Date: Fri, 4 Nov 2022 23:57:53 -0400
From: Sebastiando <sebastiandorory@gmail.com>
Subject: Rory and Sebastian CH. 21

Saint Andrew's is a beautiful place, set north of Edinburgh in the
magnificent Scottish countryside, somewhere between a fantasy of Westeros
and a Sir Walter Scott novel, and in the two years I dated and visited
Rory there, I came to love it deeply. It's small, insular, with an air of
a town slightly unsullied by the world beyond. You could kind of believe
that Prince William and Kate Middleton had been able to fall in love
there and get to know each other without the whole world knowing their
business and stalking them the whole time. People were nice there, I
liked it and even the biting cold that blasted through there at the
tail-end of February when I first set foot there just seemed to add to
how stunning the town was in its own rugged isolation. I had driven up,
since we would need the car to make the very, very long journey to my
uncle's and it would help with me having to take so many clothes and
books from my student house at the end of semester, and likewise Rory's.
I love driving, so I didn't mind too much and it felt great to wrap my
arms around Rory when I got there.

He took me towards the residential halls where he was living. "Do you
like it?" he asked.

"The town is beautiful. It's so different to London. Dumb point. An
obvious one," I said, looking at him as we walked through his gates.

"Good different?" he pressed. "Or just a factual observation different?"

"Good different, dickhead," I smiled. "It feels more like a college town
than London does."

"Well, that's not hard."

I rolled my eyes at his cockiness and he swiped us in. We walked up two
flights of stairs and I outright laughed in derision when he offered to
carry my weekend bag for me.

"Rory, there have been nights out when I carry you home! I think it's
safe to say I should be okay with this bag!"

As he was turning the lock in his bedroom door, the door on the opposite
side of the corridor opened and a tall, good-looking guy with sandy hair
and a soft Edinburgh accent stepped out: "Hey, Rory."

Rory glanced over his shoulder, "Hello, Olly. Olly, this is Sebastian.
Sebastian, this is my friend, Olly."

Olly shook my hand with a firm and confident grip. "So, you're the famous
Sebastian?" he smiled. "We've heard a lot about you."

I shot Rory a smirk, "Really?"

"Oh my God, how embarrassing," he sighed.

"Yeah, wee Razza here never stops talking about you," Olly teased.

"You are both incredibly annoying. If Erica came up and I told her that,
would you thank me for it?"

"But I'm not as in love with Erica as you are with Sebastian. Who could
be?"

I laughed. This was on the one hand very, very nice to hear and on the
other it was hilarious to see Rory getting teased by someone who wasn't
me.

"Don't you have class to get to?" Rory retorted, with a smile he was
trying to hide.

"I do. Good to meet you, Sebastian, and I hope you two will be coming out
for a few drinks for the end of term, pal?"

"Definitely," I nodded, along with Rory. As Olly left and Rory opened the
door, he held up his hand, "Don't. I can't even bear to look at what your
grin must look like."

I shuffled in behind him, "No, no. Just nice to hear that you've such
good taste, baby."

"You're so pleased with yourself. Kiss me."

I dropped my bag and kissed him. His hand affectionately rubbed my lower
back until I pulled away to take in his room - impeccably tidy apart from
a slightly crumpled bed sheet and a few books strewn across his desk,
which had a fantastic view out the window of the town and countryside
beyond it.

"I really hate to leave you right after you got here," he apologised,
picking up a notepad, fountain pen and a copy of a medieval prayer book.
"But this lecture is mandatory."

"Don't worry about it! I'll take a nap when you're gone."

"Please don't masturbate in my bed."

"Haha. As if I'd waste good cum when I have you back in ninety minutes."

Rory winked and kissed me, before sweeping out the door. I unzipped my
jacket, kicked off my shoes, peeled off my socks, wiggled my toes as they
enjoyed their newfound freedom after hours of driving and lay back on
Rory's single mattress. Well, this was going to be interesting for the
next two nights. But any possibility of a much-needed nap was shot to
shit about five minutes after Rory left by a knock on the door, which I
bounced up to get, fixing a polite smile on my face and trying to look
energised. I answered it to a curvy girl with a cloud of long blonde
hair, immaculately glossed lips and a cableknit top half encased in a
gilet, with matching knee-high riding boots and beige chinos.

