Sleep doesn’t come easy to Thomas in the best of circumstances. It didn’t when he was alive and it certainly doesn’t in death. Tonight is proving especially problematic, given his current position.
He’s sharing a tent with Pat, Robin, the Captain and Julian, out in the grounds. It’s supposed to be some kind of male bonding activity and it’s far from his idea of an enjoyable time. Alison had practically pleaded with him to try it just for one tonight, whilst Mike was also occupied elsewhere, so that the ladies were free to have a “girls night in”. It’s not a phrase he’s familiar with but it sounds far more appealing than “outdoor male bonding”. Alison knew how to win his acquiescence though and had promised him a full day with her together if he went through with it.
That thought alone has carried him through the last few hours, but even the thought of fair Alison wasn’t enough to help him right now.
The tent, the outdoors, the lack of Alison, they’re only part of the problem. His main grievance lies with the man he’s had the misfortune of laying next to, Julian Fawcett. They’re laying together at one side of the tent, the Captain is laid in his rigid position in the middle with Pat and Robin at the far side. He’s sure Humphrey might be around somewhere too. The rest, as far as he can tell, are sound asleep. Their shallow, instinctive breaths all soundly filling the tent, quite peacefully, except, of course, that of himself and Julian.
At some point, Thomas must’ve drifted off as he finds himself waking up nestled into Julian’s chest, which was certainly not the position he’d fallen asleep in. Not only was he facing the mortifying prospect of nigh-on cuddling Julian, he also found himself with another issue. An issue which, given Julian’s wry smile as Thomas glances at him to see if he’s also awake, is something Julian noticed too.
It becomes even more apparent when Julian’s fingers are brought to his lips, a gesture Julian has used many times in the past that he needn’t verbalise the instruction anymore and Thomas reluctantly opens them to suck. It’s a reluctance purely born out of being caught by the others, knowing from previous experience exactly what Julian’s plans are and that Thomas struggles to keep quiet during such activities.
But, for better or for worse, he accepts the fingers and trusts Julian has a plan to keep Thomas silent. He takes them as he’s learnt to, ensuring each digit receives generous attention before moving onto the next. It’s also important, he’s learnt, to give the fingers a thorough coating of saliva, assuming he’s surmised their next destination correctly.
Either Julian’s techniques are becoming predictable or Thomas is becoming a desperate-for-touch whore as the fingers are removed and make their way to the back of his breeches, before dipping under the waistband and towards his hole. He’s not sure why he does it but he tilts himself almost onto his front, in some effort to give Julian easier access. Naturally, Julian’s mission is the same as he hooks a leg around Thomas’ to spread him wider and he uses his other arm (one which Thomas had somehow ended up laying on in his momentary sleep) to pull Thomas into his chest, keeping Thomas’ arms pinned between their two bodies.
Thomas doesn’t mind, on the contrary, in fact, his cock aches at the new position, also trapped and out of reach much like the rest of him. He feels Julian’s fingers rub around their target before one lightly dips inwards when Thomas feels relaxed enough. It’s something they’ve both had many years to practice and, as a result, had become acclimated to each other.
Julian had taught him the techniques for how to prepare for this a long time ago, how to relax, how to breathe, how to focus on what felt good rather than what hurt. He detests to admit that he has become a bit of an expert at this, but given how Julian was already pressing in a second finger with ease, he had no choice but to relent to the notion.
Of course, he finds the thought goes to his cock again and begins rutting into nothing for ever sought after friction. Alas, all it achieves is fucking himself against Julian’s fingers.
Much like how he can prepare to take the fingers, he’s also accustomed to their specific movements; whether their intentions are pleasure, torture or function. This appeared to be something of the latter two; he suspects Julian is stretching him for later use whilst enjoying how frustrated the fingers are making Thomas. They don’t even seek the area that might give Thomas involuntary pleasure. Instead his pleasure is born out of his own mind, how restrained he feels, how at Julian’s mercy he is, how something as simple as preparatory fingers can have his cock weeping in the way they do.
It goes on for a while longer, until three fingers are in and out with ease and Thomas no longer tries to still his hips, unsure whether it was the friction he craved or the fingers themselves.
