DISCLAIMER
The fictional story you're about to read contains descriptions of a sexual nature that involve minors. If this subject matter is not for you then please don't read it! All characters and situations are fictional. Any similarity to real people or events is purely coincidental. Any comments, criticisms, or flames are to be sent to: create.inspire@hotmail.com
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The Ghastly Obscenities of Brady Jeston
Chapter Sixteen


By TurtleBoy



"Shit that was close!" said Mark as he stepped back into the shower.

Brady stood up, his knees trembling from shock. "What about my shoes? She's not gonna believe I left without them."

"Who cares. She probably forgot about it by the time she got down the stairs." Mark stepped toward Brady and put his hands on his shoulders. "You okay?"

"Yeah," lied Brady. Still slightly shaking and shivering as the adrenaline slowly wore off, Brady leaned in toward him and placed his cheek against Mark's chest. "You're so warm," he said with a trembling voice.

"Shit, mate. Are you cold?" asked Mark, feeling Brady's body convulsing against his own. "Let's get dried off before you pass out."

Mark grabbed Brady's hand and guided him out of the shower. "Wait just a second," he said and moved to turn off the water. "Um, there should be some towels in the cupboard below the sink."

Brady leaned forward, placing his left hand on the edge of the sink and opened the cupboard door with his right. "There's nothing here," he said, kneeling down to make sure he hadn't missed them.

"Shit, really?" asked Mark. "They must be in the linen closet down the hall."

Standing back up, Brady crossed his arms and tried to hug himself for warmth. "Okay, but no one's home now, right?"

"Nope. Just us. I'm sure I heard the door close a minute ago," replied Mark as he walked toward the bathroom door. "Wait here a sec. I'll go grab us a towel."

Brady nodded just as Mark opened the door. The moment it opened a rush of cool air poured in causing Brady to shiver more intensely. Disappearing into the hall, Mark tiptoed down the hall as quickly as he could, trying not to drip water everywhere. "It's bloody cold out here!" said Mark between strange little squeaks as the balls of his feet left the floor. "And I think me-mum used too much polish on the floor!"

Suddenly, Brady heard a deep "whoosh" and the world became instantly dark. He could smell a strange scent of lavender accompanied by the relief of warmth. Throwing his hands up above his head, Brady grabbed the large and incredibly soft towel that Mark had thrown at him.

The relief was immediate as he rubbed the plush-feeling fabric against his skin. It felt good to be covered by something so soft, especially when compared to the freezing water from the shower. "Thanks," said Brady finally regaining a steady voice.

"No prob," replied Mark, standing with a towel wrapped around his waist while bending down to pick up his clothes. "Grab your things."

Brady wrapped his towel around his waist as well then, grabbing his clothes, followed Mark out into the hallway and into his room. Mark walked straight to his closet, dropping his clothes on the floor which disappeared into the collage of miscellaneous other items. "What do you wanna wear?" he asked, looking over his shoulder toward Brady.

"Umm, doesn't matter," he replied, awkwardly standing in the middle of the room.

Mark shrugged and turned back to the closet. "Hmm, not much in here. Check the bureau behind you."

Brady turned around and walked over to the dresser. "Uh, which drawer?"

"Dunno. Everything's just crammed in there anyway. Just open 'em up and pick whatever you want."

Opening the second drawer from the top, Brady smiled. The drawer was filled with a random assortment of socks, shirts, shorts and underwear. However, all Brady could see was the undergarments. There were boxers, trunks, briefs, and something smaller than briefs that looked to be made of a much lighter material.

"What are these?" asked Brady, turning around with a skimpy looking pair of underwear.

Seeing what Brady had in his hands, Mark's face became red and hot. "Uh... They're, um... they're slips."

"Slips?" said Brady, examining the material. "Never heard of them."

"Guess it's a British thing... They're like briefs, I guess. But they don't have a fly-hole."

"So, they're kinda like panties?" said Brady with a grin on his face.

"No!" Mark's face became incredibly red. "They're like a lightweight version of briefs!"

Happy that he had managed to embarrass Mark, Brady turned back to the dresser and dropped the slips back inside. "Are these okay?" he asked, spinning back around holding a pair of silky-looking baggy, white shorts.

Mark nodded. "Yeah sure. When you get changed, just drop your undies on top of your towel and we'll run 'em down to the dryer."

With the shorts in his left hand, Brady strolled around to the other side of the large recliner to change, so that Mark couldn't see him. As he did this, Mark was attempting to slide off his wet underpants without taking off his towel.

