlocked and a note on the kitchen table telling me that she and her church class were meeting for lunch and she wouldn't be home until around three or four o'clock.   There was no mention of what she and Dad would do about dinner, and I was just as happy that she hadn't mentioned it.  Derek and I were going to have to wean ourselves from eating with them on a more or less regular basis.

After stuffing the note into my pocket, I found my blue suit in the closet and, after selecting the right shirt and accessories, returned to our apartment making sure I locked the house door. 

Derek was half dressed when I handed him the note, "Mom's out with the ladies of her church, and she didn't say anything about us eating with them tonight."

"Good," he answered.  "Maybe we can have dinner at the Purple Hippopotamus this evening?"

"The Purple Hippopotamus?" I exclaimed inquisitively.  "Are you sure about that, D; that place is kind of expensive."

"I've eaten there before, and it's really not too expensive," he answered, turning away from tying his tie in the mirror. "It'll be like a celebration of getting our first apartment together, Larry."

"If that's what you want, it's okay with me," I said as I slipped on my suit coat. "There, how do I look?"

"Absolutely fantastic," Derek answered.  "How about me?" he asked turning in my direction.

His suit was obviously tailored and fit perfectly.   I was glad to see he was wearing a light blue shirt and burgundy tie in contrast to my wearing a white shirt a light blue tie.  His trousers draped perfectly with only a hint of a break at the tops of his black Bostonian wing toe shoes.  

"Turn around," I said; and he did slowly.  His suit coat had been tailored to fit and it accented the width of his shoulders and the narrowness of his waist.

"Well?" he asked again, his sapphire blue eyes shining excitedly.

"Good enough to eat," I answered, smiling broadly.

"You do to," he said moving toward me. Giving me a peck on the lips, his eyes flashed; and he breathed softly,  "Dessert at home after dinner."

                                                                     * * * * * * * * * * * *

I had passed the Heritage Bank & Trust many times but had never been inside.  It was one of the oldest banking institutions in the area and was usually considered as being more for businesses and some of the wealthier people in the city.  Dad had, for as long as I could remember, been doing his banking with Citizens Savings & Loan; so, when I started working, I naturally opened an account at his bank.    Today, I learned more about the differences between the two institutions.

The Citizens branch we used was modern in design, maybe even starkly so, and up to date.  The building sat in the center of a lot in the local business park and was constructed of concrete blocks and brick.  There were several parking places in front of the building and three drive-through windows on one side.  The main doors were all glass and opened inward into a foyer with another set of glass doors that pivoted outward.   On the inside the atmosphere was almost clinical with pearl gray walls, a dark blue commercial carpet and several landscape prints indiscriminately scattered on the walls.  Several tellers worked behind thick bullet proof glass while other personnel worked in small office cubicles without protection seemingly off-setting a sense of security.  

I preferred using the drive-ins rather than standing in line at Citizens, especially on Fridays; but, when we walked up to Heritage there was a distinct overpowering difference in the prominence of the two institutions.  We entered huge bronze doors with grill covered frosted glass inserts; and, when we walked into the interior, it was like walking into a museum.  The floor was intricately inlayed marble and the walls were covered with a rich dark paneling, probably walnut or mahogany.  The ceilings seemed to be twenty or so feet above us with several huge bronze chandeliers suspended strategically over the working areas.

Instead of the tellers being secluded behind bullet-proof partitions, they worked behind paneled half walls with a frosted glass partition on top.  To the right as we entered there were several desks sitting on a dark forest-green carpet that matched the color of the inlayed marble floor.  The desks were located so conversations would not be overheard by others sitting close by.   We turned toward the desk area when we entered and approached a desk that had a brass "Receptionist" placard prominently displayed.

A handsome, middle -age lady dressed in a lady's black business suit with a snow white lace cravat cascading from her throat rose from behind the desk as we approached.  "May I help you, Gentlemen?" she asked in a soft well-cultivated voice.

"Yes," Derek answered smoothly.  "I'm Derek Kingsley, and this is Lawrence Marks.  We have an appointment to see Mr. Henry Masters."

For a brief moment,  we underwent a quick visual inspection before a soft smile crossed the well groomed lady's face.  "Yes sir, Mr. Kingsley.  Mr. Masters is expecting you and Mr. Marks," she said in a smooth even tone as she lifted the telephone receiver and pushed an intercom button,  "I'll see whether he is in his office."

After another brief wait, she spoke briefly into the mouth piece and then returned the receiver to its cradle.  "This way please," she said turning and waving her hand very elegantly in the direction we were to follow.

