Date: Wed, 01 Nov 2023 21:27:22 +0000
From: kleiner.gespenst <kleiner.gespenst@protonmail.com>
Subject: Tales From Phantom Hill | Part 4

In 2018, a boy with raw, hidden talents transfers to the 7th grade at an
eerie old New England school. With the help of an enigmatic 14-year-old,
he will confront a timeless evil threatening all tween boys.
A trigger warning: this story includes a brief scene of sexual assault
and violence.

Also, this long, standalone tale of utter fiction features sex and magic
between young teens in three acts. If underage sex, magic or underage sex
magic are illegal wherever you are, close your browser tab, and your
troubles with miraculously disappear.

It takes no magic 8-ball to know that Nifty relies on your donations to
bring stories like this. So, if you like this tale, or even if you
don't, please consider contributing to keep the lights on.
http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html


==================================================================


CHAPTER 4: The Magus

A few nights before Halloween, all but one of the boisterous 7th graders
headed toward the old Hale dormitory were blind to the dim orange halo
glimmering from the 19th-century building. Yet for 12-year-old Dean
Coffin, it was as clear as a breaking dawn at war with seeping twilight.
No surprise there. For as long as he could remember, Dean could see, hear
and feel things things almost no one else sensed - that is, no one
besides his mother and grandmother.

When he was a pre-schooler back on Nantucket Island, everyone dismissed
his animated play with invisible friends as the product of a rich
imagination. But at the age of 7, he had a conversation well beyond his
years with Sam Gardner, in Sam's hardware store, using terminology that
went out of vogue in the 70s. Asked where he'd learned such things and
heard such words, Dean casually mentioned an old man in the power tool
aisle with sideburns, a pony tail, and a t-shirt reading, "Woodstock."

Thanks to that description of Sam's grandfather, deceased well before
Dean's birth, the young boy's branch of the Coffin family was banned
from the hardware store. Dean's mother finally sat the boy down for a
long chat about things he saw that other's didn't.

"Did you feel anything when you talked with the man with the pony
tail?"

"Yeah. It felt like...like when you're in the water and a little wave
pushes you and you're gonna fall over? Like that but without the
water."

Diane Coffin nodded her head knowingly. That was the same thing that
happened to her mother and she as well: a sensation of pressure when the
walls of consensus reality buckled.

Over time, he grew accustomed to the feeling, always happening before
strange things happened to Dean and no one else.

There'd been the faceless woman Dean had run into at the Newburyport
library, as well as the slightly transparent older boy who always sat
with him on the ferry "Aurora," when his family crossed over for
errands in New Bedford. And, of course, there was the silent girl at the
Victorian house on Heron Road.

Every school day, when he passed the house on the way to his bus stop, he
felt the pressure, and a sad looking girl waved from the second floor,
and he waved back. Over the next couple of years, he grew bigger while
she did not. Eventually, she greeted him from out side the house. On the
first day of 4th grade, she met him at the gate. In place of her usual
morose aura, she seemed cheery, and took his hand to walk him to the bus
stop. At first, she felt icy cold, but as they walked, her hand grew
steadily warmer. Just before they came in sight of the other kids waiting
for the bus, Dean felt her lips land delicately on his cheek. Dean turned
in surprise, but the girl had vanished, and he felt that oceanic wave
pulling away. All that remained was a vague scent of beach roses, and the
certainty he'd never see her again.

That kiss may have been his first, but it was chaste, and certainly
nothing like another boy's lips meeting his own. That had happened with
his flesh-and-blood friend Daryl, when the two boys were in 6th grade.

Daryl was a misfit, though not owing to his African American ancestry
(though racism was still alive on the island, despite its black history
reaching to the 1600s). No, Daryl was one of only a couple of truly
effeminate school boys on the island, with a strong interest in Disney
princesses, and a preference for hanging with the girls at school recess.

At the same time, Dean liked the free-spirited kid, and since they lived
just down the road from one another, they frequently hung out after
school. Dean even convinced Daryl to shoot hoops with him, every once in
a while. Naturally, payback came in kind, and that meant Dean had to join
Daryl practicing ballet moves they mimicked from YouTube.

Daryl's only sibling, an older sister, gave him hand-me-downs she
outgrew. That's how Dean found himself in nothing but a t-shirt, a
girl's black tutu and his little briefs when they practiced ballet,
while Daryl wore old pink tights and a pink tutu - something Dean found
hilarious and yet exciting. Male dancers didn't wear tutus, so why were
they dressed like ballerinas? It was a Daryl thing; the same reason the
boy dressed up as Princess Tiana, given half a chance.

Daryl's mom had always indulged whatever made her son happy, while his
dad had been slow to accept the fact that his son was a sissy. He loved
the boy - especially since he was gifted in science and math -  but he
wasn't comfortable with Daryl's flamboyance. So, if Mr. Burton were
home when Dean and he practiced ballet, it was in Daryl's room, with the
door closed.

It was a good thing, too, because Dean and Daryl were usually rock hard
by the time they finished dance practice.

"Why does this always happen, Daryl?" Dean pointed at the prow pushing
out his stretchy gray underwear.

"Maybe `cause I'm so sexy," Daryl replied with a giggle, while coyly
playing with one of his long braids.

Dean's eyes widened. Maybe it was true. Dean's slim, caramel complected
friend had long, delicate eyelashes framing rich brown eyes, and sharply
rounded cheekbones. Also, Daryl move exquisitely.

"I get wood around you `cause you're so extra cute, Dean."

It wasn't the first time Dean had been told he was "cute." But at 11
years old, he thought it was just something old people automatically said
to kids, or a way girls tried to embarrass boys. When he looked in a
mirror, he just saw a skinny runt always trailing his classmates in size.
His doctor said he'd probably grow as tall as his dad, someday. But
someday was forever away.

Meanwhile, Daryl saw a very different boy. Dean had his mother's French
Mediterranean complexion, as well as her long, straight brown hair,
cascading to his shoulders. Light green eyes nested above Dean's
freckled little upturned nose. And that body with all those lean arm and
leg muscles - it was enough to tempt Daryl into taking up surfing.

Without asking, Daryl reached down and gave Dean's tent pole a tickling
pinch that made the boy squeek and double over.

"Two can play at that game!"

Wrestling around, Dean quickly had Daryl's excitement in his fist,
thrilled to feel his friend's hardness throbbing through his satiny
tights. In seconds, the two boys were lying face-to-face on the floor,
with fingers fondling one another in delight.

"Can I see it, Dean?"

"Only if I can see your's."

Without any hesitation, Dean peeled his stretchy briefs down to his
knees, and hauled his tutu up his tummy. Simultaneously, Daryl yanked
down his tights and white undies down to his ankles, and furled up his
tutu. The room grew silent, while the boys stared.

They'd seen each naked while changing plenty of times. But this was the
first time either had seen another boy's erection, and it was
enthralling.

That winter of 6th grade, Dean's prepubescent hardness was about 2
inches long, and half the circumference of a quarter. His circumcised,
crimson knob contrasted with his bright vanilla stem. Dean's smooth,
spherical little ball sack was still attached to the base of his cock,
and his tiny marbles hauled along whenever his raging hardness
involuntarily flexed.

By contrast, Daryl was breaching puberty. His nearly 12-year-old cock was
thicker than Dean's, and almost 4 inches long. His darkly pink helmet
pointed toward his lean, tutu-wrapped tummy, while his thick, wrinkled
nutsack hung pendulously below his cock, sideways toward the floor.

"You've got hairs!"

"Yeah, dude. Just started."

"Can I...feel them?"

"Sure. Knock yourself out."

Carefully, Dean probed the 6 or 7 straight little silky strands emerging
above Daryl's shaft. They were soft as goose down.

"That's so sick!"

"You'll get `em soon, too." Unfortunately, that wouldn't prove true
for a couple of years, to Dean's growing disappointment. "Wanna feel
something really lit?"

"Uh-huh!"

Dean gasped. Daryl's thumb and three fingers had gripped Dean's shaft
midway. Slowly and steadily, Daryl stroked his friend's meat, polishing
it like a golden candle stick.

"That's wicked, dude!" Dean had never felt anything like the steady
friction roasting him from his base to his tip and back. Sure, he'd
thrust his morning wood against the mattress for a few seconds on a
couple of mornings, but this was something totally different.

"Yeah, it's the best thing ever," Daryl replied, in a breathy whisper.
Still steadily stroking Dean, Daryl reached down with his other hand, and
caressed all around Dean's hairless pubic mound. Then, he tickled the
boy's testicles in their tight wrapper, and Dean's giggles turned into
a gasp.

Captivated by the pleasure pouring across Dean's face, Daryl stroked his
friend faster, while gently pulling on the boy's nuts.

"Something's happening, Daryl! It's weird!"

"But it's good, right?"

"Feels like I'm gonna pee!"

"You won't. Just let it happen."

And it did. Just when he thought he would hose his friend with piss,
something marvelous welled up behind his balls, and his small boy flesh
pulsed with a violent and dry detonation. Dean gasped and moaned, and
shook uncontrollably, while Daryl milked pulse after pulse in his firmly
stroking fingers.

After his very first climax died away, Dean shivered and struggled to
catch his breath, then demanded to know what had happened.

"I jerked you off, dude. Isn't it straight fire?!"

So THAT was "jerking off." It WAS straight fire and Dean was more than
eager to reciprocate. Curling down so he could study Daryl's throbbing
boyhood, Dean noticed it had a couple of prominent veins. It felt hard
and soft at the same time. Exploring further, Dean marveled at his
friend's much bigger balls. They were a little heavy, and so warm and
nice to roll in his palm.

Dean copied the way Daryl had clasped him, then followed the boy's
instructions. He thrilled at how Daryl groaned and shuddered while Dean
dished out his first hand job.

"Faster, dude. Please do it faster!"

That hot piece of rubbery steel was marvelous in his fingers. Dean
stroked his friend so hard he worried that he might break something, but
Daryl only moaned with pleasure, and urged him on. But in a minute or
two, he gasped a warning.

"It's happening! Gonna cum, Dean!"

With no idea what Daryl meant, Dean kept pumping his friend furiously,
staring at the pee-hole gawping like a landed fish. Suddenly, Daryl's
back arched, and his cock seemed to grow in Dean's fingers. Daryl cried
out and his raging nozzle sprayed a burst of watery, milky goo all over
Dean's face.

"What the hell??" Dean cried, recoiling. Just then, Daryl's boy cock
spewed again, launching a few drops more on the rug. Wiping the weird
fluid away from his eye, with his free hand, he felt Daryl pulsate
several more times, though his buddy's cock merely drooled some clear
sap.

Pulling off of Daryl, Dean wiped the remaining discharge off his face,
then stared at his glistening hands. It smelled a little like bread and
chlorine. He wasn't stupid, and as a veteran of Massachusetts' sex ed,
he hazarded a guess.

"This is sperm, right? You spermed on me??"

Daryl started to laugh, but seeing Dean's anger, he apologized.

"But I did warn you I was gonna cum."

Cum. Well that was a new addition to Dean's vocabulary. Meantime, it was
something he had to wash off his face in the bathroom. When he returned,
Daryl was lying on his bed, completely naked. It didn't take much
convincing for Dean to strip off his few shreds of clothing, and lay down
next to his friend. For the next half hour or so, the boys explored one
another's bodies with uninhibited curiosity, then masturbated one
another with greater familiarity and ease. Daryl's second climax was was
just as dramatic, though he merely oozed more droplets. Dean's
explosively dry finish made him a dedicated convert to Daryl's favorite
pastime.

"Your boner gets so big," Dean sighed, then sheepishly added, "I wish
mine got that big."

"It will, Dean. Growing up just takes time."

Unconvinced, Dean changed the subject.

"Where'd you learn how to do this?" Dean asked, while wiping his hand
with a sock.

"The internet. You wouldn't believe some of the shit on there."

Apparently, Daryl's 16-year-old sister's computer had no parental
controls. She didn't mind his investigations when she wasn't home, so
long as he deleted his user history. So, over the next couple of months,
Daryl introduced Dean to porn, leading to more questions than Daryl could
answer. It'd be a long time before Dean was hit by the pubescent
tornados touching down in Daryl's body, but through the end of winter,
Daryl easily seduced him at least a couple of days a week.

Daryl could definitely be seductive, dancing to slow beats, while
stripping off his clothes. Daryl's lean, taffy-toned body contrasted
deliciously with his tight, white briefs, and by the time his trousers
hit the floor, both boys' underwear strained with desire. Of course,
Daryl's porn had Dean in a quivering state well before the strip show,
and it wasn't long before the boys had graduated from mutual
masturbation to copying the oral pleasures they'd seen online.

It didn't take much self-reflection for Dean to figure out he had no
interest in doing these sorts of things with girls. He was most
definitely gay, and he liked being gay, even though he didn't broadcast
it like Daryl. In fact, practically everyone but his parents assumed he
was just a straight surfer boy oddly resistant to peer pressure, and with
a high tolerance for eccentricity.

At the same time, since he wasn't hormone addled, Dean was just as happy
when Daryl and he joined up with their Dudgeons and Dragons club after
school. Sex was fun, but so were shooting hoops, their sweaty ballet
workouts, and helping Daryl's engineer dad build solid-fuel rockets.

April rolled around, and Dean's basketball league sucked him away from
most afternoons at Daryl's. Around then, the days grew longer, and he
spent his early mornings before school shredding waves with boys he'd
been surfing with since he was 6.

Some boys on his basketball team grilled Dean why he spent so much time
with "that little fag." Even in 2018, when homosexuality was no longer
cultural anathema, and many, if not most of Dean's classmates had been
experimenting with other boys' equipment, effeminate boys were still
frequently bullied outsiders.

"He's tight with all the Sheilas," Dean quipped, "Are you?" He'd
yet to come out to anyone but his family and a couple of friends. But he
defended Daryl with more forceful words, if not fists.

Ironically, Stu, one of Dean's closest friends jokingly referred to
Daryl as a "butt bandit," while Dean and he had their hands in each
other's soggy, chilly wet suits, massaging blood back into their groins
for a post-surf jerk on a deserted beach. They'd started messing around
a month earlier, after an afternoon's wrestling had evolved into
groping. By the end of school, they were pulling each other off a couple
of mornings every week, if they were alone on The Point.

"That's a shitty thing to say about guys like us, dude," Dean boldly
chided his friend. Somehow Dean knew, on a visceral level, that Stu's
hunger for cock ran as deep as the blood swelling his hairless rod. It
was more than unquenched horniness that propelled his hand into the
Speedo Dean wore under his wetsuit.

"Like...us? What are you talking about?" Stu whipped his long wet hair
back, while staring in defensive shock at Dean.

"Guys like Daryl and me," Dean whispered, though he clearly meant Stu
as well. Kneeling down, he pulled Stu's wetsuit and tight swim briefs
down, and released the boy's 2.5 inches of springing need. A moment
later, Stu whimpered and writhed. It was really happening! His dick was
being sucked! And by Dean!

A couple of months of practice with Daryl had transformed Dean to a
proficient cocksucker. That morning, he had teased Stu by alternating
tongue lashes with finger strokes, and kisses all over the boy's 3-inch
rod. Then, after peeling back the boy's foreskin, he had sealed his
mouth around Stu's uncut knob - purple with anger from the Atlantic's
cold - and slid all the way down to the boy's hairless root. Sucking in
with his cheeks, he'd bobbed back and forth for a minute, then gave his
mouth a rest by jerking on Stu's flesh. From experience with Stu, he
rubbed the boy's knob with its own hood, while squeezing Stu's cowering
little balls.

A few more kisses and licks, and then Dean was sucking and bobbing his
head back and forth again. Stu started wailing almost as loudly as the
ocean winds. His prepubescence was so sensitive, it buckled like a
dandelion in the wind of Dean's stormy mouth. The boy's 11-year-old
cock kicked in Dean's mouth, and he could taste the slight sweetness of
semen droplets, more thinner and more watery than Daryl's.

Dean's premonition about Stu was correct, and moments after the boy
caught his breath, Dean was coaching Stu through the art of giving a
blowie.

By the end of June, Dean was having sex with two different boys
separately, several times a week. The next year of middle school was
going to be so much better than 6th.

But come July, Dean learned he'd be going away to boarding school off
island. Originally a mainlander, his mother was adamant her son be
exposed to a world bigger than a fishbowl of 15,000 year-round islanders.
With a huge endowment, The Phantom School for Boys was significantly more
diverse, and academically more rigorous than most schools in the country.
Also, half of the school population was on scholarship, including Dean,
eliminating money mostly from social hierarchies.

Unspoken by his parents was the fact that the single gender academy
offered richer dating possibilities for their older son.

Sad to be leaving his parents, baby brother and sister, and friends, but
excited about the future, Dean shared the info with Daryl, who was
sandbagged by the news.

His friend openly cried like he was losing a brother, and was jealous
that Dean would escape that isolated strip of small town America. Dean
hugged his friend tightly, until Daryl's sobbing died away. Resting his
forehead against Daryl's, while gazing into the boy's rich, dark eyes,
Dean rubbed the boy's scalp between his braids, with both sets of
fingertips.

All the emotional turmoil seemed to gather in Daryl's full, luscious
lips. By then, having seen plenty of twinks making out on the web, Dean
felt the irresistible pull of Daryl's slightly parted mouth.

Their young lips met.

The kiss was like an electric shock. Moreover, Dean was swept into a
flaring light, and glimpsed Daryl's brilliant future. At the same time,
Daryl's sadness melted away, along with his trepidations.

"You're going to be OK, Daryl. Some day, you're gonna live in New
York."

"Sure, whatever, dude. Just...could we do that again?"

Their lips met once more, sweeping both boys in a torrent of passion. It
was a perfect storm of two hurricanes combining into one cyclical force.
Though the boys were clumsy at first, following the steps they knew from
pop culture, their tongues met and clashed with continental weight, while
their hands squeezed each other's muscular little rumps with urgency.

Their hard groins pressed together through their clothes, pushing
together with all the amassed passion. So hard. So explosively hard.
Heaving into one another's mouths, with their young tongues lolling, the
boys thrust into one another 3 or 4 times, and a thunderclap surged
between their groins. Shuddering and moaning, the boys were sealed and
enveloped head-to-toe in bright plasma surging from their cocks. Pump
after pump of ecstasy flooded out of them, until Dean collapsed into his
friend's arms on Daryl's bed.

"What happened?" Daryl huffed. Orgasms were one thing, but that climax
was something else.

"I dunno, dude, but it was the fucking shit."

Slowly caressing one another, the boys lay quietly content for a while,
then Daryl climbed up to peel off his soiled shorts and undies, then
stripped his friend, and lay back down.

"You know Stu Granger?" Dean asked.

Of course, Daryl had known Stu all his life, though the hot blond surfer
and he had never been friends. Stu had always been into soccer or
kickball at recess, while Daryl was the weirdo hanging with the girls.

"Well, I've been telling him how all this ballet helps my moves. Like
I'm better on the court. My wraparounds are tight, and when I'm
shredding, I've been kicking off-the-lip turns like a boss."

"Are those words coming out of your mouth, sweetie?" Daryl bat his eyes
at Dean, and affected the comically mincing tone he only used in private
with his friend. Like always, Dean laughed.

"Earth to Ru Paul: Stu wants in on ballet practice. Is that OK?"

"Oh hells yes. Anytime."

Within a week or two, Stu nervously joined Dean and Daryl for an
introduction to graceful stretching, then plies and releves. For the
first few lessons, the three boys wore loose fitting shorts and t-shirts,
and it wouldn't be until a very hot July day that all three nonchalantly
stripped to their underwear for a rigorous practice. While gulping water
afterward, Dean and Daryl pretended to ignore the obvious hardness
running up the front of Stu's skin-tight boxer briefs. After that, the
boys never bothered wearing anything but their undies for practice -
though it would be a while before Stu could even jokingly throw on a
tutu.

Anyway, within days, the three 12-year-olds could no longer ignore their
obvious needs, and celebrated the end of a very sweaty session with even
sweatier groping. Dean and Daryl traded off, introducing Stu to his first
kisses, and the little surfer became addicted to making out with two
fists-full of boy penis. Even more, taking turns sucking on one another,
and watching his friends' faces crinkle when they came was what he'd
always remember from that special summer.

Soon, the threesome didn't need any pretense of ballet to strip naked,
and circle-sucks were inevitable at their sleepovers.

Though he'd have his own issues defending his friendship with the Daryl
to the vicious social hierarchies at middle school, Stu and Daryl grew
tight. Daryl was funny, uninhibited, and clearly did not give a fuck -
something rare on their island.

By the time Dean left for Phantom Hill, he knew he'd left Daryl in good
hands.


=     =     =     =     =     =


As Dean's dad drove the family SUV into the Aurora's car hold for the
trip to the mainland, Dean was fidgety with excitement and a little fear
about life away from home. After he parked and shut off the engine, John
Coffin turned to his son with sly look.

"Gotta a present for ya, kiddo," he said, then reached behind the
passenger seat for a box. Handing it to Dean, John grinned at the shocked
delight bursting across his son's features.

"A phone?!"

"Yeah. How else are you going to call home EVERY SUNDAY?"

"Thanks Dad! This is so awesome!"

John gave his son a serious look. "You know, you're still a kid. So you
don't have access to everything. And, uh, I'm gonna need to take a peek
at your social media every so often."

Dean sighed. Same rules governed his laptop. Oh well. At least he had his
own phone.

"So, guess who's on speed dial?"

"Mom?"

John chuckled and nodded. "Yeah, the boss is number 1. But you have to
call me, too."

While Dean's father stayed in the car, reading a book, Dean sought out
hot chocolate at the snack bar, ready to explore his new phone. Carrying
his piping hot cup to claim a booth on the mostly empty indoor deck, Dean
felt the familiar surge of an ocean-like wave wash over him, and the
fluorescent lit chamber seemed to sparkle more brightly. A familiar boy
watched him from the most distant corner booth.

