Date: Sat, 2 Sep 2023 23:47:52 +0100 From: AP Webb Subject: D'n'M Part 6 Chapter 8 All the characters and events in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real people, either living or dead, is entirely unintentional. The story is copyrighted and may not be reproduced in any way without the express permission of the author who can be contacted at: pjalexander1753@gmail.com PJ From Chapter 7: `And the roller-coaster ride begins,' mused Dan as his thoughts travelled back half a lifetime to those early teenage years when his relationship with Milo had been so severely tested. First it had been the predatory Coach Roberts, then the bullying cousin Zephan and then, the rotten cherry on the mouldy cake, Milo's bigoted and unforgiving mother. The two of them had come through all that trauma by being devoted and true to each other, then and forever since. They'd survived then so there was no reason they couldn't do it again. Was there? ********** Chapter 8: Nico was confused. No, he was more than confused - he couldn't make any sense of what was going on, none of it. And it wasn't just the fact that, once again, his whole world had been totally screwed with. For months and months he'd been treated like nothing more than a useless and homeless orphan kid. It was like he was just a number on a list that nobody cared about, trapped in a remote and uncaring bureaucratic system. But suddenly in the last few days, in fact, ever since his failed attempt to bring an end to everything by throwing himself in the river, there had been a storm of activity that had ripped him away from everything familiar and real and dropped him in a nowhere foreign country with a bunch of people -- his supposed family -- who weren't behaving anything like he'd been convinced that they would. For a start, his `uncle' Milo didn't add up at all, not now and not right from the first meeting at that creepy foster home with Señor and Señora Roja. As far as Nico could tell, Milo had been genuinely pleased to actually see him, like in the flesh, not just on a video screen. Even the hug had seemed like it was for real. But then, brainwipingly, there was what had happened that night in the hotel, and he didn't even want to think about that. It had been so humiliating. And nothing of what had happened since had matched up to any of his expectations either. It definitely didn't make any sense. Nico, who'd spent fourteen years making sure that he could deal with anything that life threw at him, had to admit to himself that the situation he was now in was totally weirding him out. For all of those fourteen years it had being drummed into him by his mum that his family were a bunch of worthless shits. No, worse than that, that they had totally trashed her life, and that the way she'd been treated had made it impossible for her even to stay in her own country, forcing her to escape thousands of miles away. So it was obvious, then, that their life together, hers and his, that life of violence and homelessness and drugs and worse, was 100% down to the family that had turned its back on her, especially her dad. Gramps he'd said he wanted to be called and he was another one who totally didn't add up. Yes, there'd been a lot of touching, starting with that huge and near-smothering hug in the arrivals hall, but the contact was always gentle, mainly on his shoulder, and never lower than the middle of his back. Nothing below the waist, not even the gentlest of taps on his butt. What was that all about? It definitely wasn't what he'd been expecting. Even when it had just been the two of them in the car, after driving back from the airport, when Nico had been determined that he wasn't going to get out, the old man hadn't made any sort of move on him. Nico had thought things were about to kick off when his hands had been taken and firmly held. He'd expected them to be guided down between the old man's legs, maybe even forced to slide down the zipper and pressed inside to whatever was lying in wait for him there. Let's face it, he'd had plenty of experience of that in the past. But, no, nothing like that happened. Instead his hands had been clasped together while his `Gramps' had spent, what, ten, fifteen minutes, explaining how news of Nico's existence had been like a miracle - the answer to a prayer he'd said -- and how he'd never stopped feeling guilty for what had happened to Nico's mum back when she was a teenager herself and how he was going to spend the rest of his days, however many there were, trying to make things right, even though he knew that nothing could ever make up for all the crap he'd had to endure in his life up to that point. By the end Nico had been astonished to realise that the wetness he could feel on his hands wasn't the old man's sweat but the tears that were pouring down his face. Either he was the world's greatest actor or he really wasn't part of a plan to turn Nico into a boy-whore, making