Holding out for a Hero

IDreamaboutMen said:

Hi there! This is the beginning of a new story that I'm publishing on my Substack. I find it easier to read longer stories there, where you can find them in full (although they are mostly always works in progress).

I hope you like it, and feel free to share your thoughts and comments about it with me. Looking forward do hearing from you!

He scraped the mud off his boots against the old metal rack by the stairs, then took them in two easy steps.

The scent of roasted steak was the first thing that met him as he opened the sturdy front door. Black pepper, Madeira… He rolled his shoulder and exhaled.

He closed the heavy door behind him, the old lock falling into place with a thump.

Slipping off his boots, he placed them beside the row of impeccably cleaned Wellingtons, standing in proud formation.

He thought I should take better care of mine, then let his backpack drop and hung it on a hanger, next to his wool jacket—a dark, muted green—beside the others in nearly identical shades. Except for one. Tartan.

He followed the warm light from the kitchen and hugged the man standing there.

"Hi there, handsome. Celebration?"

"Naaah, just felt like this weather needed something hearty." He hugged the young man back, then continued tidying small jars of spices and flour into their drawers.

"So, not hungry then?" The man asked.

"Sorry, but I had a shake and a bar after the gym. So I’m—"

"That won’t keep you full for long, Alec. Especially not after the gym. You know that."

"Yeah, well…" The young man let his fingers trail across the man’s broad shoulders. "Maybe I could get some meat to chew on later."

The man grunted, smiling.

"Oh, the appetite of young men, eh?"

"One needs to take care of oneself, you always say so, and I think I’m managing a reasonably healthy diet."

The man dried his hands on a handkerchief, then turned around and grabbed the young man’s waist, pulling him closer.

"So, I’m part of your diet now, am I?"

"Yes, very much so, Mr. Forrester. And I can assure you, I’ll take any part you’re willing to offer."

The young man leaned in so they could kiss.

"Yeah, so far you certainly have," the man murmured, pressing another gentle kiss to Alex’s lips.

The young man took a few impromptu dance steps backward, still holding the older man’s hands, a playful, almost coy smile on his lips.

"Is Mr. Forrester ready for dessert, maybe?"

"Mr. Forrester is always ready for dessert, Master Alec."

Alec moved toward a small door at the end of the kitchen, pulling off his sweater as he went, smiling when he heard the man following.

As he reached the bed, he turned to watch the man, who stood waiting in the doorway and began working the waistband of his grey sweatpants.

"Did shoulders and pecs today. You see it?"

"Yeah," the man said. "Very nice."

Alec turned and pushed the pants down, revealing his well-shaped glutes.

"And these?"

"You know they’re my favorites, Alec. Always have been."

"Even when I was a little boy?"

"If there’s one thing you’ve never been, it’s a little boy."

Alec let out a short laugh, turned, and fell back onto the thick duvet. His dick, already hard, landed with a soft thump against his stomach.

Resting on his elbows, he watched as the man approached, unbuttoning his shirt. A muscular body emerged beneath a tank top, dark short hair covering the part of his chest that was visible. His nipples stood in sharp relief under the white fabric.

He stopped between Alec’s spread legs. The young man was stroking his cock, watching the striptease in front of him closely.

As he passed, the man placed his shirt neatly on a chair, then pulled off his tank top.

Alex loved this sight. The muscular body, shaped by years of working the deep forest surrounding them—felling timber that needed to be felled, hunting game that needed to be hunted. Taking care of a boy who needed to be taken care of.

But now came the best part.

The man locked eyes with him, absentmindedly scratching his chest before letting his fingers brush over a nipple.

Then his hands moved downward, unfastening the thick leather belt, unzipping the dark blue denim jeans that hugged his broad thighs so tightly. He pulled them down, ever so slowly, making sure the young man got his money’s worth.

And he certainly seemed to.

Alex had spread his legs wide, one hand stroking his cock, the other playing with his balls and the sensitive spot just behind them. The crease between his tight ass muscles was visible to anyone who cared to look.

And the man did.

The bulge in his jeans made that perfectly clear. The young man licked his lips.

He tugged them down and stepped out, then moved even closer to the boy’s eager body.

"Come on, Mr. Forrester. Show me that wonderful log of yours."

The bulge in the briefs needed no explanation. His rock-hard dick lay resting to the left, the ridge and contours of the head visible through the thin white cotton. A matching set of heavy balls filled out the rest in the most pleasing way.

Alex signaled for him to move closer. When the man leaned over him, he let his fingers play along the waistband, then slowly pulled it down.

The cock catapulted free.

"Yessss," Alex murmured, pleased.

He let his fingertips dance over the swollen head, teasing the slit, tracing the divide, then further down the ridge and back. The skin was warm, almost hot.

"I love this with you, you know? This." He moved his fingers again. "Your cock, Mr. Forrester, is amazing."

"I’m happy you like it, Master Alec. It seems to enjoy your attention."

"It sure does, doesn’t it?"

The young man turned onto his stomach, positioning himself so that Mr. Forrester’s cock was directly in front of his mouth.

"And here’s dessert."

He let his tongue barely graze the head, just enough to make the man shiver—his cock swaying, gently bumping against the young man’s nose.

They laughed quietly at the moment, and then Alex let his tongue touch the head again.

No shivers this time.

Instead, Alec leaned in and pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to the tip. Then, with the tip of his tongue, he traced the divide again, up and down, letting its weight linger against his lips.

He parted them slightly, just enough to take in half of the head, his saliva softening the warm, taut skin. Letting it rest there, its weight anchoring against his soft, young cushions. A crown jewel on display.

The man felt Alec’s tongue gently teasing, as well as the lingering lust in his blue eyes. His cock was like an oil tanker, moving forward slowly—heavy and forceful. Unstoppable once in motion.

Then, opening his mouth a little more, Alec took in the rest of the head, gasping softly as he felt the size of it—its sheer volume filling so much of the space his mouth had to offer. The saltiness of pre-cum spread slowly across his tongue.

The man stood waiting, letting Alec take the next move. His underwear pooled around his ankles, his big, muscular ass held in tense expectation.

Alec let one hand slide between the man’s thighs, fingers brushing through the short, dark hair as he slowly moved upward, seeking out the soft skin of his tight ballsack.

There it was—so warm and firm. Alec let his fingers trace the outlines of the man’s testicles as he took more of his cock into his mouth. The male body’s most sensitive treasure, hidden beneath layers of soft skin and hair.

Every time he touched them, he pictured the man moving through the deep forest, naked—his pale skin stark against the dark trunks and the deep green moss, his strong, muscular body, every fiber working as he moved like a giant among the trees.

A force of nature in the shape of a human.

In the shape of a man.

He closed his eyes, focusing on the sensation of that huge head pressing deeper. The musky scent of HIM thickened with every breath, raw and primal, wafting from the dark, bushy pubes he was slowly getting closer to.

Stretching his throat, he made room for even more of him—and he took it. The man felt the space open and pushed in to fill it, his cock guided by the young man’s tongue, steering him, massaging him.

Alec widened his mouth even further, steering the dick in, his hand cupping the balls to guide it right. He gagged as the head pressed deeper, but he let it push further—he loved the feeling of being completely filled by that thick cock. Feeling the sharp edge of the rim as it passed.

Then he began to move, sliding his head back and forth, coating the shaft with a thick layer of saliva, slick and warm, dripping down onto the man’s balls and his hand.

The man felt the signal and began moving with him, matching Alec’s rhythm. Slow at first, deliberate. Almost hypnotized by the pneumatic motion as his dick slid in and out, gleaming in the soft light from the lamp on the bedside table.

He watched Alec’s ass tense and relax, moving in sync with his mouth. Two impeccable spheres, their tight crease guarding the entrance to the young man’s innermost sanctum.

His thighs and glutes compressed and expanded with the fluid strength of hydraulic pistons, generating a force that was both relentless and effortless—pure mechanical perfection in motion.

If only the guys at his gym knew how that ass moved when fucked, the man thought, the image lingering in his mind.

Those boys sweating next to him, watching Master Alec work the weights. Pushing the machines. Stealing glances whenever they could.

People always did. Always.

At his body. His sculpted muscles, always concealed beneath a tank top and grey shorts.

At him.

How disappointing it must be for them that he never showers at the gym. That he never lets anyone see all of his beauty.

None but me.

He took a slow, steady breath and pushed his dick even deeper into the young man’s mouth.

Oh, what a view, he thought, and drove deeper.

That mouth, stretched to its limit, swallowing that dick—actuallyswallowing all of it.

He hadn’t believed it at first. That picture-perfect face, taking his broad piston so deep. And that tongue… the sensations it created, stroking and teasing the shaft as it moved.

Even the nerves on the backs of his thighs tingled.

He moved faster now. The boy wanted him to.

Back and forth, driving deep, then pulling back until the head hovered between his lips—before sinking inside again.

He gripped the boy’s shoulders firmly, steadying him, controlling the motion. Softening the turns.

Alec gagged but never pulled away, his mouth slick with saliva, coating the thick rod as it pushed deeper.

He could feel the energy surging in his groin as they accelerated. Alec’s taut lips, charged with friction, meeting him on every thrust. He could barely speak.

"Master Alec, I’m ready."

Alec knew what to do. He rolled onto his back, spread his legs, and licked his fingers, using the saliva to moisten his ass.

The man watched as the soft skin glistened. That tight entrance—barely more than a crease in the smooth flesh—yielding, readying itself.

He stroked his cock, engulfed by the sight of that Greek god—sprawled open, preparing to be penetrated—waiting for the boy to say go.

"I'm ready, Mr. Forrester," Alec said with a smile, so ready for what was coming.

The man leaned forward, gripping his cock firmly, stretching the foreskin back to expose the swollen, glistening head. It almost seemed to glow.

He moved his hips closer until the tip pressed against the tight crease waiting between those powerful ass cheeks. Then closer still, the head meeting resistance, compressed as it was forced forward.

Alec didn’t blink. He just breathed slowly, steady, as he felt the impact of the man’s cock forcing its way inside him. He loved the feeling of, step by step, being completely filled by that big man in front of him.

The man moved gently. Still pushing, still gripping his cock firmly as the head was slowly engulfed by the young man’s ass.

There, he paused. Letting the boy adjust to the intrusion, savoring the tension radiating from him.

When he heard Alec’s breath steady again, he pushed deeper. Slowly, the head sank further into the slick heat, then the top of the shaft. Soon, he had to let go, trusting his erection to hold firm as he pressed even further inside.

Alec imagined the sharp edge of the man’s cock as it entered him. How it teased the ridges within, how it moved deeper and deeper, brushing against his most hidden secrets.

No one but the man would ever know those secrets.

Every thrust was an act of trust.

And now it was happening.

Alec couldn’t stop watching him—the man filling him completely. The dark hair on his chest, his nipples taut, almost bursting. His weight hovering just inches above, driving his cock deep, that thick rod claiming every inch of him.

His untidy dark hair, his sweat-slicked skin gleaming in the dim light, the coarse hair on those big legs brushing against his thighs.

He wanted those eyes dark with passion, filled with lust, filled with desire—for him.

As long as he had that.

He pulled the man closer, forcing his face next to his, feeling the hot breath against his neck—lips kissing, then gently biting his earlobe as he kept fucking him.

Alec’s grip tightened. The man felt it, knew he was getting close. So he thrust deeper, harder, driving himself into the boy with even more force.