Dean smiled and waved at the otherwise unnoticed figure. As always, the
melancholy boy wore jeans and a dark brown turtleneck sweater, with a
parallel series of orange and yellow horizontal stripes crossing from the
chest to the shoulders. No doubt it was the height of fashion when the
Aurora was hit by a rogue wave in 1979, and dozens of people were hurled
from the top deck into the frigid May water. 13-year-old Mark Taylor, a
Nantucket boy on a class field trip, had been one of them. Before he'd
succumbed to the cold Atlantic, Mark had dragged most of the other kids
back to the Aurora.

At least this was the story the Boston Globe ran the next day, and the
framed article had been on the boat's upper deck as long as Dean could
remember. For his part, Mark rarely spoke, choosing instead to just sit
and hold Dean's hand, from the time time the boy had been a toddler.

As the years passed, Dean grew up, while Mark did not. Now, the two young
teens were the same size and could have been contemporaries, if Mark had
been born in 2006, rather than1966.

On the few occasions Mark spoke, his voice sounded like enchanting
piping. Over time, Dean learned the boy still rode the Aurora in hope of
finding his best friend. Googling the name, Dean discovered Mark's
friend had been one of the kids washed overboard for good.

That morning, Dean felt Mark's normally chilly hand grow warmer in his
clasp, and he casually laced his fingers through the specter's. A smile
spread across the older boy's usually despondent features. They shared a
long look that spoke so much more than words ever could: affection and
desire, bound up in the fragility of mortality.

Mark glided up, gently pulling Dean with him, and lead the boy down a
narrow metal passage. A hatch marked "Life Jackets" popped open, and
the boys climbed into the dark, cramped closet. They didn't need the
neat stacks of equipment to force them to squeeze together. They embraced
without hesitancy, resting their heads on one another's shoulders.
Orange light radiating from Mark vaguely lit the chamber. Mark's sweater
was softer than anything Dean had ever felt, though the semi-transparent
boy felt solid enough underneath.

The pair snuggled together for a long moment, simply caressing one
another. Quickly aroused, Dean's hardness met Mark's rigid resistance.

Feeling lips kissing his neck, Dean sighed, and turned toward the other
boy. Mark's eyes - shimmering pools Dean had always thought icy gray,
were now a deep azure, tranquil and liquid.

As if on their own, Dean's lips met Mark's, and his mind exploded with
light and shadow. Then a series of images flashed before his eyes: Mark
exhausted, panicked and sinking into the cold sea; another boy about 12
kissing Mark, while sliding his hand into the boy's trousers; a younger
Mark hugging his mother and father at Christmas; playground games. Too
many images to contemplate, like a deck of cards shuffling past Dean's
eyes, and then they were gone. Their kiss was now simply powerful
passion. While their tongues darted and played, Dean felt his trousers
being unfastened, then falling to his ankles. His diamond hardness
strained the integrity of the new, skin tight trunks he'd bought for
school, in place of briefs.

Dean slid his hands around to the front of Mark's jeans, and the flat of
his hand rested on a rigid bulge of surprising size for a boy his
stature.

Now kissing Mark tenderly, Dean rubbed his hand up and down the turgid
vitality, then unbuttoned the boy's denim. Spectral trousers fell to
Mark's feet, and Dean reached under the boy's turtle neck hem. The
boy's underpants were like cashmere clouds, yet binding back an erection
as solid as anything in the reality normal people share. Dean wrapped his
fingers around the surreal thickness, and gave it a gentle squeeze.

Mark's lips left his, kissing their way to Dean's ear.

"Ohhhh...It's been so long since I've been touched."

Mark's lips slid back to Dean's mouth. Then Dean groaned. Fingers
clasped him on either side of his rigid boy prong, then slowly stroked
him through his tight little tent. Dean reciprocated, slowly stroking
Mark through his underwear at a glacial pace, and with metronomic
precision.

Ordinarily, Dean would race toward a climax, as desperate for the itchy
tingles of a dry orgasm as Daryl and Stu had always been to shoot their
tiny, meager loads into his hand or mouth. But in that small compartment,
in the ageless arms of a perpetual 13-year-old, he lost all sense of
time, and all need for anything but that eternal moment. Steady,
wonderful itchy friction, and the sensation of Mark's lips on his own
were all he wanted.

But just then, his brand new phone chimed. Bending down to fumble through
his pants, he pulled out the glowing rectangle, and read a text from his
dad: "It's been an hour. You OK?"

Fuck. It was a 2 hour ride to the mainland. How long had he been here
with Mark?

"Getting snack. Back soon," Dean texted in reply.

Putting his phone away, he looked up at Mark, who studied him with
curiosity. Did ghosts from the rotary phone age even know about mobile?
No matter. He was more curious about the heavenly promise in those
phantom underpants.

"We're gonna land soon, Mark. I...I...wanna do something, first."

Resting on his knees, Dean slid his hands up and down the back of Mark's
slender, translucent legs. Amazingly, he could partially see his own
finger tips through Mark's solid-feeling muscles.

But Dean's attention was quickly diverted to the thick cylinder
stretching up the front of Mark's bone-white briefs. They were the
old-fashioned kind, with thick panels in the front and back, and ribbed
sides stretching around Mark's legs. They were almost form fitting
around the swollen tendril reaching up to the blue-and-gold striped
waistband.

Dean hooked his fingers in the waistband, and pulled Mark's undies down
to his ankles, releasing a miracle.

In life, 13-year-old Mark had probably been like Dean: trailing his peers
in physical development. But dead or alive, he had the biggest cock Dean
would ever see on a "little kid." The bell shaped, circumcised head
crowned nearly 7 inches of shaft, and glowed with a vaguely sepia-colored
moisture. A couple of scraggly hairs crowned the base, signaling eternal
pubescence. Overshadowed by the fleshy wonder, a small hairless scrotum
hung like a diving bell, rounded on each side with radiant testicles.

Wrapping one fist midway around Mark's cock, Dean filled his other
fingers with the spectral sack, marveling at how much larger the
revenant's nuts were, compared to his own. They were astonishingly
dense, and while Dean gently squeezed and fondled them, his palm glowed
with the same luminescence that seemed to effloresce from the boy's love
nozzle.

Squeezing Mark's cock tightly, Dean stroked the boy with a quick fury of
pumps. Damn, it was just so big, and magical. Mark moaned, and a
high-pitched breeze raced through the sealed compartment. Then Dean's
mouth glided like a hungry bat toward Mark's sparkling knob.

Drawing closer, compelled by a depth of desire he'd never felt before, a
bouquet of lilacs and roses tickled Dean's nostrils, and literally made
him salivate. The moment his tongue tip flicked the underside of Mark's
perpetual pubescence, he was flooded with synesthesia. He could taste
music, in the same key as Mark's high-pitched moan.

Mark drizzled more of that sweet, glowing nectar, and Dean's tongue went
on autopilot, snaking all around the boy's translucent, tangerine tool
tip. Dean's tongue and nose and ears filled with a  symphonic feast, and
very quickly, he filled his mouth with a steamy bell as solid as any boy
alive. Sure, his experience was limited to two boys over a couple of
months in a small town, but for some reason, there was no hesitancy, no
inelegance, no naïveté. Mark's cock was in his mouth, and his lips
sailed past the helmet's ridge, over what could have been seven inches
or seven miles, and could have taken seven milliseconds or seven years.

When it entered his throat, Dean should have gagged, but for some
ineffable reason didn't.

Dean's tongue swabbed in semicircles, while his cheeks pulled on their
own. He swallowed the most heady liquor, of timeless age. Even as it
decanted instantly in his throat, Dean seemed to become more acutely
aware of every sensation in his body, especially in his own astonishingly
hard cock. It was achingly attuned to the way he swabbed Mark with his
sponging tongue, as if he could feel his own mouth on himself. Yet his
boy bone was still touching nothing but his softly snug underpants!

His mouth was so richly full, Dean should have been breathing through his
nose. Impossibly, it was like he was breathing through Mark. Moreover, he
grew inexplicably aware of new ways to pleasure a boy: things he'd never
imagined.

Rotating his head left and right, Dean moved back and forth, while
alternately sucking and licking on Mark's ethereal cock. At the same
time, he stroked the boy's shaft with three fingers and a thumb, ahead
of his jaw, and rhythmically squeezed Mark's radiant orbs. At times, he
teased the boy by sliding down Mark's knob and a couple of inches of
shaft with a slack jaw, then, sucked while pulling back, then bobbed more
quickly.

Breaking off for a few moments, he kissed up and down Mark's enchanting
engorgement. Alternately licking and sucking on discrete sections, Dean
was sure Mark's throbbing treasure was glowing more brightly. Certainly,
it was no longer remotely translucent - nor was the rest of Mark - but
the herbal fragrance grew headier in the tiny room.

When he sucked both of Mark's testicles, and squeegeed them with his
tongue, another sigh filled the cabin like a passing Fall breeze.

Though he hadn't touched himself, Dean was on the edge of his own
climax. Echoing what he was doing to Mark, Dean's raging bone itched and
tingled with an enchanting fire on the edge of conflagration.

Urgently, he kissed back to Mark's tip, and licked an intoxicating bead
of otherworldly ooze from the specter's urethra, and the world grew ever
more vibrant.

Stroking Mark's base furiously, while rubbing  and pulling on the boy's
contracting sack, Dean bobbed back and forth quickly, almost moving in a
blur, sucking the boy like an oceanic whirlpool.

Dean felt Mark grow larger in his mouth and hand, just as ribbons of
muscle pulled his own testicles further inward. Suddenly, the world
exploded in a flash of warm light. He was no longer Dean, but a
12-year-old boy named Aaron Crow, shuddering with the first violent
pulsation of Mark's and Aaron's simultaneous orgasms, while the naked
couple lay in a Nantucket bedroom in 1979.

And then they were merged and disembodied, nameless in a world shaking
climax that was all light and tingling, itching, rapturous, billowing
waves. Ears filled with a combined gonging heartbeat, and they tasted jet
after jet of spicy, honey-like ambrosia.

After what seemed like an eternity, Dean returned to himself, balancing
with one hand on Mark's hip.

Panting heavily, Dean let Mark's softening wand slide from his lips, and
he swallowed the parting traces of - what? Ectojism? Whatever it was, it
left his mouth, and his world sweet in an indescribable way.

Of course, he'd never felt anything like that climax. But in a purely
physical way, it was so intensely different from how he'd ever cum
before - and it was glorious. His cock had ejected something out of him.
He was sure of it. It must have been actual semen!

Expecting to see the front of his tight undies to be soaked, Dean was
disconcerted by their apparent dryness. Running his hand across the front
of his trunks, he confirmed the stretchy cotton was no damper than it
would be from normal perspiration. At the same time, the illusion of
bathwater warmth in his groin quickly evaporated.

Pulling Mark's bone-white briefs back in place, then securing the boy's
jeans, Dean saw the boy growing translucent once again. By the time Dean
had secured his own trousers, Mark was almost transparent, defined only
by an orange glow so bright it lit up every corner of the compartment.

No trace of Mark's gloomy countenance remained on that aura of deep
contentment. Instead, he looked beatific.

The boys embraced, sharing warmth that was more than physical and which
ran deeper than friendship.

"Aaron's not here, anymore, Mark"

"I know. He's been waiting for me for a long time."

"Are you ready to go?"

Mark didn't reply with words, but simply lead Dean out of the
compartment. The passage was vacant, and the fluorescent lighting was
washed away with a bright, sublime amber.

"Goodby, Dean. You've been a good friend. I'll see you again,
someday."

Their lips met for a delicate, yet lingering kiss. Then, the orange light
faded, and Dean felt the pressure wave washing away.

The ferry horn blared, signaling the boat's docking approach, and Dean
hurried back to join his father.


=     =     =     =     =     =


"Nice to meet you, Chris. I'm Dean Coffin."

The 7th grader shaking Dean's hand was a very cute freckled boy, with
blond hair cut just above his ears, and parted on one side. His glasses
framed light, blue eyes, and Chris had an endearing, innocent smile. Yet
he was so shy, it took a lot of effort for Dean to pull a conversation
out of the boy.

Dean's new roommate had just set his bags down on the bed Dean had taken
an hour earlier. The furnishings - beds, dressers and desks - were
identical and ran parallel, so Dean had guessed correctly his roommate
wouldn't care which side of the room he got. Besides, the beds were only
5 feet apart, which meant the boys would be sharing farts, and he only
hoped Chris didn't snore.

Chris didn't spend any time unpacking, because his parents needed to get
back to New Jersey, where they'd left Chris' younger brother, and
step-sisters. They couldn't even stay for the Headmaster's welcome
speech. Before leaving, though, they wanted to tour the campus they'd
only seen online.

At the same time, it seemed like Chris was afraid of being abandoned. So
Dean assured his new roommate that they'd go together to the opening
ceremonies.

"The O'Flahertys seem nice," John Coffin murmured, while hanging up
Dean's shirts in the boy's shared closet. "Chris looks handsome with
that hair cut. You sure I can't take you to a barber in town, before I
hit the road?"

"Daaaaaad..." Dean groaned. He'd gotten a hair cut to the dress-code
limit at the top of his shoulders, and that was as short as it would get,
for the time being.

"Just asking," John replied, and finished helping his son get set up.
"Let's take a look-see, ourselves."

Like Chris' family, the Coffins only knew Phantom Hill from its website
and reviews, so they familiarized themselves with the school using a
downloaded map. Naturally, while reading the reviews, Dean and his family
had learned of the school's peculiar reputation, and some of its eerie
legends. Most people didn't take the rumors seriously. But now, the
school grounds practically vibrated around Dean. There was a lot more
here than met the eye, though he didn't mention anything to his dad. But
the next time he talked to his mother, Dean would have a lot to share.

By the time they returned to Dean's room, both father and son understood
why 6th, 7th and 8th graders were in the creaky buildings like Hale
dormitory. Younger boys were relegated to sharing rooms in drafty older
buildings, while boys from 9th to 12th grade had single rooms in
buildings proportionately more modern and comfortable the older they got.

When the coffins returned to Dean's new home, Chris was putting books
and clothes away, and was opening a suitcase.

"Oh, nooooo..." Chris moaned.

"What's up, dude?"

"Melissa packed my brother's stuff instead of mine," Chris replied,
referring to his step-mother.

"It was probably an honest mistake," John said to the boy, while
sitting at Dean's desk chair. "Is he a lot younger?"

"A couple years. But, I mean, come on, Mr. Coffin," Chris replied,
holding up a pair of Spiderman briefs with both hands. "I haven't worn
things like this...in a while."

The Coffins ignored the way the boy blushed, indicating it wasn't that
long ago. Then, they shared his disappointment as Chris held up khakis
that reached about 3 inches above his ankles, and shirts that barely
reached his waist.

"Gotchoo, Chris. You can wear my stuff until your folks send your
clothes."

"Really?" Chris responded with timid sincerity. "That'd be really
fine, Dean."

Still, Chris looked glum. Dean could understand. He would want to have to
wear someone else's clothes?

Chris got out his phone to call his parents, promising to meet up with
Dean and his father at the opening day ceremonies, while the Coffins
ambled toward the school's auditorium.

After the speeches, prayers and songs, John took the two roommates out
for their final dinner that wouldn't include Mystery Meat, then hugged
his son tightly. He'd be staying in a nearby motel for the night, but
barring an emergency, John wouldn't see his son for a couple of months.

By the time they got back to their room, Chris had opened up, and was
feeling confident - at least with his roommate. The boys were on the road
to a genuine friendship.

Dean striped down to his snug little trunks. Just as Dean was pulling on
the long-sleeve t-shirt he wore to sleep at night, he noticed Chris
studying his body intently, especially the front of his underwear.

Dean killed off a smirk and kept a straight face, then climbed into bed.

"I don't wear pajamas, dude. Hope that's OK."

"Yeah, me neither," Chris replied, nervously.

Just then, there was a knock on the door, and the boys called for the
visitor to come in.

Colby, the senior prefect living on the younger boys' floor introduced
himself.

"If you need anything, I'm here to help. Just ask, guys." Unspoken was
the fact that he was also there to enforce the school's rules. "Anyway,
5 minutes to Lights Out, OK? Good night!"

Chris switched off the overhead light, then undressed in the
semi-darkness. Belying his earlier assertion, Chris pulled on a flannel
pajama top that hung over his snug, blue boxer briefs, then climbed into
bed.

It took the boys a few moments to wind down, and they quietly chatted for
a few minutes.

"Um, `Coffin' is an...unusual last name, Dean," Chris carefully
whispered about something he'd been pondering for a while.

"Yeah," Dean chuckled. "It's common on Nantucket - but like nowhere
else. My dad says it's a trade name. A long time ago, our family made
baskets. You know, like Taylors sewed clothes, and Smiths made swords."

Chris was comforted to hear the prosaic origins of the otherwise ominous
name, which had contrasted with Dean's spirited personality, not to
mention his gorgeous looks. Shit. He was getting hard from just thinking
about Dean sleeping 5 feet away from him. This was gonna be a tough year.

"Good night, Dean."

"Niiiighhh, Chrissss," Dean slurred, drifting off to sleep almost
immediately.

That night, Dean's dreams were disturbing and vivid, mostly involving
dread shapes in a dark forest. Even though he was no morning person, Dean
was relieved when Chris' alarm chimed in the morning.

"Mmmmphhhh."

Dean's hair looked like the aftermath of a tornado, and Chris giggled at
the site of his roommate's morning face. He'd get used to it, but even
until the end of the school year, Chris was always amused by Dean's
shambolic mornings.

Yawning, Dean stumbled out of bed, and stretched his arms wide, with his
eyes closed. Opening his eyes, he found Chris staring bug-eyed at Dean's
groin. Oh damn, Dean thought, and blushed. Morning wood. With a chuckle,
he reached in and readjusted his erection, so it ran straight up the
front of his fly-less underpants.

"Gotta piss like a racehorse, dude," Dean said, reaching into the
closet for his bathrobe. "You comin'? "

"Uh, yeah. Can you toss me my robe?"

Dean pretended to ignore his roommate's awkwardness, while the boy
clambered out of bed. His pajama top was pulled back enough that even
though Christ tried to hide it, Dean saw a firm little stiffy tenting up
the front of his skin-tight boxer briefs. Nice legs, Dean apprised,
before they were hidden away in Chris bathrobe. He's so fucking shy.

That was an understatement. While Dean brought a towel and soap to hit
the shower après pee, Chris begged off, mumbling that he wanted to wash
up after soccer practice that afternoon.

Later, when Dean finished his final first class for the day, and arrived
at the room to change for soccer, Chris was yanking on his nylon shorts
frantically. Dean noticed the boy was still wearing the same blue undies
from the day before, but said nothing.

By contrast, Dean took his time undressing. After he unbuttoned his shirt
and slid it off his firm torso, Dean could feel Chris' eyes glued to
him. Turning to fiddle with the music volume on his speaker, Dean could
barely stifle a snicker.

With his back to Chris, Dean pulled off his belt, then undid his olive
trousers. Letting them fall to feet, Dean took his time bending down to
retrieve them, giving Chris a long time to gaze at the slender, yet firm
round buns stretching his skin-tight trunks. The  demarcation of Dean's
summer-bronzed skin from where his board shorts normally fell was a few
inches lower than his undie leg elastics. The tan-line was a gradient of
brown to honey-shaded skin. Rich and sweet.

Humming along with the music, Dean carefully hung his trousers in the
closet, and tossed his shirt in the laundry bag.

"Ya know, Chris, we're gonna be roommates for the next 9 months.
There's not gonna be a lot of secrets between us."

Chris nervously replied with forced laughter. "Yeah, gonna be seeing a
lot of each other."

"You know it, dude. So you gotta get used to seeing me nude."

Opening his mouth to reply, Chris quietly gasped when Dean peeled down
his underwear, kicking them toward his laundry bag in the closet.
Standing in only a pair of white socks, Dean rested a hand on his hip,
and turned toward his roommate.

"Drink it in, dude," Dean said, in a bland, joking voice. The irony was
obvious as he displayed childish genitals still untouched by the first
stirrings of puberty.

Chris laughed. And yet his eyes were riveted to Dean's flaccid 1.5
inches, draped over a small, tight sphere.

Oh my, Dean thought, in George Takei's voice. He wouldn't embarrass
Chris by calling out the boy on his obvious interest.

Dean quickly turned to his dresser, and pulled out a pair of the tight
little low-rise red briefs he wore for sports. He liked full leg motion,
with as little underwear as possible. He'd tried an old fashioned jock
strap back on Nantucket, but it had felt weird. He was seriously
considering a thong, though. Just not one of those ruffled pink things
like the hand-me-downs his Nantucket buddy Daryl occasionally sported
just for Dean's aroused amusement.

The roommates were on different intramural squads for soccer. With
experience limited to his little island leagues, Dean was a middling
player, while Chris turned out to be a powerhouse (relative to his age
group).

Muddy and giddy, the roommates jostled with new friends after practice.
But up in their room, Chris turned somber, and was very hesitant to pull
off his filthy clothes.

"Dude, you're gonna have to get naked around me some time."

"Yeah...I know. But can we just wait a minute...'til the other guys are
finished with the showers?"

Dean smiled at his friend. "Of course. But you should get ready."

Listlessly, Dean removed his cleats, and pulled off the school issued
uniform. It took forever, but Chris finally stripped off all but his
boxer briefs. By then, Dean was clad in a towel, wrapped around his
waist, and impatiently flipping through Latin flash cards.

"You can borrow my underwear, too, dude," Dean quietly reminded the
boy.

Chris blushed.

"I'm already wearing your pants, and shirts and socks."

"Your clothes won't get here until Friday, Chris."

Still, Dean understood the boy's reluctance. Wearing someone else's
undies was almost like using their toothbrush. He dropped the subject.

"Come on, O'Flaherty. There won't be any hot water left."

The blond sighed.