the most of his young body while it was still a marketable commodity. Again, really weird. The woman, Helen she'd said her name was, now she was a surprise. In his head he couldn't imagine where she fitted into the picture, couldn't square the idea of a woman with any plan to pimp him out. He couldn't explain to himself why it wasn't possible, it just wasn't. And she'd been another hugger, another one to welcome him to his new `home', another one who seemed to be wanting to protect him and to make up for the past. And that was another thing -- exactly how much did they all know about his life in BA? And how had they found out? Okay, so Señora Marquez and social services back there knew some of it, but nothing like the whole story, and yet he had a sense that this new family of his were aware of a lot more of his history, especially of his life with his mum, than he had ever told anybody. He'd kept his mouth shut all the time he was at Our Lady of Flowers and he definitely hadn't given the Rojas many clues about why he'd come to be dumped on them. So that was another weird and unanswerable question. After the old man and the woman had left the apartment it wasn't long before the social worker guy had turned up -- Hamza he called himself. He seemed okay, though, like most of the adults he'd come across in the last few weeks and months, he mostly talked about him, not much to him. To be honest, as he admitted to himself, Nico had been pretty much out of it for a lot of the time -- jetlag he supposed -- but he definitely heard the part about Milo becoming his legal guardian, and it had been then that the penny had finally dropped. The reason no-one had made a move on him so far was because they were waiting until all the official stuff was out of the way. Yeah, that must be it, once he was legally out of reach of social services, that's when his new `family' would turn the screws. Everything up to that moment had been an act put on as a show designed to convince everybody that he was in safe and loving hands. But the reality was that they were just biding their time. Fuck, it was clever. After the Hamza guy had gone, it was just him, Nico, with Milo and the husband, Dan. He was still trying to get his head around the idea of two grown men being married -- were they both his uncles? After the two of them had cleared up the breakfast stuff (he had to admit that Dan made good pancakes) they'd spent the rest of the day out of the apartment, driving round the local area, showing him the sights. Not that they were up to much, thought Nico. Sure, the park had a lake and some cycle trails but it was nothing like Los Bosques de Palermo with its three lakes and a Planetarium or even the new Eco Park where they looked after injured animals. He was taken to see the school -- Green-something High (Greenbank?) -- but they told him he wouldn't be going there for a while, not till he'd spent time with a home tutor and got caught up with other kids of his age. Talk of his education was another thing that didn't make sense. Why bother to send him to school if he was gonna spend most of his time with someone's dick in his mouth or up his butthole? You didn't need to know about adjectives or multiplication to be any good at keeping the customers happy. The best explanation Nico could come up with was that it would look good to the authorities and keep them off his uncle's back if he was registered in school. He was even taken to see the town square with its war memorial and Town Hall and the place where the guardianship papers would be signed. Was he supposed to be excited by that prospect? Excited to be out of reach of anybody who might be able to help him escape from the shit-bad situation he was now in? Yeah, right! Their last stop was the local mall where they spent hours, and shedloads of cash, kitting him out with more new clothes and stuff than he'd ever had before -- not difficult, he thought, as he'd almost never had anything that wasn't a hand-me-down or a charity handout. They got clothes for school, for sports, for hanging out with mates (`As if!'), even for `best'. When they got to the underwear section he'd expected them to make him choose sexy stuff like jocks or thongs, stuff to excite the sad johns who'd be making use of his young flesh, but they surprised him when they said he could have whatever he wanted and suggested he try a mix of briefs, boxers and boxer-briefs so he could see which he preferred. Again, confusingly weird. The whole clothes `thing' had been strange enough but what came next totally blindsided him. First they got lunch from a really good burger place and then went to a huge bookshop where he was allowed to pick up a couple of books. He chose volumes about his two greatest heroes - Ronaldo and Messi. Oh yes, he was gonna be a famous professional soccer player like them one day, then no-one would be able to boss him or abuse him. He was allowed posters, too, that