"Fuck me sideways," she exhaled in an accent so preppy it could shame
Rory and Virginia combined, "you must be the boyfriend. You are
absolutely delicious! Hi, I'm Rory's friend, Tessa. I live on the floor
above."

"Sebastian," I smiled, proffering my hand, which she took. I liked this
girl. "Good to meet you. Rory's not in. He just left..."

"I bet he's gone to a lecture," she sighed, popping into the room and
sashaying past me. "Oh, he's so diligent I can barely stand how much I
adore him for it! So, when did you get in?"

Her eyes, even though they were blue, reminded me of Rory's in a way,
because they were, right there and then, full of total interest in the
person they were focussed on.

"About fifteen minutes ago," I answered, closing the door behind us. "I
drove up, so it's been a long day, but Saint Andrew's is ... gorgeous."

"Isn't it?" Tessa asked, with passionate earnestness. She pointed to the
chair at Rory's desk: "May I?"

"Please!" I said. "And yes, it's a big change to London. I was just
saying that to Rory."

"I'll bet it is. And you drove up? That must have taken ages! And Rory
says you two are off to a little house in the countryside once term is
over? I think that's such a sweet idea and it's so great that you're
here. I hope we can all show you a good time. Everyone's just dying, and
I mean dying, to meet you, darling. Especially, or except, Alisdair -
fuck knows which way he falls on the spectrum of expectation! You know
about Alisdair, I assume? Or have I just put my foot in an error the size
of a black hole?"

I enjoyed Tessa's no-bullshit approach to conversation and I was actually
relieved someone had brought Alisdair up, since I couldn't really ask any
of Rory's college friends in case they either reported back to him and
everyone else that I was jealous, or they were close friends of my
rival's, and let him know.

"Yeah," I muttered, ruefully. "I've heard of him. What's he like?"

"Oh good! I assumed you would have heard about him and Rory, one way or
the other, and God knows that if I went somewhere and encountered my
boyf's ex, I'd want to be filled in on him. Well, Alisdair is, how do I
put this, and I like him, you know, but he's not a patch on you in the
looks department. Not even close. Photographs don't do you justice," she
enthused, breathlessly, "you are just a total hunk! I'm into my 1980s'
lingo at the minute."

I laughed and took a seat on the bed.

"It's more that I have slight difficulty in imagining Rory with anyone
else but me, which probably seems egotistical and douchey, but it's true.
I mean, romantically. It's just a bit weird for me."

"It was never very passionate, although a lot of people had thought
they'd get together at some point, especially people on their course,
which is where they first met because Alisdair doesn't live in our halls
and didn't back in first year, either. But, anyway, they sort of fizzled
out at the end of the year and didn't keep in much touch when they went
home. They were beige, together, and Razzy glows more about you in
absence than he ever did when Alisdair was standing right next to him."

I was grateful to Tessa and I really warmed to her candor. She was
completely forthright, no beating about the bush, and I liked that, but
this was the second or third time someone had told me that that Rory and
Alisdair had fizzled into nothingness and it made me feel uneasy. On a
rational and mundane level, I knew that it was a good sign, because it
suggested a total lack of passion. However, the other side of me worried
that it all sounded like loose ends, a story without an ending, with no
firm reason why they would never think of getting back together. I cannot
adequately explain, even to myself, what had happened to me in the two
months since Rory and I got back together but it was not good. I was so
happy when he was next to me, and so relieved, that I had become innately
and terrifyingly conscious that this contentment was fragile. I could not
shake the feeling that he would leave me again and these feelings of
nervousness and insecurity were so new to me, so out of character, that I
was processing them badly. I could tell that Rory was aware of them, to
what extent he took them seriously I did not yet know, but because we saw
each other in the flesh so infrequently the only signs of irritation I'd
picked up on were the occasional eyeroll over Skype, but that's
transitory, difficult to pick up on, and even harder to question or
discuss. It's only when you're next to someone that it's real and that
weekend at Saint Andrew's was likely to be the one where the issue boiled
over, or rather, came out into the open. I knew I had to say something to
him, but I didn't know what words to use. Nor how justified I was. Or how
I could confess insecurity to him when he had managed to gamely suppress
any signs of resentment or insecurity towards me, after I had slept with
about ten times as many people as he had during our separation.