We followed the receptionist toward a half glass door at the rear of the bank; and, when we were close enough, we could read "Henry S. Masters, Senior Vice President" in gold letters on the clear glass door panel.  Through the glass we saw a man who looked like he was in his middle to late fifties or early sixties walking toward the door reaching it at almost the same time the receptionist did; and he opened it with a booming, "Derek Kingsley, my Lord you have grown since I last saw you.  Come on in, is this your friend Mr. Marks?  Come in, please come in.  Thanks, Ellen, hold my calls, please."

I didn't think she had heard; but, following Derek,  I glanced at her as she said softly in almost a whisper, "Yes, Sir, Mr. Masters," gliding away toward her desk.

The interior office was a duplicate of the main banking floor except it was decorated even more richly.  Instead of a marble floor it had the same forest green carpet that we had seen when we first came in, and it looked as if it were inset into a marble border that matched the exterior bank floor.    The dark walnut desk was, to exaggerate, as big as a football field with a huge high-backed black leather chair where the office occupant would sit.   Lighted wall paintings that hung on the rich highly polished walnut paneled walls were not of the variety that were outside, these were not copies of landscapes.   Two black leather divans sat on either side of the office with huge cocktail tables in front of them and matching leather chairs at either end.  A large Tiffany lamp that matched the room's single chandelier, sat on one corner of the highly polished, uncluttered surface of the desk; and, as Henry Masters walked around to take his seat behind the desk, he waved us toward two of the high backed black leather chairs that faced his desk. 

Mounted on the wall behind Masters' chair, between two tall windows was an almost floor to ceiling portrait of a stern faced older gentleman.  He was standing in a classic pose with one hand on the corner of a desk and the other hand on his hip.   His hair was snow white, and his eyes at a distance seemed to be black but were more likely brown.  He was wearing a black frock coat suit of the period with white lace at the sleeves; and, surprisingly, he was wearing a lacy white cravat that almost matched that of the receptionist, Ellen.  

"My great grandfather, Elwood Masters, Mr. Marks," Masters announced when he saw us looking at the portrait.  "He founded the bank over one hundred fifty years ago.  I'm surprised you don't recognize it, Derek.  It was in the same place when you were here last, but you were only six or seven years old when your grand-mother brought you with her."

"I have a vague re-collection of that time, Mr. Masters," Derek answered as he made himself comfortable before continuing. "If I'm correct, I seem to remember being a little frightened by the stern look on your great grandfather's face."

"You were; but let me assure you that, with the exception of finances, his bark was much worse than his bite," he replied, peels of laughter rolling from his throat.  "As I re-call," he continued when his outburst had subsided, "You spent most of the time in your grandmothers lap, but I doubt that would be possible now.  Do you and Derek attend the same school, Mr. Marks?" he asked, changing the subject but still chuckling and shifting his dark brown eyes between the two of us.

"No, Sir," I answered firmly, returning his gaze and refusing to be intimidated by the sudden switch onto a more personal level.  "We attended different schools.  Derek and I met at a swimming meet." I said glancing at Derek.  I saw the faint flicker of amusement in his eyes when he looked at me briefly and I knew he had caught the reference to our swimming stroke for stroke at the park swimming hole.

"Swimming, ahh yes, great sport.  I haven't done any for what must be ages," he said patting his stomach and continuing, "I should take it up again for the exercise and maybe drop a few pounds."

"You seem to be in good condition, Mr. Masters, but exercise never hurts anyone," Derek said glancing at me, his eyes twinkling.

"Well, ... you lads have the advantage in that department," he replied, rocking in his chair and rubbing his jaw.  "Now then," he boomed, straightening up and leaning forward while tenting his fingers in the typical contemplative pose before continuing.  "I'm sure you are wondering why I asked you to come in today, Derek," he said with an all knowing grin on his face, his eyes shifting between us.

"I am somewhat concerned, Mr. Masters, since you took the time to trace my whereabouts; but I'm assuming it has something to do with the trust fund my grandmother arranged for me," Derek answered smoothly as he lifted his leg and holding his ankle with his right hand, rested it on his thigh.

"There is a little more to it than that, Derek, and some of what I have to say, is rather sensitive," Masters said glancing furtively in my direction and then back at Derek, awaiting his response.

I felt like a fifth wheel listening to the comments that were being made, and it was obvious that Masters was not sure about whether I should be involved and wanted to be sure before he continued.  I was right in my assessment, but I didn't feel any animosity towards Mr. Masters as he was simply doing his job.  Leaning forward in my chair, I looked at Derek and said, "I can wait outside while you and Mr. Masters talk."

"No, Larry, whatever Mr. Masters has to say, he can tell both of us.  You are involved in this just as much as I am," Derek said, his gaze fixed on Masters.