he was told he could put up on his bedroom walls, and then they went to the Apple store where he got to pick out a brand new phone and I-pad. How cool was that? But there it was again -- the weirdness. How did spending all that money fit in with the idea of him being rented out as a boy-whore? Surely they wouldn't want him to be able to call for help or access social media or the web? It made no sense and his head hurt from the strain of trying to work it out. Once they'd got back to the apartment it was pretty late. Nico was on red alert when Milo suggested that, before Dan put together something for dinner, they "Hang out for a while" and "Get to know each other a little better." And was there something special he'd like to eat? `Yeah, this is where it begins,' thought Nico. `This is when they start to soften me up and get me ready for what's really gonna happen to me just as soon as those guardianship papers get signed. Maybe this is when I get a lesson in two-into-one spit-roasting to properly break me in.' Well, he thought, that wasn't gonna to happen, not if he could help it. He produced an extravagant yawn and blinked several times. The plan was that they'd see that the jet-lag had finally caught up with him and that he desperately needed to sleep, even more than he needed food and definitely more than he needed to `hang out'. And it worked, because a couple of minutes later, after a huge hug from Milo and a fist bump from Dan (the first time they'd made deliberate physical contact he realised), he was able to escape to the safety of his new room where he was now lying, door firmly closed, lights turned off, staring up at the underside of the top bunk, turning his new phone over and over in his hand. Without being invited an image of Tori suddenly appeared in his head. Where was she now? Nico wondered. And Santos. Had Miguel found out about his precious car being used to take his dying mum to hospital? Were they both lying in an open sewer somewhere or floating, face down, as the ocean took them further and further away from land and discovery and justice? Fuck! He longed to be able to press s few keys and talk to them, to beg for their help in escaping from the desperate situation he was now in. Or even better, to speak to his mum and tell her how much he loved and missed her and how he forgave her for all those years of drugs and hunger and neglect and abuse. He'd give anything - this room, the computer, the books, the clothes, even the phone -- anything to go back to the life that had brought him nothing but pain and humiliation, but which had included his mum and his friends (even though he hadn't realised that they were his friends at the time) and a feeling of being confident that he could look after himself and of knowing where he fitted in the world. Here, in this strange room in an unfamiliar apartment in an alien country, all those certainties, however unattractive, were gone and he had never felt so vulnerable, so alone. As the tears began to slide onto the pillow beneath his head, Nico wrapped himself in the bedcover and rolled onto the floor and under the bed, the nearest thing he could find to a place of safety. Finally, he slept. And that's where Dan found him much later, in the dark, early hours of the morning. ***** M's first night back at home wasn't anything like Dan had been expecting or hoping for. Yes, he understood that the days spent with the Argentine social services had been incredibly stressful, tracking down Nico and having to make all the arrangements necessary to bring the boy home. And he knew that getting the silent treatment from his new-found nephew had to be both confusing and hurtful. And he totally appreciated that there was still the impact of taking on responsibility for a boy who had experienced more cruelty and trauma in his fourteen years than most people would have to deal with in a lifetime. So, yes, he'd expected that things wouldn't be exactly normal straight off the bat and that there might be some adjustments to be made, maybe more than some. And he'd been more than prepared to be patient and to offer as much reassurance as M needed that everything with Nico was going to work out. And that, yes, of course, he was 100% behind the plan (Tom's advice had not fallen on deaf ears). But the reality of the situation was so far from his expectations that it felt to Dan as if he'd been thrown a completely unplayable curve ball. First there had been M's turn of the head when Dan had tried to kiss him when he'd first arrived home, and then his shrugging off of the reassuring hand on his shoulder. Although he'd been surprised both times, Dan had told himself that M was tired and stressed and, maybe, wanting to avoid obvious displays of affection in front of Nico until he was sure that the boy was comfortable with the fact of him and M being together. But all of that had made the anticipation of bedtime even more exciting, once