As we got ready to go out that night, I was standing topless before I
pulled a t-shirt and rugby sweater on; I caught Rory staring at me.

"What?" I asked, fondly.

"Nothing. Your body's different, since the first time we dated. I noticed
it at the wedding, when all kinds of lust took over us, remember? You're
just completely ripped. I thought once you stopped playing rugby so
regularly it'd go the other way, but, you are ripped. It's the only word
for you. I'm just getting used to the difference."

I was a bit embarrassed and smiled, looking down as I fidgeted with my
t-shirt.

"Is that it?" Rory asked, incredulously. "No, 'You'll thank me when I'm
fucking you' response?"

I laughed, but Rory didn't press the conversation and I could feel him
getting slightly annoyed, or confused, with my behavior. En route to his
friend Tessa's room, he kept up the flow of conversation. It lasted for
about two minutes, but I'd heard him do this before. At a dinner out one
evening, when we'd fought over his quarrel with Joshua Peterly. Rory
could just keep going with inane pleasantries and while he wasn't
anywhere near as strained as he had been that night, there was faint
trace of effort in his voice as he tried to cover up something he didn't
fully understand but knew existed. As we rounded the corner to Tessa's
room, there was a guy waiting to go in, who had just knocked and was
standing in a tweed blazer, a white shirt, trousers and expensive-looking
shoes. His hair was combed to one side and he was holding a bottle of
wine in the hand boasting his familial signet ring. I knew from his
photographs on Facebook that this was Alisdair. He was standing next to a
tall ginger guy in bright green linen trousers, a kid who had the
expression of someone permanently surprised by life.

"Good evening," Rory greeted them, in his brightest tone, a clear sign
that damage control had already kicked in. "Chaps, this is my boyfriend,
Sebastian Carson; he's visiting from London for the end of term. Darling,
this is Alisdair Paisley and Boris Aronson. They're both on my course."

Alisdair looked faintly wounded by how he had been introduced in
comparison to me, which I took as a sign that his feelings for him were
not quite dead and that any disinterest in the relationship had flowed
from Rory, rather than him. Boris extended his hand politely, "Ah, I
didn't know Rory was seeing anyone!" he said with artless honesty.

"Yep," I answered, shaking his hand, then offering mine to Alisdair, who
took it perfunctorily and asked how my journey from London had been. The
door swung open to reveal Tessa in a cocktail dress, "Sorry, guys, I had
my hair wrapped in straighteners when you knocked. Come in, come in! I
say, Boris, nifty trousers!"

Over the next forty minutes, we were joined in Tessa's room by Olly, who
I'd met earlier, by Tessa's next-door neighbor Rita, a half-Sicilian girl
who was so beautiful that she could legitimately have passed for a model
and who was also one of the sweetest girls I'd ever had the privilege of
meeting, then by Colby, a muscular Australian studying German and Spanish
who was Olly's best friend; they shared an acid, teasing sense of humor
that was quite like my own. And Colby's girlfriend, Monica, who was over
visiting from her year abroad at university in Dublin. As the two
outsiders, Monica and I chatted for a bit while the others caught up on
Saint Andrew's news, but they were all very polite, and Olly and Colby
both made a real effort to include me in the conversation. A lot of
questions about Rory's school days were asked and I responded with the
funniest stories I could think of, including a very good impression (if I
say so myself) of the girls Rory was friends with in school - "Oooh,
we've met Virginia," Olly said. "Who knew someone that beautiful could be
so evil?"

"Virginia's alright," I countered good-naturedly. "She has my boy's
back."