Fuck, that boy was tight. And strong. He could feel it—the way Alec worked his ass around his cock as if shaping clay, moving with him, milking him, forcing him deeper.

The boy was close now. His breath came in short, desperate gasps, his eyes losing focus. And when he finally let go of the grip around his neck, the man rose, still thrusting—letting the boy’s body take over.

And it did.

Alec didn’t need to touch his cock. Just gripping his thighs, stretching his ass wide, was enough—he felt the orgasm surge through him, raw and unstoppable.

He was a silent boy, but he screamed when he came.

A deep, almost bestial growl tore from his throat as his cock jerked, spilling thick ropes of cum across his chest and stomach. The second spurt landed on his lips, dripping into his wide, open mouth.

The man felt the spasms clamp down around his cock, and it was as if his own body ignited—heat flaring through him, rushing down his spine, tightening his ass, setting his nerves ablaze. The sensation multiplied, rolling through his thighs, his back, his abs convulsing under the force.

Then, the tension coiled deep in his loins, snapping like a live wire—before exploding. Load after load shot into the boy, forcing its way deep inside, flooding him completely.

They both coughed, then gasped for air. The man shook his head, trying to pull himself back to reality, the aftershocks still ricocheting inside him.

Alec let his legs go, gliding them down along the man’s thighs until his feet touched the soft carpet covering the broad wooden planks.

The man braced his hands on either side of Alec, palms pressing into the duvet as he watched the boy recover from his orgasm. Slowly, he reached out, carefully wiping away a streak of cum from Alec’s face with his fingertip.

Alec opened his eyes, and for a long moment, they simply watched each other in silence.

“That was a good one”, he said with a sleepy smile on his lips. “I needed that.”

-”Mhmm”, the man said, it was. “Usually is, isn’t it?”

-”Usually is.”

Alec stretched his arms over his head, and the man watched their muscles move like machinery under the pale skin.

“Time to sleep now?”

Alec nodded and reached for the towel they kept on the side of the bed to clean himself.

"Yeah... and, can I stay here for a while?"

"Of course.” The man looked surprised by the question. “Always."

"Thanks, Rob. Too tired to get back just yet."

Rob kissed him on the forehead.

"Mi casa, su casa. You know that."

Alec smiled in reply and took the hand Rob offered, letting him pull him up from the bed.

Two toothbrushes waited in an old glass by the bathroom mirror—a room so small it could barely fit them both at the same time.

Alec rested one hand on Rob’s butt while they brushed, his fingers tracing the contours, stroking gently, playing the short hair along the crease.

They watched each other in the mirror. Alec, the shorter of the two, lean despite the muscle he’d built over the years. Hairless, except for the neatly groomed hair in his armpits and the trimmed patch of pubes. People always assumed he was a gymnast.

Rob, on the other hand, had a more relaxed approach to body hair. His pubes were tidy, and his balls always shaved, but beyond that, he had never seen a reason to tame the dark trail leading from his thick, resting cock up his torso. A wild, inviting forest spread across his broad chest.

Alec was the first to slip under the duvet. He quickly got cozy beneath the blankets, fluffing the pillows for them both while Rob finished up in the kitchen.

Rob entered soon after. Alec kept a close eye on his dick as it swayed with each step, then—once the man had settled in beside him—he cuddled up, resting his head on Rob’s shoulder as he reached over to turn off the light.

He felt Rob’s fingers gently comb through his hair and exhaled deeply.

"Master Ale, you still sleep in the room by the kitchen?" Rob’s voice was soft in the darkness.

"Yeah, I do. It’s cozy."

"Yeah, maybe… I just thought it was time for you to… you know, move back, maybe…"

"Mmm, maybe… don’t know." His voice tired.

"Or… maybe another room… it’s not like you don’t have plenty."

"I know… it… I just don’t feel like it."

"You do as you please, of course. It’s just…"

Rob’s hand was still stroking him.

"It’s just that I think it’s a bit sad that you stay there… you know? That big house of yours, and you sleep by the kitchen… It’s not right."

Alec didn’t answer.

"I guess we shouldn’t talk about this when we’re about to sleep, but… I just want to see you happy, Alec. That’s all."

Alec lifted his head drowsily and kissed him on the cheek.

"I know, Rob. I know… I will be. You know… one day or another, I will be."

He could feel Rob’s other hand patting the duvet with a gentle restlessness, as if he wasn’t so sure about that.


To be continued...

Click to expand...

IDreamaboutMen said:

Here is the second part of Holding out for a Hero.

Alex woke after a few hours, his neck aching from resting against the man’s chest. He shifted to the pillow and lay still, listening to the man’s calm, steady breathing. His eyes wandered across the dark room, counting the planks in the ceiling, contemplating the well-worn lamp hanging from its chain, its white glass almost luminous in the hushed stillness.


It all was so familiar, like home, although he had never lived here. But ever since that first time, when Robert had carried him to this bed, and they hade laid together for the first time – there was no other space where he felt so safe and comfortable.

No other space had brought this kind of joy. Ever. He had so many rooms to choose from, how come this one became the most important?

He rose from the bed with tender movements. There was no need to search for his clothes—he knew they’d be there, neatly folded next to Robert’s. He picked them up and moved silently through the kitchen to the hall, where he flicked on the light and dressed.

His backpack stood waiting by the door, though he hadn’t placed it there. A box sat beside it, left there while he slept.

Robert sure won’t let me starve, he thought, picturing the sleeping man he had just left behind.

He gathered the box and put on his jacket, then gently sniffed the tartan one hanging next to it. It was full of his scent.

That man, he thought, exhaling deeply.

He locked the door behind him and shrugged—March wasn’t offering spring just yet, and the nights would stay below freezing for some time.

His bike was where he had left it, unlocked. He swung a leg over and began pedaling toward the house.

Had it been morning, the sleeping trees—planted here centuries ago—would have cast long shadows across his path. But he didn’t need light to find his way. He knew this land blindfolded.

The only sound was the quiet crunch of tires rolling over gravel, a soft disturbance in the midnight stillness.

Maybe one or two owls were watching him. But that was the thing about owls—they never let you know until they want you to.

Alex respected them for that.

He soon rounded a corner of the big house, heading for one of the back entrances. Parking his bike against the wall, he descended a surprisingly wide staircase to a small landing, where a door waited for him.

He found the keys in his pocket and unlocked it, paying no mind to the alarm system, its steady, pulsing diode almost alive in the dark. He hadn’t used it in a long time.

A long hallway stretched before him, rows of coat hooks and hat racks lining its sides. Beneath them, benches doubled as boot storage. Alec untied his and left them by the door, absentmindedly kicking them aside.

He passed a few rooms on his way to the kitchen, where he flicked on the light above the massive stove, set his backpack on a bench, and pulled out the box Robert had left for him.

A warm, spicy-sweet scent rose to meet him as he opened it.

Robert’s boeuf, he thought, smiling. I could do so much worse.

He poured the stew onto a plate and put it in the microwave to heat. Meanwhile, he took a glass from the cupboard and filled it with water from the tap. Then he sat on a stool, waiting for the machine to say ping.

Gently, he swiveled back and forth, his feet steering the motion.

Maybe he’s right, he thought. Maybe it is sad that I’m staying down here.

His eyes wandered across the room—how busy it had once been, how often it had been filled with people cooking, baking, making sure the guests felt welcomed and cared for. Long rows of wine bottles waiting to be poured, vegetables neatly arranged side by side, meat hanging to cure.

He had loved being here. This had been his playground. Less minding his manners, less fuss. Zigzagging between the grown-ups, trying not to be in the way—yet always ending up just that. Feeling the warmth from the ovens, constantly being warned not to touch them. The spicy scents, the hum of conversation, the occasional taste snuck to him by knowing hands.

He could not see that happening again.

Then the microwave beeped, and he got up to fetch his food.

I enjoy eating alone, he told himself.

The knocking on the door woke him at God knows what time.

“Master Alec, it really is time to get up now. You decent?”

Greta didn’t bother waiting for an answer. The door swung open with force as she let herself in—a woman in her late fifties, hair neatly tied in a knot, dressed in a well-worn, button-up work dress, cinched at the waist, made for long days by the stove.

She carried a cup of tea in one hand, a stack of letters and newspapers in the other. The moment Alec saw them, he turned his gaze to the wall.

"Here you are, love. A nice cup of tea for ya. Came home late, eh? I’ve taken care of the box and the plates—no worries. Robert behind that stew, was he?"

She placed the cup on the table by the bed and stood waiting for Alec to come alive before handing him the stack of papers.

"I just don’t see why you don’t ask me to cook for ya. For goodness’ sake, that’s my job, and with only you around… I mean, I really have to get creative to pass the time here. I can’t wash the windows more than once a month, you know. And the chandeliers… Those crystals will be worn out if you don’t keep me occupied."

Alec tried to brush the weariness from his eyes, giving himself a moment to catch up with the energy that had entered the room.

"And it doesn’t seem like you’re opening any mail, Master Alec." She waved the stack in her hand. "Reminders keep coming in, one by one. Now, I know this isn’t easy for ya, but the truth is, someone has to deal with them. And that someone is you, Master Alec. No one else but you."

Alec pushed himself up onto his elbows, giving Greta a faint smile.

"Happy to see you too, Greta. Lovely morning. What time is it?"

"It’s well past noon, Master Alec. I couldn’t let you waste the whole day now, could I? There’s plenty to do. Now, have your tea and let me know what you’re thinking."

"About the tea," he said, taking a sip. "It’s lovely… I guess."

"No, not the tea, you daft boy. About your day. What’s your plan?"

Alec sighed and took a sip, his back tense. Suddenly, his neck ached.

He wanted to tell her he had no plan, that he didn’t want to have a plan. He never had a plan. Never would. Ever. What he did want was to lock the door and stare at the painted wall for hours—today, tomorrow, forever. That was the only plan he could give her.

But of course, he couldn’t say that.

So, instead he sat in silence, staring at the stack of papers in Greta’s hand. And she could see him shrinking before her eyes.

It broke her heart. A little bit more, every day.

She made space in front of him on the bed, sat down, and rested a hand on his arm.

"Come on now, Master Alec, you can do this. I know ya can."

She patted his arm gently, trying to fill her touch with courage and faith.

"Yes, of course I can," Alec replied, without a trace of either. "Of course."

"What do ya say about doing just one thing today? A small experiment?"

She took his hand now, but Alec only stared past her.

"What do ya say about stepping into the big entrance hall? Just to check that everything’s as it should be. And then… you know, if it feels right… maybe take the stairs up to the library. Sort through some of these papers, shall we? How does that sound?"

He sighed and wiggled out of Greta’s gentle grip.

"Yeah, right… yeah, of course I can do that."

He grabbed the pile of papers and set them aside on the bed.

"Or I’ll just deal with them here… I’ll see what I do. But thank you, Greta. I’ll manage."

"Of course you will, Master Alec. I know you will."

She rose and gave him a pat on the shoulder before leaving him alone with the papers and his thoughts.

I hope Robert is good for him, she thought as she closed the door behind her. I really do.

---

Alex fell back against the pillows, staring absentmindedly into nothing, the teacup resting on the duvet between his hands.

This is sooo much shit. Shit, shit, shit.

The ache in his neck had crept downward, now jolting around in his stomach. A wave of nausea hit him, and he shifted, stretching out flat on the bed.

