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Book IV: Yearning
By Ganymede
Already running 15 minutes late, a grinning Daniil diverted to the castle kitchen. Mrs. McIntyre stopped mixing bread dough, dusting flour from her hands and apron as he hurried up. She extended her arms, holding him at arm’s length, momentarily looking him over, not admiring, in awe.
“Look at ye, Master Daniel, sooch a bonnie bairn.” She almost added, ‘an’ sexy, too.’
His endearing smile made her lightheaded. Nine years old, like a fashion model in a thick, soft, white Aran lattice-knit cashmere sweater, white-linen drawstring pants; angelic, if she didn’t know better.
“’e slept in an’ missed ‘is brekky, poor thing.”
He grinned back, no longer shy with her. Instead, he was circumspect, as Claire called it. What happened while he was ‘sleeping in’ was another secret she could never be told.
“Now, ‘e coom tae say ‘is goodbye,” she murmured, pulling him closer.
Young, slender boy burrowing his head below her bosom; somehow, she resisted her motherly urge. Still, she caressed curls before catching his eye, vibrant, bright, very aware.
She sniffled when they parted, the merest kiss on his forehead before she handed him a small bag of grapes, another with freshly made shortbread; her recipe of farola flour, brown sugar, and hand-churned butter from the farm up the road.
“Ye be sure tae send a postcard each week, Master Daniel.”
“I promise, Mum. Dad said I should text you every day, so you’ll always know where we’re at.”
He glanced behind. Claire waited patiently by the door. A final hug and he darted back, his breakfast in hand. She waited until they were halfway down the hall.
“There’s no shame in a boy loving a man; still, always be careful what you put in your texts,” she advised.
She pushed Alistair’s sporran behind her back to take his free hand, warm and soft. It didn’t seem big enough to hold his father’s erection. Little fingers engaged hers until she rubbed his palm the same way his father did, their special sign of secrets that could never be told.
“You never know who will read them, Mum,” he added, his whisper just loud enough to be heard.
They went out the servants’ entrance into a chilly, blustery morning, typical for early spring in the western Highlands. Clouds roiled over Loch Sunart, straggling toward Garbh Bheinn, where a breach allowed the sun to make drama from gloom.
“Like a spectacular stage set, isn’t it?” Claire remarked. “They could make movies here, like The Lord of the Rings.”
Daniil giggled. “Dad and I rehearsed a scene this morning, Mum… from The Laird of My Ring.”
Claire couldn’t stop laughing. Oblivious to drizzle-wet gravel, Daniil skipped around her as they passed Iolaire. They paused for a parting wave to Lyle, still sharing smiles from three days before. He was busy assisting a stonemason in tuckpointing the turret.
On the second floor, carpenters were installing walnut paneling—they could hear them joking about building a gay resort in the middle of nowhere.
“You think we’re doing the right thing with the hotel, Mum?”
Claire just smiled.
At that moment, the ‘right thing’ was targeting specific niches, middle-to-high income, with no exclusively gay competition outside Edinburgh and Glasgow; gay history buffs, gay car enthusiasts, gay fishermen... There were other sub-markets, too, writers, movies, artists...
“But gay birdwatchers; how many can there be, Mum?” he snickered, tugging her hand to slow down.
“Rather a lot, especially if Hellene Hawke gives tours. She adorable, always up for a lark.”
Daniil was definitely in a playful mood. “She must swallow her pride when it comes to tits.”
She winked, impressed by nine-year-old double entendre in the making, even if he was pretending to hobble like Golum after a long hard bumming.
“Rather. She’ll teach you to swallow better than anyone, including her teacher.”
“Who was her teacher?”
“Someone you know quite well. She always dresses in brown.”
Now, it sounded mysterious. No wonder he stopped clowning and looked at her strangely.
“Nowadays, she’s a world-famous ornithologist when she’s not teaching at the University in London,” Claire went on. “I’ve known her since I was your age.”
Daniil stopped yet again, gazing up at the turret. The work had only just started, still plenty of time to stop, or change direction.
“Dad wants to rebuild our attic with a secret stair.”
“Money well spent in my opinion,” she said.
Not a few thousand pounds, or tens of thousands; a hundred thousand if it was to be done to conservation standards, and no government grants.
Too young to appreciate his burden as co-owner and heir, he smiled. It was impossible not to after the previous night. The three of them had taken a break from cleaning the Laird's Chamber in Iolaire. After negotiating a treacherous stair, they found all sorts of things in the attic, including an antique canvas bosun’s chair suspended from a beam overhead.