"I thought that was your territory," Colby countered and the room
laughed. But out of the corner of my eye, I saw Alisdair look down
uncomfortably. It was the first Rory-sex-joke of the evening and he
hadn't liked it. But if Alisdair was a bit put-out by quips about Rory's
current boyfriend, I was silently beginning to freak out at the figure of
his ex. Nothing could have prepared me for the experience of meeting him;
this guy was perfect. If you'd asked me to write down a list of qualities
needed in someone who Rory should be with for the rest of his life who
wasn't me, I would probably have written down something that the police
could've used to track down Alisdair fucking Paisley. To begin with, he
was handsome, in the way I told you about, that "Country Life" model of
good looking. He had hazel eyes and a trim figure. He was an inch or so
taller than Rory, so shorter than me, but taller was something Rory
liked, one way or the other. He was immaculately well-mannered, very
funny, he was studying Theology just like Rory was, he was well-dressed
and he was clearly well-liked by nearly everyone in the room, with the
possible exception of Colby, who I caught looking a bit bored when
Alisdair was speaking, and Rita, who didn't seem to know him that well.

When Rory got up to get a drink and Alisdair was talking to him at the
desk where everyone had set their bottles, they even looked right
together. They looked like Ralph Lauren's idea of the perfect gay couple
and when Alisdair made a comment about one of their lecturers and Rory
laughed, I felt sick. At the bar after Tessa's, Rory had noticed how
quiet I was, how much I was avoiding him, "What is wrong with you?" he
hissed under his breath.

"Nothing," I whispered. "I just want you to enjoy the last night of
semester with your friends."

He looked at me like he knew I was lying and that night when we got into
bed, we were both so drunk and so tired that we fell asleep without
fooling around. The next day, we had lunch with Tessa and Olly, then Rory
showed me around the town. Things felt strained but essentially normal,
but that night, after dinner, when Rory made a comment about how small
his bed was, I suggested we set up the blow-up mattress and I sleep on
it. He looked at me with a mixture of cold and quizzical, then said,
"Sure." If I'd hoped he'd put up a bit more of a fight to have me in his
bed with him, that response jolted me out of it. I imagine he'd been much
more enthusiastic about who went there all the nights he topped Alisdair.
We left Saint Andrew's the next morning, after Rory's multiple goodbyes
with everyone, without having had sex the entire time we were there. We
took turns driving and to this day I honestly couldn't tell you what we
talked about for all the hours we drove. It must have been total inane
froth, none of which was helped by the arrival of a text from Alisdair as
we drove south.

"Fuck," Rory said softly, after he read it. "Alisdair left a textbook in
my room and it's all locked up. Oh dear, I feel really bad now."

I couldn't even bring myself to ask why the textbook was in his room. I
assumed it was an innocent reason, but at that stage I wasn't upset
because I thought Rory and Alisdair were messing around behind my back, I
was in a strange and unhappy mental place because I couldn't quite
believe that I'd met someone that could be so well-suited to Rory, and
who he'd see day in and day out for the next two years. I felt nauseous,
too, as images of them having sex danced across my mind with a newfound
vibrancy courtesy of actually having met Alisdair in the flesh. The same
flesh that Rory had made love to, fucked, in a way he'd only ever done
with me once. This wasn't good; I was being totally unfair and equally
pathetic, but it was happening, that's all I knew. I felt awful and I was
trying desperately to pretend that I wasn't. For the first time, it was
me trying to pretend that we could fake it till we could make it and, as
I was to discover, I wasn't half as good at it as Rory was.