"What are you doing?" asked Brady, stepping out from behind the chair now wearing Mark's shorts.

"What's it look like?" said Mark, hopping on one foot with his back facing Brady.

"Um... I could just turn around if you want."

"No, it's okay. I can manage," lied Mark as his towel began to slip. In a panic, while trying to grab his towel and not lose his balance, Mark fumbled sideways. "Okay! Okay! Turn around!"

While laughing, Brady turned back around and stared at the reflection in the television. "Um, this isn't going to work..."

"What, why?"

"I can still see you," chuckled Brady, closing his eyes.

"Screw it. We just made-out in the shower." Giving up, Mark let his towel fall to the floor and stood up straight. "Not to mention the humping... Did I mention the humping?"

Blushing, Brady kept his eyes closed, wanting his first time seeing Mark naked to be a little more than a quick peep show while getting changed. "Nope," replied Brady. "We were a little busy."

"Yeah," Mark agreed, sliding on a pair of shorts, "Dry humping."

Brady giggled. "I don't remember being dry..."

"You know what I mean," said Mark. "Come on. Grab your gitch and let's get them dry."

Once again, turning back around, Brady bent over for his towel and underwear. When he stood back up, Mark was standing in front of him wearing nothing but a pair of very short shorts, extending barely halfway down his thin looking thighs. "Wow," said Brady, staring at the blue fabric and the three white stripes down the outside of either leg. "Where'd you get those?"

"Dunno," Mark shrugged. "Probably the... seventies?"

"At least."

"They're comfy though," said Mark as he wobbled his hips as a demonstration of his freedom. "It's like everything can breathe."

Brady smirked. "Everything?"

"Everything," replied Mark with a grin. "Yeah... anyway. Give'us your stuff and I'll run them downstairs."

"Are you sure you should be moving around so much?" asked Brady, remembering Mark's back and stomach problems.

"God, you sound like me-mum. Shut up and toss'em here already," said Mark, holding out his hand for Brady to pass him his clothes. "While I'm gone you should put on a movie. We could finish off the ones we missed last night then you can run home for more later."

"Okay," agreed Brady, just as Mark ran out of the room.




* * * * *



By the time Mark came back, carrying two cans of juice, Brady had prepared the movie and was sitting in the recliner. At first, Mark didn't notice and walked right to the bed and sat down. Placing the drinks on the side table, he looked toward the television at the main menu and then saw Brady patiently rocking in the chair.

"What the hell are you doing in there?" asked Mark, angered that his father had won.

"Huh?" replied Brady, peering over the edge of the seat. "Sitting?"

"In the chair?"

"Yeah..." Brady sat up and turned to face Mark.

"Why?"

"Because it's a chair?"

"But why the chair?"

"I dunno." Brady shrugged. "Because it was there?"

In frustration, Mark rolled across the bed and stood on his knees in the middle of the bed. "You can't sit there! You know why it's there, don't you?"

"I could probably guess," said Brady

Mark, becoming annoyed, fell back against the mattress and bounced to his feet. "It's so we won't..."

"Sit next to each other?" finished Brady.

"Yeah..." Mark's right eyebrow raised toward his hairline. "Are you messing with me?"

Brady grinned. "A little, yeah."

Mark sat down on the bed and crossed his arms. "I hate you."

Brady stared at Mark; he was frowning with his eyebrows crossed, arms folded, and making sure to exaggerate every feature as much as possible. Even though he knew Mark was joking, to a degree, he couldn't help but feel bad. He looked so cute wearing those thirty-something-year-old shorts, and nothing else. His lightly tanned skin and thin arms and legs looked so smooth that Brady could feel himself become excited by just looking at him; even his little toes were disgustingly adorable.

"I'm sorry," Brady finally said.

"No you're not," said Mark, forcing himself not to smile.

Brady sat in silence for a while, thinking about the chair. "So your dad really brought this up to keep us apart?"

Mark nodded.

"That's weird, isn't it?"

Mark nodded again, arms still crossed and lower-lip still pouting.

"You know... I wonder what he'd say if he came back to find us both sitting in the chair," said Brady with a smile.

Mark's pouty-lip disappeared and his arms dropped to his sides as he pushed himself up to his feet, grinning. "You're a genius!" he yelled and hopped onto Brady's lap.

"I am?" Brady asked nervously.