He peeked at Claire. She was smiling, too.
“Dad thinks Alistair played Tarzan with Tuwile up there.”
She winked back. “Rather see you as Boy, and your dad playing Tarzan, wouldn't I?”
At the time, she couldn’t stop laughing, and waving an oak belaying pin in front of his face. His father playfully lifted him up and into the chair, his kilt pushed high. After strapping his son in, Bruce had pulled on the block and tackle, raising him, swinging him from side to side.
“That wood thing was way too big for me,” Daniil said, relieved yet disappointed.
They smirked at each other. Bone dry, inserting even the smallest belaying pin was impossible. Even if they'd had goose grease, insertion would be difficult, slow and careful.
Daniil grinned. “Next visit, maybe I’ll be big enough.”
“After this morning, I can guarantee it,” Claire teased, a final look at the turret before leading him on. “It’ll be smashing when it’s done, a secret hideaway for the laird.”
“And his catamite.” Gleeful boy dragging behind, remembering his father poking the belaying pin into his butt crack, teasing him about a made-up tradition that turned Stirling boys gay.
She giggled. “Hopefully, his boy-wife.”
He grimaced, his way of saying he didn’t want to talk about it; not that he didn’t like the idea. Sometimes, it was all he thought about.
“You’re not to tell anyone what I did this morning. Promise?”
It was taking place when he woke up—it seemed longer than an hour ago. Alistair’s antique ivory toy slid in and out slowly. Strange way to start the day, scary too, with something that big waking him up, even if it was barely half of the way inside him. A few minutes later, was his first time fucking himself with a grownup dildo.
“I promise not a word to your mom... Ow, ahh, it’s so big,” she teased.
He made a face back. Alistair was big and demanding; and his hand had kept shaking as he moved it in and out. Only a few inches; however, it was easy when greasy.
“I keep remembering. I can’t help it…” he murmured. “… it was hurting at the end.”
“In a good way.”
“Doing it proves I’m gay for sure.”
“Rather. I could tell you loved every second. You’re thinking about it now, aren’t you?” She nodded, expecting, encouraging.
He stopped walking, unable to resist. He exerted control to draw his plug deeper, deliberately pulling the handle into his crack. Closing his eyes to mere slits because it felt so nice, like having his father’s penis still buried inside him. He smiled when he finally peeked at her, still shy, nervous breaths, focusing on the sensation. Obvious didn’t come close.
“You have to do it as much as possible while you’re away from me. I want you to promise,” Claire said quietly.
He gave her a mocking look, licking his lips, giving deliberate concentrated pulls, relaxing the pressure, repeating, exercising, training himself.
“Until I say otherwise, you’re not to do sex stuff with anyone outside the Eros Union,” she resumed. “Only with us are you safe to be yourself.”
She stopped, still holding his hand, utterly entranced, and envious, but who wouldn’t be? Every time she looked at him... Oh, to have a boy of her own, shameless and sexy, exactly like him.
“Remember what I said upstairs, Master Daniel,” she said quietly.
He brushed curls from his forehead. “I want to be his... Graeme called it ‘para-something’, Mum.”
“Parastatheis.” She nodded reassuringly. “I know you do. Your father loves you a great deal. I expect it will happen, sooner than you think.”
“I love him, too, Mum.”
“It’s a big step, more for him than you. Like most men, he’ll need a little push to decide.”
Daniil grinned knowingly, fully aware of how to get what he wanted, what he needed to do.
“Do you remember how Cupid looked at Mars?” Claire said softly.
He nodded. His first glimpse of Plato’s ideal love was impossible to forget.
“Really being in love and making love are worlds apart.” She touched his cheek.
“Being with my dad, being his parastatheis, his boy-wife, that’s all I want, Mum.”
She regarded him fondly, still too young to appreciate the intricacies. It was the difference between the sacred ‘principle’ of pederasty and ‘principal.’
“Your dad wants the same thing. Remember when I said it’s a big step, especially for him? You’ll have to be Cupid.”
It hung between them until Daniil nodded.
“You’re Yielding exactly as you should, and Yearning is coming along nicely; however, your boy-hole still needs to be bigger,” Claire segued to the next item on her agenda.
“I’ll make sure Dad uses Alistair like you said, Mum.”
“You’re at the age when a boy needs regular shafting, at least twice a day.”
He looked up at her. “After this morning, I’ll use it, too Mum.”
She should’ve expected that. Her nephews were eight when they began daily dildo workouts, a year younger than Daniil.