His nerves were wearing slightly thin as the evening sun set in the
background of my uncle's cottage. Our last visit there had been so
disastrous or at least angsty in its drama that this trip was supposed to
exorcise the memories of it, but the first night there did not nothing to
lift the curse. Dinner was fine, but by the time we got into bed, I knew
something was wrong. Rory lay underneath me and we were going through the
motions of preparing for sex, because if we didn't have it on the third
night in a row we were together, we'd have to admit something was wrong
and I could not face the prospect of having to say anything so weak and
stupid to him as how I was currently feeling. But, to my total
humiliation, I couldn't get hard. Rory pretended not to notice for a
while, then he began to jerk me off, which didn't work and prompted him
to go south to coat my limp dick with his spit. His movements were
frantic, wantonly dirty, ineffective. I stayed completely flaccid and I
was mortified. I couldn't get the image of him and Alisdair Paisley out
of my head. As I looked at the top of his head bobbing up and down to no
effect, I knew he was going to leave me. I knew I'd fucked up, that I'd
been a dour, dull, boring cunt for the entire weekend and now I was soft
or flat or whatever as a fucking pancake in bed with him. With me out of
the way, he could have been banging Alisdair the last two nights and
while I knew that on chronological grounds that wasn't true, given when
they'd broken up, a tidal wave of self-loathing was crashing over me
regardless of fact. I felt awful and eventually I pushed him off me.

"I'm sorry," I muttered, getting up out and off the bed. "I'm sorry, I
don't..."

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yeah. Don't be mad. Please."

He sat up in the bed to look at me, as I looked around for pyjama bottoms
or boxers or something. I was the one uncomfortable with my own body and
he was oblivious to his nudity; how was that for a role reversal?

"I'm not mad," he said, "it happens..."

"Has it ever happened to me in bed with you before? Ever? I'm usually
nursing a semi when I begin to think of getting into bed with you. Fucks'
sakes!"

"You're tired..."

"Just stop! Don't fucking patronize me, Rory, please!" I shouted. "Where
are my boxers?"

"Sebastian, this had better not be about what I think it is."

His voice was strained and I knew that one wrong move would unleash a lot
of pent-up rage. I couldn't think though of the best way to play it, I
just wanted him to tell me it'd be okay.

I nodded and felt tears well up in my eyes. I was furious at myself,
livid. Not because I would or should ever be embarrassed by crying in
front of him, but because this incident specifically seemed so weak, so
unjust and so deeply unattractive for him.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I just can't...."

"Alisdair?" Rory asked, without any softening in his tone.

I nodded. "Yeah. You see, when I..."

But Rory had leapt off the bed like an electric shock had shot through
him and his whole body was tingling with rage. He flapped around, found
his own pyjama bottoms and tugged them on in swift, terse, incompetent
motions. He saw my underwear on the floor next to him and tossed them to
me. I held them, buck naked and stared stupidly at him as he erupted in
livid fury.

"Have you lost your fucking mind? Sebastian, have you gone mad? I dated
him, briefly, months before you and I were even in contact again. Did you
see anything flirtatious between us this week?"

"No, not really, but..."

"No," he corrected, still shouting. "Not at all! Not, 'not really,' or
'not from you,' or 'not all the time,' or 'not from him.' Not. At. All!
Have you any idea what it was like for me in London? Have you any fucking
idea what it was like to go into that awful student house of yours then
onto all those parties where the basis of probability indicated that I
was probably near someone you'd had sex with? You couldn't even give me a
fucking number when we talked about it in December; you couldn't even
give me a fucking number! And now, you're so freaked out because I had
sex with someone else, sorry, briefly dated someone else, that you can't
get up and you've been so fucking weird with me anytime the thought of
him crosses your mind and I can see when it does, you know, I'm not
stupid. It's exhausting and it's not fair..."

"I know it's not fair! But I can't help it."

"Try to!"

"Rory..."

"I have not once, not once!, brought up all the guys you took into bed in
your first year and there are times when we're together where of course I
wonder if I'm half as good as they are, but that's life, Sebastian. We
broke up and life happened in the interim and it is so deeply and totally
unfair for you to make me feel this bad, this disgusting, because my life
happened as well. I am so angry at you. I'm so pissed off!"

"Rory, will you please let me..."

"I don't think I will. Now, either you are sleeping downstairs on the
sofa tonight or I am, because I don't want to have to share a bed with
you, me and your weird obsessive version of Alisdair. I'm so fucking
tired. I had such a long term with so much work for class and just...
Fuck it. I don't care."