He closed his eyes, imagining he was looking.

This room isn’t so bad, is it? In any other house, it would have been great. It would. The window is nice. The lace curtains are nice. The emptiness is nice.

Emptiness is nice. Oh, I love emptiness. Nothing here. Nothing there.

He imagined looking out over a vast, grey wasteland. A great, endless nothingness. Just him. A cup of tea. And a bed.

That’s all.

That’s all I want, he told himself. That’s all I need.

Fuck this shit.

He pulled the duvet over his head and set the cup down beside him in the darkness, feeling its warmth radiate against his chin. He stroked the cup gently, like it was a pet.

"It’s you and me, Cup. You and me…"

I wish I could stay like this all day. That no one would open that door. That no one would call for me. No one. Ever.

And he would have stayed there, if it weren’t for the heat building up too fast under the down duvet. When he couldn’t stand it anymore, he threw it off—accidentally sending the papers tumbling to the floor.

Oh shit—now I have to fix that.

With a sigh, he set the cup on the bedside table, wiggled free from the duvet, and planted his feet on the cold floorboards.

So much nicer at Robert’s.

I hate this place.

---

Greta was drying glasses with a towel when he passed behind her through the kitchen. She didn’t say anything, keeping her eyes on the task, trying to look fully absorbed in it.

But she listened closely to his footsteps echoing away, hoping she wouldn’t hear them turn back the second he saw the stairs to that big entrance hall.

Alec felt a strong urge to do just that.

It’s just the hall, he told himself. Nothing more.

I know it is. It’s just that I hate it. I hate that hall.

Of course. But it’s still a hall, Alec. You know that. It’s still just a room. Nothing more, nothing less.

Just go there.

Without thinking further, he took a deep breath and walked up the stairs, stepping into the light of four stories of towering windows.

He took it step by step, feeling the weight of it on his shoulders. Like the walls were pressing down on him—like a daffodil trapped in a flower press, sealed inside a mausoleum.

And then a few more steps. He passed towering pillars, row after row, their massive stone blocks rising toward the glass windows in the domed ceiling—floating in what felt like a sky above him. Instead of lifting things up, they pressed him down.

He didn’t dare to look up, afraid of what that would do to him. Instead, he kept his eyes firmly on the floor, watching his feet move across the colored marble. The chessboard pattern felt fitting.

He stopped at the compass rose in the center, acutely aware of the near-endless height of empty space above him.

An expanse he could he never could fill.

Every part of his body ached to move away from this space. He yearned to run back, lock the door to that small room by the kitchen, crawl back under the duvet and close his eyes.

Possibly forever.

And that’s what he’d done for quite a while now. That’s what he wanted to do. That’s what he should do, to save himself.

But he had promised. He had promised to try – so many times. He had to try.

But how could he? He felt every part of him drip away and slide into the cracks between the marble tiles. Every living part of him slowly crushed under the weight of everything that was everything with this hall – with this house.

He should try. He knew he should.

But for every part of him that got lost in the cracks, the void inside grew wider. Day by day it grew so much wider. And fighting that divide… made him tired, it made him so tired. And it made him sad. His shoulders ached, and his stomach ached, and his head ached and his heart… whatever what left of it ached too.

But he knew that he must try.

And he did. He really did.

He should have stood proud. He should have admired the architecture. He should have walked those stairs up to the library with determination, handled that pile of paper with clarity, with sensibility, with strength.

Instead he cried. He fell to his knees, fists clenched against the marble. He pressed his forehead to the floor. Pushed it hard against the stone, as if that could chase the thoughts away. That the pain would make the pain go away. That it would end something. Somehow.

His throat tightened as if about to throw up.

If you’d been really close, you’d might have heard words in his silent mumbling

"Thank you… Father. Thank you for dying on me. Thank you for going away. Thank you for leaving me with all this shit. All. This. Shit."

"Thank you for not giving me any chance of knowing what to do when you were gone. What to do with my life. What to do with this place. What to do with this fucking mess now that you’re not here anymore!"

"Thank you… for showing me – showing everyone - that I don’t know what to do. For reminding me, again and again and again, that I know nothing. That I can’t fix things the way they should be. That I’m useless."

He could hardly breathe as he went on.

"And thank you for making me cry again. For proving I don’t have the guts. That I can’t take it. Can’t handle things like you did."

His whole body trembled now, paralyzed. Shoulders so rigid, so tight, they nearly touched his ears. Tears ran down his cheeks, snot dribbling from his nose. He couldn’t even lift a hand to wipe it away.

"And you’re right Dad - I can’t take it. I really can’t take it. I can’t. Never could, never can.”

It is what it is… and it’s horrible Dad. It is… so horrible.”

"So please, Dad. Please, take me away from this. Please, Dad. Don’t do this to me. I can’t, I can’t… I truly can’t do what I need to do."

"I fail. Yeah. I fail. That’s what I do. That’s all I do."

He felt the snot dribbling, the ache in his eyes from crying, how every muscle in his face and body twisted into something ugly. Fear and misery and weakness and… that horrible black divide that grew on him every horrible second of every horrible day.

Yes, Father… I’ have given up. Yes… I lost. Such a surprise. Didn’t even try, did I? Lost it. Everything.

So Dad, please can’t you just let it rumble?.. All over me. Just… just let it fall… over me, all over me. So you can forget about me. So everyone can forget me.

He sighed, calmed by the cold stone against his swollen face, as he laid like a cross, anchored above the compass rose.

It won’t take long and I’ll be all gone… Moss takes time, yes, but the rest… grass grows in no time. Bushes? No time. There’ll be trees soon. A small forest before you know it. No sign, no marks. No one cares about the fallen.

Just let me fall. Please Dad? I’m already lost anyway.

To be continued...

Click to expand...

IDreamaboutMen said:

And here is the fourth part:

"There ya go, a warm bath—nothing like it, eh?"

Robert had come in and settled on the toilet seat, just like before. In his hands, he held two small glasses filled with a golden liquid.

"Was getting some food ready when I thought of this," he said, handing one to Alec.

"Brandy. That’s what the dogs bring you when you get pulled out of an avalanche, don’t they. Figured it was appropriate for a day like this."

They clinked their glasses in the air and drank them down in one go. Then they both shrugged as the liquid hit, burning all the way down.

“Fuck, that was strong.”

“Hell yeah—that’s some proper brandy for ya. Sets fire to the spirits, it does.”

Alec shivered. “Can’t believe people actually want to drink this.”

“Your father wasn’t too keen on it either…” Robert smirked. “Gave me all the stuff he didn’t like.”

“Is that why I’m here?”

Robert smiled, but Alec could see the weariness in his eyes.

“You’re not something to be given away. None of us are. And Master David… he loved you. I can agree he wasn’t exactly a master at showing it, though.”

Alec looked down at the rising water between his thighs.

“So, you’ve got a stash, then?”

“Yup, I’ve got a stash. A proper stash. Don’t drink that much myself, so I don’t really know what to do with it. Got it stored in boxes down in the cellar now, but it’s too damp, really. Cardboard goes soft quickly.”

“Yeah, same at the house. You need to wrap the bottles in paper to keep the labels from decaying… if you want to keep the labels, that is. The good ones have their names on the cork anyway.”

“Thanks, I’ll think about it. Labels don’t mean much to me, though. It’s what’s inside that counts.”

Their eyes met.

“Tell me about Lisa.”

“Tell me about you.”

“I was first.”

“No, Lisa was.”

Alec could hear the contented smile in his voice.

“Seriously, I don’t want to talk about it. It’s just… I’ve kind of, exactly now, managed not to think about it, and I’d really like it to stay that way. Okay? At least for a while.”

“Alec, I’d love to agree with you. But… it’s been a long time since I’ve seen you happy, and—” Robert sighed. “I just want you to know you’re not on your own. I mean, of course you are… when it comes to the manor and all that. Yeah, there’s a lot of… stuff… you have to deal with. But Alec—” He shook his head. “You have to find a way through this. Your way. But that doesnt make you alone.”

Alec shrugged and turned off the tap. Robert watched as he lay back in the tub, eyes closed. Then, without a word, he got up and left the bathroom as if suddenly in a hurry.

Alec followed his movements through the sounds echoing in the cottage. He couldn’t quite make out what Robert was up to, though. There was definitely some rummaging in the kitchen cupboards, then the distinct creak of the pantry door. A pause. Then footsteps, a quick detour down to the cellar.

Seemed like Robert had made dinner plans—ones that may well involve more from “the stash” downstairs. The thought of food made Alec realize just how hungry he was. All he’d had was that single cup of tea Greta had brought him, and now the dull headache and nausea of hunger settled in.

Next to him, on the rim of the bathtub, stood a small jar filled with bright orange jelly, labeled Sardinian Bubbly. He popped the lid, and instantly, a flood of citrus—tangerine and lemon, heady and almost intoxicating—hit him so hard he nearly lost his breath.

Damn, I don’t need this, he thought as his senses flared, every nerve twitching with the sheer, overwhelming intensity of the scent. It’s going to kill me. I’ll go crazy just thinking about it.

Crazier, he corrected himself.

And then he realized—he was parched. The thirst of an antelope crossing the savanna.

He saw a glass waiting on the basin, so he lifted himself just enough to reach it, filling it with icy cold water. The first sip was heaven. The second even better.

Then he saw Robert standing by the doorpost, watching him. Alec saw him through the angled mirror on the wall—his eyes fixed on him.

Slowly, Alec shifted, angling his body so Robert could see more of him. The parts he knew the man was especially fond of—that perfect bubble ass, strong thighs, the neatly trimmed pubes framing his dick. He tilted his head back as if to drink more smoothly, but in truth, it was to ignite that brooding gaze, to see the worship there.

Stretching, he let one hand drift, teasing its way from his neck, down over his chest—pausing to brush over a nipple—tracing along the smooth ridges of his abs, until his fingers found his cock, toying with it as if absentmindedly.

Alec didn’t stop looking at him, waiting for that slow burn to take hold, for those dark eyes to trace over every inch he offered. But there was no fire, no hunger. Robert wasn’t even looking at him like that.

There was just concern.

"Great to see you up, Master Alec. If you think you’re up for it, I’ve got some food ready for ya. That would be nice, eh?" Robert’s voice was steady, with a hint of anticipation. "But tonight, I thought we’d do something different. A dinner à la surprise, you might say."

Alec still held the water glass to his mouth, so he resorted to a questioning wobble of his head.

Robert handed him a huge towel.

”Yeah, I think I’m onto something good here, but I won’t tell you now. Get dressed, and I’ll meet you in the hallway.”

”What? Robert?” Alec called after him, but Robert was already halfway out the door.

”Robert! What the hell?”

Robert’s voice echoed back from the other room.

”Get ready, boy, we’ve got stuff to do! You’ll find clothes on the bed.”

Alec, never one for surprises, dried himself slowly, trying to figure out what this was all about. He caught his reflection in the mirror, it was a relief—his skin was a pale pink from the hot bath, not the colorless, lifeless figure he had seen gazing at him in the glazed tiles.

He took his time, running the towel carefully over his dick and balls, then along the smooth curve of his ass, making sure he was completely dry. He let himself enjoy the sensation—the warmth, the softness, the feeling of being clean.

"What are you up to, Robert?"

"Never you mind, Master Alec. Get dressed and pop over, will ya?"