"I've only been naked with my little brother and...a couple of
friends," Chris quietly admitted. "Here goes."

Inhaling quickly and holding his breath, Chris pushed his underwear down
to his ankles. Lingering for a moment bent at the waist, the sheepish boy
slowly straightened up, with his eyes closed. He feared Dean's reaction,
but he needn't have worried.

Dean almost wolf-whistled, just to tease Chris, but his poor friend was
using every ounce of courage to show off bigger equipment than Dean's.
Though utterly hairless, and a long way from puberty's first sting,
Chris' soft, circumcised flesh was 2.5 inches in length  (as long as
Dean's cock when hard), and his tight little ball sack was no smaller
than Dean's.

"Holy shit! You've got a dick! Just like me!"

Dean jumped up, whipped off his towel, and shook his hips in a way that
made his genitals flap to and fro, and Chris melted in laughter.

"So no big deal, right? Let's hit it, dude."

With towels secured around their waists, and soap and shampoo in hand,
the roommates walked side by side down the carpeted hallway. Passing
several open doors, they plowed past boisterous boys in various states of
undress, giggling and shoving each other around.

The large tiled bathroom was divided into a toilet and sink area, and an
open shower and changing room. Two of the five shower heads were being
used by a 6th and a 7th grader, separated by a single unused space.

Dean didn't need to see it to know Chris was frozen petrified. Not only
would he have to get naked with a couple of boys he'd barely met, but he
might have to shower between two guys. New pairs of eyes would see him
stripped bare, judging him.

Resting his hand on Chris' neck, Dean leaned in and whispered, "It'll
be fine. You've got a wicked body, dude." While gently squeezing the
back of Chris' neck, with a thumb and his second finger, following some
enigmatic impulse, he stroked his index finger up and down the blond's
spinal column.

Sparkling warmth flooded Chris, and suddenly, he lost his fear. His towel
joined Dean's on the wall hooks, and he confidently strode into the
showers. He considered bravely taking the shower between the boys already
washing, but that would violate the same unspoken etiquette guys follow
with urinals: try to maintain space between you and the next fellow.

Nonetheless, he chose the shower directly to the left of a little 6th
grader - wasn't his name Noah? Whatever. The kid gave Chris a friendly
smile, then closed his eyes while he rinsed shampoo out of his black
hair. Chris gave the younger boy a once over, staring briefly at slight
genitals. Noah's sack was little more than a hint of scrotum, capped
with a penis less than an inch long. Much of that length was loose skin
that hung over the boy's tip. Chris quickly turned his attention to
scrubbing mud off his arms and legs, while mulling Noah's flesh. It took
him a minute to figure out Noah's was the first uncut penis he'd ever
seen.

Unfortunately, that lead to another reason Chris had been reluctant to
shower with other boys. He could feel blood rushing to his cock and he
turned toward the opposite direction, just as Dean stepped under the
adjacent shower head, facing the tiled wall.

Chris panicked. If he turned toward the wall, both Noah and Dean would
see his hard-on. He opted to keep his back to Noah, reducing the
potential ridicule to a source of one. At the same time, though, he
somehow knew Dean would never mock him.

Regardless, Dean was shampooing his long hair with his eyes closed, and
joking about something that had happened on the field, so he couldn't
see the 3-inch erection wagging in his direction.

Fortunately, Noah and the other boy left moments later. While they
toweled off, Chris turned his bone toward the wall, and soaped his pits,
then his ass.

Glancing over at Dean, he caught the boy grinning at him, then pointed
his chin down at Chris's engorged hardness. But Dean was also rock hard!
At 2.5 inches, it was smaller than Chris', but not by much that mattered
- at least, to him.

The bathroom door shut behind Noah and his friend, and Dean giggled.

"Boners happen, O'Flaherty. Wanna sword fight?"

Dean turned and shoved his hips at Chris, and twisted to and fro. His
little dagger swished left and right, making Chris squeal and laugh. He
was so tempted to smack his roommate's dick with his own. Really, he
wanted to hold Dean's and rub it, and dammit, he was just getting harder
thinking about everything he wanted to do with that cute boy's wiener.
But he was a surfer, and probably into girls. Life sucked!

"Someone might come in," Dean quietly hissed.

"You're right. Only one thing to do, then."

Without warning, Dean grabbed Chris' faucet handle, and spun it all the
way cold.

Needles of icy water made the blond boy shriek, and he quickly returned
the favor with Dean's shower.

Laughing hysterically, and dancing in the frigid downpour, the boys not
only lost their erections, but also felt their genitals contracting into
tiny little balls, retreating into their bodies. Only then could they
finish really washing up.

Back in their room, the boys needed to dress for dinner. Fortunately, the
school had already provided a package with Chris' dinner uniform: a
blazer, gray slacks, white shirts and tie. Unfortunately, he faced the
socks and underwear issue.

Dean tossed him a pair of black socks, and held out a pair of baby blue
trunks.

"It's either these or your brother's..."

Chris sighed. The idea of Dean's underwear making contact with his groin
was already uncurling his cold-compressed junk.

Maybe Jordan's little briefs would fit. Pulling a pair of Batman undies
out of his dresser, he slipped them up his willowy hips. He just barely
fit in the boy's size 10 underpants. The black waistband left a couple
of inches of butt crack exposed in the back, and carved an equatorial
divot from his ass to the boy's hairless pubic mound in front. Though
his junk had only started to warm up, they presented merely a small lump
behind the cartoon logo. Later, he'd fill those briefs out nicely.

Dean nodded approvingly. He actually liked the way the tight leg elastics
bit into the flesh just below Chris's firm, round globes. In fact, he
was sorely tempted to wrestle with the Dark Knight. It was clear to Dean,
if no one else, that Chris was gay. But the boy was so modest, the last
thing Dean wanted to do was compound Chris' inhibitions by hitting on
him. If something was meant to happen, it would happen.

"Looking good dude. Hurry up, or we'll be late."

"You don't think I look ridiculous?"

"No. Kinda sexy, actually" Dean blurted accidentally.

Chris giggled, secretly wishing Dean were serious, and finished dressing.

That night, Chris didn't turn out the light until he was undressed for
bed, and Dean started to slumber, happy with his roommate's growing
confidence. However, he'd barely drifted off when something pulled him
back awake: the gentle cadence of rustling sheets and blankets. He knew
that melody so well.

Chris was buried under his bedding, but faint screen illumination seeped
out, flickering across the floor and far wall.

Swish. Swish. Swish. The steady rhythm of fabric moving with a young
boy's arm.

The sound was intoxicating and arousing, and Dean's cock grew rigid with
need. He couldn't ignore it. He needed to rub it so very badly.

Quietly - oh so quietly - he gently peeled his cinching waistband down,
past his painfully blood-engorged little prong, and hooked it under his
nuts. His cock was so hard it bounced like a door spring against his
hairless pubic mound. Pinching his diamond hardness with his thumb and
index finger just below his helmet's ridge, Dean pulled his circumcision
scar over his tender little knob, and back.

Almost silently, he rubbed himself in time with his roommate.

Swish. Swish. Swish.

Stroke. Stroke. Stroke.

Dean could just picture Chris' bigger, thicker prick. How was he jacking
it? Like this? Oh yeah, Chris was jacking it just like he was. Pushing
and pulling his flamingly itchy rod with two fingers. And that's how he
would be jacking Chris right now, if they were in the same bed. Rubbing
the boy's stem and helmet slowly, steadily.

Swish. Swish. Swish.

Stroke. Stroke. Stroke.

Chris's bedding ruffled faster. Whatever porn he was looking at on his
phone was getting the job done, and Chris was getting closer. If only it
were he, Dean thought, recalling the details of his roommate's erection
he'd memorized in a glance. He'd treasure that slight upward curve of
the boy's helmet, and the way the ridge flared over a very pale
circumcision scar.

Chris' bedding fluffed faster, and Dean heard his stifled panting, then
a moan. Yeah, dude, I'd be pulling that moan out of you, jerking you so
hard, just like you're jerking me, Chris.

Chris' bed springs started to squeak, while the boy wacked it with
reckless abandon. Dean almost gave in to the same incautiousness, but
kept stroking himself quietly, with his finger tips. He could almost feel
Chris' cock instead of his own. And then, knowing his friend was so
close, Dean's anus started to clench, and his little scrotum retracted.

A gasping moan erupted from Chris' bedding, quickly stifled in a pillow.
At the exact same time, Dean bit into his own pillow and whimpered, and
let his tender little love pickle take over. Shuddering and shaking, his
immature cock detonated with prickly, tickling fire. Pulse after glorious
pulse of dry ecstasy washed over Dean, mirroring Chris' explosive - and
noisy - climax, 5 feet away.

Moments later, both boys fell into a dreamless night.

Over the next month, the roommates' friendship blossomed, and they grew
inseparable. At the same time, though he was still physically bashful,
Chris became socially bold, and unhesitant with his quick wit.

While mocking New England accents - especially Dean's - he also made fun
of his own Jersey Boy dialect, telling stories about uncles in made up
towns like "Weehawken," or "Hoboken." If you believed Chris, everyone
in "Juhzee" was either in the mob or sold bagels for a living.

Naturally, rumors spread about the nature of their friendship. Cornered
by a couple of classmates one day in early October, Chris denied Dean and
he were gay lovers. Secretly, though, he really wished it were true.
Sometimes, he was sure his new best friend liked boys in general, and was
attracted to him in particular. There was no denying the way Dean scoped
him out while they showered or got dressed. But, then just as quickly,
Chris would think up a thousand reasons why Dean was straight, and he
didn't want to risk their friendship testing Dean's interest.

But a couple of days later, it would be Dean who broached the subject,
over a long holiday weekend in early October.

It had rained heavily that Saturday, while the boys rode their mountain
bikes on a forest trail into town for ice cream. By the time they
returned mid-afternoon, they were wet, muddy and exhausted.

Chris was no longer timid about showering with other boys, especially
Dean. While they scrubbed off Connecticut clay, Chris mentioned his
grandfather's scarcely believable stories about public schools in the
olden days. Back in the 70s, kids had to shower together after gym class.
Chris would have died of embarrassment. Dean laughed, but the thought of
scrubbing his ass and junk in front of 50 other boys made his dick dance,
and he had to crank up the cold water.

Freshly scrubbed, the boys returned to their room in the nearly vacant
dorm. All the students who could easily get home had left school the day
before.

"I gotta tell you about Frank and Joe, dude. They think you and I are
boyfriends," Dean said with an amused grin, while pulling a black
t-shirt on over his otherwise naked body. Chuckling he described the
interrogation earlier that week by a couple of 8th graders.

Hunched over to pull on a fresh pair of boxer briefs, Chris froze, and
blushed, then finished pulling on his underwear.

Forcing a laugh, Chris mentioned a similar encounter with a couple of
other boys.

"They're just jealous of what we got, dude. I guess we just hit
different."

"They'd be lucky to room with a hottie like you, Dean."  Oh shit - did
that just come out of my mouth?

"Your the sexy beast, O'Flaherty," Dean replied quietly, studying his
friend.

Chris pulled on his glasses to see his friend clearly.

Laying back on his bed in just his trunks and t-shirt, Dean looked at him
with with complete sincerity.

"You really think I'm...attractive?" Outside his family, only two other
boys had told him that: the teenage cousin he'd been messing around with
since he was 10, as well as his best friend back home.

"Most definitely, dude. You slay. Especially in your super hero
undies."

Chris laughed, but was quick to point out, "They're NOT MINE. They're
Jordan's!"

Dean smirked, gently taunting his roommate.

"Then why do you still have them? You shipped everything else back to
your `rents."

"You know why. Mom said not to bother with them or the socks."

"You tossed the socks on day one. I think you like pretending you're
Thor."

Chris blushed. He actually missed wearing Underoos and a towel cape.
Maybe that was the reason he hadn't trashed his brother's underpants
when his clothes had finally arrived. Maybe.

None of that mattered, anyway. He wanted to get back on point, and lay
back on his bed half-dressed, peering intently at his roommate.

"Truth or Dare, Dean?"

"Truth."

"Do you really think I'm good looking?"

"Fuck yeah. You're straight fire. Truth or Dare, Chris?"

"Truth."

"Are you into dudes?"

It took a long moment, and Chris closed his eyes when he confirmed what
Dean already knew with a whisper.

"Yeah. I am. Is that a problem?"

"Fucks no."

"Truth or Dare, Dean?"

"Truth."

"Are you...attracted to guys?"

"Uh-huh," Dean replied, with an exaggerated nod, unconsciously licking
his lower lip.

Chris' jaw dropped from his roommate's admission. How often had he
jerked off to thoughts of Dean?

His cock twitched into action, and Chris quickly clasped his hands over
his lap. 5 feet away, he could see a stirring in Dean's stretchy
underpants, but the long-haired brunette was doing nothing to hide it.

"Truth or Dare, Chris?"

"Dare."  Would Dean dare him to touch him?

"I dare you to wear your Spiderman underwear for the rest of the
night."

"They're NOT MINE!" Chris laughed with frustration at his friend's
teasing.

He was also disappointed the dare hadn't gone the way he thought it
would. Still, while Dean closed his eyes, Chris rummaged around for his
web-slinger briefs, and then a red t-shirt. By the time he was finished,
he was achingly hard, and there was no disguising the rigid prong surging
all the way  past the red piping to the red waistband. But when he told
Dean to open his eyes, he made no attempt to conceal his condition.

Gazing at his lithe friend in briefs two sizes too small brought Dean's
cock to full attention.

"Damn but that's lit, dude."

"Really? How?"

Climbing off the bed, Dean turned Chris by the shoulders, so he could see
his profile in the full-length mirror on their closet door.

"You can see everything. Like this," Dean answered. He lifted the back
of Chris t-shirt and turned the boy a little more, then fanned his
fingers across two or three inches of crevice uncovered by the boy's
binding underpants.

Dean turned Chris again, so the boy faced forward toward the mirror.
Then, he reached around from behind and dragged a finger up the rigged
flesh quaking behind cartoon webbing. Chris shuddered.

"And then there's this," Dean whispered. He kissed Chris' neck.
Clasping Chris with a thumb and forefinger on either side of the boy's
cotton-caged prong, he slowly fluted up and down the needful rod.

It wasn't Spider sense tingling in his groin that drew a long moan out
of Chris. It was that slow, steady friction through his undies, the
hard-on pressing against his backside, and Dean's lips on his shoulder
and neck. It was really happening!!''

Chris turned around, and gazed into his friend's sparkling, light jade
eyes, then reached down to caress Dean's turgid flesh through the boy's
sky-blue trunks.

"Dude, if want to see everything, why don't we just get naked?"

Dean sighed, relishing the delightful sensation of a palm rubbing up and
down his needy cock, while he tickled Chris' cloth-bound balls with his
fingertips.

"It's kinda like opening a Christmas gift you asked for. You know
what's inside, but half the fun unwrapping it."

Staring into one another's eyes, and losing themselves in the sensations
in the groins and fingers, the boy's drew closer. With magnetic
attraction, their lips collided gently, and they traded several tender
smacks, before landing for a long and lingering kiss.

Trading breath through open lips, the boys explored one another's mouths
with tickling tongues. Chris quietly mewled into Dean's mouth, and his
body undulated with desire.

The kisses grew more passionate, while the boys rotated their heads so
their tongues could zestfully wrestle. They rubbed one another's cocks
more forcefully, releasing surges of itchy friction.

Dean's lips dragged up to Chris' ear.

"You've had some practice kissing."

"Uh-huh."

"Boy or girl?"

"Boys," Chris replied. He'd tell Dean all about his sexual history
some other time. Just then, he squealed from Dean's tongue entering his
ear canal.

Wriggling away, Chris kissed the tip of Dean's nose, and gave the boy a
long and meaningful squeeze.

"Is this present for me?"

Dean gasped, giggled and nodded, and Chris dropped to his knees.

Dean's tantalizing hardness throbbed invitingly through his skin-tight
underpants, and Chris rubbed his face all over it. Finally, he was going
touch his best friend down there. But first, he had to see IT!

Slipping his thumbs inside Dean's waistband at his hips, Chris pulled
the surfer's underwear down his lean, but muscular legs, and let them
drop.

Dean's one-eyed serpent waggled up and down at a diagonal to his pubis.
The diminutive flesh was was capped with a pink bell. A smooth little
scrotum, round as a ball, was still partially submerged into the boy's
base.

"Fuck. You're so extra hot."

The warm, moist air from Chris words tantalized Dean's flesh, and it
flexed on its own.

Delicately, Chris clasped Dean's shaft, and it was like an electric
shock flowed between the boys! They gasped simultaneously.

"You're so fucking hard, dude!"

All Chris' indecisions vanished, and he eagerly got down to business.
Lightly stroking a finger and thumb up and down Dean's length, Chris
familiarized himself with all the rigid contours. His other thumb and
index finger tickled Dean's scrotum, then found the little marbles
floating within.

Stroking the boy steadily, Chris rolled, and pulled, and gently squeezed
his friend's wondrous testicles. He still couldn't believe it was
actually happening. He not only had an angelically cute surfer boy for a
roommate, one who was kind and caring, but he was now jacking that boy
off. Yet, the Jersey boy hungered for more.

Chris leaned in and kissed Dean's diminutive nozzle. Extending his
tongue, he tickled the underside of Dean's head with just the tip,
making his friend gasp. Then, he washed all of Dean's glans, twisting
his tongue around and around the tender gem.

Sealing his lips behind the ridge, Chris sucked and licked on Dean's
knob, while continuing to stroke his stem, and fondle the boy's nuts. To
his delight, Dean moaned and practically doubled over. He held onto
Chris' shoulders like safety bars on a rollercoaster, because Chris'
growing enthusiasm was sending him reeling. Dean's breath grew quick and
ragged.

Less than a minute later, he could feel his climax building, and he
gasped that he was about to cum.

Releasing Dean from his hands and mouth, he grinned up at his friend.

"Close to the edge, already ?"

Dean nodded affirmatively, huffing to catch his breath.

"You shoot much?"

Dean shook his head.

"I don't shoot at all."

For a second, Chris looked disappointed, then he brightened.

"Me either. But that means you can cum at least a couple of times."

Chris' personal record was 5 times in an hour, but record breaking
wasn't the point.

"Yeah, no problem there."

"Let's do it at the same time, Dean."

"Savage!"

Dean kicked his underwear off his ankle, and helped Chris to his feet.
The blond boy pulled off his glasses, and cast them aside. The boys'
lips met for a tender smooch, then Dean gently guided Chris down onto his
bed.

With Chris face-up on the mattress, Dean rested his knees on either side
of the boy's head, then leaned down, over Chris' groin, in a "69"
position.

Chris' tent pole taunted Dean, flexing upward and stretching his
skin-tight cartoon undies, then slamming back down a couple of times. It
was such an arousing hint of what lay trapped underneath that Dean leaned
down to kiss Chris' cotton-strapped weapon, before skinning down the
front of his super snug briefs.

Chris lifted his butt so that Dean could shove those Spiderpanties down
to the boy's knees.

From his perspective, Chris 3-inch erection was upside down, but every
bit as glorious as the few times he'd seen it rise in the shower. It was
like a pale marble pestle, with two balls thinly wrapped in smooth,
pallid skin, barely visible at the base.

Dean sighed when Chris delicately clasped him mid-shaft with fingertips.
With a feather-light touch, he slowly glided over Dean's steamy soft
skin toward his face, then gently rubbed back up again. It was
exquisitely tingly tickle torture, requiring the sort of patience Dean
had never had.

Given the way he patiently took his time teasing Dean, Chris definitely
had more experience pleasuring boys. If only Dean could hold out against
that wonderfully slow friction on his shaft.

Dean tried to give as good as he got. There was a kind of seam running
from the underside Chris' crown all the way down his balls. Did it go
further? He'd find out later, but just then, Dean spent a couple of
minutes tracing up and down that path with his fingertip.

Then, that devilishly tickling tongue sponged on his crown.

`Uhhhh!" Dean groaned, and his torso violently quivered, flexing and
releasing his young abs. But then, he mirrored Chris, and gently dabbed
at the boy's gaping pee hole with his own tongue.

Chris' lips sealed around Dean's head again. That swirling saliva
maelstrom was pulling on him. Chris scrubbed his sensitive nozzle with
his lips moving like a goldfish, and his tongue lashing all around. Then,
Chris curved the sides of his tongue, forming a tube around Dean's
length, and masturbated the boy with his mouth.

With his weight on one elbow, Dean gripped Chris' unit by the base and
tilted it upward. It was warm and quivered, and it looked like pink puff
pastry. But it tasted like a finger when Dean pursed his lips around the
tip. It didn't fill his mouth, so Dean could alternately suck on Chris'
cap, and twirl his tongue around it.

Caressing Dean's slender, round buns, Chris pulled off of Dean's
helmet, and kissed the short distance to the boy's balls. Engulfing his
roommate's scrotum with his steamy mouth, Chris sucked on Dean's bag,
and tongue-scrubbed each nut individually.

At the same time, he carefully clasped Dean's saliva-dripping knob with
the a forefinger on the top and thumb on the underside, then rubbed slow
circles on both sides. If it weren't wet, that friction would have been
unendurable. As it was, Chris' touch was was pulling high pitched moans
out of Dean, around a mouthful of penis.

Dean pushed his lips all the way to Chris' glorious base, and buried his
nose in the boy's half-submerged sack. Holding his friend's quivering
prong against his tongue was so sublime it made Dean shiver. It was
almost as arousing as the fingertips tormenting his tip, and the way
Chris was teasing his balls.

While sucking back to the ridge of Chris' glans, he rotated his head
counter clockwise, then bobbed forward again, rotating his head
clock-wise. Back and forth, he sucked with a corkscrew fashion.  All the
while, he was sucking and swallowing his own copious saliva. Chris
gurgled a moan around his scrotum, and Dean picked up the pace.