"Yes! Of course... we won't actually do it, but you're a genius!" Grabbing the sides of Brady's head, Mark pulled him forward and kissed his forehead. "Genius I say!"

"Wow, um, are you on something that I don't know about?" asked Brady, taking notice of Mark's enthusiasm.

Mark backed his head away from Brady. "No, why?"

"You're just a little more hyper than usual."

"So. Can't a guy be happy?" said Mark. "Besides, I've been stuck inside forever."

"Oh, so it's cabin fever, huh?"

Mark shrugged. "I dunno. I just feel good today."

"Yeah," Brady smiled and placed his hand on Mark's knee. "Me too."

Looking down at Brady's hand, Mark placed his hand on top of it. "We should have done this a long time ago."

"What? Watch movies?" asked Brady, half-admitting that he was paying more attention to his hand on Mark's knee than his words.

"No, dummy. Us. You know? Us!"

Tracing his index finger in a circular motion against the side of Mark's knee, Brady glanced up at Mark. "Well, I did sorta try."

"Okay, I know, I know. It was my fault. But what was I supposed to do? Dad would kill me if he knew," explained Mark.

"Yeah, I know," said Brady. "I don't think I would've told him, though."

Watching Brady's fingers tickling against his knee, Mark lightly sighed. "Our secret?"

"Of course," agreed Brady, smiling to express his understanding.

"So... anyway," Mark slid off of Brady's lap and squeezed in next to him on the recliner, "are you gonna start the movie, or what?"

Brady giggled and reached for the controller to press play. "Sounds good."

As soon as the movie started, the two automatically assumed their movie-watching roles and shared each others' company in silence. Even though the chair they were in was quite large, it didn't leave much room to move. Their sides, from their shoulders to their toes, were pressed firmly together, and their arms were overlapping and appeared awkwardly tangled.

Brady's left hand was resting on Mark's thigh, with his fingers gently stroking above his knee, while Mark mindlessly played with the leg of Brady's shorts. To Brady, at this point, the movie seemed like more of a sideshow. Not just because he had seen it several times before, but because his mind was obsessing over his hand.

Looking down at Mark's leg as his fingers slowly caressed the smooth skin, Brady cautiously tested his nerves. His chest was thumping and his stomach felt as if it had tied itself in a knot. With this new freedom of touch, he still feared the possibility of overstepping boundaries. Nonetheless, despite all conflicting thoughts, he still allowed his fingers movements to broaden. Soon, they were no longer innocently circling at Mark's knee. With every completed repetition, his hand would slowly reverse. Soon, the tips of his fingers were grazing the hem of the old shorts, and, ever so slightly, he would nudge them back to reveal more of the, gradually fading, tan on Mark's leg.

Shivers consumed Mark's body, redirecting his attention to the fingers against his leg. When he looked down at himself, Brady's fingers were circling along his upper thigh, and the leg of his shorts had been pushed back almost as far as it could go. Instead of saying something, Mark squeezed his hand over the silky fabric that covered Brady's knee and then slowly slid his fingers back-and-forth against the material.

"Are you watching the movie?" Mark asked in barely a whisper.

"Yeah," replied Brady. "Are you?"

Allowing his hand to travel several inches up Brady's leg, Mark smiled and said, "No."

Every last muscle in Brady's legs, hips, and abdomen became stiff. Mark's finger, when he moved his hand, had lightly skimmed between his legs, briefly touching a part of Brady that only he had ever touched before. A wave of adrenaline surged through him, causing his stomach to stir and cramp. And without thinking, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against Mark's neck.

Mark gasped from the sudden contact and nearly pushed him away. Instead, however, his hands found their way to the back of Brady's head, and he ran his fingers up through his hair. He could see shivers spread across Brady's skin, like a tidal wave crashing ashore, as his right hand slid down his friend's back. At that moment, he felt like his heart had just burst, yet all he could think to do was hold him tighter.

Without separating from Mark, Brady rolled over, onto his knees, and straddled Mark's legs. Their lips met instantly and parted. Hands were travelling down his back, firmly pressing against his skin. He could feel the tips of Mark's fingers attempting to sneak under the waistband of his shorts, and the thought of where they would soon be caused him press his body even tighter against Mark's.

Suddenly, the chair reclined, and Brady fell forward, on top of Mark, as Mark's feet bounced upward into the air. The look of shock consumed both of their faces. Their hearts were racing, and their minds seemed to disconnect. Trying not to giggle, Mark slid his hands under the fabric of Brady's shorts. What he found there was so warm and smooth and impossibly soft that he couldn't help himself but to squeeze. He could feel his cheeks begin to ache as he tried, with all his might, not to smile, but the random jolt of the chair and its memory was too strong to control.