“Just don’t hurt yourself trying to have orgasms with it.”
He quickly looked away. She smiled at his back. Eventually, he’d figure it out how to do it for himself.
She chuckled. “Silly boy; there’s no need to be embarrassed. You’re ready... Hopefully, when I see you at Handley House, you’ll be...”
“Be what, Mum?”
Unable to say it again, she lifted his chin, meeting his eyes. “You have no idea how much I’ll miss you.”
“It’s only three days, Mum.”
“A lot can happen in three days, Master Daniel.”
He stood on tiptoes, stretching to kiss her lips, only a peck. Unexpected, even startling; she took a deep breath, telling herself it was romantic, although it quite clearly wasn’t. Simon kissed her the same way, affectionate and caring. He saved his passion for his father, and other men and boys.
oUo
With Daniil in the passenger seat fiddling with the console controls, Bruce loaded their bags in the Aston Martin’s boot (trunk). Claire hovered nearby, reluctant to see Daniil leave without her, mothering him despite her resolution not to.
“He’s nearly ready to take the next step, Bruce,” she confided.
“I thought we did last night... I mean after what happened...”
“His being eager is not yearning; just as climaxing together is not a spiritual union,” she interrupted. “You’ll know when it happens. Nothing else will matter except loving him.”
“I already love him.”
“Alone with him for a few days, you’ll love him so much it hurts.”
“But Gorsehill Lighthouse; it even sounds lonely.”
“I picked it because it’s secluded.”
“Ocean on one side, farms on the other. I should be glad they’re not moors.”
“Wuthering Heights it is not, Heathcliff,” she said, her tone withering. “There shouldn’t be more than a handful of visitors; hopefully, none.”
He smiled at the image. “Alone with my gorgeous boy; I suppose it might be fun.”
“It’s your best chance. I booked a room facing the ocean.”
“Two beds, right?”
She regarded him like a parent confronting a slow child.
“I told them your wife had to cancel at the last moment so there’s no inkling of the real reason why you’re there without her. You might warn Daniel before you arrive.”
Somewhat perplexed, Bruce regarded her—there was no way she could’ve known.
“Actually, we called her this morning. She was waiting at Gatwick for a commuter flight to Paris.”
Not a bit surprised, she looked through the rear window. Daniil was still adjusting the sound system.
“Remember, Bruce, love is in the eyes. His eyes and yours.”
“Carnal love meets ethereal love. Boy on his back, arms and legs around his man above; gentle, slow, not too deep, multiple orgasms; more importantly, I become part of him.”
“The sooner you take it to the next stage, the better,” she said, staying aloof.
“I got it covered, Claire.”
She closed the boot harder than she intended. “He needs exercise as much as intercourse. The plug should stay in between times.”
Bruce just nodded.
“Two fingers at least an hour a day, the same as I showed you last night.”
“Massage with lanolin behind. Masturbate with aloe vera cream.” Unnecessarily short, impatient or frustrated, who knew.
She shook her head, took a breath. “I hope you remember the rest of what I said?”
He frowned, resenting intrusion. “He needs to practice oral sex.”
“My friend, Hellene will take over instruction. I’m counting on you to do what we talked about, at least once every day. Even if both of you don’t enjoy it, the passive one most certainly will. And another thing; I put the sporran in the boot.”
“I noticed.”
“All catamites enjoy toys, Bruce. Most EU men enjoy using them, too.”
“I enjoyed doing it,” Bruce admitted, resentment barely checked.
“And watching him this morning; it excited you, didn’t it?”
It was all he could think of. “I didn’t mean to sound like an insensitive boor earlier.”
“Stop worrying about the money. It’s been my experience that the Union of Eros provides generously for its masters and catamites.”
He inhaled. “I added it up, Claire. Lyle’s best guesses, and what we talked about for a complete make-over. It came to over five million pounds.”
“My father...”
He cut her off, rudely and quite out of character. “… I called him after breakfast.”
“And?”
“I stopped listening when he mentioned ‘principal.’ There’s no way I’d borrow that much. Apart from Kate… If I default, Daniil loses everything. He’s made it very clear, he wants to live here with me.”
“My father didn’t mean a loan, Bruce. Taking on a limited partner is not the end of the world.”
“What is it with you people?” He calmed even as Daniil’s head jerked around. “You expect me to share my son with other men, and now his home, with a fucking partner.”
“It’s not the same,” she said flatly. “Go have fun with Daniil. Try hard enough, you might have a spiritual experience. Who knows; you might even end up with a boy-wife,” she snickered.