Chris kissed down Dean's diminutive flesh to the crown, and replaced his
fingers with his lips. Sucking on his friend's head was enthralling. But
Dean's steady, wet friction was pushing Chris ever closer to the edge.
He could feel his anus tightening, and muscles pulling on balls. It had
been a couple of months since he'd been with another boy, and he could
scarcely believe he'd held off his orgasm this long - especially with
Dean!

Gasping and pulling off of Dean, Chris huffed, "I'm almost there!"

"Me too!" Dean gasped, while Chris' cock fell from his lips.

Clasping the surfer's melons with both hands, he pulled the boy down, so
his neck didn't have to do so much work. Such a fine ass! Chris squeezed
and caressed Dean's gluteal muscles, while rolling wet delight up and
down with his tongue and lips. His climax was looming, but he wanted to
get Dean off first.

Dean's bowels were tightening, pulling on his balls with gravitational
force, and he was now racing to finish Chris. He no longer corkscrewed
his head, but simply sucked up and back, in a mounting fury, while
squeezing the boy's scrotum with the same rhythm.

Random shivers ran through Chris. His whole body felt like it was
sparkling. Even in the dimming light of late afternoon, everything seemed
to shimmer, and even Dean seemed to glow. Sex had never felt like this
before!

Still bobbing on Dean's blood-engorged candy cane, Chris fingers
absently stroked inside Dean's buns, prying them apart. His finger
feathered in and out of Dean's canyon. When his index finger found
Dean's anus, he tickled it lightly.

The sensation on his boy hole sent a shockwave through Dean. It was like
being shot with a diamond bullet right through his soul. Instantly, his
balls contracted, while his cock swelled in Chris' mouth. His cock
silently roared, flaring with a dry detonation, and his hips
instinctively thrust down, pumping his cock in and out of of his
friend's sucking maw. Stars burst in his tightly shut eyes, and
distantly, he heard his own cries, strangely muffled, while he fucked his
friend's mouth.

The power of Dean's instantaneous climax pushed Chris over the edge.
Fortunately, Dean's mouth had gone slack, and he hadn't bitten down.
Chris hammered upward, rubbing his cock between Dean's lips and against
the boy's drooling tongue, releasing the first powerful wave of dry,
itchy fire. But his anguished moan was momentarily stifled by Dean's
smooth pubic mound, pressed against his lips.

It was a wonder neither boy clenched their teeth, while they fucked each
other's faces in a pyrotechnic finish. Their whole shared world was
nothing but a series of loudly roaring, honey-flavored lights bursting
from their cocks in unison.

At last, though, their pulsations dwindled, the blinding lights faded
away, and the boys came to their senses. Dean pulled Chris' underwear
back in place, rolled off the boy, and lay beside him. Their bodies
jerked with aftershocks while they caught their breath, and it took a
moment before the boys realized they were holding hands. Dean gave his
friend a lingering squeeze.

"Whooooah...."

"Uh-huh..."

"I never came so hard."

"Me either."

"You want me to do you again, Dean?"

"I'm good!" All his nerve endings were raw, and about the only contact
he could take was Chris fingers intertwined with his own. Well, that and
the brief and tender kiss Chris gave him.

"Me too! Can orgasms get more intense? Like, when you shoot sperm, it's
s'posed to be like 100 times better. But I don't think I could survive
that."

Dean grinned at Chris, and cupped the softening front of the boy's
Spiderman underpants. Even though Dean was gentle, Chris still shuddered.

"Don't worry about little Peter Porker here. You've got radioactive
blood. When you start shooting webbing, you'll be able to handle it."

"Spiderman shoots webs from his hands."

"Yeah, and real spiders shoot them from their asses. What's your
point?"

Both boys cackled, then Chris suddenly climbed off his bed.

"If I gotta wear these all night, then you have to, too."

Reaching randomly into his underwear drawer, he pulled out a random pair
of cartoon briefs, and tossed them at Dean. Unfolding the undies, Dean
chuckled, and held them up with both hands. The blond pulled on his
glasses to see the super hero printed across the fly, below the green
waistband.

"Hulk Smash," Dean cooed, in a sultry voice.

"Promises promises..."

"Just wait `til tonite, Chris."

"We gotta jet. Dinner's in like 10 minutes."

"Every meal's buffet-style this weekend. We can show up anytime, and
nobody's taking attendance."

"Yeah, but I'm seriously starving."

Come to think of it, Dean was famished, too. And he should have been
nodding out after the astonishingly magical sex he'd just had. But
instead, he was energized in a vibrant world.

Dean and Chris only knew a handful of the three dozen or so weekend
orphans dropping in for a casual meal in a vast dining hall designed to
formally serve hundreds. But they soon got to know a couple of juniors
and seniors at the table-for-10 they chose. Uncharacteristically, the
upperclassmen actually gave them the time of day, even if a lot of their
comments went over the younger boys' heads. But then, it was the bond of
a small group in jeans and hoodies, rather than a sea of school blazers
and ties at dinner, that kind of set a very homey tone.

Chris was one of those Northeastern boys who would wear nylon basketball
shorts and a t-shirt, day and night, year round, if he could. And despite
temperatures in the 50s that night, that was how he dressed for the
evening (along with a warm jacket). This was very convenient when the
boys found a couple of seats in an empty auditorium row for the Saturday
night movie. As the lights went down for a campy James Bond oldie from
the oughts, Dean's hand glided to the inside of Chris' sylphlike stem,
making the boy giggle. Damn, but Dean loved his friend's thigh. It was
glassy smooth, yet wonderfully soft. Sure, there was muscle there - the
kid was a budding soccer star. But it wasn't corded with muscle. It
brought out Dean's protective instincts.

Unlike Chris, Dean hated being cold, and wore thick sweat pants, which
made stroking Dean's thigh less satisfactory for Chris. Yet 20 minutes
into the film, Chris' fingers travelled up to Dean's elastic waistband,
and then slid inside. First he mirrored Dean's slow and delicate thigh
caresses. But when all the audience was riveted to a car chase, Chris's
fingers glided up Dean's legs. Momentarily, he toyed with the Dean's
snug underwear leg elastics, sliding an index finger from outer thigh to
crotch and back, momentarily making contact with the boy's very warm
nutsack. Then, they travelled up to front panel, where Dean was already
rigidly stretching his mercilessly tight cartoon briefs.

Dean quietly gasped, and his fingers skimmed up Chris' leg, into the
boy's baggy shorts. Glancing around, Dean confirmed that the 20 or so
other students, as well school staff and families, were scattered well
away from them. So he had no hesitation about sliding his fingers past
Chris' leg hems, and over the steamy, cottony prairie to the infertile
crescent.

Chris was also rock hard, straining against his super tight underpants.

Warm as baking dough, hard as steel, and yet fluffy soft in its textile
trap, Chris' cock felt glorious under Dean's fingertips, and he gently
caressed its length for a moment, before giving it a gentle pinch.

Chris squirmed, and bit his free hand to partially stifle a squeak. Two
rows down, the head of groundskeeping, and his wife briefly glanced over
with annoyance.

"We gotta keep it on the DL," Chris whispered in warning, and Dean
nodded his head.

Of the the next hour and a half, the boys gently tickled one another
through their underwear. Occasionally, one would run finger tips up and
down the other's cotton-constricted members, teasing the painfully
swollen hardness with the lightest touch, then return to fondling thighs.
Then, each would stroke the other with a few times with a firmer grip.
Richly tormenting one another to the brink on a few occasions, it took
astonishing willpower for the boys to not succumb to their bodies'
demands.

When Pierce Brosnan finally kissed Halle Berry, Dean leaned into Chris
ear and whispered, "I wanna mack on you so bad." Leaving the boy with a
gentle peck on the earlobe, he also cupped all of Chris' genitals and
gave him a meaningful squeeze.

Squeezing his lips together, Chris couldn't silence the moan piping out
of his nostrils. Fortunately, the ending credits theme thundered through
the auditorium, and no one heard him.

Leaving the auditorium, the pair practically jogged back to Hale Hall.
One other boy on their floor had stayed that weekend, and hip-hop quietly
thumped out of his room. Passing it, they knocked on the door connecting
to the house parents' home, checked in for the night, then hurried back
to their room.

While Chris shut and locked their door, Dean turned on some quiet
grooves. Despite the fact there was no Lights Out on holiday weekends,
the boys didn't bother turning on any lamps. Moonlight streaming through
their curtain was enough to bath each boy in a pearly sheen, while they
tossed their jackets, then their draped their arms over one another.
Wordlessly smiling at each other, they simply giggled for a few moments.

"This is so righteous."

"Chris, you almost made me cum a couple of times, like when that ice
castle blew up."

Their lips met for a couple of gentle smacks, and then alighted for a
long, lingering kiss.

Dean's hands glided down the front of Chris t-shirt to his shorts, which
he quickly untied. While Chris combed all his fingers through Dean's
long, silken mane, Dean pulled open the blond's basket ball shorts and
let them fall to his feet. One palm cupped the throbbing hardness behind
Spiderman's head, while the other slid around Chris' slender hip, to
gently caress the two or so inches of crevice above the boy's biting
waistband. Fuck, how he loved that sexy little hint of bottom!

With warm, yet delicate pressure on his painfully engorged prong and
tightening testicles, Chris kissed Dean harder, tilting his head to
complement the angle of Dean's. Pulling away, Chris rested his face
against Dean's for a moment.

"God I love kissing you, dude,"

Panting, he slid his hands down to untie Dean's gym pants and send them
to the boy's ankles. Not wanting to break contact with the side of Chris
warm face, Dean clumsily kicked one foot out of his pants, while leaving
the other side tangled. Chris sent his shorts sailing, then pulled the
bottom hem of his friend's t-shirt up, stripping it away. Dean smiled
and removed Chris' glasses, then t-shirt, leaving both boys in nothing
but undersized super hero briefs, and white athletic socks.

Dean slid his hands around Chris waist, clasped his hands over Chris'
wondrously soft and slender butt cheeks, and gazed into the boy's
luminous, moonlit eyes. Laying his hands over Dean's shoulders, Chris
smiled back, and pressed his tormented, textile-trapped tube against
Dean's enraged erection.

"You almost made me cum when those girls were sword fighting, Dean."

"Sword fight, huh? That's a great idea!"

Chris giggled, and Dean gently pushed the boy down onto his mattress,
cross-wise, then spread Chris' knees with his own.

With Chris' feet flat on the ground, and his butt cheeks resting on the
mattress edge, Dean lay atop his roommate. Both boys sighed, while their
rigid prongs strained to embrace through their cotton cartoon cages.
Their lithe chests sealed in warmth that radiated more than body head.

Dean's lips met Chris', and their mouths gently fueled their desire.
While they shared breath, and their tongues met to dance in rivers of
passion, their hips slowly started grinding.

Heads rotating and tilting for better access, tongues shoveling into one
another's mouths, licking and wrestling in mounting mania.

Chris still couldn't believe his luscious surfer roommate had seduced
him, and was now shamelessly humping his hardness against him - in
ridiculously tight and childish underpants! He pumped back in a fever.

Dragging his mouth away from Chris', Dean repositioned his hands under
the boy's bare shoulders, and gripped them from behind for leverage.
Resetting the balls of his feet on the rug, Dean scrunched his eyes shut,
and nested his jaw on his friend's shoulder. Chris felt so sweet and
wonderful under him.

"Damn you're hard, Chris."

"So are you!"

Raising his hips, Dean rolled his lurching bulge back along Chris'
undie-bound bone, then drove it forward. Pumping slowly, he drove mad
tingles up and down Chris' raging boyhood.

Sliding his hands into the back of Dean's briefs, Chris filled his hands
with the boy's slender, muscular buns. Every time Dean plunged, concave
divots formed on their sides. Chris squeezed those delicious globes, and
pulled Dean into him.

"Uhhh...that feels so good. Go a little faster?"

Like Dean needed any encouragement. The itchy friction demanded more
itchy friction. And the thick piping on their flies added blistering
roughage. It was making Dean grit his teeth, and throttled up. His heart
raced, and his breath was fast and ragged.

Chris was whimpering with every other breath, and his hips rose to ram
his boy flesh against Dean's. His roommate's boner felt glorious, like
it was trying to burrow into Chris' turgid rod. He could feel his orgasm
approaching. Chris wanted to make this glorious chafing last, but at the
same time, he needed to cum so badly.

For his own part, Dean couldn't slow down if he wanted to, and he
definitely didn't want to. Chris made him so deliriously horny, and all
he wanted was to hump the boy's lights out.

"Gonna cum, Chris!"

"Me too, dude!"

They pumped and pumped, rubbing together like super dry kindling.

About the same time, they both felt their anuses tightening, and their
prepubescent nuts pulling.

"Uuuuh! Uhhh! Uhhh!"

"Yess! Yess! Yess!"

Two raging cocks burst, vomiting dryly in little boy briefs. Dean's hips
flew up and down violently, punching each pulsation into his friend's
groin, while Chris moaned again and again.

Once again, the boys were lost in pyrotechnic flashes, and the
detonations in their cocks became berserk, rapturous waves of pleasure
washing from head to toe.

Their fluttering eruptions lessened, and finally died away, and Dean
collapsed onto Chris.

While they caught their breath, their bodies randomly shook with after
quakes. Chris continued to lightly caress Dean's buns, while Dean kissed
his friend's neck.

"Hulk really smashed."

Dean chuckled.

"That fucking Ragnarocked, dude," Dean whispered, and rolled off of
Chris. The blond leaned over and gave his roommate a gentle kiss.

"So lit."

"I guess when you tease stiffies for a couple of hours, it gets really
intense. That thing where we like got close a few times made it real
savage when it finally happened."

"Yeah. It's called `edging.' Like you get close to the edge, but then
don't cum a few times. It's s'posed to make you shoot real hard...I
guess when you can shoot."

"How do you know all this stuff?"

Chris silently collected his thoughts.

"Um, I'll tell you all about it after we brush our teeth."

Pulling bathrobes on, they hit the bathroom, and hurried back to their
room. Even as they pulled off their robes and socks, the boys were still
semi-hard.

"Let's get naked, dude."

Dean agreed. Though there was something bizarrely sexy about seeing Chris
in little boy underpants, he really wanted to snuggle with his friend in
the raw.

When their briefs came off, Chris snickered at the textured lines the
waistbands left on their skin, and the grooves the leg elastics had
carved just under their buns.

Totally nude, the young teens embraced, and their hands tenderly
feathered all over each other's backs and butts for a moment. Then, Dean
pulled back his blanket and top sheet, and climbed in. Chris slipped in,
and pulled the bedding over them.

The boys traded tender smacks, then slowly caressed one another's torsos
and hips. With a little prodding, Chris told Dean about the source of his
sexual expertise: his teenage cousin Luke, who'd slowly introduced Chris
to sexuality when he was 10. The 16 year old frequently babysat him over
the next two years, until he went away to college, and Chris to Phantom
Hill. Chris had been an eagerly horny apprentice, and introduced his best
friend to everything he'd learned from his cousin. But all that's
another story.

By the time Dean told Chris about his own carnal awakening with two
friends on Nantucket, the two roommates were rigid as nails. But Dean
thought his recollections weren't that interesting, so he gave Chris a
lingering kiss and changed the subject.

"So what kinda things did Luke do, Chris?"

Chris tapped a finger on his jaw with mock wonder. "Oh, let's see..."

Scuttling down to the nether regions of the bed, Chris found Dean's
slightly aromatic feet by feel. Taking the left in hand, he caressed it,
from heel to toe. It was long and slender, a surprisingly auspicious clue
to how Dean would eventually grow.

Holding Dean's voluptuously spicy foot in hand, Chris licked the
underside length, making Dean squeak.

"Ticklish?"

"Yeaaah..." Dean whined.

"Mmmmmkay," Chris replied with a chuckle, then did it again, but way
more slowly.

Dean was so painfully swollen he almost stroked himself, but he wanted to
see what Chris had yet in store, and kept his hand in check. Then, he
groaned in surprise and delight.

Chris dragged his tongue around Dean's big toe, spending a long time on
the calloused underside, then sucked on all of it. Slowly fellating it,
Chris pulled Dean's toe in and out of his mouth, kissing it lovingly
every time.

Chris thought nothing was as deliciously exotic and erotic and psychotic
as the minerals rolling off of Dean's toe. The effect on Chris was like
spinach on Popeye, and his cock throbbed with the strength of a steam
engine.

Chris moved on to the the second toe, sucking and licking on it like it
were a gourmet treat, before moving on to the next. By the time Chris had
finished with all ten, Dean was gasping and moaning and clutching the
bedding with both fists.

Chris kissed his way up the inside of Dean's thighs to the boys tight
and tender nuggets.  Kissing the boy's smooth round scrotum, Chris was
amused to see Dean's bantam-weight baton beating its smooth pubic plain
like a drum. Giving the tender sack a gentle nibble, he went on to lick
it like a ball of ice cream for half a minute.

Dean's expectation for quick relief was quickly dashed when Chris kissed
up his agonizingly rigid rod, then up to his navel, and onto his chest.
He quietly chuckled at Dean's frustrated growls.

Then, Dean gasped.

Chris gently nibbled on one nipple, while lashing it with his tongue.
Then, Chris sucked on it, and Dean cried out. It was like an electric
shock surged out of the hardening little cone, and Dean couldn't
strangle his cry.

Nipples on guys had always been a mystery - until that moment! They were
pleasure dials and Chris was turning them to "11." Sucking and kissing
and nibbling and licking on the left, then the right, he was making Dean
writhe and moan.

With an audible slurp, Chris let that wet, beige bliss button slid out of
his mouth. Intensely grinning with satisfaction, he couldn't quite purse
his lips to properly kiss his way up Dean's throat.

"That was sick! Lemme do your's, Chris."

"Later, dude," the blond replied, brimming with a kind of confidence
he'd never felt before. "Just kiss me."

Their lips met lightly, but in seconds, the boys were sucking on one
another's mouths with ravenous compulsion. Gently gnawing on each
other's lips, and fellating tongues, the boy's grappled and fondles and
rolled in the bed. Their ragingly rigid cocks finally pressed together,
skin-to-skin.

Coming to rest on their sides while still mashing their mouths together,
the boys slid their hands to each other's groins. Chris mirrored Dean,
gripping the boy mid-shaft with a thumb and two fingers.

Deep down, he wished Dean had the jumbo flesh of an older teen, something
Chris would never tell the boy who was becoming more than his best
friend. Dean was otherwise so mesmerizingly arousing, it didn't really
matter. So he was enthralled to take that wonderfully hard flesh in his
fingertips, pulling the boy's skin over his knob, then rub it back all
the way to his hairless base. Its pulsating hardness was magnificently
enchanting.

Likewise, Dean was intoxicated with the feeling of Chris' somewhat
bigger cock. Diamond hard, steamy and alluring, it radiated everything
enticing about the boy himself. Dean rubbed it slowly and steadily, while
gazing into the Chris' alluring blue eyes. The boys were completely at
ease, pleasuring one another with one steady rhythm, as if they'd been
doing it for years, and yet filled with the all the hunger of new lovers.

After a minute, Chris gently peeled Dean's hand off him. Scooching
forward so he was an inch away from his roommate, Chris took both their
cocks in one hand, crushing them together in a sandwich. Stroking them
both with a single fist, Chris buried his hand underneath to tickle both
sets of balls with his fingertips. Still attached to their penis roots,
and half-submerged in their bodies, Chris and Dean's scrotums barely
touched. And yet Chris stoked their fires with gentle squeezes.

"I love feeling you, Dean. Your dick is like candy - but like, hand
candy?"

"Definitely hard candy...I guess we'll last a little longer this time,
huh?"

"Yeah, but it won't be as intense."

As they leaned for a gentle kiss, the boys didn't know how wrong they
were.

The burnishing friction, and cock-to-cock union was so spellbinding,
Chris' slow pace grew faster, churning itchy sparkles down their shared
flesh.

The boys' breathing grew tattered, but in a synchronized rhythm. At the
same time, their cocks were pulsing in a matching cadence, and their
heartbeats drummed in a single tempo.

"I don't...wanna...slow down. Feels...too good!"

"Don't...please don't!"

Their lips joined again, briefly. Then, their tongue tips simply lolled
around, languidly slopping like amorous seals.

Chris was fapping them furiously, and their nuts were tightening, and
their exhalations were piping moans in the same key, and the itchy
tingles were suddenly exploding!

Fireballs erupted behind Chris' cinched eyelids, while Dean lost himself
in a vast, bright space, with shimmering auroras bursting into into brief
shapes, almost hinting at human familiarity.

Chris and Dean wailed in a pitch that could have shattered glass, while
their cocks hammered with volley after volley of dry palpitations.
Shuddering, their tummies and bowels flexed and relaxed in unison, while
their bodies strained to eject what they could not yet make.

Eventually, their joint crescendo faded, and Chris simply held their
quivering tools together, though in a light grip.

While they caught their breath, Chris and Dean rocked with after shocks,
sighing in wonder.

"Fuck me, dude. That was the best yet!"

"No shit!"

After a few moments, Chris released their softening members, and Dean
pulled the covers over them.

"I'm so lucky you're my roommate, Dean. It's like fate, or
something."

"If fate were gonna happen, it'd happen at Phantom Hill," Dean
replied, jokingly.

Chris rolled onto his back, and Dean curled over him, with a thigh draped
over both of Chris' legs.

"You think the rumors are true about this place?  You know, like the
ghosts and angels, and stuff?"

"And Big Foot? Yeah, Big Foot, for sure," Dean answered, with a
chuckle.

"Shut up, dude," Chris giggle, pinching Dean's nipple. "I saw the
lights in the forest. And some seniors swear Harold Swanson walks through
dorm walls."

Dean was quiet. Chris wasn't ready to hear what he'd already seen on
campus, like the boy in the clock, and the 19th century farm kids
disappearing into upper hill mist. As for Harold...well, that headmaster
from the 1940s did more than walk through walls. Waking up one midnight,
and unable to get back to sleep, Dean had been wanking himself back to
slumber, only to find that old perv staring down at him from the ceiling.