Nico was safely tucked up for the night and it would just be him and M in the privacy of their own room. And Dan knew exactly what he was going to do to help ease all the stress and worry that had so obviously built up for his man in the last few days and weeks. First would come the hot shower, the two of them together, when he would, oh-so-lovingly, soap up every inch of M's hot, 30-years-old-and-in-its-prime body, starting with a gentle shampooing and head rub and then, working slowly downwards, soothing every tense muscle and opening every anxiety-clenched pore, working the aloe and lavender soap into every crevice and angle. He'd avoid anything overly sexual, no nibbling or licking of M's known trigger points or lingering around his junk or butt crack (that was for later). Finally, he'd take each sexy foot and wash between the very sensitive toes, maybe risking a gentle kiss or two. Then, with no words said and after a careful drying off with one of their very best and softest bath towels, he'd lead M to their king-sized bed, lay him face down, and begin a careful, worshipful massage -- feet, calves, thighs, butt, back arms, shoulders and neck, his lips following his hands all the way up M's weary, naked body. Then it would be time to turn his lover face up and repeat the same tactile journey but this time with a little more emphasis on using his mouth, first for deep, sensual kisses (lots of tongue action guaranteed) and then to tease M's beautiful dick to full hardness (again, more tongue action). Then he would stand on the bed, feet astride M's torso, his own dick throbbing and ready to be stroked to a cum-spurting climax. This was one of M's very favourite things, especially when followed by his desperate dick, now coated in D's still-warm juice, deeply impaling D's pre-lubed hole and allowing D to ride him to a shattering climax of his own. That was Dan's plan, one that he knew from long and happy experience was guaranteed to ensure a relaxed and contented night's sleep for both of them. He spent most of the evening half hard just from thinking about it. But it didn't happen. None of it. Dan's shower plan was torpedoed as soon as they got to the bedroom when Milo announced that he was completely worn out and needing to go straight to bed. `Okay,' thought Dan, `We'll cut to Part 2 and go for the relaxing whole body rub down. That'll warm us both up, ready for the main event.' His dick continued to harden as he went into the bathroom to fetch the massage oil. But on his return the blood began to seep away when he found M already in bed, with his reading light turned off and the covers pulled up to his ears. It didn't take a genius to read the message being sent, a message that got even louder when M rolled over and turned his back as Dan slipped into his side of the bed. With one final roll of the dice Dan reached out and put a hand on M's shoulder. He definitely wasn't expecting the response he got. "Goodnight, D. See you in the morning." And that was it. No kiss. No cuddle. No, "I'm glad to be home," or "I really missed you." Milo may have returned from the heat of South America but he'd brought an iceberg back with him. Dan had no choice but to admit defeat. He switched off his light and lay on his back in the dark, his lifeless dick an all-too-real reminder of his failure to give M any comfort. His failure as a lover. His failure as a husband. For what seemed like hours he lay there, sleepless, going over everything that had happened since M and Nico's arrival, but he could find nothing in his own actions that might have triggered M's behaviour. Yes, he'd been putting on a show of support for the whole `Nico thing', but he was pretty sure that no-one, least of all M, would have been aware that it was all a charade, constructed by Dan to conceal his very real and deep-seated doubts. Then he began going back over events of the previous weeks and months but, again, he could come up with nothing he'd done that could have resulted in such a full-on display of rejection. `What the fuck?' Dan could make no sense of it at all. Yes, he'd expected things to be challenging, even downright difficult, but this was way more than he'd expected, even in his most pessimistic moments. He had no idea what to think, much less what he could do to turn the situation around. And that's why Dan was wandering the apartment in the early hours and how he came to find Nico on the floor of his room, curled up under the bottom bunk, fitfully asleep and murmuring words that were too quiet for Dan to make out. "Shit!" he said to himself. "That's all I need -- first M and now the boy. How am I supposed to deal with both of them?" ********** I really appreciate and enjoy the messages I get from readers and I'll be very happy to reply if you'd like to get in touch. To keep this amazing resource open and freely available to readers everywhere, please consider donating to: http://donate.nifty.org