Both options are quickly taken away from him when the fingers withdraw and Julian does a sudden, quick roll out of the side of the tent before reaching an arm in and pulling Thomas out with him. They both stand up and face each other, wanton and wordless, as Julian crooks a finger, gesturing for Thomas to follow him.
A few awkward 50 paces later and they’re out of earshot of the tent before either of them finally speaks,
“If you expect to bed me in the dirt like some animal, you’re mistaken, sir!” Thomas announces, folding his arms instinctively against the cold night air. Julian rolls his eyes, pulls Thomas towards him and places the fingers at his mouth again.
He takes them as he did in the tent, until Julian’s other hand entwines in the back of his hair and his technique is dismissed in favour of Julian holding him in place against the full length of them. Julian leans into the space between his own arms to suck at Thomas’ jawline, peppering upwards towards his ear,
“I could’ve fucked you in the tent with the others watching and still had you thanking me for it…” Julian whispers against him as Thomas’ eyes close, envisioning Julian’s words. He whimpers and finds his vigour for sucking the fingers suddenly replenished, “...we can go back, if you like?”
The image of being watched is not entirely unappealing and something he decides the pair of them need to discuss. But that was for later. For now, he was ready to be sucking (or fucking) something other than Julian’s fingers. He shakes his head as best he can with how Julian has him restrained.
“Thought not. Undo your breeches.” Julian instructs and the second he does, Thomas’ hands fly around to his front with eager obedience. The hand in his hair untangles itself and reaches down to encourage Thomas to push the breeches downwards too; Julian’s mouth occupied again at his jawline. Thomas understands the silent request, pushing them down as far as he could without entirely pulling off the fingers and then stepping out of them with one leg so they hang off the other, a technique that Julian had taught him a long time ago so as to not detract from “the moment”.
The fingers pull out of his mouth again and three press into his hole at once this time without hesitation. Thomas can moan as much as he wants to out here, he realises and he does before Julian’s lips meet his and silence him completely.
“Please, I’m ready, just take me however you wish.” Thomas mumbles into the kiss. It’s muffled but Julian understands; he’s ready too.
Everything withdraws from Thomas and he’s left feeling cold, alone, desperate, desperate for Julian to close the gap that he’s made between them and brutalise him.
“You’re lucky…” Julian begins as Thomas watches him spit into his hand to lubricate his own cock, “...I’m not feeling fucking in the dirt tonight either. Come here, wrap your arms around me and your legs around my middle.”
It’s not something they’ve done before, possibly because of the exertion for both parties but Thomas finds there’s something especially intimate about this, about wrapping himself around Julian. It’s lovemaking in its most primal form (except for in the dirt, obviously); no bed or furnishings of any sort, just two bodies entwined with each other.
And he feels small, impossibly small and light in Julian’s strong arms. He’s aware of his own slight size. He’s heard compliments and insults from plenty of people in life and death. Julian himself liked to comment on it, comparing his form to that of a woman's, how he was thin enough to slightly dip in at the waist, how pliant his body was as a result of his size. Julian has gone so far as to prove his words to him on occasion, taking both of Thomas’ slim wrists into one of his own hands to hold him down or wrapping broad hands over Thomas’ hips whilst riding him to move him upwards and downwards from the grip alone.
But he’s never felt a sense of Julian’s size more so than right now, in the arms of Julian, holding him up like he’s nothing. There’s a sense of thrill that comes with his vulnerability, the lingering thought that Julian could do anything to Thomas and Thomas would be powerless to stop him.
“It’ll hurt more than usual…” Julian warns, reaching underneath Thomas to hold his own cock steady, “...slowly lower yourself down, impale yourself onto my cock.” Thomas nods fervently, loosening his arms’ tight grip around Julian to obey the instruction.
As usual with these sorts of activities, Julian is correct. Even with Thomas’ size, to bear a good portion of his weight onto Julian’s cock was overwhelming. He pauses, allows himself to get used to it, exercises his breathing as Julian had taught him and earns a ‘good boy’ for his troubles. It’s perhaps that which leads him to sinking further downwards before tensing his arms and legs and halting again.
Julian is well proportioned, everywhere and the cock filling him is a painful reminder of that. The fact that Thomas can’t ascertain how much he has left to take also has him worried. He wants to take it. He wants to ride it. He wants to please Julian. A few deep breaths, a looser grip and he slips down again, before his head lolls forward onto Julian’s shoulder.