"Yeah, well, if the place is haunted, it's not like ghosts haven't
anything better to do than watch you pull your pud," Dean lied, as a
joke.

It had the intended effect, and Chris laughed, and pinched Dean's nipple
again. Instantly, the boys were rolling and pinching, cackling and
spanking. Inevitably, their roughhousing melted into more intimate
fondling. Kissing and caressing, they were quickly aroused yet again.
Taking turns sucking one another off, they were both astonished at how
not only how quickly they came, but the psychedelic nature of their
orgasms. It was as if the more they touched one another, the more
intensity they stoked in their bodies.

Within days, it was clear that the boys were not just having sex. They
were making love, though it would be a fortnight before either uttered
that word.


=     =     =     =     =     =


One week before Halloween, Gabriel Dornay became part of the student
body. The winsome 14-year-old Belgian boy didn't arrive on campus and
join the school so much as he materialize as part of Phantom Hill. It
seemed that he had always been attending the school, though no-one could
remember at what grade he'd started. And though he rarely spoke, the
elegantly attired, willowy boy held court at meals, actively listening to
intense conversations.

But for Dean, it was like he'd awoken in a madhouse.

On Wednesday, the striking boy had never existed. On Thursday, everyone
but Dean knew Gabriel, and believed he'd been a student all year. Chris
even recalled how Gabriel had helped him with his French homework.

That first night, as Dean was leaving the dining hall after dinner, he
passed Gabriel's table. None of the 9th graders nor teachers at the
table seemed interested in breaking their animated conversation with
Gabriel. Yet the boy paused and smiled at Dean, with a warm familiarity -
as if he knew Dean. It rattled the Nantucket boy, and that night, he
buried himself in Chris' passionate embrace twice before he could get
any sleep.

The next afternoon, a Friday, Dean was trotting through the dorm's empty
vestibule in his soccer kit, headed for the fields, when Gabriel entered
from the outside.

"Good afternoon, Dean."

Gabriel's voice was sweet and melodious, and much higher in pitch than
other 14-year-olds. In fact, face-to-face, Gabriel didn't seem as tall
as his growth-spurting peers. His supposed peers.

"Uh, hey man."

He had too many questions about this strange boy, but was running late.
Dean was about to push past Gabriel when the Belgian boy stopped him with
a gesture.

"We need to talk, you and I."

"About what?"

"Important matters. Please come up to my room after the evening study
period." Gabriel pointed at the stairs. "Room 306."

"Three oh six?"

Dean laughed. Hale Hall had no third floor. But Gabriel seemed deadly
serious.

"Yes. I'll be waiting."

"Sure, dude," Dean said, then headed for the door, then froze with the
sudden thought he might be at the center of a huge prank. Angry, he spun
on his heel, only to face an empty room.

How had Gabriel disappeared so fast? Well, fuck him, Dean thought. He'd
deal with that prick later. Jogging out, Dean's cleat's clacked on the
sidewalk as he hurried toward the fields. Just a few yards away, he heard
Donovan Miller calling his name.

"Yo, wait up!"

"Move your ass, Dono-"

Holy shit! Dean's heart skipped a beat when he turned. Donovan Miller
stood in the shadow of a gabled window, jutting out of a third floor
seamlessly joined to the two below.

Fuck me. Who or what the fuck is Gabriel Dornay? Dean had felt no
spectral wave. And he sure wasn't one of those mindless "loops," he'd
witnessed on occasion, like the boy in the clock in the arts building.

"Loops" were his mom's word for the universe's recordings of people
that replayed over and over, only jerky, like 8MM films with frames
missing. Most hauntings were just loops - sad remainders of tragedy.
Neither Dean nor his mom could stand visiting the northern Great Light
House, where only they could see a fisherman filling his pockets with
rocks, then walking into the Atlantic, over and over and over.

As Donovan skipped up to him, Dean shook his brain clear.

"You OK, Dean?" The 6th grader looked up at him curiously. "It's like
you saw a ghost."

Dean forced a chuckle, and a lie. "No such thing Donnie. Except the
Cheetos haunting your teeth."

The boys playfully shoved one another, while hurrying to the fields.

All through the rest of the day and into the night, Dean couldn't put
his mind at rest about Gabriel. With the end of the evening study period,
Dean, Chris and a handful of boisterous 6th and 7th graders raucously
left the study hall, and headed up toward their dorm. Rowdy and loud, the
boys debated how to spend that Friday night, while taunting each other
and boasting about their gaming prowess. Chris wanted to join a Dungeons
and Dragons campaign, since Lights Out was later on Fridays and
Saturdays, but Dean seemed distracted.

"Something wrong, dude? You've been real quiet."

"Nah - it's all good, C. I just got some weird news. Not feeling real
social."

All the while, his eyes were glued to something the others couldn't see:
the lambent saffron undulating like an aurora from Hale Hall's third
floor rafters. Once again, he felt doubt pricking at his own sanity.

Yet as the group of boys tumbled from the dorm's vestibule and into the
common living room, most waved and exchanged greetings with the lone 9th
grader sitting by the roaring hearth: Gabriel Dornay.

Rising with a gentle smile, the bewitchingly attractive boy kept his eyes
locked on Dean. Weirdly, no one seemed to notice or care that Gabriel was
wearing clothes much more sophisticated than typical for a 9th grader. A
dark velvet jacket, silk shirt, leather trousers and knee-high boots
weren't the typical choices for kids after they'd shucked their dinner
uniforms.

The animated boys all wanted to drag Gabriel to different activities,
which the he politely declined.

"I have something I'm working on with Dean. I hope you don't mind if I
steal him away, Chris?"

Dean's roommate looked disappointed, and a little jealous, but agreed to
meet up with Dean later.

Dean fell in beside Gabriel, and climbed the stairs quietly. Through his
senses were acute - even on edge - he should have been terrified.
Instead, Dean felt calm, almost trusting of this strange older boy.

The third floor looked identical to the two below, with 150 years of wear
and tear, but without any sign of inhabitants. It seemed almost logical
that while 9th graders roomed elsewhere, Dean had a floor to himself.
Midway down, room 306 was apparently unlocked, since Gabriel used no key
to open the door.

Expecting the usual industrial prep-school furniture, Dean was surprised
by not only the furnishings, but the size. The room was easily 3 times as
large as any other in the building, and decked out with leather club
chairs and a sumptuously upholstered sofa. Defying school rules, the room
was ablaze with white candles, many thick and 3 to 4 feet in height. And
there was a fireplace! No student had his own fireplace.

"Please take a seat, Mr. Coffin," Gabriel suggested, his tone
melodically powerful and lulling. His accent was distinct, like an herb,
but not overpowering.

Dean took one of the red leather chairs. An ornately carved table held
two stem glasses and a decanter with thick, dark liquid.

Sitting adjacent to Dean on the couch, Gabriel gave the boy a curiously
knowing smile.

"I'm sure you have many questions. First, let me offer you some
refreshment. Passion fruit and mango juice, if I'm right?"

It was his favorite drink, but so expensive on Nantucket, he could only
count on it for his birthday. And how the hell did Gabriel know??

"Yes, please - but - what's going on? Who are you? What are you??"

Offering a wine glass brimming with chilled juice, raised his glass own
to clink with Dean.

"Zivjeli," the enigmatic boy brightly uttered, then coached Dean
through the Serbo-Croation toast.

The nectar was wonderful. It was possibly the sweetest and most delicious
drink he'd ever tasted, and for a brief moment, Dean almost lost his
mixture of frustration, anger and alarm.

"Don't you just love life, Dean? Every moment is a majestic wonder to
be savored."

Luxuriating in the moment, with the lingering taste of juice on his lips,
Dean agreed. Despite its frequent challenges, living was a delight. He
was grateful for his life.

"Not everyone is in a position to appreciate existence for its own sake,
Dean. In fact, much of the world is locked in the struggle for
survival."

Yeah, Dean nodded. The world was on fire, and most North Americans took
their relative relatively easy lives for granted. But Gabriel wasn't
there to talk about geopolitics and economics.

"To answer your question: who am I? Gabriel Edmund Bertil Deschamps
Foscari Adalberto Victor Emmanuel Vajiralongkorn von
Fürsterzbistum Dornay de la Fortunada."

"Uh...OK."

Enjoying Dean's bewilderment, Gabriel winked. "A mouthful of bullshit,
to be sure. But we are both Deschamps. We're related through your
grandmother."

Dean stared at the older boy, dumbfounded.

"I met your nana, Lorna Duchamps, when she was a toddler. Obviously, she
wouldn't remember me. Nevertheless, she leaves a wake of love wherever
she goes."

"You met my grandma Lorna...when she was a toddler...?"

Dean wondered if his drink were spiked. But all he felt was the warmth of
candles, and the effulgence of falling into an easy friendship.

Gabriel looked at him with amusement, while reaching over to stoke
Dean's hand compassionately.

"I should explain. Once, I was a boy, just like you, and your
grandmother's family was visiting mine. Lorna was just a baby, and I was
about your age. And now, I still am, but considerably older, for reasons
that don't matter right now. What matters is this moment. We share a
love of life. And we share a need for love, too. In many ways, we could
be brothers."

Brothers, indeed. For the first time Dean noticed that Gabriel and he had
the same Mediterranean complexion, the same upturned nose, and
heart-shaped faces. While Gabriel's eyes were a deep emerald shade,
Dean's were a lighter tint of the same hue. Both had long, thick, silky
straight hair, though Gabriel's was blond, while Dean's was brown. In
fact, it was the same collar length, and cut identically!

And God did he need to feel the love he felt for others.

Dean's pulse increased. He could almost hear his own heartbeat, in a
primal drumming that connected him with Gabriel by flesh and blood. He
wanted to share love physically, and slid over onto the couch. Jeez,
he'd never been so forward

Gabriel took Dean's hand, and placed it inside his jacket, over his
heart, holding it there, while he caressed Dean's heart through the
boy's hoodie.

"You feel it, don't you? It's the need to give and receive, to love
and be loved."

"Uh-huh," Dean whispered, almost inaudibly. He could feel Gabriel's
heart pumping. It felt like Gabriel's blood was coursing through Dean's
veins to his heart, then surging back again, in a perfect loop of
vitality. And his dick quaked with the same pounding rhythm, while
somehow, Dean knew Gabriel's was rigidly receiving the same
transmission.

In the blink of an eye, both boys were naked. Later, Dean couldn't
recall any seductive words leading to that moment, much less getting
undressed. But the flickering light from the roaring fire lit up
Gabriel's body in waves of crimson and lemon. The purported 14-year-old
was now closer to Dean's 4.5 feet, with a similar athletic build, and
complete dearth of body hair.

The long-haired blond's rigid cock could have doubled for Dean's 2.5
inches of quivering, bouncing urgency, if he'd been circumcised. Even
his nuts were a smooth sphere, still half-buried between the boy's legs.

An unstoppable compulsion drove his hand downward, toward Gabriel's
raging hard-on. But the mysterious boy arrested Dean's hand, and
interlaced their fingers.

"Let me give you a massage, and talk about something important."

Dean almost whimpered with need, but was utterly unable to argue, and let
Gabriel lead him to a bed on a far wall. The vast oak bed was framed by a
seemingly ancient tapestry depicting complex, fractal sigils. Weirdly,
the geometries seemed to pull at Dean's tumescence with magnetic force.

Lying face down on silk sheets, and resting his head on a pillow of
almost obscene softness, Dean's hardness throbbed with astonishing power
into the mattress. Ignoring his needs, Dean closed his eyes, and tamped
down his impatience.

Dean felt Gabriel's slim, sinewy thighs straddling his buttocks, then
the boy's erection alighting on his crevice, and finally, Gabriel's
rubbery, yet firm butt cheeks nestling on his thighs. The radiant,
soothing warmth only stoked Dean's ardor.

A bottle uncorked, and Dean heard hands wetly slicking together, while
the sweet fragrance of plumeria tickled his nose. Then, Gabriel's soft,
yet surprisingly strong hands kneaded Dean's shoulders, back and arms.
Gabriel's touch was a narcotic; his touch unravelling years of tension
from the knots in Dean's muscles, while stewing him in a profound
serenity.

"Uuuuuuuhhh...so goooood."

"I made this oil just for you, sweet Dean."

For what seemed like hours, Gabriel's hands worked every centimeter of
Dean's upper body, and then his legs, until the boy was lulling, and
physically torpid. And yet, his senses were hyper amplified; his cock
thrummed with fire. It was gloriously discordant.

Dean's throbbing cock begged and strained to dry heave explosively. He
was on the verge of thrusting into the bed, when Gabriel gently rolled
him over, and sat on the top of Dean's thighs.

Two nearly identical cocks joined, while their immature scrotums leered
at one another from centimeters apart. Bouncing and joining over and
over, Dean's and Gabriel's erections drummed in syncopation. For Dean,
every time their knobs clashed, it was like jumper cable clamps sparking
dangerously, were they charged with plasmatic joy.

Gabriel's smile was the joyful, soothing expression of a long-time
friend, albeit one that aroused the living fuck out of Dean. The fire
light glittered across Gabriel's deeply hypnotic eyes, and impossibly,
Dean got even harder.

He'd never been so horny, and couldn't believe his own patience with
Gabriel's astonishing touch.

"What are you...doing to me, Gabriel?"

"We're having a conversation, mon ami. And you need to be very, very
relaxed for what I must tell you."

Lifting a small, ornately artistic bottle, Gabriel poured another soupçon
of shimmering liquid into a palm, then slicked his hands together. More
of that intoxicating plumeria fragrance tickled Dean's nose.

He was so fucking hard, the pain should have hospitalized Dean. But he
lay still and let Gabriel work every muscle and tendon of each of his
fingers, and then arms, all the way to the shoulders. Every so often,
he'd lean down to kiss Dean's forehead, tenderly, like one would with a
nephew, or grandson. At the same time, he was silent, simply sharing the
sensuous moment.

Gabriel's countenance grew serious, though he continued to slowly caress
Dean's wiry chest.

"Dean Coffin, there's a boy in danger here on the school grounds. As
far as the rest of the world knows, Joseph Standish disappeared  without
a trace in 1976, while exploring the Miller Marsh by the Naugatuck River.
It was presumed he was taken swamp."

Those wetlands were off-limits to students, except in the company of
school officials. Dean had heard boys in the past had drown in quicksand
there, and now, only biology classes visited, following well-maintained
trails. Of course, the occasional upperclassmen snuck in at night to
smoke weed, only to run out, terrified by strange sights and sounds.

"Only a few of us know that he is very much alive, and held in captivity
there, by something that treasures his youth."

"Youth? He's gotta be an old man by now. Why haven't you called the
cops or something?"

Gabriel shook his head with an expression of sad irony.

"The police searched for months in 1976. They would never believe Joseph
is still there. It's not where he is held, but when."

"Wheeeen?" Confused and squinting at Gabriel, Dean cocked his head to
one side.

"Yes. The creature that abducted Joseph has been holding him in the same
place outside of your perception of time.


If everything else about Gabriel Dornay hadn't been so implausible, Dean
would have laughed at the ridiculous fantasy. But it was clear, the naked
boy (if he really were a boy), making him quake with desire was deadly
serious.

"It's a lidercubus - possibly the last of its kind. It is truly an imp
of the perverse, feeding on the seed of the youngest boys it can lure, by
taking the shape of its victim's true desire: a girl, a boy, a man, a
woman, whatever. Ever since the Paugussett People first traversed Phantom
Hill, it's taken hundreds of young men. Those that are too young to
produce semen, it quickly discards, and if they're very lucky, in the
victims' own time. The others...the productive, it drains until they are
no more."

Holy shit, Dean thought. That would explain why Connecticut's native
tribes long shunned the otherwise magnificent hill and its ancient
forests.

Actually, it was one of many reasons, but those Dean would only learn
over time.

"So, the lider...liderbuck?"

"Lidercubus."

"Why does this lider-cu-bus need to kidnap kids? Why not hang out at
bust stops, or something?...Ohhhh...that feels so good, Gabriel...And what
does he do with their cum?"

Gabriels was gently pinching and tickling Dean's diamond hard nipples,
something that made him thrash in his roommate's hands. But he merely
trembled, concentrating on Gabriel's every word.

"The antiquated euphemism `seed' is partially accurate. Clearly, human
life requires an egg, as well. But it contains an essential power for
creation. Even its precursor - before a boy can produce semen - is
miraculous. I suspect you've tasted a hint of the enchanting
potential."

Dean merely gaped at Gabriel in wonder, and nodded. Ever since the
compartment in the Aurora, Dean's shared orgasms had been inexplicably
shattering.

"Youth is usually innocent, inexperienced, and free of the iniquities
that ruin lives at bordellos and so-called `glory holes.' That is why
the creature chose a few locations on this continent where youth
congregated. When the academy set its first cornerstone at the end of
October in 1840, the creature made this one of its preferred hunting
grounds."

Dean sighed. Gabriel had gripped his 2.5 inches of surging, blood-swollen
bone with his pinky and the bottom of his hand. Gabriel's thumb was
slowly rotating around the underside of his tender little glans. His
deep, slow breaths betrayed a few piping notes, but otherwise, Dean was
surprisingly under control.

"In 1976, the creature lured Joseph into his lair, taking the form of
what the youth could not refuse: a boy of much younger years. Even
younger than you."

Fuck. A lot of people mistook 12-year-old Dean for 10 or 11. Joseph, you
naughty boy, Dean thought. Then, he shook it away.

"So why haven't you done anything?"

"I thought I had. I bound him to a stone in the marsh. Clearly, I
hadn't anticipated the creature's siren call. Unfortunately, now, it
knows me, and that's where you come in."

Dean's jaw dropped.

"Me? How? I'm not, you know, a Harry Potter or whatever."

Gabriel smiled with warm amusement.

"No, you're not - not yet. And you are marvelously unblemished by
savagery. I doubt you've noticed the positive effect you have on all
around you, because you are also profoundly humble."

"Um, I don't know about that.."

"Surely you remember a young girl on your island, waiting forever for
her father to return from his doomed sea voyage? Or the boy on the Ferry?
Perhaps, the still vital man who almost fell to the Night Marchers on
Maui?"

Oh shit, Dean thought. He'd been trying to forget all about that
nightmare from a family vacation to Hawaii.

"Even in the more mundane aspects of life, look at how you've changed
your friend Christopher. You animate others positively. You are
everything that creature could desire. It can't help but come to you,
which is how we will take it."

"Wait - you want to use me as bait?! What if it captures me, too? I'll
spend hundreds of years getting my dick sucked until..?"

Dean pictured a withered mummified version of himself, then had another
realization.

"Also, I don't even shoot, yet!"

"Oh, Dean. I wouldn't let it take you. I'll equip you to it. Since it
doesn't know that your biology is less mature than your fellows', it
would easily discard a 15-year-old for a boy like you. It won't even
bother changing into your heart's desire."

"I don't even know what that is."

"Oh, you will, soon enough."

Dean was riveted to every word. At the same time, his cock and balls were
riveted to Gabriel's fingers, which were strumming him like a classical
guitar. Steady, plasmatic surges washed over him. He was so close to
cumming, and he pled with Gabriel to stroke him faster. The mysterious
blond's hand suddenly pulled on him so quickly, Dean could only see a
blur of motion.

Dean felt his anus pulling on his balls, and his cock ready to detonate.
And yet nothing happened!

"Im so close, Gabriel - please do it harder!"

But no matter how hard and fast Gabriel stroked him, Dean remained on the
cliff's brink, never falling over.

At last Gabriel's hand slowed to a stop, and Dean's urge to climax
faded with it - but not his agonizingly hard erection.

"Why...what's happening?!"

With a sympathetic smile, Gabriel explained that the boy wouldn't be
able to cum for another 24 hours. Yet when he did, the feeling would be
titanic. And if he were to be anointed with Gabriel's oil the next
morning, he could push that climax back another day, building it, and so
on.

"Why would you do this to me?"

"To show that I can protect you from the creature. As long as you never
finish, the creature will focus on nothing but you - not even thinking to
take you out of time."

"And then you'll kill it?"

"If you agree, you will destroy it without effort. But only if you
agree. Will you think on it? We only have 4 days until All Saints Day,
which will be the best time to lure it here."

Gabriel released Dean's cock, and the boy whimpered with frustration.

"Why me? It's been half a century. You could have done this years
ago."

Gabriel held Dean's upper arms gently, and leaned down. Their cocks
pressed together, and Dean shook from the power he felt in his loins.

Gabriel kissed Dean's forehead, then nose, and hovered inches from
Dean's face.

"I've been waiting for a boy like you - a boy like me. You are the
first."

"But it's been so long for Joseph. Couldn't you have found somebody
else?"

"In Joseph's reality, it has been roughly two weeks. But that is two
weeks of continuous arousal and ejaculation, with no food. The creature
needs fluids, so at least it provides water. But Joseph's anguish must
be unendurable."

Though Gabriel had given the boy days to decide, it only took Dean a
moment's hesitation to agree. For some inexplicable reason, he trusted
Gabriel Dornay. Moreover, saving Joseph was the right thing to do.

"Yeah, I'll do."

Dean reached up with his lips, trying to kiss Gabriel on the lips. But
the older boy pulled away.

"Much as I'm tempted, Dean Coffin, those lips are meant for your
heart's desire."

Dean exhaled, disappointed with both the rejection and the enigmatic
reason. At the same time, he wanted to know what the plan was.

"Pour commencer, I need to prepare you more fully, Dean."

Gabriel rose, while asking Dean to roll back over onto his tummy. Dean
complied, while Gabriel opened an old, ornate chest, and pulled a small
box out.

Returning to the bed. Gabriel lubricated his hands with more of the
mysterious oil, then massaged Dean's firms and slender buttocks so
wonderfully it made the boy purr. He could have been lulled to sleep, if
he didn't feel so vivacious, and fully aware of every beam of light,
every mote of dust, every sensation on his skin.