Alec tried to trace the voice—it was definitely coming from the hall… or maybe the cellar? Whatever it was, Robert was up to something down there.

He found a neat little pile of clothes waiting for him on the bed, just as Robert had said. Blue socks, a snug white pair of short briefs, a t-shirt, green corduroy pants, and a blue knitted sweater. He pulled them on and, with reluctant steps, followed the voice.

He found Robert in the hallway, dressed in his tartan jacket, a massive camper backpack strapped to his shoulders and a basket in one hand.

“Lovely to see ya, Master Alec. I hope the clothes were to your liking.”

“They were, but for fuck’s sake, Robert.” Alec spread his hands. “What is all this?”

"I thought it was high time we had a little adventure."

"Adventure? Like… camping?"

"That is very correct, sir. A little camping adventure it is."

"Oh my god, Robert… really? I’m starving, can’t we just—"

"The food is ready and waiting, sir. Just get your jacket and wellies on, and we’ll be off."

Alec sighed and pulled on his jacket and boots, too hungry to muster any real resistance.

"That looks great, my young man. Now, take this."

Robert handed him the basket, then leaned against the heavy front door to push it open.

The cold hit like a slap, a sharp contrast to the steamy warmth of the bathroom he’d just left. He shivered and tried to wrap the jacket tighter around his body while balancing the basket in his arms.

"Are we camping in the sunken garden?"

"No, sir, that is not the plan."

"Then why are we heading toward the big house?"

"You’ll see in a short while, Master Alec, in a very short while."

Alec shrugged and concentrated on not thinking about Robert’s boeuf, or his steak pie, or the spicy Bolognese, or his lemon tart, or… But something soon ended that line of thought.

They arrived in front of the big house, its towering stone pillars standing in perfect symmetry beneath the massive Greek pediment, their rigid elegance echoing the grandeur of ancient palaces. Moonlight cast long, spectral shadows across the façade, the scene as haunting as it was magnificent.

Alec felt it immediately—the weight of the building draining him, siphoning the life from his body before he had even set foot inside.

Then he felt Robert’s strong hand take a firm grip on his arm.

“Don’t go thinking about those pillars, Master Alec. We’ll turn the corner soon enough. No pillars there, no grand stone lions either… so much nicer without them, if you ask me.”

And, much to his relief, Robert’s words were true. They passed all the grandeur of the formal house, rounded a corner, and instead of towering columns and heavy ornamentation, there was a small, almost hidden door set into the stone foundation. Painted a deep gray, nearly the same shade as the surrounding stone, it barely announced itself at all.

“Here you go, Master Alec.” Robert pulled out a large, weighty key and placed it in his hand.

Alec frowned. “What are we going into the coal cellar for?”

Robert flashed him a pleased smile. “Not the coal cellar, Master Alec. Not at all.”

Alec opened the door and stepped into the dimly lit hallway beyond. He followed Robert inside, expecting to turn right—toward the large chamber where coal had once been stored—but instead, they veered left, toward another equally unassuming door.

“You see here, Master Alec, is something of a hidden gem.”

“You mean the servants’ passage to the left wing?”

Robert turned to him, looking almost wounded. “You knew of it?”

Alec scoffed. “Robert, really? You do know I live here, don’t you? It’s not like I’m the least curious person who’s ever walked these halls. Of course I know about it.”

“Well,” Robert said, with a hint of disappointment. “That ruins the surprise, doesn’t it? You may as well take the lead, then, Master Alec.”

Alec rolled his eyes. “Master Alec this, Master Alec that… Robert, sometimes I swear—”

“Keep on walking, sir. We’re almost there.”

After what Alec estimated was a two-story climb, they reached a small landing where two doors stood waiting.

The only light came from a narrow window, just enough moonlight slipping through to outline the contours of the space.

Alec knew the landing well enough to know where the doors led, but he was still curious about what Robert was up to.

“Here we are, Master Alec. And I think you should open the door right next to you.”

Alec sighed. “I swear to God, Robert—or Mr. Forrester—that if you’re up to something, I will never forgive you.”

Robert smirked. “I’ll take that risk. Now open the door, sir.”

Alec grumbled under his breath but reached for the handle. To his surprise, it turned easily—no key needed.

And then, there it was.

One of the most beautiful sights he had ever seen.

They stood at the farthest end of the grand library. The three massive chandeliers, ablaze with burning candles, bathed the room in a golden glow, their flickering light shimmering off the rich oak shelves and the gilded spines of the countless books lining the walls.

The great fireplace, just beside the doorway where they had entered, crackled with life, sending up occasional sparks and a low, steady rumble as thick logs slowly turned to embers.

It was almost too beautiful to take in.

Alec turned to Robert, unable to suppress the smile that suddenly filled his face—and his mind. And oh, the pride Robert felt when he saw it.

“Here you are, Master Alec. Here you are.”

He stepped past him, his movements unhurried, then let the heavy rucksack slide from his shoulder, landing with a soft thud on the thick, richly ornate carpet that outlined much of the vast room.

“You see, Master Alec,” Robert said, looking around as if he, too, was seeing it for the first time, “sometimes you have to get through a lot of darkness to be able to appreciate the light.”

To be continued...

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IDreamaboutMen said:

Hi there! This is the beginning of a new story that I'm publishing on my Substack. I find it easier to read longer stories there, where you can find them in full (although they are mostly always works in progress).

I hope you like it, and feel free to share your thoughts and comments about it with me. Looking forward do hearing from you!

He scraped the mud off his boots against the old metal rack by the stairs, then took them in two easy steps.

The scent of roasted steak was the first thing that met him as he opened the sturdy front door. Black pepper, Madeira… He rolled his shoulder and exhaled.

He closed the heavy door behind him, the old lock falling into place with a thump.

Slipping off his boots, he placed them beside the row of impeccably cleaned Wellingtons, standing in proud formation.

He thought I should take better care of mine, then let his backpack drop and hung it on a hanger, next to his wool jacket—a dark, muted green—beside the others in nearly identical shades. Except for one. Tartan.

He followed the warm light from the kitchen and hugged the man standing there.

"Hi there, handsome. Celebration?"

"Naaah, just felt like this weather needed something hearty." He hugged the young man back, then continued tidying small jars of spices and flour into their drawers.

"So, not hungry then?" The man asked.

"Sorry, but I had a shake and a bar after the gym. So I’m—"

"That won’t keep you full for long, Alec. Especially not after the gym. You know that."

"Yeah, well…" The young man let his fingers trail across the man’s broad shoulders. "Maybe I could get some meat to chew on later."

The man grunted, smiling.

"Oh, the appetite of young men, eh?"

"One needs to take care of oneself, you always say so, and I think I’m managing a reasonably healthy diet."

The man dried his hands on a handkerchief, then turned around and grabbed the young man’s waist, pulling him closer.

"So, I’m part of your diet now, am I?"

"Yes, very much so, Mr. Forrester. And I can assure you, I’ll take any part you’re willing to offer."

The young man leaned in so they could kiss.

"Yeah, so far you certainly have," the man murmured, pressing another gentle kiss to Alex’s lips.

The young man took a few impromptu dance steps backward, still holding the older man’s hands, a playful, almost coy smile on his lips.

"Is Mr. Forrester ready for dessert, maybe?"

"Mr. Forrester is always ready for dessert, Master Alec."

Alec moved toward a small door at the end of the kitchen, pulling off his sweater as he went, smiling when he heard the man following.

As he reached the bed, he turned to watch the man, who stood waiting in the doorway and began working the waistband of his grey sweatpants.

"Did shoulders and pecs today. You see it?"

"Yeah," the man said. "Very nice."

Alec turned and pushed the pants down, revealing his well-shaped glutes.

"And these?"

"You know they’re my favorites, Alec. Always have been."

"Even when I was a little boy?"

"If there’s one thing you’ve never been, it’s a little boy."

Alec let out a short laugh, turned, and fell back onto the thick duvet. His dick, already hard, landed with a soft thump against his stomach.

Resting on his elbows, he watched as the man approached, unbuttoning his shirt. A muscular body emerged beneath a tank top, dark short hair covering the part of his chest that was visible. His nipples stood in sharp relief under the white fabric.

He stopped between Alec’s spread legs. The young man was stroking his cock, watching the striptease in front of him closely.

As he passed, the man placed his shirt neatly on a chair, then pulled off his tank top.

Alex loved this sight. The muscular body, shaped by years of working the deep forest surrounding them—felling timber that needed to be felled, hunting game that needed to be hunted. Taking care of a boy who needed to be taken care of.

But now came the best part.

The man locked eyes with him, absentmindedly scratching his chest before letting his fingers brush over a nipple.

Then his hands moved downward, unfastening the thick leather belt, unzipping the dark blue denim jeans that hugged his broad thighs so tightly. He pulled them down, ever so slowly, making sure the young man got his money’s worth.

And he certainly seemed to.

Alex had spread his legs wide, one hand stroking his cock, the other playing with his balls and the sensitive spot just behind them. The crease between his tight ass muscles was visible to anyone who cared to look.

And the man did.

The bulge in his jeans made that perfectly clear. The young man licked his lips.

He tugged them down and stepped out, then moved even closer to the boy’s eager body.

"Come on, Mr. Forrester. Show me that wonderful log of yours."

The bulge in the briefs needed no explanation. His rock-hard dick lay resting to the left, the ridge and contours of the head visible through the thin white cotton. A matching set of heavy balls filled out the rest in the most pleasing way.

Alex signaled for him to move closer. When the man leaned over him, he let his fingers play along the waistband, then slowly pulled it down.

The cock catapulted free.

"Yessss," Alex murmured, pleased.

He let his fingertips dance over the swollen head, teasing the slit, tracing the divide, then further down the ridge and back. The skin was warm, almost hot.

"I love this with you, you know? This." He moved his fingers again. "Your cock, Mr. Forrester, is amazing."

"I’m happy you like it, Master Alec. It seems to enjoy your attention."

"It sure does, doesn’t it?"

The young man turned onto his stomach, positioning himself so that Mr. Forrester’s cock was directly in front of his mouth.

"And here’s dessert."

He let his tongue barely graze the head, just enough to make the man shiver—his cock swaying, gently bumping against the young man’s nose.

They laughed quietly at the moment, and then Alex let his tongue touch the head again.

No shivers this time.

Instead, Alec leaned in and pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to the tip. Then, with the tip of his tongue, he traced the divide again, up and down, letting its weight linger against his lips.

He parted them slightly, just enough to take in half of the head, his saliva softening the warm, taut skin. Letting it rest there, its weight anchoring against his soft, young cushions. A crown jewel on display.

The man felt Alec’s tongue gently teasing, as well as the lingering lust in his blue eyes. His cock was like an oil tanker, moving forward slowly—heavy and forceful. Unstoppable once in motion.

Then, opening his mouth a little more, Alec took in the rest of the head, gasping softly as he felt the size of it—its sheer volume filling so much of the space his mouth had to offer. The saltiness of pre-cum spread slowly across his tongue.

The man stood waiting, letting Alec take the next move. His underwear pooled around his ankles, his big, muscular ass held in tense expectation.

Alec let one hand slide between the man’s thighs, fingers brushing through the short, dark hair as he slowly moved upward, seeking out the soft skin of his tight ballsack.