“I can’t.” Thomas whines against Julian’s neck, feeling an all encompassing wave of despondency at his failure. He begins a light sob into the other but makes no effort to pull himself off.
Julian allows Thomas a few moments to be dramatic, as he does every time they get together, before bringing up a hand to Thomas’ hair, giving it a few comforting pets.
“You can and it’ll feel so fucking incredible, just be patient.” The hand pulls Thomas from Julian’s shoulder and into a deep kiss, one Thomas knows is intended to silence him. It works. The hand in his hair moves towards Thomas’ cock trapped between them and gives him some light strokes, ones Thomas knows are meant to encourage him. It works.
They both choose to ignore the underlying sense that they’ve been doing this too long, given how attuned they are to one another and Thomas manages to sink down fully this time. He wails against Julian’s lips, loud enough that the sound might reach the house, never mind the tent before Julian quickly occupies Thomas again with an open mouth and talented tongue, exploiting Thomas’ weakness for kissing.
It does the job though, not only silencing Thomas but giving them both time to adjust to their respective sensations. Julian’s hand keeps moving idly over Thomas’ cock and he can feel the pressure against his prostate from Julian’s mass. He clenches around it as if it might heighten the sensation and is rewarded with a rare moan from Julian.
“God, fuck, please tell me you’re ready to move.” Thomas nods and realises in the first move why they’ve never done this before; it takes a considerable effort to move upwards, his lithe thighs tensing at the very first motion and almost immediately sinking back down again.
This time falling back onto Julian’s cock is easier, with only a pleasant stretch and another nudge against his prostate. It has him chasing the sensation again, shaking thighs be damned. It helps him find a rhythm, one he thinks is fairly quick until both of Julian’s hands reach underneath him.
They grab a cheek each, knead into the lack of fat before he feels Julian’s fingers dig in, grip him, spread him and ultimately assist Julian in speeding Thomas’ movements up.
It’s impossibly fast. A speed that he would never have managed alone. The ignitions of pleasure spark into a full on flames in Thomas’ lower stomach as the thrusts against his prostate turn into one consistent pound. All his limbs tighten around Julian and he finds his head hitting Julian’s shoulder again.
“Please…” It’s a quiet, breathy request, Julian only just catches it above the loud, echoing noise of their skin slapping that otherwise fills what would be dead silent grounds, “Please- I need to- can I- please?” Julian lets out his own moan at Thomas’ words, finding how pleasing it is that the otherwise proudly articulate poet loses all comprehension when they’re doing something like this, especially as Thomas gets close to coming.
“You know… how to… ask… properly…” Julian responds, a couple of words succeeding each thrust. Thomas’ manages to tighten his grip around Julian again, trying all the techniques he’d been taught to stave off an impending orgasm and losing the battle rapidly. It’s difficult to focus on the words; sex is an activity that silences his mind in the best way but also results in temporary word loss.
“Please, fuck, please…” He tries again, eyes filling with tears from the perfect mix of strain and stimulation, “Can-I-come-please?!” Thomas manages, urgent, desperate, legs gripping around Julian as if they might serve as a brake to slow the movements until he’s given permission.
“Good boy… god… good boy…” Julian mumbles, on the edge himself, “Come…” If there were supposed to be other words, Thomas misses them in favour of drowning himself in waves of pleasure that dulls every other sense in comparison. Everything tightens for longer than he thinks he can endure, like teetering on the very, very, edge as Julian continues plowing into him.
It’s when he knows Julian is there too, an easy conclusion to make given how he bites into Thomas’ neck to stifle his own depraved noises, that Thomas releases. He sobs a few times and feels fresh tears rolling down his face as the tightness eases too much and he suddenly feels like jelly.
They collapse together into a bundle on the floor and Thomas is no longer concerned about the dirt.
They don’t make it back to the tent, the warmth of each other proving better than any canopy. They drift back into sleep, Thomas once again feeling very small against Julian who’s pressed against his back, an arm draped over Thomas’ slim waist, broad hand pressing lightly against Thomas’ lower stomach. It’s a safe feeling, familiar and warm even outside in the cold, in the dirt, away from everyone else.
Thomas concludes that perhaps “outdoor male bonding” might be for him after all and drifts into a sound sleep.