Then, those sensations grew far more erotic, because Gabriel's fingers
were sliding in and out of Dean's crevice. At last, a middle finger made
contact with Dean's clenching anus, and the boy quietly yelped.

Why was his pooper so tender? Moreover, why did he like being touched
there? Yikes! Why did it feel so good when Gabriel circled his asshole
slowly, as if he were conjuring open a puzzle box?

"Your kundalini is very receptive, Dean."

"My what?...Never mind!...Just keep doing it!"

Slowly, patiently, Gabriel twirled around Dean's little rosebud,
loosening it with gentle pressure that sent sparkles through the boy's
bowels.

Like stage curtains pulling away, Dean's cinched ring of muscles parted
away, and Gabriel's finger glided into him.

"Oh shit!"

Dean had never felt anything quite like the warmth of Gabriel impaling
him. He'd read about anal sex, mostly as a form of rape, and he'd never
understood why men would want to get nailed in the ass. It was supposed
to hurt like hell - but all Dean felt was warm pressure.

Suddenly, being on the receiving end started to make sense. That tingling
pressure moving slowly in and out was marvelous! When Gabriel added
another finger, he felt a sting, and a little aching pressure on his
gates.

But then, the two fingers touched down on something that made Dean yelp
with joy!

It was like there was a button inside him, wired directly to his
throbbing love bone. Every time Gabriel's plunging fingers pressed that
spot, Dean groaned, and his meat pounded violently into the mattress.
He'd never felt anything so exotically wonderful.

"Whaaaah...Whaaaaat arre you dooooinggg??!"

With his freehand, Gabriel caressed the small of Dean's back, and his
butt cheeks, while explaining a prostate massage.

In mere minutes, Dean was once again on the crest of a climax that he
couldn't attain, and begged Gabriel for release.

Gabriel complied, but not in the way Dean wanted. Delicately, he pull out
his fingers of Dean, and discretely wiped them on a handkerchief.

"I was so close..." Dean whined.

"Wasn't it marvelous?"

"Yes, but, I really wanted to cum!"

"If we want to trap the lidercubus, you have to be trembling with need,
seeming like a lamb ready for slaughter. But instead, you will be the
armed predator."

Dean didn't like the sound of this, but let Gabriel continue.

"Here is your weapon."

Gabriel opened the small, jeweled box. Resting on a purple velvet pillow
inside was what appeared to be a small ruby glinting in the candle and
firelight.

"This is Jedač Demona."

"What? Do I throw that pretty rock at the lider-cu-bus?"

Gabriel chuckled at Dean's incomprehension, but smiled kindly.

"No, my young friend. And she's more than a pretty rock. She's a demon
eater."

Dean was baffled. How would this work?

It took a few moments for Dean to digest the plan, and a little longer
for Gabriel to gently implant the living gem inside the boy, just past
his pleasure button. Afterwards, it was like nothing unusual was
happening with his body - except for his ceaselessly demanding erection.
But Gabriel assured him, even that would fade after he left the room - so
long as he did nothing to arouse it again.

After helping Dean get dressed, and dressing himself, Gabriel saw the boy
to his door.

"For the next few days, you'll be eating for two, so gluttony will be
no sin. I'll see you here tomorrow at noon for another anointment."

Gabriel embraced Dean with a tight hug, then kissed the boy's forehead
once again.

"C'est bon! You will make our people very proud, Dean Coffin."

Our people, Dean thought. He had too many questions, and Gabriel promised
to answer them all in good time.

As he traipsed down the stairwell, Dean was suddenly alarmed. He'd been
with Gabriel for what seemed like hours. But glancing at his phone, he
was shocked to see that no more than 15 minutes had elapsed.

Meeting up with Chris, Dean told his roommate he had too much on his mind
to play D&D, and just needed to lie down.

"You OK, dude?" Chris was obviously very concerned.

"Yeah, it's just...complicated stuff. Family stuff, I guess. I'll see
you back at the room."

Dean was already in Chris' bed and asleep on his back, when Chris
returned to their room. Chris got ready for bed, shut off the desk lamp
Dean had thoughtfully left on for him, and climbed into bed in just his
undies. Lifting the covers, Chris was intoxicated by a wave of floral
fragrance that made his head swim, and his dick twitch.

In his undies and long sleeve t-shirt, Dean's breath had the slow and
steady rhythm of a boy deep in dreamland.

Chris curled his leg over Dean, careful not to wake his friend. The
moment his knee gently landed on Dean's groin, a throbbing rigidity
uncoiled, and poked into Chris through Dean's snug underpants. Dean
mumbled something, but remained deeply asleep.

Chris' penis flew into Red Alert, pressing through his stretchy
underpants, digging into Dean's hip. Automatically, Chris rubbed his
knee a little, up and down Dean's cotton-bound dorsal desire, but his
conscience quickly arrested his reflex. His feelings for Dean ran so
deep, he rolled over in the opposite direction. Sliding his hands into
his boxer briefs, Chris stroked himself a few times, then fell fast
asleep with his boy prong imprisoned in a cage of fingers.

It was still dark at 6:30 AM, when Chris' alarm woke him, and he found
Dean spooned around him. Dean's rigid cock was pressed between his buns,
through two sets of underwear. Though still asleep, Dean's hips were
moving instinctively, driving his little pile drive up and down Chris
cleft.

"Buenos dias to you, too, Deano," Chris chuckled.

Reaching around, he gave Dean's muscular buttocks a couple of hard
spanks, finally waking the boy.

"Mmmmmph," Dean replied, while his hand glided under Chris' waistband.

Chris sighed. Warm, comforting fingers compressed his rigid 3 inches.
Dean slowly stroked him with the same languid pace he gently thrust into
Chris' cleft.

Over several minutes, Dean increased the pace of both his rubbing and his
humping.

"Oh, dude, that's good."

"Your dick is a beauty, Chris. So fucking big and hard."

Chris giggled. He knew from big dicks. "Well, at least it's hard."

Minutes later, both boys were panting, and the bed's continuous
squeaking had turned into a continuous screech. Dean's cock was
violently plowing Chris' divide, and he was pumping Chris' prepubescent
hose so hard, the head was raking against his underpants savagely.

"OH OH OH OH-gggghhhhhhhhhh!!!"

Chris bit the pillow to silence a shriek of savage delight, while his
cock wracked violently and drily. Even as Chris' orgasm faded and he
caught his breath, Dean was still pumping against him uncontrollably.

But unlike Dean's dramatic climaxes in the past, this time, the boy
merely slowed and stopped. His arms slid around to hold Chris, while his
tattered breathing slowed. All the same, his cock was still hard, and
embedded between Chris' skinny hams.

Hesitantly, Chris asked, "Did you, uhh...do it? Didga cum, Dean?"

Dean considered telling his friend a reassuring lie, something that
wouldn't make the boy feel self-conscious. But far worse would be
dishonesty toward Chris.

"Nah. But no worries, Jersey Boy," Dean replied, climbing over Chris,
and out of the bed.

"Whaddya mean, `no worries?' You're hard as fuck, dude. Lemme take
care of that."

Dean's diminutive erection was stretching the tight fabric of his
trunks, threatening to rip through, and Chris reached out to give it a
hard squeeze. Dean groaned, and let his friend stroke him through his
undies for a moment, then gently pried Chris' hand away.

"I started a...medication yesterday. I can't orgasm."

"Like, forever?"

Dean chuckled morosely.

"I sure as hell hope not. Just, don't worry about it, right now."

If only Dean could forget about it that day. Through all of his Saturday
morning extracurriculars, the slightest touch of his clothes prickled
Dean's prick into pulsating need.

After lunch, Gabriel ushered Dean into his room. Though it was midday,
Gabriel's curtained room was still dark, and lit by candles and a fire.

"Gabriel, Im so fucking horny, I can't stand it. Why am I boning up all
the fucking time?"

Gabriel's sad smile was comforting, if not reassuring.

"This is part of the preparation, my dear friend. I wish there were some
other way. But to catch the imp of the perverse, you must be like as
desperate for relief as a butterfly in the Sahara is for water."

Moments later, both boys were naked on Gabriels' bed, and Gabriel
repeated the process from the night before. Over what seemed like an
hour, Gabriel oiled and squeezed and rubbed all the knots and tension out
of Dean's muscles, making the boy feel almost gelatinous, yet
hyper-aware.

Dean made it almost all the way to his room before the friction from his
clothes across his penis filled it with rigid, quivering need. It was
going to be a long couple of days, and right out the gate, it would start
with All Hallows celebrations.

For reasons lost to time, the Phantom Hill School was founded on
Halloween. The school's leadership annually marked the anniversary
privately, and so discretely that no-one knew how they commemorated it,
nor where.

But alumni always returned for it as Homecoming, with a parade, speeches,
and football and soccer games on the weekend closest to October 31st.
That year, Dean should have enjoyed his first Founders Weekend jostling
with other boys, and screaming in the stands all day for the varsity
teams' home games. But the crowds were so loud, and the stamping and
clapping so raucous that the aluminum bleachers vibrated with geophysical
force. Every rippling wave of random reverberations spanked Dean's buns
with roar of a gatling gun, and consequently, his cock trembled with
blistering need, and making excuses to Chris that he wasn't feeling
well, Dean left.

As he passed the Trustees section of the football stands, one of the
elderly group stared at him with such intensity, he drew Dean's
attention.

"You - young man," the gent called, "Don't I know you from
somewhere?"

Dean approached the stranger, an octogenarian he'd never met.

"No sir, I don't think so."

"I'm sure we have...no, it couldn't be!"

The elderly man blanched and grew visibly agitated, and a companion
hissed at Dean.

"You should go! He's not well."

Completely baffled and unnerved, Dean quickly retreated from the game,
and avoided the rest of the Homecoming festivities, mostly napping the
rest of the afternoon in his room.

After dinner that night, the choices for Dean and Chris were depressing.

There was, of course, the dance with Phantom Hill's sister school, Dyer
Academy which served only grades 9-12, and was closed to the younger
grades - even if boys like Dean and Chris had been interested.

But neither did they want to participate in the party the school held for
younger kids and families. Chris joined his D&D group, while Dean spent
the evening in the otherwise vacant library, getting ahead on math and
science.

For Dean, the silence and chill temperature finally gave his loins a
respite, and he lost himself in his studies. If not for his phone alarm,
Dean would have kept memorizing and practicing problems well past the 7th
grade curfew. Gathering his things, he noticed a hall he'd never
visited. It seemed like a gallery, filled with paintings and photographs
of students from the past. Reading the gallery cards next to each, Dean
realized this was the Memorial Hall he'd heard about, mostly
commemorating students and teachers who'd fallen in war. The images of
students were largely yearbook photos, though there were several tin
types portraits of young Civil War soldiers. However, filling a far wall,
several photos and two paintings depicted boys of various ages who'd
died during their time at the school, many from the Flu Epidemic, but
several under mysterious circumstances. Then, there were numerous photos
of boys who simply disappeared.

Joseph Standish was one of them. The heavy-set boy had long and very
curly hair falling past his jaw, and he was wearing what must have been a
fashionably loud, checkered jacket and a knit tie. If the photo weren't
in black and white, the horde of pimples riding across his cheeks and
forehead would have been wine red.

Dean's stomach dropped and his heart ached. This poor boy was no doubt
terrified and suffering, and Dean cemented his commitment to save Joseph.

Of course, rooming with Chris challenged the terms of that pledge. Simply
being in the boy's presence turned his cock into a diamond hard divining
rod, pulling Dean toward Chris. Tears welled in his eyes when he
explained the agonizing frustration he was feeling, and begged his friend
to sleep apart from him, in his own bed. Chris looked like he was about
to cry, but explained he understood. Clearly, the naked flesh pointing at
him like a dagger belied any suspicion of Dean's rejection.

Dean took an antihistamine to knock himself out. As he drifted off to
sleep, he saw screen light flickering from underneath Chris bedding, and
he vaguely wondered what kind of porn the boy was jerking off to.

Over next three days, Dean buried himself in school work, and avoided any
unintentional physical contact with others - especially Chris. But the
oil Gabriel massaged into him was having a cumulative effect. Dean was
not only growing hyper cognizant of the world, but was the most focused
student in any of his classes.

Concurrently, he was always famished, and wolfed down seconds and thirds
at every meal. The boys at his table were mystified that such a slight
boy could even push that much food into his belly. And unknown to them,
Dean hadn't taken a shit since Friday, nor did he feel the slightest
constipation.

At the same time, his poor cock was almost always erect, and Dean had to
keep it secure with the tight little briefs he usually wore only for
soccer and running. If he'd owned a jockstrap, he'd have added that for
good measure, and by Tuesday morning, he borrowed a pair of his
roommate's cartoon undies. At least he laughed at the pair Chris chose
for him: Ironman.

At the appointed hour, he entered Gabriel Dornay's chambers for what
would be his final treatment.

In apparent consideration of Dean's extreme arousal, Gabriel left his
own clothes on, while he kneaded the mysterious unguent into Dean's
naked body, from shoulders to toe.

"I know how difficult this must be, sweet Dean. Your sacrifice and
dedication are heroic."

It was the eve of their plan, and Dean's trepidation had been building.
By then, he was actually growing scared, and leveled with Gabriel about
his fear.

"Remember, I'll be nearby. I won't let you get hurt or taken. We'll
do this together."

While thoroughly working every one of Dean's muscles, Gabriel quietly
sang in a language Dean didn't recognize, and had no Latin roots. His
voice was as beautiful as a harpsichord, and soon, Dean felt his fears
melting away.

After Dean dressed and Gabriel held open his door, he asked what time he
should meet Gabriel.

"I'll collect you a little before midnight."

The day passed quickly into night, and at Lights Out, Dean slipped into
bed naked, and lay on his side, dreading that anything would come into
contact with his torturously hard tumescence. Even though his scrotum
held nothing to spill, he had an aching case of blue balls.

Fortunately, Chris rapidly fell asleep in his own bed without
masturbating. Such was the saving grace of prepubescence that neither boy
was enslaved to their hormones. Yet Dean still quivered with overpowering
needs not of his own making.

It seemed like only a moment after he finally drifted off himself that
Dean was being gently awakened. Gabriel was gently stroking Dean's cheek
with his thumb.

"It's time, sweet boy."

As quietly as he could, Dean climbed out of bed. At the same time,
Gabriel dragged a thumb down Chris' forehead.

"Sleep."

Following Gabriel's instructions, Dean dressed in clothes he wouldn't
miss; basically sweats, socks, and his most worthless shoes. In lieu of a
jacket, Gabriel wrapped Dean in a thick, warm blanket.

Moments later, they glided out of the building and down school sidewalks
unnoticed in the chilly night. Neither Gabriel nor Dean said a word,
during the 20 minute walk to the trail they would follow.

As they delved deep into the woods, the aroma of pond, rotting leaves and
wet earth filled the air. At nearly 12:30 AM on Halloween morning,
Gabriel lead Dean to clearing in the woods. An unnatural circle of 12
trees formed the perimeter.

A tall, rectangular slab of granite towered above a horizontal stony
structure. The flat stone was roughly 8 feet long and 4 wide, and covered
with carved sigils. With almost fractal complexity, the symbols were
difficult to clearly see individually.

Dean had heard there were a few standing stones scattered around Phantom
Hill, presumably set by prehistoric people long before the Paugussett had
even settled in Connecticut.

"Donc. This is where they are, mon cher ami. Now, we just need to get
the imp's attention."

Opening one of the two carpet bags he'd been carrying, Gabriel pulled
out a thick glass cylinder holding a white candle. Flicking open an
ordinary Zippo lighter, he set the candle aflame, and placed it on one
side of one of the trees circling the clearing, out of sight of the
altar-like stones. A strong musky scent arose, somewhere between animal
and vegetal. Handing Dean another lighter and several candles, Gabriel
tasked the boy with setting six more alight behind half of the twelve
trees, while he lit up the rest. Back inside the circle, the woods
flickered with hidden light, and the strange fragrance overpowered the
scent of woods.

"Are you ready?"

Dean slowly inhaled, and nodded.

"Yeah. Let's do it."

Untying his gym sweats, Dean pulled them below his buttocks, and bent
over. A bottle uncorked, and a moment later, Dean felt Gabriel's greasy
finger rubbing all around his anus, quickly opening him. Dean was
grateful that Gabriel's mysterious potion had loosened his muscles on
contact. It was something to use sparingly, though, unless one didn't
mind incontinence.

"And now, the lures."

Gabriel uncorked a second bottle, and Gabriel's finger entered him with
no resistance. Gabriel rubbed another exotic ointment deep inside Dean's
channel, all the way to his happy place. Apparently, it was some kind of
pheromone. Dean grunted from the contact, and his cock pounded into his
pubis. Standing up, Dean held his sweats in place with one hand, while
Gabriel rubbed a bit more of the foul-smelling substance in each of the
boy's armpits.

"Now the imp will rock and roll, and you will make it lose control,"
Gabriel sang, with a wink. When Dean only looked at him quizzically,
Gabriel shrugged. "It's from television. Something from yesteryear."

As a final measure, Gabriel pulled out a small vial with slightly milky
fluid, and coated Dean's glans with it. Dean didn't even want to know
who the semen donor had been.

"It will happen quickly," Gabriel said motioning Dean to sit at the end
of the flat stone. Just before fleeing into shadows, Gabriel handed Dean
an old nudist magazine, and a flashlight. Dean couldn't believe such
publications once existed, and this one was opened to a page filled with
young, naked boys throwing a frisbee.

Like an actor taking his mark on a stage, Dean spread the magazine before
him, trained the flashlight on it, and began masturbating. It wasn't
difficult, because almost anything enraged his cock with need. But what
the hell? The boys were definitely cute, and he could picture joining
them, though he'd have been an old man by now.

Only a few moments passed before the altar shimmered with a sickly
greenish radiance, which lit up the clearing garishly. There was a
flashing burst of light, and two figures appeared. A naked teen sat with
his back slumped against the vertical slab, with a stricken, exhausted
look painted across his face.

It took Dean a moment to recognize the gaunt figure. The once heavy-set
Joseph Standish was now bony. If not for his muscle mass, the 15-year-old
would have looked skeletal. His hair was longer, reaching his shoulders,
while deep dark circles framed his eyes, and his acne had all but
disappeared. A wet, thick, 5-inch cock rose from a full bush. Catching
site of Dean, Joseph mouthed "Help me."

What appeared to be a 10-year-old boy crouched between Joseph's widely
spread legs. While Dean had expected something monstrous, the lidercubus
was quite the opposite. It's angelic, almost feminine face was framed
with flame red hair that reached half-way down its back.

It took one glance at Dean and his magazine, and must have instantly
surmised the young teen had snuck into the forest to pleasure himself
with gay erotica.

It's sweetly innocent smile was more than beguiling, and almost
convincing.

"Would you like to join us?"

It's high-pitched voice was musical, but indescribably off-key, like an
untuned piano.

Dean inhaled slowly, gathering his courage, and stood up.

"With you, sure. Uh, but not with him," Dean replied, forcing the
shakes out of his voice. "Sorry dude, you're not my type."

In his heart it was true. Unlike Chris, Dean had yet to become interested
in older boys. And Joseph's thick pubic thatch was kind of nasty. But
guys his age, sometimes even a little younger...If the lidercubus were a
real boy, he'd be in Dean's lane.

The creature seemed to sense it, and found Dean irresistible.

Glancing at Joseph, it merely said, "Go" and waved him away.

While Dean stood up, the teenager weakly rose to his feet, shambled off
of the stone, and staggered into the woods.

The moment Dean stood up, his clothes and shoes, his flashlight and
magazine, all turned to dust. He was naked and hard, and seemingly
vulnerable.

The lidercubus also rose, and in that form, it was just a couple of
inches shorter than Dean. It's sleek, flawless body was almost naked,
but for a loincloth dented with an alarmingly large erection. It was like
a curtain poked out with a broom handle. In a moment, Dean registered
other flaws in the mirage of guileless youth: the creature had no navel,
nor nipples. It's fingernails were long and sharp, and well-manicured.

Dean's back stiffened, but his heroic cock never wavered. It quivered
even harder when the lidercubus took his hand and lead him over to the
vertical stone. Motioning Dean to take Joseph's previous position, the
creature knelt between his knees.

Tracing Dean's seething stalk with evident approval, the creature took
Dean between between two fingertips and leaned down to press its lips on
Dean's urethra. Something sparked, almost like static electricity, but
pleasant. And then, rich wet warmth engulfed Dean. It was like nothing
he'd felt before; like his dick were submerged in its own little hot
tub, yet one that stung a bit.

Dean groaned, and couldn't help running his fingers through the
creature's long, silky hair. If Gabriel hadn't prepared him for this,
Dean would have climaxed immediately. But he only reached the edge and
stayed there.

The imp was obviously surprised, pulling off to stroke Dean a little,
looking up at the boy with curiosity. Sniffing Dean's dork, a thought
must have filled its evil mind.

"Ahhh. You must have just finished when I found you, yes?"

Dean nodded an affirmation, not trusting his voice to lie convincingly.

"Then off to work I go."

The creature's mouth was astonishing. It felt like it was filled with
countless small mouths, all sucking and licking on every centimeter of
Dean's flesh. And those spiraling  little mouths were sliding up and
down steadily, while the creature bobbed up and down Dean's length.

The boy moaned and gasped. The enthralling tides of bliss were
overwhelming. And yet, like Zeno's paradox of distance, he was closing
the distance toward his climax in half-steps. He would never reach it,
though his whole body writhed in need. In minutes, he was shrieking at
the creature to make him cum, almost believing it had that power.

The cherubic monster pulled away, and gazed up at him.

"What can I do to make it happen?"

"Fuck me! Please fuck me in the ass!"

"My pleasure!"