There it was—so warm and firm. Alec let his fingers trace the outlines of the man’s testicles as he took more of his cock into his mouth. The male body’s most sensitive treasure, hidden beneath layers of soft skin and hair.

Every time he touched them, he pictured the man moving through the deep forest, naked—his pale skin stark against the dark trunks and the deep green moss, his strong, muscular body, every fiber working as he moved like a giant among the trees.

A force of nature in the shape of a human.

In the shape of a man.

He closed his eyes, focusing on the sensation of that huge head pressing deeper. The musky scent of HIM thickened with every breath, raw and primal, wafting from the dark, bushy pubes he was slowly getting closer to.

Stretching his throat, he made room for even more of him—and he took it. The man felt the space open and pushed in to fill it, his cock guided by the young man’s tongue, steering him, massaging him.

Alec widened his mouth even further, steering the dick in, his hand cupping the balls to guide it right. He gagged as the head pressed deeper, but he let it push further—he loved the feeling of being completely filled by that thick cock. Feeling the sharp edge of the rim as it passed.

Then he began to move, sliding his head back and forth, coating the shaft with a thick layer of saliva, slick and warm, dripping down onto the man’s balls and his hand.

The man felt the signal and began moving with him, matching Alec’s rhythm. Slow at first, deliberate. Almost hypnotized by the pneumatic motion as his dick slid in and out, gleaming in the soft light from the lamp on the bedside table.

He watched Alec’s ass tense and relax, moving in sync with his mouth. Two impeccable spheres, their tight crease guarding the entrance to the young man’s innermost sanctum.

His thighs and glutes compressed and expanded with the fluid strength of hydraulic pistons, generating a force that was both relentless and effortless—pure mechanical perfection in motion.

If only the guys at his gym knew how that ass moved when fucked, the man thought, the image lingering in his mind.

Those boys sweating next to him, watching Master Alec work the weights. Pushing the machines. Stealing glances whenever they could.

People always did. Always.

At his body. His sculpted muscles, always concealed beneath a tank top and grey shorts.

At him.

How disappointing it must be for them that he never showers at the gym. That he never lets anyone see all of his beauty.

None but me.

He took a slow, steady breath and pushed his dick even deeper into the young man’s mouth.

Oh, what a view, he thought, and drove deeper.

That mouth, stretched to its limit, swallowing that dick—actuallyswallowing all of it.

He hadn’t believed it at first. That picture-perfect face, taking his broad piston so deep. And that tongue… the sensations it created, stroking and teasing the shaft as it moved.

Even the nerves on the backs of his thighs tingled.

He moved faster now. The boy wanted him to.

Back and forth, driving deep, then pulling back until the head hovered between his lips—before sinking inside again.

He gripped the boy’s shoulders firmly, steadying him, controlling the motion. Softening the turns.

Alec gagged but never pulled away, his mouth slick with saliva, coating the thick rod as it pushed deeper.

He could feel the energy surging in his groin as they accelerated. Alec’s taut lips, charged with friction, meeting him on every thrust. He could barely speak.

"Master Alec, I’m ready."

Alec knew what to do. He rolled onto his back, spread his legs, and licked his fingers, using the saliva to moisten his ass.

The man watched as the soft skin glistened. That tight entrance—barely more than a crease in the smooth flesh—yielding, readying itself.

He stroked his cock, engulfed by the sight of that Greek god—sprawled open, preparing to be penetrated—waiting for the boy to say go.

"I'm ready, Mr. Forrester," Alec said with a smile, so ready for what was coming.

The man leaned forward, gripping his cock firmly, stretching the foreskin back to expose the swollen, glistening head. It almost seemed to glow.

He moved his hips closer until the tip pressed against the tight crease waiting between those powerful ass cheeks. Then closer still, the head meeting resistance, compressed as it was forced forward.

Alec didn’t blink. He just breathed slowly, steady, as he felt the impact of the man’s cock forcing its way inside him. He loved the feeling of, step by step, being completely filled by that big man in front of him.

The man moved gently. Still pushing, still gripping his cock firmly as the head was slowly engulfed by the young man’s ass.

There, he paused. Letting the boy adjust to the intrusion, savoring the tension radiating from him.

When he heard Alec’s breath steady again, he pushed deeper. Slowly, the head sank further into the slick heat, then the top of the shaft. Soon, he had to let go, trusting his erection to hold firm as he pressed even further inside.

Alec imagined the sharp edge of the man’s cock as it entered him. How it teased the ridges within, how it moved deeper and deeper, brushing against his most hidden secrets.

No one but the man would ever know those secrets.

Every thrust was an act of trust.

And now it was happening.

Alec couldn’t stop watching him—the man filling him completely. The dark hair on his chest, his nipples taut, almost bursting. His weight hovering just inches above, driving his cock deep, that thick rod claiming every inch of him.

His untidy dark hair, his sweat-slicked skin gleaming in the dim light, the coarse hair on those big legs brushing against his thighs.

He wanted those eyes dark with passion, filled with lust, filled with desire—for him.

As long as he had that.

He pulled the man closer, forcing his face next to his, feeling the hot breath against his neck—lips kissing, then gently biting his earlobe as he kept fucking him.

Alec’s grip tightened. The man felt it, knew he was getting close. So he thrust deeper, harder, driving himself into the boy with even more force.

Fuck, that boy was tight. And strong. He could feel it—the way Alec worked his ass around his cock as if shaping clay, moving with him, milking him, forcing him deeper.

The boy was close now. His breath came in short, desperate gasps, his eyes losing focus. And when he finally let go of the grip around his neck, the man rose, still thrusting—letting the boy’s body take over.

And it did.

Alec didn’t need to touch his cock. Just gripping his thighs, stretching his ass wide, was enough—he felt the orgasm surge through him, raw and unstoppable.

He was a silent boy, but he screamed when he came.

A deep, almost bestial growl tore from his throat as his cock jerked, spilling thick ropes of cum across his chest and stomach. The second spurt landed on his lips, dripping into his wide, open mouth.

The man felt the spasms clamp down around his cock, and it was as if his own body ignited—heat flaring through him, rushing down his spine, tightening his ass, setting his nerves ablaze. The sensation multiplied, rolling through his thighs, his back, his abs convulsing under the force.

Then, the tension coiled deep in his loins, snapping like a live wire—before exploding. Load after load shot into the boy, forcing its way deep inside, flooding him completely.

They both coughed, then gasped for air. The man shook his head, trying to pull himself back to reality, the aftershocks still ricocheting inside him.

Alec let his legs go, gliding them down along the man’s thighs until his feet touched the soft carpet covering the broad wooden planks.

The man braced his hands on either side of Alec, palms pressing into the duvet as he watched the boy recover from his orgasm. Slowly, he reached out, carefully wiping away a streak of cum from Alec’s face with his fingertip.

Alec opened his eyes, and for a long moment, they simply watched each other in silence.

“That was a good one”, he said with a sleepy smile on his lips. “I needed that.”

-”Mhmm”, the man said, it was. “Usually is, isn’t it?”

-”Usually is.”

Alec stretched his arms over his head, and the man watched their muscles move like machinery under the pale skin.

“Time to sleep now?”

Alec nodded and reached for the towel they kept on the side of the bed to clean himself.

"Yeah... and, can I stay here for a while?"

"Of course.” The man looked surprised by the question. “Always."

"Thanks, Rob. Too tired to get back just yet."

Rob kissed him on the forehead.

"Mi casa, su casa. You know that."

Alec smiled in reply and took the hand Rob offered, letting him pull him up from the bed.

Two toothbrushes waited in an old glass by the bathroom mirror—a room so small it could barely fit them both at the same time.

Alec rested one hand on Rob’s butt while they brushed, his fingers tracing the contours, stroking gently, playing the short hair along the crease.

They watched each other in the mirror. Alec, the shorter of the two, lean despite the muscle he’d built over the years. Hairless, except for the neatly groomed hair in his armpits and the trimmed patch of pubes. People always assumed he was a gymnast.

Rob, on the other hand, had a more relaxed approach to body hair. His pubes were tidy, and his balls always shaved, but beyond that, he had never seen a reason to tame the dark trail leading from his thick, resting cock up his torso. A wild, inviting forest spread across his broad chest.

Alec was the first to slip under the duvet. He quickly got cozy beneath the blankets, fluffing the pillows for them both while Rob finished up in the kitchen.

Rob entered soon after. Alec kept a close eye on his dick as it swayed with each step, then—once the man had settled in beside him—he cuddled up, resting his head on Rob’s shoulder as he reached over to turn off the light.

He felt Rob’s fingers gently comb through his hair and exhaled deeply.

"Master Ale, you still sleep in the room by the kitchen?" Rob’s voice was soft in the darkness.

"Yeah, I do. It’s cozy."

"Yeah, maybe… I just thought it was time for you to… you know, move back, maybe…"

"Mmm, maybe… don’t know." His voice tired.

"Or… maybe another room… it’s not like you don’t have plenty."

"I know… it… I just don’t feel like it."

"You do as you please, of course. It’s just…"

Rob’s hand was still stroking him.

"It’s just that I think it’s a bit sad that you stay there… you know? That big house of yours, and you sleep by the kitchen… It’s not right."

Alec didn’t answer.

"I guess we shouldn’t talk about this when we’re about to sleep, but… I just want to see you happy, Alec. That’s all."

Alec lifted his head drowsily and kissed him on the cheek.

"I know, Rob. I know… I will be. You know… one day or another, I will be."

He could feel Rob’s other hand patting the duvet with a gentle restlessness, as if he wasn’t so sure about that.


To be continued...

Click to expand...

IDreamaboutMen said:

Here is the second part of Holding out for a Hero.

Alex woke after a few hours, his neck aching from resting against the man’s chest. He shifted to the pillow and lay still, listening to the man’s calm, steady breathing. His eyes wandered across the dark room, counting the planks in the ceiling, contemplating the well-worn lamp hanging from its chain, its white glass almost luminous in the hushed stillness.


It all was so familiar, like home, although he had never lived here. But ever since that first time, when Robert had carried him to this bed, and they hade laid together for the first time – there was no other space where he felt so safe and comfortable.

No other space had brought this kind of joy. Ever. He had so many rooms to choose from, how come this one became the most important?

He rose from the bed with tender movements. There was no need to search for his clothes—he knew they’d be there, neatly folded next to Robert’s. He picked them up and moved silently through the kitchen to the hall, where he flicked on the light and dressed.

His backpack stood waiting by the door, though he hadn’t placed it there. A box sat beside it, left there while he slept.

Robert sure won’t let me starve, he thought, picturing the sleeping man he had just left behind.

He gathered the box and put on his jacket, then gently sniffed the tartan one hanging next to it. It was full of his scent.

That man, he thought, exhaling deeply.

He locked the door behind him and shrugged—March wasn’t offering spring just yet, and the nights would stay below freezing for some time.

His bike was where he had left it, unlocked. He swung a leg over and began pedaling toward the house.

Had it been morning, the sleeping trees—planted here centuries ago—would have cast long shadows across his path. But he didn’t need light to find his way. He knew this land blindfolded.

The only sound was the quiet crunch of tires rolling over gravel, a soft disturbance in the midnight stillness.

Maybe one or two owls were watching him. But that was the thing about owls—they never let you know until they want you to.

Alex respected them for that.

He soon rounded a corner of the big house, heading for one of the back entrances. Parking his bike against the wall, he descended a surprisingly wide staircase to a small landing, where a door waited for him.