That's the thing about kicking Rory over the edge, you never know when
it's going to happen. I picked up a t-shirt, a pillow and walked out. He
was glaring after me, his eyes crackling with anger and disappointment.
As I reached the door, he asked, "Are you not even going to put up a
fight?" But I was tired too at that point and embarrassed. I shrugged my
shoulders to prevent my voice cracking if I spoke and went downstairs to
the sofa, where I lay down and cried myself to sleep. I was
single-handedly wrecking something I wanted so badly and when Rory came
downstairs the next morning, he could have frozen water with the coldness
emanating from him. He was so frigidly polite as he moved around the
kitchen making breakfast for us. I lumbered upstairs to find some sweats.
In the cold light of day, I was now a little annoyed at him for making me
sleep on the couch like an old married couple squabbling in their
twilight years and when I came back to the kitchen I had made up mind to
say something to him when he burned his hand on the saucepan handle over
the flickering gas hob. Instinctively, he turned to look for me as he
hurt himself and that gesture, inconsequential and unthinking, reflexive
and natural, meant so much to me. With equal instinct, I went over to him
and guided him over to the sink to run his hand under cold water. I held
it there, standing behind, pressed up against him and slowly brought my
chin to rest on his shoulder. He didn't move his cheek to nuzzle against
mine like he usually did, but he didn't pull away either and I felt the
tension drain out of him. My balls were resting against his ass and I
felt my dick begin to get hard.

"Jesus, Sebastian, now it rises."

I laughed softly, "Keep your hand under the water."

"I shouldn't have kicked you out..."

"No, you shouldn't've."

"But I was angry."

"I am now. Keep your hand still."

"Did you sleep okay? Was it awful?"

"Only because you weren't next to me." I paused. "I cried myself to
sleep."

He tried to turn to look at me, but I held him firm as the cool water
cascaded over his hand. "Let go," he commanded, softly. "It's not that
serious. Please."

I released him and he turned to face me. I shrugged again, this time
ruefully. "It's true, I did."

"Sebastian, why?"

"I can't explain why I'm so unhappy, Rory."

"Is it really just because of the thing with Alisdair?" he asked
disbelievingly, turning back for a second to turn the faucet off. I
nodded. "Sweetheart, I don't understand. Is it the thought of me having
sex with him? The thought of me on top? Just dating someone else?"

"The latter," I said, taking a few steps away and sighing. "And you're
right, it's ridiculous and it's totally unfair and I know it's stupid and
illogical, and baby, I can't explain why I feel like this or why it's
gotten to me so much. But you're mine and I adore you and I'm primal and
dumb."

"What do you need me to say?"

"You've already been completely wonderful, Rory. You've been more than
loving, more than understanding, a better man than me."

"Sebastian..."

"Rory, listen..."

"No, you listen. I can't put into words how wrong you are to think that
there could be anyone for me but you and if you think I'm better suited
to Alisdair Paisley then that just shows that you don't know you as well
as I do. You are perfect for me. You're the other half of my soul. And
I'm Catholic, Sebastian, we take that kind of stuff seriously." A flash
of a smile lit up his face before he pressed on. He swept over to the
stove and, wrapping a towel around it, moved the saucepan of porridge off
the hob and turned the gas off. "You are everything. You're my boyfriend,
you're my best friend, you're the first love, the last love, the only
love. Alisdair is a nice guy, but that's it. You're the guy; you're my
guy. You're definitely the one."

=== From Rory's POV ===

I wanted to ask him again, "What else do you need me to do?", but I
worried that in his state of mind he'd construe every subsequent gesture
as something done because he'd asked for it. In any case, this giant fool
in the kitchen was the love of my life and I knew him better than anyone.
It was time to take care of him and if I couldn't tell him, or yell him,
out of how he was feeling, the only way to do it was to show him, all the
time, that he was the one. He was being illogical and unjust considering
his own behaviour, but saints are for praying to, not dating.
Instinctively, I walked over to him, raised his head with my hands and
kissed him. He took a second to respond and then pressed me up against
the counter. Then, he pushed me off him abruptly and stepped back, "Fuck
me," he said, quietly, firmly, gazing into my eyes as he said it.