The creature roughly spun Dean over. Trembling with fear, and not a
little desire, the boy got on all fours. Glancing back, Dean saw the
lidercubus drape its loincloth to one side of a monstrous cock. Growing
out of smooth, childish loins, its erection was probably three inches
thick, 10 or more long, and encaged with thick, independently throbbing
veins. And just before the knob disappeared from view, Dean was sure it
had sprouted spines pointed back toward the demon. It could embed itself
inside Dean!

The demon spend no time loosening Dean, and as pliable as it was from
Gabriel's preparations, Dean's anus still ripped from the enormity
impaling him. He shrieked and thrashed from the flaming agony for a brief
moment. Nevertheless, the agony melted away just as the creature pushed
deeply into him. Then, its groin horn touched his prostate.

Dean wailed from the beautiful horror he felt. In a fever dream, he was
sure the demon would make him cum. His body craved release!


"Fuck me hard!"

Growling dismissively, the creature needed no encouragement. It reached
around the boy's hip with one clawed hand and stroked Dean with its
fingertips. It held its other palm, ready to collect the boy syrup it
expected to tap.

The lidercubus had savaged Dean with 4 when something else happened. Its
hips started flying so quickly, it was like they were powered by a V8.
The forest echoed with slapping sounds so quick, they were merging into
one note.

That's when the creature knew it wasn't in control.

In a language that couldn't be formed with human vocal cords, the demon
screamed in rage.

Beating and shredding Dean's back with his claws, the monster couldn't
stop fucking Dean.

Just as Dean screamed from the unendurable combination of pain and
pleasure, his tormentor screamed as well. The flanging sound turned into
a vortex of wind that funneled into Dean's hole, then died with a pop,
like an inverted fart.

The greenish glow blinked out, and Dean collapsed onto the alter. A
moment later, Gabriel had him wrapped in another blanket. His head
lolling in half-conscious dementia, Dean barely noticed that Gabriel
effortlessly carrying him like a baby. In the blink of an eye, they were
back in Hale Hall.

In his chambers, Gabriel carefully unbundled the boy on the large bed,
laying him face down. With quick and calm efficiency, Gabriel treated
Dean's wounds with a variety of
ointments, staunching the bleeding and ending the pain. By the time he'd
bandaged Dean, the boy was coming back to his senses.

"I am so deeply ashamed, sweet Dean. I did not expect the creature to
realize its own demise was at hand. I failed you."

"No...no...you didn't. The plan worked, and I'm alive."

"I promised you would be in no danger. I'm unworthy of any
forgiveness."

"Dude, there's nothing to forgive. We saved Joseph, and probably a lot
of others."

"You saved an infinitude of boys. You. Now, let's retrieve the weapon
inside you."

Helping Dean up, Gabriel lead him into a private bathroom. Of course
Gabriel has an en suite, Dean registered with amusement.

Dean barely registered the stately, ornate fixtures in the black-tiled
room. Instead, he studied a sort of golden pole in the middle of the
room. In an X-shape, four padded seats jutting out in opposite
directions, about two feet from the ground. Glass bottles filled with
shimmering, opalescent liquids were suspended from two flowing hooks at
the top of the pole. The liquids slowly shifted a rainbow of hues.

Judging by the ordinary, 6 foot rubber hoses extending from the bottles,
and the nozzles at the ends, Dean was pretty certain what this
contraption was.

Sure enough, Gabriel had Dean lie down on a fluffy rug of startling
softness in front of the stand. It was so downy, it made him sigh. He
should be appalled at what would ordinarily be a humiliating procedure,
but he was completely at peace.

Gabriel lifted Dean's calves up, and rested them on two of the X's
padded ledges, then surveyed the boy's cavity. Drawing a vial out of a
pocket, he carefully dabbed it all around the boy's pillaged anus. Numb
from Gabriel's earlier first aid, Dean felt nothing.

Very gently, Gabriel inserted the first enema nozzle into Dean, then
flipped open the tap.

Gabriel gently caressed Dean's tummy, while a soothing freshness filled
his bowels. The rich pressure did nothing to alleviate his obstinate
erection. In fact, it was richly arousing. Long ago, his mother had given
him an enema or two, and he didn't remember it fondly. But this...this
was an enthralling flood, and he couldn't help but stroke himself. He
knew it was futile, but damn, he was so fucking horny.

Gabriel smiled, still caressing Dean, and said, "Bientôt. You'll return
to normal very soon."

When the bottle was nearly empty, Gabriel got up to light some incense.
Then, he helped Dean up to sit on sort of large, dry, marble bowl, with a
cushioned seat. It was a sort of toilet, without water.

Giving the boy some privacy, Gabriel had barely closed the door when a
torrent poured out of Dean.

With a discrete knock, Gabriel asked if he could enter, then assisted
Dean up off the pot. With a hesitant glance at the bowl, Dean was
nauseated by blood and bile, but surprised by an absolute dearth of fecal
matter.

Gabriel lay him back down on the floor, inserted the second nozzle, and
repeated the process. After Dean emptied his bowels a second time,
Gabriel studied the bowl's additional contents, and muttered with
dismay, "It seems she's taken to you, and doesn't want to leave."

With a third bottle - this one a glowing amber - Gabriel and Dean
repeated the process. By now, exhaustion was overcoming Dean. Even his
cock was finally softening and beginning to slumber. After emptying
himself yet again, Dean barely noticed Gabriel's satisfaction at the
bowl's contents.

"There you are, you little trouble maker. I suppose the third time IS
the charm."

Reaching in with a gloved hand, he pulled out the dripping gem, washed it
in the ornate sink, and gently returned it to the purple pillow in its
ornate box.

The last thing Dean heard before Gabriel gently lowered him into the
clawfoot tub was the ancient boy's harmonic chuckle.

"Another day inside you and she'd think you were married."

Dean's sleep was iceberg deep, ancient and solid. It was the sleep of
the Titans.

But Dean was human all the same, and his eyes fluttered open while it was
still dark out. Though he'd slept only a few hours, he was fully alert
and refreshed. He was curled against Gabriel like a newborn pup, with his
head resting on the other boy's shoulders.

"You've awakened, young Dean. "

That antiquated word usage was a reminder that despite his vocal pitch
and apparent preadolescence, Gabriel kept was far from young. Who knows
how old this boy was? All the same, Dean felt safe in his distant
relative's arms. He nuzzled into the Gabriel and sighed. Gabriel smelled
like rosemary.

"It's two hours before sunrise, my sweet lad. You have all the time in
the world to think, to live, and to love."

Dean gave the ancient young boy a chaste kiss on the lips, and glided out
of bed with feline grace.

As he stretched and uncoiled into the early morning, Dean had never felt
more alive. His blood pumped growing joy into his arms and his legs...and
his cock.

Oh, that poor fucking sex snorkel, drowning in need for days.

Dean reached down to give his little friend the traditional morning
handshake, and was surprised with the cloth-bound surprise filling his
fingers. A thick hardness filled his fist, and it had to be 4 or 5 inches
long!

Dropping his head to gaze downward, Dean found himself clad in underwear
from another time. A triangle of tight bikini cloth stretched over his
front, arcing upward to the waistband, then down, half-covering the hip
indentations in his slender, muscular buns. But the material was so
black, it seemed to absorb all light, and Dean had to pull out the
waistband to take a good look what he'd been scratching.

"Holy shit!"

His engorged prong was indeed twice the length and girth it had been the
day before.

"That preparation unguent has some unique side effects," Gabriel said,
mischievously. "I hope you're not vexed?"

"Oh, hells no!" Dean replied, staring at the miracle in his
wonderpants. "Did I hit puberty? I don't see any hairs."

"No, you haven't grown anywhere else. Would you like --"

"Nope! I'm good."

Dean still found pubes a bit unnerving, and Joseph's thick thatch had
actually been kind of nasty. No wonder boys these days shaved that shit
off.

Gabriel slid out of bed, attired identically to Dean. The minimal black
briefs revealed alluring, sinewy legs. His lean, broad-shouldered body
could have been sculpted by a Renaissance artist.

Gabriel glided behind Dean, and removed another set of bandages he'd set
on the boy while he slept.

"Is it bad? It doesn't feel like anything."

Guiding Dean over to a full-length mirror mounted on a painter's easel,
he turned the boy sideways, so he could inspect his back by looking over
his shoulder. While he'd expected hundreds of wounds, and even exposed
bone, Dean was shocked to see only a couple of long, red bruises.

"These will disappear in a few days," Gabriel answered Dean's unspoken
question, "and inside, your wounds are no more."

Turning Dean to fully face the mirror, Gabriel hugged him lovingly from
behind. Though Dean cold feel the older boy's genitals pressing into his
backside, they were soft.

"What do you see?"

Dean's almost naked body flickered in candle and firelight, and
Gabriel's head rested next to Dean's on the younger boy's shoulder.
With their similar eyes, upturned noses, light coppery skin, and their
slender, yet solid bodies and broad shoulders, they could have been
brothers. Only the color of their long, silky hair contrasted.

Dean felt warm and secure in Gabriel's arms.

"I see a kid, and someone who looks my age but is way older."

Gabriel squeezed Dean gently with his arms, and kissed the boy's
shoulder tenderly.

"I see a boy filled with generosity, curiosity and love. Mostly, I see
potential. You can be anything you want, Dean Coffin. You could be a
healer."

Dean giggled. "Medical school? Not with my math grades."

Gabriel chuckled. "Maybe that, too. You are an agent of change. If you
want to, you can help me with my work."

"Drop out of school? Never grow up?" It was appealing. Still, it all
seemed a fantasy, one he could scarcely believe. "I don't even know
what you do for a living, Gabriel."

"Oh, it doesn't matter, now. Some day, if you grow curious, we'll talk
more. In the meantime, just like me, you'll grow up, attend university
and beyond."

"You did all that? But you look like a boy."

"I prefer youth. If nothing else, it disarms adult adversaries. De plus,
the vigor and sensuality is rather appealing."

They stayed that way for a moment longer, and one of Gabriel's hands
slid down Dean's firm abdominal muscle, and onto the front of the boy's
underwear. He gave Dean's rigid member a tender squeeze though the silky
soft material.

Dean closed his eyes and moaned from the pressure on his pounding tool

"We're both human - mostly. Naturellement, we also have needs, and
your's have been gestating for days.'

Gabriel released him and turned away.

"Let's get you dressed, so you can address those needs."

Obviously, Gabriel wouldn't be sharing his passion, and Dean was only
mildly disappointed.

"I have to pee, first," Dean replied, and entered the ornate, candle
lit bathroom. How did these candles last so long, anyway?

The strange marble commode and enema stand were gone. Dean stood before a
regular (albeit, very fancy) toilet and had to push his aching rod
downward before he could force out the flow. He was so stunned by his
magnificent hard-on, he continued to toy with it long after he'd milked
the last drops out.

Flushing, he started to turn on his heel when he noticed another
toilet-like object, with a couple of faucet handles, and a spout in the
center. Perplexed, he shook his head and joined Gabriel by the older
boy's armoire.

"What's that fountain thing in the bathroom?"

Gabriel holding out a pair of trousers, Gabriel chuckled, and explained
the function a bidet.

"But after the purifying ablutions last night, you have no need for one
of those. You're clean enough to eat."

Gabriel smiled at him, lifting an eyebrow meaningfully, and Dean giggled.
If he weren't so deeply in love with Chris -

Holy shit! I'm IN LOVE with Chris!

Dean was thunderstruck. Chris was his heart's desire. He had always been
so aware of the world, how could he have been so ignorant of his own
feelings?

Gabriel was already belting Dean's trousers before he realized they were
a midnight blue velvet. Strangely, they were a perfect fit, hugging his
firm little ass invitingly.

"Pretty fancy," Dean murmured.

"My apologies. These were the simplest I own. I should have suggested
you bring a second set of clothes."

Gabriel handed him a white silk that also hung almost to his crotch.

"No - I love `em, Gabriel. I'll give `em back this afternoon."

"I'll be gone. My business here is concluded, for the moment. Now,
about your shoes..."

"Gone? You're leaving? Will I see you again?"

Dean was suddenly heart-stricken at losing not only his relative, and
comrade-in-arms, but someone who knew him more intimately - physically
and spiritually - than anyone else.

"Never fear, Dean Coffin. We will meet again, very soon."

Gabriel handed him a pair of soft, knee-high boots. They were very
elegant, and not like anything boys wore in 2018.

"Dude, my shoes were just Crocs," Dean exclaimed. He hadn't minded
losing them on the alter, either. He only wore Crocs to annoy his mom.
Nevertheless, Gabriel helped him into the fancy footwear, then stood back
to appraise the boy.

"My, you cut a dashing figure, mon doux garçon."

Dean's skin tingled from the rich mixtures of fabrics, like every thread
were caressing each of his nerve endings individually.

But something had been nagging at the back of his mind.

"What happened to Joseph?" Did Gabriel take him to the police, or a
hospital?

"I returned him to his own time, wrapped in a blanket, three weeks after
his disappearance. His only a memories are - or perhaps, I should say
`were' - of being lost in the forest." Had Joseph reappeared the same
night of his abduction, there would have been no rational explanation for
his weight loss.

"His heart's desire changed rather dramatically after his return. His
university roommate became his life-long partner. Although he retired, he
is active on the school's Board of Trustees. I believe you encountered
him at the Homecoming festivities..?"

Dean's jaw dropped. The old man at the football game!

Gabriel chuckled. "He recovered from the encounter. I'm sure he
dismissed it as his imagination."

Walking him to the door, Gabriel tenderly patted the boy's bottom.

"As I said, your kundalini is very sensitive, and you have a direct
connection down here. You'll find making love is far different from that
monstrous experience last night."

Concentrating, Dean could barely recall his battle with the lidercubus.
It was like looking at a black-and-white photo on an old, faded
newspaper. He should have felt something beyond curiosity - some measure
of fear and loathing. But clearly, one of the many things Gabriel had
scrubbed out of him was most of that memory. If not for the red stripes
on his back, he might have thought it all a dream. Would his
recollections fade with the marks? He hoped not. He was proud of helping
make the world just a little bit better.

"I don't know what a `kundalini' is, Gabriel. But I hope that's a
good thing."

"Oh, it's very good," Gabriel replied, with a hurried explanation of
chakras. "He is just the boy to kindle your's." Gabriel didn't need
to tell Dean who he meant.

The boys shared a long hug, then Gabriel kissed each of the boy's
cheeks.

"Go to him...Oh, and you'll need this."

Gabriel slipped a bottle into Dean's hand, and the younger boy expected
to see a fancy container of exotic ligament. Instead, he was surprised to
find an ordinary plastic bottle of drug store lube.

"Sometimes, less is more." Gabriel shrugged with a smile.

The door closed quietly behind Dean, and as he walked down the stairs, he
marveled at all he'd been through. He was intoxicated with joy, and
needed share it with Chris.

As he turned on the second landing to walk down to the first floor, Dean
was unsurprised to see the third flight had vanished behind him, no doubt
with the entire third floor, as well.

Locking the door to his room Dean gazed down at his slumbering friend.
Chris' long eyelashes were beautiful, rare plumage. Such a gentle, funny
and curious boy. He could have watched his friend sleep for hours, if he
weren't feverish with more than simple horniness.

Remembering that Gabriel had done something to keep Chris deeply asleep,
Dean wondered how he'd awaken him. In the old fairytale, the kiss of a
prince worked. He was no prince, but Dean would give it a shot.

Kneeling beside the boy, Dean let his lips gently land on his friend's.
He lingered, sharing the boy's breath, while Chris' eyes fluttered
open. It worked!

"Hello sleeping beauty," Dean whispered.

"Hiiiiiiiii," Chris torpidly sighed, with a widening smile. "Is it
time to get up?"

"It's a couple of hours 'til breakfast. But if you want to get UP..."
Dean replied suggestively.

"Can we? What about that medication you're on?"

"Yeah, we can. I finished the meds yesterday."

Chris stumbled out of bed, and Dean helped him upright. The blond took
one look at Dean and whistled. "You really are Prince Charming. Or maybe
a pirate? Either way, nice Halloween outfit."

"I dressed up just for you." It was no lie. He was sure Gabriel had
more ordinary clothes he could have given Dean, but opted to serve Dean
up on a silver platter.

"Mmmm. So soft," Chris murmured, while slipping his arms around Dean's
waist. Their lips met for a lingering kiss that quickly grew more
passionate. "Still, I prefer you naked."

While running his fingers through Chris golden hair, Dean let the boy
slowly unbutton his shirt, and peel it off. Gently pushing Dean onto the
bed on his back, Chris pulled off the boy's boots, and tossed them
aside.

Wearing no socks, Dean's toes looked delicious. Staring meaningfully
into Dean's light green eyes, he sucked and licked one of the boy's big
toes, then slowly fellated the other. What a tease, Dean thought.

Pulling Dean back up onto his feet, Chris slid the flat of his hand onto
the front of the boy's trousers. His head jerked with surprise at what
he felt.

"What the fuck..?"

Chris squeezed Dean's swollen bulge with a full fist, confirming his
suspicions. Dean sighed from the pressure on his rigid boyhood.

"How...What..?"

"It's a side effect from the meds," Dean explained.

"Really? Can I have some?"

Dean giggled. "No silly. I used it all up. Besides, you're perfect just
the way you are."

Dean leaned in for another long kiss, while sliding a palm up and down
the swollen lump running up the front of Chris' very snug boxer briefs.

A moment later, Chris had Dean's trouser open, and let them fall to his
ankles. Taking a step back, he gave his friend a long once over in the
dim predawn light.

Outside of porn, he'd never seen such sheer and sexy undies on a guy.
They framed Dean's legs wonderfully, accentuating his wiry thigh muscles
and abs, while leaving Dean's junk in a veil of mystery. In fact, he
couldn't even see the shape or size of the boy's dick. At the same
time, they bisected Dean's prominent, muscular pelvic "V" alluringly.

Wherever Dean found those briefs, Chris hoped he had more.

"Such straight fire," Chris muttered, then reached down to rub the boy
through the smooth, satiny material. Dean followed suit, for a moment,
and the boys gently teased each other through their underpants.

By now, Chris was wide awake, and dropped to his knees. He was very eager
to see the purported wonders of modern medicine. Hooking his thumbs
inside Dean's waistband, he quickly pulled the boy's slinky undies
down. On the way, they caught Dean's erection by the tip, pulling it
down as well, before it thwacked up against the boy's hairless base.

"Duuuude..."

Chris gazed at the 5 inch glory bouncing diagonally upward, while Dean
stepped out of his briefs.

"It's so beautiful," Chris whispered, though he was puzzled at how
Dean's little acorns hadn't grown in tandem with their branch. His
smooth, round little scrotum was still attached to Dean's root, dwarfed
by the huge boy tool towering over them.

Clasping Dean eagerly by the base, Chris licked the boy's nozzle,
flicking underneath, then dragging his tongue all around the crimson
head. Dean moaned and sighed, relishing the wet friction against his most
tender region.

It felt like his skin was on fire when Chris sponged up and down his
entire length, until it was dripping wet. Then, he resumed licking just
the knob, while stroking Dean's shaft with his right hand. Though it
wasn't proportionately thick - maybe two fingers wide - it filled the
length of Chris' voracious fist, and it felt powerful in his grip.

At first slowly, then more quickly, he stroked Dean firmly, sucking and
licking on the boy's very tender cap. At the same time, he tickled the
boy's testicles with his other finger tips, then pulled on them gently,
and rolled them across his palm.

Dean's breath grew shallow and ragged. He was shaking from the
enthralling tingles Chris conjured with his mouth and hands. Biting his
lip to stifle a moan, piping notes of anguished joy fluted out of his
nostrils. He could feel tissues pulling on his balls from his bowels. But
it felt deeper, and more profound than the last few days. This time, it
was for real.

"Slow down, Chris. I'm too close!"

The blond stopped stroking his friend, and held the boy in his mouth,
until the threat died away. Then, Chris slowly bobbed his slack jaw
forward, pushing as much of Dean into him as he could. An inch or two
from the the boy's smooth pubis, Chris stopped. Dean's knob was at the
back of his mouth, and for the moment, as far he'd ever gotten with his
older teen friend without gagging. He'd have to practice with Dean, and
get it deeper, maybe deep into his throat.

For now, he slobbered forward only that far, scrubbing Dean's underside
with his tongue, and rubbing the sides with his cheeks, then sucking hard
as he pulled back to the tip.

Slowly, but steadily, he slobbered and sucked, until Dean's tell-tale
trembling and moans let Chris know his best friend was on the brink
again.

Quivering, his body awash in sparkling sensations, Dean pulled Chris to
his feet for another long kiss.

While their tongues wrestled, and they sucked saliva from one another,
the two boys lightly rubbed each other's swollen flesh. With a
featherlike touch, Chris ran a thumb and index finger along Dean's
astonishingly hard love muscle, while his other fingers kneaded one of
the boy's slender, yet solid buns.

At the same time, Dean was digging a furrow into his palm, while rubbing
the flat of his hand up and down Chris throbbing, cotton-bound prong.

Breaking away from the kiss, Dean whispered, "My turn."

Settling on his knees, the naked boy gazed at the ridge running up the
front of Chris' snug, pale blue underpants. Closing his eyes, he rubbed
his cheek along the boy's rigid desire. The material was so soft, in
contrast to the steamy hardness underneath.

Dean gave it a kiss. In the future, he'd take his time, teasing the boy
through his undies until Chris begged him to touch it for real. But there
wasn't time, and Dean was shaking with hot blooded impatience. With
little ceremony, he pulled Chris' undies down to his ankles, though he
carefully avoided catching the boy's cock with the waistband.

Slender and pale, Chris' needfully engorged 3-inches were a joy to
behold. Dean had avoided even looking at Chris while they showered or
dressed. And how he'd missed that proud stiffy!

Although intimate with Chris's pounding unit for less than a month, Dean
had already, committed every detail of the boy's blood-engorged hardness
to muscle memory. He could relished that little curvature on the upper
side of Chris' pink-purple knob with his tongue tip, and slowly bathed
the rest of the boy's glans with hot saliva.