He found the keys in his pocket and unlocked it, paying no mind to the alarm system, its steady, pulsing diode almost alive in the dark. He hadn’t used it in a long time.

A long hallway stretched before him, rows of coat hooks and hat racks lining its sides. Beneath them, benches doubled as boot storage. Alec untied his and left them by the door, absentmindedly kicking them aside.

He passed a few rooms on his way to the kitchen, where he flicked on the light above the massive stove, set his backpack on a bench, and pulled out the box Robert had left for him.

A warm, spicy-sweet scent rose to meet him as he opened it.

Robert’s boeuf, he thought, smiling. I could do so much worse.

He poured the stew onto a plate and put it in the microwave to heat. Meanwhile, he took a glass from the cupboard and filled it with water from the tap. Then he sat on a stool, waiting for the machine to say ping.

Gently, he swiveled back and forth, his feet steering the motion.

Maybe he’s right, he thought. Maybe it is sad that I’m staying down here.

His eyes wandered across the room—how busy it had once been, how often it had been filled with people cooking, baking, making sure the guests felt welcomed and cared for. Long rows of wine bottles waiting to be poured, vegetables neatly arranged side by side, meat hanging to cure.

He had loved being here. This had been his playground. Less minding his manners, less fuss. Zigzagging between the grown-ups, trying not to be in the way—yet always ending up just that. Feeling the warmth from the ovens, constantly being warned not to touch them. The spicy scents, the hum of conversation, the occasional taste snuck to him by knowing hands.

He could not see that happening again.

Then the microwave beeped, and he got up to fetch his food.

I enjoy eating alone, he told himself.

The knocking on the door woke him at God knows what time.

“Master Alec, it really is time to get up now. You decent?”

Greta didn’t bother waiting for an answer. The door swung open with force as she let herself in—a woman in her late fifties, hair neatly tied in a knot, dressed in a well-worn, button-up work dress, cinched at the waist, made for long days by the stove.

She carried a cup of tea in one hand, a stack of letters and newspapers in the other. The moment Alec saw them, he turned his gaze to the wall.

"Here you are, love. A nice cup of tea for ya. Came home late, eh? I’ve taken care of the box and the plates—no worries. Robert behind that stew, was he?"

She placed the cup on the table by the bed and stood waiting for Alec to come alive before handing him the stack of papers.

"I just don’t see why you don’t ask me to cook for ya. For goodness’ sake, that’s my job, and with only you around… I mean, I really have to get creative to pass the time here. I can’t wash the windows more than once a month, you know. And the chandeliers… Those crystals will be worn out if you don’t keep me occupied."

Alec tried to brush the weariness from his eyes, giving himself a moment to catch up with the energy that had entered the room.

"And it doesn’t seem like you’re opening any mail, Master Alec." She waved the stack in her hand. "Reminders keep coming in, one by one. Now, I know this isn’t easy for ya, but the truth is, someone has to deal with them. And that someone is you, Master Alec. No one else but you."

Alec pushed himself up onto his elbows, giving Greta a faint smile.

"Happy to see you too, Greta. Lovely morning. What time is it?"

"It’s well past noon, Master Alec. I couldn’t let you waste the whole day now, could I? There’s plenty to do. Now, have your tea and let me know what you’re thinking."

"About the tea," he said, taking a sip. "It’s lovely… I guess."

"No, not the tea, you daft boy. About your day. What’s your plan?"

Alec sighed and took a sip, his back tense. Suddenly, his neck ached.

He wanted to tell her he had no plan, that he didn’t want to have a plan. He never had a plan. Never would. Ever. What he did want was to lock the door and stare at the painted wall for hours—today, tomorrow, forever. That was the only plan he could give her.

But of course, he couldn’t say that.

So, instead he sat in silence, staring at the stack of papers in Greta’s hand. And she could see him shrinking before her eyes.

It broke her heart. A little bit more, every day.

She made space in front of him on the bed, sat down, and rested a hand on his arm.

"Come on now, Master Alec, you can do this. I know ya can."

She patted his arm gently, trying to fill her touch with courage and faith.

"Yes, of course I can," Alec replied, without a trace of either. "Of course."

"What do ya say about doing just one thing today? A small experiment?"

She took his hand now, but Alec only stared past her.

"What do ya say about stepping into the big entrance hall? Just to check that everything’s as it should be. And then… you know, if it feels right… maybe take the stairs up to the library. Sort through some of these papers, shall we? How does that sound?"

He sighed and wiggled out of Greta’s gentle grip.

"Yeah, right… yeah, of course I can do that."

He grabbed the pile of papers and set them aside on the bed.

"Or I’ll just deal with them here… I’ll see what I do. But thank you, Greta. I’ll manage."

"Of course you will, Master Alec. I know you will."

She rose and gave him a pat on the shoulder before leaving him alone with the papers and his thoughts.

I hope Robert is good for him, she thought as she closed the door behind her. I really do.

---

Alex fell back against the pillows, staring absentmindedly into nothing, the teacup resting on the duvet between his hands.

This is sooo much shit. Shit, shit, shit.

The ache in his neck had crept downward, now jolting around in his stomach. A wave of nausea hit him, and he shifted, stretching out flat on the bed.

He closed his eyes, imagining he was looking.

This room isn’t so bad, is it? In any other house, it would have been great. It would. The window is nice. The lace curtains are nice. The emptiness is nice.

Emptiness is nice. Oh, I love emptiness. Nothing here. Nothing there.

He imagined looking out over a vast, grey wasteland. A great, endless nothingness. Just him. A cup of tea. And a bed.

That’s all.

That’s all I want, he told himself. That’s all I need.

Fuck this shit.

He pulled the duvet over his head and set the cup down beside him in the darkness, feeling its warmth radiate against his chin. He stroked the cup gently, like it was a pet.

"It’s you and me, Cup. You and me…"

I wish I could stay like this all day. That no one would open that door. That no one would call for me. No one. Ever.

And he would have stayed there, if it weren’t for the heat building up too fast under the down duvet. When he couldn’t stand it anymore, he threw it off—accidentally sending the papers tumbling to the floor.

Oh shit—now I have to fix that.

With a sigh, he set the cup on the bedside table, wiggled free from the duvet, and planted his feet on the cold floorboards.

So much nicer at Robert’s.

I hate this place.

---

Greta was drying glasses with a towel when he passed behind her through the kitchen. She didn’t say anything, keeping her eyes on the task, trying to look fully absorbed in it.

But she listened closely to his footsteps echoing away, hoping she wouldn’t hear them turn back the second he saw the stairs to that big entrance hall.

Alec felt a strong urge to do just that.

It’s just the hall, he told himself. Nothing more.

I know it is. It’s just that I hate it. I hate that hall.

Of course. But it’s still a hall, Alec. You know that. It’s still just a room. Nothing more, nothing less.

Just go there.

Without thinking further, he took a deep breath and walked up the stairs, stepping into the light of four stories of towering windows.

He took it step by step, feeling the weight of it on his shoulders. Like the walls were pressing down on him—like a daffodil trapped in a flower press, sealed inside a mausoleum.

And then a few more steps. He passed towering pillars, row after row, their massive stone blocks rising toward the glass windows in the domed ceiling—floating in what felt like a sky above him. Instead of lifting things up, they pressed him down.

He didn’t dare to look up, afraid of what that would do to him. Instead, he kept his eyes firmly on the floor, watching his feet move across the colored marble. The chessboard pattern felt fitting.

He stopped at the compass rose in the center, acutely aware of the near-endless height of empty space above him.

An expanse he could he never could fill.

Every part of his body ached to move away from this space. He yearned to run back, lock the door to that small room by the kitchen, crawl back under the duvet and close his eyes.

Possibly forever.

And that’s what he’d done for quite a while now. That’s what he wanted to do. That’s what he should do, to save himself.

But he had promised. He had promised to try – so many times. He had to try.

But how could he? He felt every part of him drip away and slide into the cracks between the marble tiles. Every living part of him slowly crushed under the weight of everything that was everything with this hall – with this house.

He should try. He knew he should.

But for every part of him that got lost in the cracks, the void inside grew wider. Day by day it grew so much wider. And fighting that divide… made him tired, it made him so tired. And it made him sad. His shoulders ached, and his stomach ached, and his head ached and his heart… whatever what left of it ached too.

But he knew that he must try.

And he did. He really did.

He should have stood proud. He should have admired the architecture. He should have walked those stairs up to the library with determination, handled that pile of paper with clarity, with sensibility, with strength.

Instead he cried. He fell to his knees, fists clenched against the marble. He pressed his forehead to the floor. Pushed it hard against the stone, as if that could chase the thoughts away. That the pain would make the pain go away. That it would end something. Somehow.

His throat tightened as if about to throw up.

If you’d been really close, you’d might have heard words in his silent mumbling

"Thank you… Father. Thank you for dying on me. Thank you for going away. Thank you for leaving me with all this shit. All. This. Shit."

"Thank you for not giving me any chance of knowing what to do when you were gone. What to do with my life. What to do with this place. What to do with this fucking mess now that you’re not here anymore!"

"Thank you… for showing me – showing everyone - that I don’t know what to do. For reminding me, again and again and again, that I know nothing. That I can’t fix things the way they should be. That I’m useless."

He could hardly breathe as he went on.

"And thank you for making me cry again. For proving I don’t have the guts. That I can’t take it. Can’t handle things like you did."

His whole body trembled now, paralyzed. Shoulders so rigid, so tight, they nearly touched his ears. Tears ran down his cheeks, snot dribbling from his nose. He couldn’t even lift a hand to wipe it away.

"And you’re right Dad - I can’t take it. I really can’t take it. I can’t. Never could, never can.”

It is what it is… and it’s horrible Dad. It is… so horrible.”

"So please, Dad. Please, take me away from this. Please, Dad. Don’t do this to me. I can’t, I can’t… I truly can’t do what I need to do."

"I fail. Yeah. I fail. That’s what I do. That’s all I do."

He felt the snot dribbling, the ache in his eyes from crying, how every muscle in his face and body twisted into something ugly. Fear and misery and weakness and… that horrible black divide that grew on him every horrible second of every horrible day.

Yes, Father… I’ have given up. Yes… I lost. Such a surprise. Didn’t even try, did I? Lost it. Everything.

So Dad, please can’t you just let it rumble?.. All over me. Just… just let it fall… over me, all over me. So you can forget about me. So everyone can forget me.

He sighed, calmed by the cold stone against his swollen face, as he laid like a cross, anchored above the compass rose.

It won’t take long and I’ll be all gone… Moss takes time, yes, but the rest… grass grows in no time. Bushes? No time. There’ll be trees soon. A small forest before you know it. No sign, no marks. No one cares about the fallen.

Just let me fall. Please Dad? I’m already lost anyway.

To be continued...

Click to expand...

IDreamaboutMen said:

Here is the third part of my story Holding out for a Hero. As always, you can read it in full, and be notified about when I update it on my Substack.

Two hours later, just as the sun dipped toward the horizon, Robert found him in the deepest part of the cut hedge labyrinth, at the farthest edge of the sunken garden. Curled up, tight as a knot, arms wrapped around his legs, face buried between them. His chin stiff with frost.

Without a word, he picked him up and carried him like a child in his arms—back through the park, all the way to the cottage. Inside, he placed him in the bathtub and turned on the tap, slowly letting lukewarm water rise around him.