This was something I certainly had not expected. "We don't... we don't do
that."

"We did it once."

"And it was shit."

"If we are going to be together for the rest of our lives, we're going to
have to mix it up a little, sweetheart, and I want you inside me. If you
can do it with other people, you're going to learn to fucking do it to
me. Got it?" He pressed himself back up against me and I arched in
towards him. His erection was throbbing through his sweats. "Fuck me
senseless," he ordered. "I want to spend this whole day being your dirty
little fuck-toy. I want you to pound in and out of me until my asshole is
shaped like your bell end."

"Where did this come from?" I asked incredulously. "At least give me some
warning."

Truth be told, I was more than a little nervous about topping him again,
but when he stepped away from me, yanked down his sweatpants and boxers
in one go and yanked his t-shirt off over his head to then grab his dick
and start jerking it, I thought I was going to pass out with lust.
"Please," he whispered, that old cocky tone of his that I was so in love
with bubbling through into his voice. "Please. Do me. Fuck me into next
week, Rory."

"Wait..."

"No fucking way. I don't want to lose this thing," he joked.

"I want to show you something."

"Unless it's pre-cum leaking out of your piss slit, I don't give a fuck."

I took him by the hand and dragged him over to the table by the sofa
where I'd left my iPad. I tapped in the pin and went into my photos,
scrawling through to an album entitled J./O. I handed it to him, "This is
my wank bank," I joked. He scrawled through it; they were all photographs
of him. He paused for a minute and looked up at me. "I know it shouldn't
seem like a romantic gesture, but I thought it'd help."

He shook his head in disagreement, "I love that you have that," he said,
and then flipped me back onto the sofa and launched himself on top of me.

"Aren't you going to be hungry with no breakfast?" I giggled, as he began
to pull my trousers off me.

"The only thing I'm hungry for is your ass, cock, cum and balls."

"Sebastian," I said softly into his right ear, "I really am a little
nervous about being on top again. I want to be good for you. As good as
the others."

He hunched up and looked into my eyes, "You'll be perfect, Rory. Just
like you always are. Come on."

He took my hand and led me upstairs to the bedroom, where I stripped off
and he dropped down to his knees to begin sucking my cock. Then as I kept
stroking it, he pulled the lube from his weekend bag and coated my dick
in it. He got down on all fours on the bed and pulled his ass cheeks
apart, exposing his hole into total depravity.

"Fuck my cunt, Rory. I want to be totally dominated. I want to be your
property."

I'd have to have a soul of steel not to be turned on by the sight of that
6'4 wall of muscle and blond handsomeness, his erection jutting out
proudly, angrily from between his legs, displayed in front of me, begging
for it so unashamedly. And as I put my right hand on his waist, he turned
to look over his shoulder: "I'm your whore, Rory."

I dived down and began to tongue his asshole, jerking my own dick as I
did it. I had to stop once the amount of precum flying off it alerted me
to an impending orgasm.

"Turn over," I ordered. He did. "And spread your legs for me."

He put his hands beneath his knees and yanked his legs apart, giving me
perfect access to his rosebud hole. I was down there for about ten
minutes, addicted to the taste of his ass, a taste I fucking love. He was
writhing above me, grunting and firing out a steady torrent of
obscenities. I pulled away to climb on top of him to kiss him deeply; it
turned him on further.

"You can't beat the taste of a whore's cunt," he quipped.

I could see how turned on he was getting by the versatility we were
displaying and I was, too. If you're going to do something, do it right.
Get into it. It felt like all the ends we were still waiting to tie up,
that it would naturally have taken this long to address with all the best
will and intent in the world, were finally being resolved. I felt
euphorically uninhibited with him, revelling in one of those swift turn
arounds that happen in the best of relationships, I believe. I separated
from the kiss and straddled his chest, grabbing his hair to pull him up
to my cock. I fucked his face, and as he turned red and spit flew out of
his mouth, his eyes rolled over with dazed animalistic happiness. After a
minute or so, I pulled out.