Pursing his lips, Dean engulfed Chris' head like a little perch, pulling
on just the glans with his wet lips from ridge to tip, then with an open
mouth, engulfing them back around the ridge, before pulling back. After a
few moments of this gentle torment, Dean held the head with his lips,
then gave its pee-hole a sound tongue lashing. When Chris almost doubled
over, Dean bobbed up and back, gently buffing the boy's length with his
cheeks, while swirling the underside with his tongue.

"UUUUUUUhhhhh - "

Chris chocked off his own loud groan by bitting into his forearm. If only
he'd play with my nuts...

It was like he'd spoken out loud, because the next thing Chris felt was
Dean's furnace-warm fingers fondling his balls, and giving them gentle
squeezes that made his sigh and gasp.

"Sooo savage!"

The corners of Dean's lips curled with a smile, while he continued
ravishing Chris' tender flesh and dormant sperm factories. With a slack
jaw, he slid his head all the way, until his nose plowed into Chris'
baby-smooth pubic muscles, then sucked ferociously, while pulling back to
the knob. Forward and back, slack slobbering and sucking, he heard Chris
panting in time with each delicious lap.

Inspiration filled him, and Dean gently pushed the boy onto his bed, to
experiment in new ways. He held Chris in his mouth, with the boy's knob
tickling his tonsils, sucking on him like a straw, while humming a song.
When the vibrations made the boy withe, and bury his moans in a pillow he
pulled over his face, Dean pulled off and alternated slow sucks with
fast, forceful finger strokes. Filling his lips with the boy's barely
emergent ball sack, he sucked and licked each testicle, while his
fingertips rubbed circles around Chris' extremely vulnerable, and
sopping wet knob.

"Yeah Dean! So close!"

Dean pulled off, making the boy whimper.

"Not just yet, mon ami." French. Fuck. Gabriel had rubbed more than oil
into him.

When Chris' breathing slowed to normal, Dean sucked a little longer on
the boy's bag, then licked the place behind it. While finger feathering
Chris' shaft, Dean kissed and sucked on the boy's taint - then licked
further!

Pulling aside one of Chris' buns with his free hand, Dean kissed and
licked into the boy's divide, until he his tongue tapped at Chris'
tightly cinching entrance for a few moments. Replacing his tongue with a
finger, he kissed his way back to Chris' knob, while his finger skated
around the boy's anus. Muffled notes of desperation resonated through
the pillow Chris held over his face, sounding like a French horn.

Chris could scarcely believe it. His roommate - his best friend - liked
to do butt stuff? They'd occasionally tickled one another down there,
but nothing so bold. He'd wanted to do some of the things he'd learned
from his cousin, but Chris had been too afraid of freaking out someone he
cared about.

"Cared about?" Fuck. It was a deeper feeling than that. The way he was
eager to share in even the most mundane tasks with Dean, yet forced
himself to act all casual; the way he found all of Dean's jokes
hilarious, even if they weren't original; the way the boy's smile was
like an inverted rainbow, making everything else inconsequential.

His cock was raging, desperate to erupt with what it could not yet spew.
But that just symptomatic of the swelling in his heart.

Dean's finger entered him gently, and Chris barked brutally.

Pulling the pillow off his head, Chris plead with Dean to let him cum.

Slowly, Dean pulled his finger out of Chris' bottom, and let the boy's
knob slide from his mouth. Dean had been on a hair trigger for days, and
was deliriously needy himself.

Crawling up to Chris, and taking the boy's jaw between both hands, Dean
shared his passion with a long, luxuriant kiss.

"Would you fuck me, Chris? I need you in me, dude!"

"Really??" Chris was panting, half-way out of his mind and not sure
he'd heard his roommate correctly. "You want me to fuck you...in the
ass?"

Dean quietly giggled. "No. In my vagina, you idiot."

But Chris wasn't laughing, and stared at him, with his jaw open. Nobody
but his older cousin had ever asked him to be fucked. How many times had
he beat off to fantasies of mounting Dean? He could scarcely believe it
was real.

With a serious expression, Dean slowly emphasized his desire.

"Shove. Your. Fat. Hard. Dick. In. My. Butthole. I got it squeaky
clean."

Chris sighed and grinned with delight.

"Your wish is my command, sire," he replied, then thought about things
they needed. "I should put down a towel."

"Right. And you should probably use this," Dean said, fumbling through
his discarded trousers for the plastic bottle.

"Lube! The real kind. I was gonna use some hand lotion, but this way
better."

Not for the first time, Dean was glad his best friend was no sexual
novice. Moments later, he was on crouched on all fours on a towel spread
on Chris' bed.

Spreading Dean's buns, he caressed the inside walls for a moment, and
then leaned in to kiss the boy's hairless, crinkled rose. It smelled of
jasmine and oranges, and the moment Chris's lips landed on Dean's
fleshy pastry, he didn't pause before testing it with his tongue tip.

Dean gasped with elated surprise, and then moaned, while Chris' tongue
twirled round and round his tender entrance. Though he'd laughed at
Gabriel Dornay's earlier double entendre, Dean had always thought
"eating ass" was a joke, or a euphemism. But it was real and he
trembled and moaned from the enthralling sensations bursting between his
buns.

However Dean had prepped himself, there was more than the mundane flavor
of human skin. A slight honey-like flavor and a vague spice made Chris
even hungrier for Dean's tender delight, and he twirled his tongue
around Dean's coiled confection like it were his last meal.

In minutes, Chris was also moaning with gratification, but his evident
pleasure was muffled by the slender, meaty cheeks framing his face, and
he squeezed those sacks of muscles with deep, rhythmic compressions. It
had taken little time to open Dean, and Chris' tongue was now deep in
Dean's intoxicating hole, propelled with a ravenous hunger, and lashing
like an eel.

Dean's shivered, and his cock pounded in violent response, demanding
satisfaction from this assault on its dignity through the back channel.
But with all his willpower, Dean ignored any instinct to touch himself,
 gripped the bedding with caged fury, and stifled a groan building in his
diaphragm.

His mouth tiring, and his own cock on fire with need, Chris pulled his
face out of the buffet, and found the plastic bottle of KY.

Slicking his hand, he gently rubbed a circle around Dean's anal lips.
They were already invitingly loose, and so he plunged his index finger
into his friend, tunneling for treasure. And when he found it, Dean's
whole body spasmed, practically launching him into space.

Clearly, Dean was far more responsive down there than Chris' older
cousin had been, when he taught the younger boy how to pleasure a bottom.
So, he played with Dean's prostate very gently, rubbing it with a
hooking motion only a few times, earning deep gasps of profound pleasure.

Chris knew he was playing with fire, so he pulled back from the magic
button, to his first knuckle. Taking care to not land in the end zone, he
steadily pumped in and out, loving the sensation the tight suction
rolling up and down his finger. Then, he added another finger, and Dean
quietly grunted, while his anus opened its embrace.

The room was thick with sexual famine, and echoed with moans and sighs.

"Are you ready, Dean?"

"Hells yes, dude. Please, just do it!"

Greasing his turgid tunnel trowel, Chris knelt between Dean's widely
spread legs. Gently pushing Dean's shoulders until they rested on the
bed, Chris explained it made the next part easier.

Dean's presentation was magnificent: a pair of firm and round little
globes, dimpled on the sides, barely concealing a slightly parted portal
to ecstasy.

Though he aimed his turgid tool by hand, Chris was ready for a fumbled
entry, such as had always happened with his cousin. However, with Dean,
it was like his knob had a magnetic coupling with the boy's welcoming
entrance. They were made for each other, and when they made contact, it
was like Chris' cock was being kissed, and then drawn in.

Sparkles erupted in both boys, and in unison, they hissed from the
electric thrill.

Chris' head popped through with surprising ease, and barely a murmur
from Dean. All the same, he waited until Dean urged him on to press his
hips forward. Plunging down, he slid all the way until smooth groins were
embedded in Dean's young teen ass.

"Oh fuck, you feel so good in me, dude!"

"You have no idea how you feel!"

It had never felt like this with his cousin. It was like like the
difference between riding in powerful, roomy truck, and being sealed in
the smooth, contoured ride of a Porsche.

Dean's depths were a warm, wet stew pot slow cooking him. Moreover,
though his muscles had been pliant when Chris slid in, they were now
sealed tightly around him, almost like a suction cup.

Gliding back with the nervously slow grace of a ballet dancer at his
first recital, Chris rolled the hips back back a couple of inches.
Gritting his teeth and groaning from itchy, fiery tingles rolling along
his length, he stopped just short of pulling his knob out, then slid back
in. Back and forth. In and out. He was trying to keep it slow, and make
it last but his reflexes were overwhelming. Gripping Dean's hips, he
fucked the boy faster.

And then, it was like Chris' dick was no longer under Chris' control;
like Dean's ass was sucking him in, then pushing him out. Dean was
crushing his dick on every pump, fucking Chris with his bowels, and Chris
was enthralled! He pounded faster, needing to cum in that tight,
wonderful ass - desperate to climax in the boy he loved.

Loved? Fuck yes. He loved Dean Coffin!

And he was fucking him hard now. He just wished his dick was thick enough
or long enough to hit that place he could never reach with his cousin,
either - at least in this position. Chris needed to fill his best friend
with the joy that filled his heart, while pulling at his balls. But he
couldn't stop plowing the boy so hard it sounded like he was spanking a
snare drum. His balls started pulling in, and his orgasm was starting to
flare from somewhere behind his balls.

"Sh-sh-shiiit! Deeean-o! Can't stop!"

"Chris - oh fuck - I love you... inside me..." Dean panted. "I want...you
to come...in me...But...can we do it together?"

Dean emphasized the point by pulling Dean's right hand down, closing the
fingers around his furiously pounding prong. That simple touch could do
it; it could release burst a dam holding days of pent up force.

Chris had a better idea. "Yeah...but you gotta stop squeezing my dick."

From those stupid yoga exercises he did with his mom, Chris focused on
his breathing. Ignoring the waves of pleasure flaring from his bowels to
his balls, he inhaled and exhaled slowly, relaxing his body, and
especially his union with Dean.

At Chris' suggestion, they momentarily disengaged, drawing whimpers out
of both of them. Then, Dean was on his back, with his ass elevated by a
couple of pillows. He was holding his knees to his chest, in a position
that Chris knew worked with his cousin. It was the only way he had been
able to reach the teenager's magic button.

Once again kneeling between Dean's widely spread thighs, Chris took only
a moment to gaze at the treasure below. With his legs and butt cheeks
spread so wide, Dean's cleft was less a valley than a bowl, leading to a
mine of sweet, meaty warmth.

Chris was so hard he thought his swollen bone would burst. His cock beat
several times against his prepubescent loins, and he slathered a little
more grease on it.

"This'll be so lit, dude. You'll love it!"

Lining himself up by hand once again, Chris leaned forward, letting his
weigh propel him into Dean. The surfer's loose flesh curtains offered
little resistance, gripping his cock like well-oiled cling wrap.

Chris' little sex scimitar had a slightly upward curvature, which was
perfectly suited for hitting Dean's special spot. As the tip rolled
across it, Dean hissed with gratification. He was hitting Dean's acorn
easily! That delicious pressure sent a warm electric wave straight from
Dean's bowels to end of his cock, inflaming it like a lighthouse beacon.

"Oh shit! That's fucking savage!"

Somehow, Dean's ring muscles had cinched around him again. When Chris
pulled back, the slippery yet sticky muscles rolled tightly down his
length, showering it with itchy tickles. When his nozzle's ridge kissing
Dean's gates, Chris plunged back in again, pumping another blast of
aching joy into the boy's prostate.

"Wait," Dean gasped, and slid his right hand from behind his knee and
through Chris' soft, blond hair to the back of his head. Pulling Chris
down with a hungry smile, Dean gave his friend a deeply amorous kiss.

Chris replaced Dean's supporting hand, squeezing the boy's slender,
corded thigh, while keeping it pressed to Dean's torso. He returned
Dean's kiss, and slid his tongue into the boy's mouth for a lingering
dance. At the same time, his hips slowly rose and fell, pumping, gently
pumping, driving his piston in and out of Dean's combustive chamber.

It was a moment of the most tender sharing, and a precursor of the
volcanic pressure building inside both of them. When their mouths parted,
their lips were bridged with a single stream of saliva.

"Do it, Chris! Fuck me hard! I need it so bad."

"I need it worse, Dean!"

Pushing himself up a little with the hand on Dean's thigh, Chris hooked
the boy's other foot over his shoulder, and grabbed a handful of
muscular buttock.

Sliding in. Sliding out. Trying to make it last. The slippery yet sticky
grip on him was wetly chafing insanely itchy tingles, building a fire in
his cock.

"Uuuuuh! Yeaah! Oh, Chris! Harder!"

Chris picked up the pace, and his cock was a steady, relentless force on
Dean's prostate, while it pulled on his muscular seals savagely. Dean's
cock responded in kind, beating like a metronome.

Still, Dean needed it harder, and faster, and then something changed in
his bowels. On its own, his posterior port hole started opening and
closing on its own. His anus squeezed Chris tightly at the bottom of
every thrust, held him in place for a moment, fighting the boy's
withdrawal. And the friction demanded more friction.

Chris' hips moved more rapidly. Even still, Dean's ass clamped in time,
and seemly pull him in deeper. But Chris was already slamming his tiny
nuts into Dean's rubbery buttocks, and fought to pull out.

Chris surrendered and plowed Dean so fast that the rapid sound of
staccato, squelching slapping was like a wet rubber jackhammer.

Staring into each other's eyes with wonder and consuming passing, Dean
and Chris grit their teeth, and tried to stifle their tattered moans.

"Getting so close, dude!"

"Me too! Let's do it! Together!"

"Here it comes, Chris! Here it...UUUUUUUUH!!!!"

Dean's ravenous hole clamped down barbarously. Chris' explosive release
of passionate ecstasy shot from his own brutally constricting rectum,
through his balls and cock and into Dean's ravenous bowels. No -
actually, it was sucked out of him, in a furious planetary alignment from
Chris' own asshole to the tip of Dean's lurching cock.

A blasting drum pounded in his head with the same syncopation deafening
Dean.

Pumping and pumping, their prepubescent prongs heaved in unison: Chris'
cock kicking into Dean's bowels, and Dean's bursting in time and space,
swelling to spray desert-dry air that could have impregnated the world if
he'd only he had the juice.

Dean's cinched eyelids were a blinding arc light screen as bright as the
crystalline joy bursting from his pre-teen peen. And as his bowels and
balls rolled in a second tsunami, auroras of light formed clearly into
images: a groaning 16-year-old boy with smoothly shaved genitals,
shooting ropes of cum all over his own face while he fucked him with his
little boy cock; then, a 6th grader named Keith spewing droplets of thin
ejaculate into his mouth in a treehouse; then, he was Chris, losing his
mind in a joint, climaxing in Dean's ass.

No! He WAS Dean! And his body radiated with rapturous explosions of bliss
- the same bliss he could see coursing through Chris through his slowing
opening eyes. Their slender tummies rolled with the same rhythm, while
the room echoed with their piping moans.

Dean's hands gripped Chris' soft, round buns, pulling him into his
joyously flaring hole, needing every last blissful burst. All the same,
their climaxes faded, and, Chris collapsed onto Dean.

Damp with perspiration, the naked boys panted and shuddered randomly.
Gentle kisses on one another's shoulders and slow caresses replaced the
words they couldn't yet form. Weirdly, the bedding, and even the warm
air was almost unbearable against their tender skin, yet every millimeter
touching one another merged in a state of bliss.

"I don't...I don't think it's s'posed to be that intense."

"Huh-uh. Me either, Chris."

"I was almost seeing things."

Dean wasn't sure he could ever tell Chris what he'd just seen.
Fortunately, Chris had a mundane explanation, at least for the intensity
of his own orgasm.

"I haven't gone 4 days without beating off in a long time," he
giggled. "Maybe we should try it again, sometime. Well, for a day,
maybe."

"You didn't do it since Saturday?"

"Nuh-huh," Chris shook his head. "If you couldn't do it, it would've
been unfair." Apparently, the blond went on sexual strike until Dean's
"medical treatment" was finished.

Dean's eyes welled, telling Chris his generosity was unnecessary.

"Dude, we're a team."

"We're more than that, Chris."

Dean told Chris how he truly felt about him. They complemented one
another like peanut butter and jelly. It was like Chris was a missing
part of him.

"I love you, dude. Like not in the bro sense. I'm IN love with you."

Chris' jaw dropped, while the corners or his lips rose in a beatific
smile.

"I was scared to tell you, but same here." Disappointed with his
hesitancy, Chris came out and said it. "I love you, too, Dean."

"It's like Gabriel said: you're my heart's desire."

"Who?"

Fuck. Of course. Nobody but Dean would remember Gabriel Dornay's brief
appearance.

"Ah, a kinda cousin. Never mind."

The boys sealed things with a long and tender kiss. Chris combed his
hands through Dean's long, silky hair, while Dean gently caressed from
the boy's shoulders to his buttocks.

When their lips parted, Chris asked Dean if he now believed in fate.

"I dunno how I feel about fate. But I definitely feel your boner in
me."

Chris giggled, because neither boy had softened, and Dean's big bone had
thumping all the way into their waistlines.

"Whatever you do, please don't go on those meds again. Keeping my hands
off you was torture."

"You got me any time you want, bae. Day or night, 365."

"Mmmmmm..."

Chris' lips landed gently onto Dean's, like a butterfly onto a flower,
and gently played with its soft, red beauty. At the same time, his turgid
cock slowly pushed into Dean, pressing a sigh out of the boy like a
little bellows.

With the slow inertia of a train pulling out of a station, Chris' hips
pumped in for a moment, then out for a moment, and friction rippled up
and down his thrusting rod.

Dean hooked his legs around Chris hips, replacing his hands on the boy's
buns in a more powerful grip. At the same time, he tenderly framed his
friend's face with both caressing hands. He gently pulled on Chris'
lower lip with his teeth, then fellated the boy's tongue so suggestively
it inflamed Chris' fiery needs, while filling his heart with adoration.

Dean pushed his powerful hardness into Chris' tummy, then moved back to
meet the boy's impaling thrust, before pumping back forward again. He
could only move back a little, but it was enough to throw gasoline on the
fire.

Their lips sucked and tongues wrestled. The boys' breathing grew faster,
and shallower, and Chris' increased the pace.

Their lips wetly slid to each other's ears, moaning and whispering half
words of guttural encouragement.

Dean hooked Chris' head in the crook of his elbow, while pulling he boy
into his hungry hole. At the same time, Chris thrusts grew ever more
frantic, and Dean's feet locked onto him like a bucking bronco.

The aching throbs bursting from behind his nuts were building into the
crest of a wave and Chris' balls were contracting into the boy
uncontrollably. Once again, it felt like Dean's anus was pulling him in.
He couldn't slow down, and he quietly squealed in frustration, and then
groaned in release. His young cock punched with infertile volleys in
Dean's tight, wet oven, while Dean's feet locked him in place, as deep
as the blond could go.

"Su...Su...Sorry, Dean. I couldn't...couldn't...stop."

Dean rubbed the boy's cheek and jaw with his own.

"It's OK, dude."

When his tattered breathing slowed, Chris felt his erection staggering.
Before his swelling could melt away, Chris pulled up from Dean's
delicate head lock. Resting his weight on his left hand beside Dean's
ribs, Chris reached between them and took the boy's throbbing meat in
hand.

The longer, thicker cock in his fist still startled Chris, after being
used to something half its size. But it was radiant and steaming, and
Chris revered its throbbing power. Maybe, some day, he would feel it
impale his own backside.

Chris wasted no time teasing Dean's prepubescent mass. He wanted to see
his best friend in a frenzied orgasm as much as Dean needed to feel his
balls release their imaginary load.

Dean's cock was still a little greasy, and Chris gripped him as hard as
he could, while stroking him from hairless base to circumcised tip.

While his lungs worked harder, the surfer's torso rolled,  and his wide
open mouth gulped air. His eyes closed, and he grit his teeth, while he
felt his bowels tightening, pulling in his balls.

In seconds, Dean growled like an animal, and his cock vomited drily in
Dean's fingers. His mind flared with explosive multi-hued coronas, while
his ears pounded. For half a minute, he lost himself in the atomizing
sensation of his cock's union with Chris' hand, before he came back to
his senses.

It hadn't been as shattering as their simultaneous orgasm earlier -
something they'd achieve again, and even surpass many times in the
future. But it was thunderous and profound, and left him gasping below
Chris.

His body shook with arbitrary bursts of bliss, and Dean's feet flopped
to the floor. He barely felt Chris flaccid little penis slurp out of him.

Gently holding Dean's quaking wand while it slowly softened, Chris
rolled off his friend. Laying on his side, Chris smiled, watching the boy
he loved recover. Maybe it was the orange morning light growing through
the curtains, but Chris could almost swear Dean was literally glowing. In
fact, everything seemed crisp and bright.

Sighing, Dean rolled on his own side, and smiled at his friend, then
caressed Chris' face with just a couple of fingers.

"We gotta bounce if we're gonna get breakfast."

"I've got granola bars, Dean-o," Chris replied. "And this," he
added, giving his roommates sensitive, softening member a delicate
squeeze.

"But think of the demerits," Dean replied, with joking melodrama.

Chris gazed upward, pretending to mull an insurmountable dilemma, while
still gently fondling blood back into his best friend's groin.

"Hmmm. Saturday afternoon working off demerits, or giving up the
tastiest Halloween treat..? Seems a no-brainer to me."

While their lips settled together, Dean pulled the bedding over them for
a longer, cozier fuck fest.

Even as their love began to blossom that day, the boys had no idea its
endurance wouldn't even be tested by a future pandemic, nor the strange
mysteries that Dean would share explore with Chris.