Flabbergasted, I plopped my butt back down on my chair.  I was halfway up not expecting, but hoping, Derek would make the statement he did; and, when he did, it went a long way to cementing the feelings I already had for him.  When I saw Masters look at me and then at Derek from behind his fingers with a subdued glint in his eyes, I smiled and thought, "He has put one and one together and thinks he has it figured out." 

A muted silence fell over the room as Masters, briefly took stock of the two of us.  Other than a glance at me, Derek had not taken his eyes off of Masters and I could see the robins egg blue had darkened to a deep azure and his gaze was unwavering.   I didn't know how much influence Derek or his family had over Heritage but when Masters, exhaling, opened the center drawer of his desk and whispered softly, "As you wish, Derek," I had the feeling is was considerable.   I learned later that the name Worthington could open doors in many places inside and outside of the financial world. 

Withdrawing a large black leather bound portfolio, he placed it on his desk and asked, "Would you like something before we start, coffee, water, tea?" as he lifted the telephone receiver from its cradle and pushed one of the buttons in the base.

"Some water would be fine, Mr. Masters," Derek said glancing at me as he said it; and I nodded affirmatively.

"Catherine, would you bring in a decanter of coffee and one of ice water, please?"  He said speaking into the telephone mouth-piece and then after a moment, "Only one cup but three glasses for the present," he replied, glancing at us inquisitively, before placing the receiver back in its cradle.

After a few seconds, Masters opened the portfolio and looking across his desk, he folded his hands on top of the thick volume of papers and looked at Derek briefly, before speaking, "I'm not trying to be nosy or butt into your affairs, Derek; and you may tell me it is none of my business if you like.  But, has there been trouble between you and your father?"

I fell back into the fifth wheel mode having decided to speak only when spoken to, but I watched Derek closely.  His jaw tightened and his eyes flashed when he heard Masters' question.  Placing his foot back on the floor he leaned forward slightly his hands gripping the leather arm rests of his chair; and he answered Masters coolly, "What would that have to do with my grandmother's trust fund, Mr. Masters?"

"Nothing, really, at least not since you celebrated your eighteenth birthday," Masters answered a little nervously, his eyes lowering briefly before he continued.    "You did know that your father was your guardian, and he has had control of your monthly allowance from the trust prior to that time, didn't you?" he said as he opened the portfolio.

"I didn't know anything about an allowance," Derek said, glancing quickly over at me. "All I knew was that Grandmother Worthington had established the trust when I was born and that it was for me to attend college and maybe help me get started after I graduated."

"Those are the basic terms of the trust, but I'm surprised that neither your father nor your mother has spoken with you about it in its entirety," he said, rubbing his chin and with a perplexed tone in his voice.  "Yes, I am really surprised at that," he mused to himself as his secretary, Catherine, a young and extremely well proportioned blonde, placed the tray with the coffee and water decanters on the corner of his desk.  "Will there be anything else, Mr. Masters?" she asked softly.

"Not right now Catherine, except clear my calendar for this afternoon.  I've already told Ellen to hold my calls, but you can tell her to have any that may come in directed to your phone so that you can handle them,"  he said firmly, glancing up at her.  "I'm going to be tied up the rest of the afternoon with Mr. Kingsley and Mr. Marks."

"Yes, Sir," she answered, glancing at Derek and me.  The silence in the room was broken only by the sound of her shoe heels touching the marble border at the doorway as she left.

                                                                    * * * * * * * * * * * *
  Shortly, the whisper of Mr. Masters' swivel chair as he turned to get up broke the silence.  Moving to the corner where the tray had been set, he poured his coffee and our water.  All of the time he was doing this, we could see that he was thinking; and every now and then he would glance at Derek.  

"Neither of your parents has spoken to you about the trust?"  He asked again as he pulled a hidden leaf out from the front of his desk to set our water glasses on and then  returned to his seat.

"No, Sir," Derek answered.  "The only thing I knew, other than what I have told you, was that my Father was supposed to have registered me at a school in England called Eaton; and I would be going there when I graduated high school."

"Eaton!!" he exclaimed, incredulously as he sat down.  "That was done without your grandmother's knowledge, and you were still a baby when your father did that.  Eaton  is an all boys' school in England that is equivalent to a high school here but not college.  Your grandmother stopped that nonsense when she heard about it, and then she donated the money your father had paid for registration, to the school.  I would venture to say that the private school you just finished was probably on the same footing with Eaton, the only exception being that your school is co-ed whereas Eaton is not.  Your trust paid for your tuition at Merrimac, not your father; although there was enough money in your monthly allowance to pay for that and then some.    If all you know about the trust is that it was set up for your education and possible help afterwards, we have some catching up to do so make yourselves comfortable, sit back and listen."

Catherine brought another decanter of coffee and additional cups before we left later in the evening.