Robert sat beside him in silence, waiting.

Alec barely moved. His body sank into the water, his head resting against the rim of the tub. His breathing slowed. And when Robert finally left the room, Alec could hear his soft voice murmuring into the phone, interrupted by long silences.

They’ll take me away, he thought. Yeah, they’ll take me now.

They’d lock him up in a straitjacket. Strap him down in an ambulance. The big house looming in the background as the van carried him away.

So, this is when I die. Okay… Hi, Dad. Happy to see me?

He let himself slide under the water until it covered his head, waiting for the light all those idiots claimed they’d seen.

Instead, he choked and gasped as someone pulled him back up.

Robert dried his arm on a towel and sat down on the toilet seat next to the bathtub. He never took his eyes off him.

"So, you like diving, do you?"

Alec didn’t answer.

"You should have told me." There was anger in his voice. "We could have gone to one of those gargantuan adventure pools… you know, the ones with bigger pools. Deeper even. So if… if you really wanted to do something like this—"

He couldn’t finish. His breath hitched, and Alec saw—more than heard—how his body cried.

The rib of that bathtub had never been wider. And none of them had ever felt more alone.

But nothing lasts forever, not even the most horrible of moments. Robert straightened his back, rubbed his eyes to erase some of the swelling, and left for his bedroom.

Alec heard him rummaging through boxes and cartons, the sound breaking the heavy silence—until it was interrupted by a satisfied, "Yes!"

When Robert returned, he carried a flat box covered in faded floral prints. He sat down on the toilet lid with a contented grunt and pried it open.

"Now, let’s see what Lisa left for us here…"

Alec, still half-lost in exhaustion, watched through heavy-lidded eyes as Robert carefully lifted trinket after trinket from the box, turning each one over in his hands with a keen, almost reverent eye. The steady, deliberate way he examined them—like they held more than just sentimental value—made Alec curious.

"Who’s Lisa?"

"Oh, an old girlfriend of mine. Lovely gal, really."

Alec blinked, his drowsiness momentarily giving way to confusion.

"You had a girlfriend?"

Robert scoffed. "Of course. What, you think I’m too ugly for that, or what?"

Alec shot him a look—don’t go there.

"No, I’m just… surprised. You never told me."

Robert smirked, shaking his head as he pulled out another trinket from the box.

"Alec, my friend, there are a lot of things I haven’t told you. Yet."

"But," Robert continued, digging deeper into the box, "we can get into that later… Right now…"

He pulled out a cigar-shaped roll of dried leaves and held it up with triumph.

"You see, Lisa was into this… you know, mindfulness thing. Spiritual, you could even say—if you’re feeling particularly generous. She taught me that the most important thing for a good life is making peace with the spirits. Invite the good ones in, and send the bad ones out. Easy as that."

Alec raised an eyebrow as Robert examined the roll more closely.

"She smoked pot?"

Robert looked scandalized for half a second, then shrugged. "Well, she probably did. But this," he turned it between his fingers, "this is a roll of dried sage. A very old roll of dried sage. And it’s used to cleanse a room of evil spirits. The Romans did it."

He met Alec’s tired gaze, suddenly serious.

"And what could be more appropriate than sage at a moment like this?"

Robert nodded solemnly as he lit the roll, then waved the smoldering sage like a priest blessing a congregation.

“All spirits of sorrow and doom, past, present, and future… ghosts—not just the Christmas ones, all of you!” He let the fragrant smoke curl through the air, trailing it in a deliberate zigzag.

“I beseech you to leave this place! To leave this beautiful bathroom, this warm and noble home, this grand and magnificent manor—immediately! And to leave Master Alec—”

“And Mr. Forrester,” Alec interjected, his voice dry but amused.

Robert gave him a pointed look and lifted the bundle of sage higher. “To leave Master Alec and Mr. Forrester alone! Right away!”

Robert continued to wave the sage around in wide, exaggerated arcs.

“And all of you wonderfully kind, beautiful, caring, optimistic, strong, and energetic spirits—yes, and let’s be honest, we won’t mind if you’re hot as hell either—please, join us! Make this magnificent, loving home even more brilliantly, lovingly wonderful!”

Alec bowed his head in mock reverence, lifting his invisible glass higher.

“Cheers to that.”

Then he frowned slightly and sniffed the air.

“…Are you sure that’s not pot?”

Robert took a thoughtful whiff, furrowing his brow as he studied the smoldering sage.

“Well… if it is, I’m pretty damn annoyed I haven’t done this before. And…”

He gave Alec a serious look.

“I’m also annoyed that a fully dressed boy in a bath figured it out before I did. And he hasn’t even been to art school.”

Alec coughed.

" I’m not particularly fond of the smoke. Does that mean I’m one of the bad spirits?"

Robert waved a hand through the air, trying to disperse the curling tendrils of sage.

"You might be, you know. There is a general understanding that the scent of burning sage is to be highly appreciated."

Alec couldn’t help but smile at his stern expression.

"Is that a general understanding based on your ex’s hippie friends?"

"Eeeh, probably. But don’t underestimate hippies, especially not when it comes to smoke. They were highly trained pros in that well-defined area. Like the Russian Spetsnaz, but with fringes and patchwork."

"Did hippies kill?"

"Smoking does…"

Alec let out a short laugh. "That was very clever of you, Mr. Forrester."

"Thank you, Master Alec. That’s because I am very clever."

Alec snorted. "And modest, too."

"Oh, exceptionally," Robert said, placing a hand on his chest in mock sincerity. "But only in moderation. Wouldn’t want to set unrealistic expectations."

Alec stretched his legs out slightly, the warmth of the bath loosening his muscles. "So what now? Do I wait for the spirits to file out in an orderly manner, or should I start charging them rent?"

Robert smirked. "Give it a minute. Some of them are sentimental. Might take them a while to pack up their ghostly baggage."

"And while we’re waiting, I’d suggest you strip out of those wet clothes so I can fill this tub with some warm water. A proper bath… would do you good."

"What if the spirits are watching?"

"Let them. There isn’t a part of you they haven’t already seen. In action."

Alec nodded in agreement. "That’s true. Bit late to play the modesty card, I guess."

"Way too late, Master Alec. “But I’m sure there won’t be any complaints about you getting naked again. There never are."

With that, Robert left him to get ready by himself.

"Don’t bother closing the door," Alec called after him, hearing Robert rummaging around in the kitchen. "I’ll be all right."

But peeling off wet clothes turned out to be far more difficult than expected. The fabric clung stubbornly to his skin, heavy and unyielding, as if fused to him. He wrestled with his sweater, finally yanking it over his head with an irritated grunt.

"What the fuck is this?" he muttered, shaking out his arms.

He felt the stress he’d been pushing away suddenly surface—all too fast, all at once. It would have been so reassuringly easy to give in to it, to let it swallow him whole. But he couldn’t. He just couldn’t.

The sweater landed on the tiled floor with a soft thump.

"Deep breaths," he told himself. "Deep breaths."

But his mind had already betrayed him. The heavy pillars loomed, multiplying in his head, encircling him like the bars of a gladiator’s cage. The domed ceiling hurtled downward, rushing to crush him, to kill him. And he stood there—helpless, forceless… mindless...

Morituri te salutant.

A shiver ran through him as his back met the cool tiles. The solidity steadied him, if only for a second. The headache was back. So was the nausea. He slid slowly down the wall, stopping only when the rim of the bathtub caught him. He gripped the edge of the basin, trying to steady himself.

There he was—a faint reflection in the glazed tiles. No trace of the nausea, none of the paleness. Just a boy with damp hair and… pretty broad shoulders… well-defined pecs… symmetrical nipples, framed by a pair of bulging biceps. And abs, neatly resting beneath a thin layer of skin.

I’d let him fuck me, he thought. Yeah, I actually would. That’s a fine specimen of a young man. Especially if you don’t know that there’s nothing underneath all that. Absolutely nothing.

And those eyes. Those blue basins of… nothingness. Reflecting whatever people wanted to see in them. Never betraying the dry levee hidden beneath the shell.

With numb hands, he began to tug down his sweatpants, but he didn’t look away from his reflection as he did.

Big, rounded thighs—well-earned results from all those squats. Bony knees (but whose weren’t?). Even the calves had started shaping up.

But it was the dick they all wanted.

His gaze lingered on the neatly groomed pubes, the pale, heavy shape rising from them.

Yeah, that’s the one they want.

He spread his legs as wide as the bathtub allowed, slowly dragging the last of the sweatpants off his feet.

This could be porn, he thought. Sean Cody: Alec, straight-acting with a dick to die for.

He chuckled.

To die for.

That’s a good one.

You’ve still got it, Alec. Still got it.

The sweatpants lay crumpled at the bottom of the tub. He hooked the chain to the drain plug between his toes, tugging it free. The lukewarm water swirled down, disappearing with a quiet gurgle.

He watched his reflection play with his dick—lifting it, letting it drop, lifting it again—enjoying the satisfying weight as it landed against his thigh.

Then, slowly, he pulled back the foreskin, watching the head emerge, smooth and pale, like a badger peeking out for the first sun of spring.

Yeah, they’d love to see this. How they’d love to see it. See me wanking. Getting my dick big. Hard. Maybe they’d get a chance of touching it… licking it… swallowing it…

He felt it stiffen in his hand. He’d seen that a million times before, but never quite like this. It was like watching himself from a distance—not a real image, not even a true reflection. More like the shadow of a reflection, an echo of something that might have been.

Plato would have loved it, he muttered. Even if it’s just a crumbled copy of the grand idea of dick.

He smirked, rolling the thought over in his mind.

He would have gone down on his knees for it, like the sordid man he was.

Bad, bad Plato.

It was hard now. He gripped it firmly, pointing it straight up, pressing his balls outward like walnuts under the skin.

Then he raised an arm, resting his hand behind his head, watching the sharp contours of his curved triceps, the almost ball-like swell of his biceps near his chin. So close he could lick it.

Yeah, that’s the money shot right there.

He stretched his legs out, toes pressing against the cold porcelain, his free hand roaming absentmindedly across his abs, following the ridges and valleys that so many had admired.

So, maybe porn? What a disgrace. The shame.

What was the last thing the young Earl did before he died?

He fucked ten thousand guys!

Fake-shocked reporters would gather in front of the gates, cameras zooming in on the family crest. Agitated voices filling the air:

“This very morning, reports have surfaced that Alexander of Westernfields, the last earl of Upperlands, has died after what sources claim was an illicit encounter with ten thousand horny and depraved—very old—Greek philosophers.”

Then they’d show grainy smartphone footage, zooming in on a beautiful, pale body sprawled lifeless on the deep red library carpet. A bruised dick resting against his thigh. Blood seeping from his mouth and ass.

And then, they’d cut to following an old man in a toga, running away through the English park. They’d hunt him down and shove microphones in his face. “What do you know about the young earl’s tragic fate?”

He’d pause, catch his breath, and mutter: “Σῶμα σῆμα.”

Now, that would get them googling, wouldn’t it?

The reflection offered no approval, no disapproval. It just kept moving, slowly stroking the hard cock, muscles flexing in absentminded display—detached from the thoughts running through Alec’s mind.

I did that, he thought. I created that reflection. A lifeless replica to be adored. To keep them busy. To keep them away.