Brady broke their kiss and looked down at Mark's grinning face. "Oops," he said with a chuckle.

"Kinda killed the moment there, Brady," teased Mark, as Brady settled down on his lap.

"Sorry." said Brady, out of habit, as he slowly began to slide off of Mark.

Mark extended his arms and placed his hands on Brady's waist. "Where you goin'?"

"Nowhere; just over here," he explained, sitting next to him in the chair and turning his attention toward the television.

Mark inched himself to the edge of the recliner and leaned forward to grab the controller. "I'm kinda hungry," he announced while pressing the pause button. "Wanna go downstairs for a bite?"

"Are you allowed to go downstairs?" asked Brady, already knowing that he wouldn't be able to stop him anyway. "What can you eat?"

Dropping the controller on the bed and turning back around to face Brady, Mark placed his hands on his hips as his expression became surprisingly serious. "Whatever I want," he announced, and marched toward the door. "You coming?"

"I guess... But if we get busted, it's all your fault." Brady jumped up from the chair and followed Mark into the hall. "Wait," he stopped in his tracks, "what if they come home and we're in the kitchen wearing this stuff?"

Mark shrugged and reached his left hand to the railing. "Who cares?"

"Uh..." Brady remained still. "Your dad, for starters."

"He won't even be home for like three hours. I think we're safe, dude," said Mark, hoping to reassure Brady. "And even if he does, we'll just say that we were sitting around in the pool."

Brady raised his eyebrow. "You mean that empty one sitting in your backyard?"

"Hmm, that's right," recalled Mark. "Okay, well, let's just not get caught. Mum'll probably be gone for at least another hour. We're just gonna make a sandwich."

Reluctantly, Brady followed Mark down the stairs and into the kitchen. He sat down at the table, as Mark went straight for the refrigerator, and turned his chair so that he could observe. "We should go camping," he said as randomly as the thought entered his mind.

"What?" asked Mark, turning his head from the open door of the fridge. "Where'd that come from?"

"Dunno. Just a thought," shrugged Brady. "I haven't been camping in forever."

Mark stepped back from the fridge, holding an onion and a brown paper package in his hand, and nudged the door shut with his foot. "Where would we go camping?" he asked. "My dad isn't the spur-of-the-moment kind of guy. He needs to plan these things out - probably for weeks so that he doesn't have to do it."

"What's to plan?" asked Brady. "I've got a tent and sleeping bags, and you've got a huge back yard with lots of trees. We could just camp out back."

"That kinda sucks, though, doesn't it?" said Mark as he grabbed a knife and cutting board from on top of the counter.

"No way. We could have a fire and roast hot dogs and marshmallows. We could even tell stupid, scary stories."

"Hmmm," thought Mark. "I don't know any stories, though."

"Does anyone? We can just make them up," replied Brady, almost defensively. "Besides, we could spend the whole night together, you know?"

Mark stopped what he was doing, turned around, and smiled at Brady. "You know," he said, stepping closer to the table, "you might be on to something, there."

Brady grinned. "And the best part is, there won't be any stupid chairs to break."

"What? You mean we're going to sit on the grass all night?" asked Mark, appearing to be having second thoughts.

"No. We'll find some logs or a rock to sit on. You can't bring chairs to a camping trip. That's just not right. But I was actually talking about the recliner in your room..."

"Oh!" Mark slapped the palm of his hand against his forehead. "Duh! But when are we doing this?"

"Whenever you're allowed to, I guess."

"Tonight?" suggested Mark as he turned back to the counter to grab some bread.

"Yeah, right. Like your mom will let you leave the house tonight. You're still 'injured'. Remember?"

"Bah," replied Mark, as if he had eaten something vile. "I'm fine. It'll just take some convincing, that's all. Want a sandwich?"

Staring that the ingredients Mark had gathered on the counter, Brady shook his head. "No, I'm good."

Mark shrugged then slapped his sandwich together and circled around to sit at the table. From the moment he brought it to his mouth, it began dripping pieces of onion, down onto the table, and the dry-looking bologna slowly oozed downward, as a result of using too much mayonnaise.

"So does that mean you're game?" asked Brady, looking away from the sandwich and into Mark's eyes.

Mark slurped an onion into his mouth and smiled after it slapped against his upper lip. "Of course."





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