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Great Expectations

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It was momentous, really, to be standing in another man's arms while surrounded by the delicious blue paradise of the swimming pool, but Steven began to realize that it wasn't just the trembling fabulous joy of the moment that was making his teeth chatter.

"Johnny," he whispered.

Johnny lifted his head; Steven wondered if the other boy wasn't having trouble focusing his eyes, because it seemed to take a long time for him to look at Steven and reply.


"Your lips are getting blue," Steven observed. Which was an exaggeration; if anything, between the gold flower flicker of the braziers and the green light reflected from the rippling pool, Johnny's lips were purple.

"So what," Johnny murmured, leaning down to kiss him again.

"So, you may miss them later, if they fall off. And besides, you'll need them for what I have planned."

Johnny pulled away abruptly; Steven could see anxiety written large in those wide, dark eyes. Carefully, Steven placed a gentling hand on Johnny's now-tense shoulder.

"Relax," he admonished kindly. "I only want to kiss you some more. Just kiss you," he repeated. And he reached up and did so, his lips against Johnny's cool, wary ones. "You taste so clean. Slickery--"

Johnny surprised him by snickering into his mouth.

"'Slickery'? You, a prize winning journalist. That's not even a real word," Johnny smiled.

"True. But 'hypothermia' is. And that's what we'll get if we don't get out of this pool," Steven explained. He hated to ruin a moment of romantic perfection, but then, he didn't suppose one could have moments of romantic perfection when one's fingers were so pruny they could barely feel the smooth, slippery skin of the man you were in love with.

And so Johnny clambered out of the water, gleaming and perfect by the light of the torches, and he leaned down, smiling, to haul Steven out of the water behind him.

"You know, I read once, in a survival guide, that the best way to help warm someone up who's hypothermic is skin to skin contact," Johnny said suggestively.

"You bugger! Don't tell me you have beauty and brains!"

Johnny snapped the other boy with a handy towel and chased him up the stairs.

"I'll show you brains, you wanker..."

"I'm a wanker! Well, I should think you'd have hairy palms from all the times you've wanked while thinking of me." He'd meant it as a smart reply, but first Johnny looked ashamed and then oddly solemn.

They were in the doorway to Johnny's room by then, and the older boy reached out to touch Steven's chin.

"I should. I-- I do. Think of you, I mean."

Steven's chest felt tight, or perhaps full of buzzing bees. He was certain he was lightheaded.

"That's... that's..."

"I didn't mean to sicken you or anything. I mean, if it--"

"No. Not at all. It's... you're lovely. I don't mind."

Johnny came closer and rested his cheek against Steven's damp hair.

"Can I... can I touch you? Again, I mean?"

"Yes," Steven replied immediately. He missed his suave exterior at times like these, when someone warm was requesting to touch him, and he was only too willing to yield to any request.

Slowly, slower than the minute hand on his father's silly, awful Dr. Who kitchen clock, Steven pushed his still-dripping trunks down his hips. They clung wetly to his thighs, and made his balls feel clammy, but he wasn't willing to shove out of them and spook Johnny. He felt Johnny's hand curl around his rising penis, and let a small, shallow sigh escape as Johnny stroked him experimentally, hardly fumbling at all.

"I like touching you," Johnny whispered. He sounded hoarse, earnest.

"I like being touched," Steven assured him.

The gentle hand paused.

"Have you been with lots of other blokes?"

"Well. How many is lots?"

"More than ten?"

"Um. I'm afraid I don't keep count." This was an outright lie. Since the first time he'd braved that particular public loo at fifteen, he'd fondled, or been fondled by exactly twenty-three men. He'd only seen two of them, other than Johnny, more than once, and Glen didn't really count, then, did he?

"Have you done... Everything?"

Steven could hear the nervous quaver in Johnny's low voice.

"No one's ever buggered me, if that's what you mean. And I've never had anyone. That way."

The hand that wasn't petting Steven's shaft closed in his hair. Johnny mouthed Steven's ear and stroked it with his tongue.

"Would you let me?"

"If you... If you wanted to. But not tonight."

"Not tonight," Johnny agreed dreamily. "Tonight I want to kiss you like before, in your bed. And I want to feel you-- you--"

Steven slipped his hand gingerly into Johnny's suit, the tight wet cloth hampering his progress, but finally accommodating his grip on Johnny's sweet, hot dick.

"Your bed, then. Johnny." Lover, Steven added, but only to himself.

Johnny lay very still on his wide bed while Steven finally kicked out of his wet togs. He made no move to help or hinder Steven while he pulled Johnny's suit down his long legs, but did sigh the other boy's name when Steven finally knelt beside him, tipping the mattress slightly.

"Will you... Will you do that..."

"Yes," Steven promised. He kissed the petal soft head of Johnny's cock, knowing it was easier to do what was asked then to hear Johnny struggle to actually say it.

A long, swaying moan from the older boy made the blood pound in Stevens' ears, and he lifted his eyes to watch Johnny's tight, reddened face. Those fine eyes were screwed shut, and that wide, sweet mouth furrowed into an expression of ecstatic concentration... Or perhaps the terrified rictus of a man about to be hit by a lorry.

Steven couldn't really smile with his mouth stretched wide over Johnny's short, thick cock, but then he really didn't want to. Open your eyes, he wished passionately.

But Johnny came, groaning, instead, and Steven readily swallowed the other boy's load.

Eventually, after long moments resting his cheek against Johnny's still trembling thigh, he felt the older boy's hand cradle his head.

"That... That was lovely of you. To do. I mean... You know what I mean."

"I enjoyed it," Steven reported. And its sincerity took nothing away from the fact that he was preparing to be disappointed. He waited a few beats, but Johnny made no move, no offer. Sighing to himself, Steven hazarded, "Will you touch me? Bring me off?"

"Yeah. Sure. Will you... Will you show me how?"

Steven felt sure his smile was at least as broad as Johnny's shoulders.

"That's the spirit. Participation. That's the key, you see."

"What are you grinning at?"

"You. You're not a selfish tosser, after all."

"You stupid git," Johnny said fondly.

"My darling wanker," Steven sighed with satisfaction. "Come here."