"I have to fuck you now," I told him, and I kissed him again, as we both
reached out to grab the lube.

"I'm so fucking happy," he purred, as I finger fucked his asshole and
then brought the tip of my cock to his entrance. He arched his back and
flung his legs in the air as I entered him, kissing him deeply. When the
kiss broke and I was easing further and further into him, I reached down
to twist one of his nipples, making him gasp with more pleasure. When my
balls came to rest at his asshole, he looked at me and smiled, "This is
fucking perfect. Don't be gentle."

I fucked him, it's the only way to describe it, until the point where his
legs were bent so far back he had practically doubled over backwards and
my tongue was permanently in his mouth, only leaving it to catch my
breath.

"Is this perfect for you?" he growled. "Fuck, it's so good. Fucking
stretch my hole. This is so fucking hot."

"I want you to ride me," I said, after a second's thought. "I want to
watch you fucking ride me."

"Anything you want, baby," he sighed. That big stud beneath me was soon
on top of me as I lay flat on my back and he, after stuffing some lube
into his hole with his fingers, lowered himself down on top of my dick
and threw his head back sighing. He got into the rhythm of riding me in
seconds, sliding back and forth, playing with my nipples and his,
squeezing his chute and asshole around my cock as he went like a pro. I
arched my head back and growled, swearing constantly. Shouting to the
point I was thankful we were in the middle of nowhere, although in that
moment I doubt I would have cared who heard us. I was totally lost in
pleasure.

Later, Sebastian pulled off me to get back on all fours as he'd been at
the beginning and I entered him that way, sweat pouring off me. "Fuck me
like a bitch," he gasped hoarsely and I did just that until I held him
firmly him place and erupted squirt upon squirt of cum up his passage.
Resting on top of his back, I then pulled out and lay back, with my head
off the side of the bed. "Fuck my mouth," I begged. He did, getting up to
stand over me and slide that huge cock of his into my mouth to fuck my
throat like an asshole for all of the twenty seconds he lasted before
spraying into my mouth and pulling out to coat parts of my face as well.

We lay next to each other in shattered exhaustion. The room wreaked off
man sex and I couldn't catch my breath. "That was fucking incredible,"
Sebastian said, after a minute.

I laughed, "It was, wasn't it?"

"You're a fucking tiger," he smirked, rolling over to rest face-to-face
next to me. "Have you ever..."

"Not like that," I said firmly. I raised my arm to let him nuzzle into my
chest. He pulled the covers up as he came into me and we fell asleep like
that, only waking up in the mid-afternoon, when we padded downstairs to
get something to eat. The porridge lay congealed and unappetising in its
saucepan and Sebastian made do with an enormous sandwich before I could
tell he was getting horny again. He had me take him bent over the kitchen
table, despite the fact that I thought it might start hurt. On our walk
in the bracing chilly air that evening, when we didn't encounter a single
soul, he turned to me and giggled, "Your cum's still leaking out of my
ass."

"You're disgusting."

"I fucking love sex with you," he smiled and he pulled me in towards him
for a kiss. "I fucking love you."

Back at the cottage that evening, we had sex again, this time on the sofa
as the fire crackled and a movie neither of us had much interest in
played in the background. I rode him that time and we cuddled afterwards.

"I kind of like we've mixed the sex up a bit," I confessed. "50/50
variance."

"Nah," he laughed, "I say this just means we'll double the amount we're
having." I dozed in his arms by the fire and I felt them tighten around
me as I slipped into sleep. There was a lot we'd have to work on to make
a long-distance relationship work, but I knew we'd made the right
decision in getting back together and I was glad we'd had that fight. And
especially that making up. Sebastian was the love of my life and the next
year and a half until graduation were all about building on what we
already had and taking nothing for granted. Life without him would be
impossible. As I began to sleep, I'd already made up my mind to mix
things up further by being the one who'd ask him to marry me, not the
other way round, on the day after our college graduation.

--

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