No one cares what’s inside if the surface is hot enough. Everyone loves the sun, but only a few care how it burns beneath.

I made it. I can be it.

If only for a little while.

Then…

He closed his eyes. And for the first time in a long time, he felt reassured. Calm.

…Then they’ll leave me to dig my grave as I want to. And no one will know.

He let his body slide down into the bathtub, the sudden chill of the cast iron making him shiver. Leaning forward, he turned on the hot water, releasing it with the low roar of a distant thunderstorm.

With his eyes closed, he focused entirely on the sensation—the contrast of warmth spreading over his cold skin, the slow, steady rise of the water around him.

To be continued…

Click to expand...

IDreamaboutMen said:

And here is the fourth part:

"There ya go, a warm bath—nothing like it, eh?"

Robert had come in and settled on the toilet seat, just like before. In his hands, he held two small glasses filled with a golden liquid.

"Was getting some food ready when I thought of this," he said, handing one to Alec.

"Brandy. That’s what the dogs bring you when you get pulled out of an avalanche, don’t they. Figured it was appropriate for a day like this."

They clinked their glasses in the air and drank them down in one go. Then they both shrugged as the liquid hit, burning all the way down.

“Fuck, that was strong.”

“Hell yeah—that’s some proper brandy for ya. Sets fire to the spirits, it does.”

Alec shivered. “Can’t believe people actually want to drink this.”

“Your father wasn’t too keen on it either…” Robert smirked. “Gave me all the stuff he didn’t like.”

“Is that why I’m here?”

Robert smiled, but Alec could see the weariness in his eyes.

“You’re not something to be given away. None of us are. And Master David… he loved you. I can agree he wasn’t exactly a master at showing it, though.”

Alec looked down at the rising water between his thighs.

“So, you’ve got a stash, then?”

“Yup, I’ve got a stash. A proper stash. Don’t drink that much myself, so I don’t really know what to do with it. Got it stored in boxes down in the cellar now, but it’s too damp, really. Cardboard goes soft quickly.”

“Yeah, same at the house. You need to wrap the bottles in paper to keep the labels from decaying… if you want to keep the labels, that is. The good ones have their names on the cork anyway.”

“Thanks, I’ll think about it. Labels don’t mean much to me, though. It’s what’s inside that counts.”

Their eyes met.

“Tell me about Lisa.”

“Tell me about you.”

“I was first.”

“No, Lisa was.”

Alec could hear the contented smile in his voice.

“Seriously, I don’t want to talk about it. It’s just… I’ve kind of, exactly now, managed not to think about it, and I’d really like it to stay that way. Okay? At least for a while.”

“Alec, I’d love to agree with you. But… it’s been a long time since I’ve seen you happy, and—” Robert sighed. “I just want you to know you’re not on your own. I mean, of course you are… when it comes to the manor and all that. Yeah, there’s a lot of… stuff… you have to deal with. But Alec—” He shook his head. “You have to find a way through this. Your way. But that doesnt make you alone.”

Alec shrugged and turned off the tap. Robert watched as he lay back in the tub, eyes closed. Then, without a word, he got up and left the bathroom as if suddenly in a hurry.

Alec followed his movements through the sounds echoing in the cottage. He couldn’t quite make out what Robert was up to, though. There was definitely some rummaging in the kitchen cupboards, then the distinct creak of the pantry door. A pause. Then footsteps, a quick detour down to the cellar.

Seemed like Robert had made dinner plans—ones that may well involve more from “the stash” downstairs. The thought of food made Alec realize just how hungry he was. All he’d had was that single cup of tea Greta had brought him, and now the dull headache and nausea of hunger settled in.

Next to him, on the rim of the bathtub, stood a small jar filled with bright orange jelly, labeled Sardinian Bubbly. He popped the lid, and instantly, a flood of citrus—tangerine and lemon, heady and almost intoxicating—hit him so hard he nearly lost his breath.

Damn, I don’t need this, he thought as his senses flared, every nerve twitching with the sheer, overwhelming intensity of the scent. It’s going to kill me. I’ll go crazy just thinking about it.

Crazier, he corrected himself.

And then he realized—he was parched. The thirst of an antelope crossing the savanna.

He saw a glass waiting on the basin, so he lifted himself just enough to reach it, filling it with icy cold water. The first sip was heaven. The second even better.

Then he saw Robert standing by the doorpost, watching him. Alec saw him through the angled mirror on the wall—his eyes fixed on him.

Slowly, Alec shifted, angling his body so Robert could see more of him. The parts he knew the man was especially fond of—that perfect bubble ass, strong thighs, the neatly trimmed pubes framing his dick. He tilted his head back as if to drink more smoothly, but in truth, it was to ignite that brooding gaze, to see the worship there.

Stretching, he let one hand drift, teasing its way from his neck, down over his chest—pausing to brush over a nipple—tracing along the smooth ridges of his abs, until his fingers found his cock, toying with it as if absentmindedly.

Alec didn’t stop looking at him, waiting for that slow burn to take hold, for those dark eyes to trace over every inch he offered. But there was no fire, no hunger. Robert wasn’t even looking at him like that.

There was just concern.

"Great to see you up, Master Alec. If you think you’re up for it, I’ve got some food ready for ya. That would be nice, eh?" Robert’s voice was steady, with a hint of anticipation. "But tonight, I thought we’d do something different. A dinner à la surprise, you might say."

Alec still held the water glass to his mouth, so he resorted to a questioning wobble of his head.

Robert handed him a huge towel.

”Yeah, I think I’m onto something good here, but I won’t tell you now. Get dressed, and I’ll meet you in the hallway.”

”What? Robert?” Alec called after him, but Robert was already halfway out the door.

”Robert! What the hell?”

Robert’s voice echoed back from the other room.

”Get ready, boy, we’ve got stuff to do! You’ll find clothes on the bed.”

Alec, never one for surprises, dried himself slowly, trying to figure out what this was all about. He caught his reflection in the mirror, it was a relief—his skin was a pale pink from the hot bath, not the colorless, lifeless figure he had seen gazing at him in the glazed tiles.

He took his time, running the towel carefully over his dick and balls, then along the smooth curve of his ass, making sure he was completely dry. He let himself enjoy the sensation—the warmth, the softness, the feeling of being clean.

"What are you up to, Robert?"

"Never you mind, Master Alec. Get dressed and pop over, will ya?"

Alec tried to trace the voice—it was definitely coming from the hall… or maybe the cellar? Whatever it was, Robert was up to something down there.

He found a neat little pile of clothes waiting for him on the bed, just as Robert had said. Blue socks, a snug white pair of short briefs, a t-shirt, green corduroy pants, and a blue knitted sweater. He pulled them on and, with reluctant steps, followed the voice.

He found Robert in the hallway, dressed in his tartan jacket, a massive camper backpack strapped to his shoulders and a basket in one hand.

“Lovely to see ya, Master Alec. I hope the clothes were to your liking.”

“They were, but for fuck’s sake, Robert.” Alec spread his hands. “What is all this?”

"I thought it was high time we had a little adventure."

"Adventure? Like… camping?"

"That is very correct, sir. A little camping adventure it is."

"Oh my god, Robert… really? I’m starving, can’t we just—"

"The food is ready and waiting, sir. Just get your jacket and wellies on, and we’ll be off."

Alec sighed and pulled on his jacket and boots, too hungry to muster any real resistance.

"That looks great, my young man. Now, take this."

Robert handed him the basket, then leaned against the heavy front door to push it open.

The cold hit like a slap, a sharp contrast to the steamy warmth of the bathroom he’d just left. He shivered and tried to wrap the jacket tighter around his body while balancing the basket in his arms.

"Are we camping in the sunken garden?"

"No, sir, that is not the plan."

"Then why are we heading toward the big house?"

"You’ll see in a short while, Master Alec, in a very short while."

Alec shrugged and concentrated on not thinking about Robert’s boeuf, or his steak pie, or the spicy Bolognese, or his lemon tart, or… But something soon ended that line of thought.

They arrived in front of the big house, its towering stone pillars standing in perfect symmetry beneath the massive Greek pediment, their rigid elegance echoing the grandeur of ancient palaces. Moonlight cast long, spectral shadows across the façade, the scene as haunting as it was magnificent.

Alec felt it immediately—the weight of the building draining him, siphoning the life from his body before he had even set foot inside.

Then he felt Robert’s strong hand take a firm grip on his arm.

“Don’t go thinking about those pillars, Master Alec. We’ll turn the corner soon enough. No pillars there, no grand stone lions either… so much nicer without them, if you ask me.”

And, much to his relief, Robert’s words were true. They passed all the grandeur of the formal house, rounded a corner, and instead of towering columns and heavy ornamentation, there was a small, almost hidden door set into the stone foundation. Painted a deep gray, nearly the same shade as the surrounding stone, it barely announced itself at all.

“Here you go, Master Alec.” Robert pulled out a large, weighty key and placed it in his hand.

Alec frowned. “What are we going into the coal cellar for?”

Robert flashed him a pleased smile. “Not the coal cellar, Master Alec. Not at all.”

Alec opened the door and stepped into the dimly lit hallway beyond. He followed Robert inside, expecting to turn right—toward the large chamber where coal had once been stored—but instead, they veered left, toward another equally unassuming door.

“You see here, Master Alec, is something of a hidden gem.”

“You mean the servants’ passage to the left wing?”

Robert turned to him, looking almost wounded. “You knew of it?”

Alec scoffed. “Robert, really? You do know I live here, don’t you? It’s not like I’m the least curious person who’s ever walked these halls. Of course I know about it.”

“Well,” Robert said, with a hint of disappointment. “That ruins the surprise, doesn’t it? You may as well take the lead, then, Master Alec.”

Alec rolled his eyes. “Master Alec this, Master Alec that… Robert, sometimes I swear—”

“Keep on walking, sir. We’re almost there.”

After what Alec estimated was a two-story climb, they reached a small landing where two doors stood waiting.

The only light came from a narrow window, just enough moonlight slipping through to outline the contours of the space.

Alec knew the landing well enough to know where the doors led, but he was still curious about what Robert was up to.

“Here we are, Master Alec. And I think you should open the door right next to you.”

Alec sighed. “I swear to God, Robert—or Mr. Forrester—that if you’re up to something, I will never forgive you.”

Robert smirked. “I’ll take that risk. Now open the door, sir.”

Alec grumbled under his breath but reached for the handle. To his surprise, it turned easily—no key needed.

And then, there it was.

One of the most beautiful sights he had ever seen.

They stood at the farthest end of the grand library. The three massive chandeliers, ablaze with burning candles, bathed the room in a golden glow, their flickering light shimmering off the rich oak shelves and the gilded spines of the countless books lining the walls.

The great fireplace, just beside the doorway where they had entered, crackled with life, sending up occasional sparks and a low, steady rumble as thick logs slowly turned to embers.

It was almost too beautiful to take in.

Alec turned to Robert, unable to suppress the smile that suddenly filled his face—and his mind. And oh, the pride Robert felt when he saw it.

“Here you are, Master Alec. Here you are.”

He stepped past him, his movements unhurried, then let the heavy rucksack slide from his shoulder, landing with a soft thud on the thick, richly ornate carpet that outlined much of the vast room.

“You see, Master Alec,” Robert said, looking around as if he, too, was seeing it for the first time, “sometimes you have to get through a lot of darkness to be able to appreciate the light.”

To be continued...

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