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Identity Check Chapter 23 |
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The incident with the
police didn't scare David out of the stalking. He kept on calling. He kept on
sending insulting emails. Meanwhile the summer term drew on inexorably
towards exam time, Colin and Nick fretting and studying most nights. Despite
the good weather and Phil's constant efforts to cheer him up, Patrick felt as
gloomy as winter. He called Simon a couple
of times, but refused to meet him, spoke over the phone instead, knew that
was the only way to keep Simon from being... distracted. Patrick came home one
night in early May, after a session in the gym, to find the place pretty much
a study hall. Nick, Colin and Russ had books and notes spread all over the
dining room table, so Patrick headed into the kitchen to eat there. Though
even after his workout, he barely had any appetite. He found a ready-meal he
could put in the microwave. While he watched it go round, his phone beeped in
his pocket with a text message. He knew. Somehow he knew
even without looking, even though it couldn't be. He wanted it to be Phil,
sending some daft joke, to cheer him up, or inviting him out for a drink. But
when he took the phone out, David's number showed up. He'd found Patrick's new
number. Fuck. Why the hell had he
told David he'd got a new phone? But how the hell had the bastard found the
new number? Something snapped inside
him He strode to the kitchen bin and stamped on the pedal making the lid
spring up and clang against the wall. Patrick dropped the phone into the
rubbish and let the lid crash back down. Why was this happening to
him? What had he done to deserve this? Who was he kidding? He'd managed to
convince himself sucking cock and taking it up the arse was just fine, hadn't
he? That it wouldn't condemn him to burning in hell after a short and miserable
life. Fucking reality check, Patrick. This is exactly what you deserve! He sank down, back
sliding against a cupboard door, until he was sitting on the floor, knees up
and elbows resting on them, his face buried in his hands. A sob wracked him
and tears started, and he despised them and himself. Pathetic. Limp-wristed snivelling queer! He couldn't
stop though, however hard he tried to regain control, he didn't have the
strength. So weak and sinful and... "Patrick?" Russ's voice made him
look up and quickly turn away and scrub the back of his hand across his eyes.
"Patrick are you
okay?" Russ knelt beside him, a hand on his shoulder. Patrick managed to
swallow down the sobs, but the tears continued. "I'm sorry," Russ
said, his voice soft. "Of course you're not okay. Can I make you a cup
of tea, or something?" "Or something,"
Patrick said, voice shaking. "Maybe a bottle of whisky and no
glass." "I don't think
that's a good idea." He stroked Patrick's shoulder. "Is this about the
crap David's putting you through? "It's about
everything, Russ. Just fucking everything." "What do you mean?
What else is bothering you?" Patrick just shook his
head in reply. Russ couldn't understand, he didn't even believe in hell. "Okay," Russ
said. "Look, you don't want to sit here on the floor. Why don't I take
you up to your room? And we'll talk if you want to, whatever you want." Patrick wanted the same
thing he'd wanted that day with Simon. He wanted someone to hold him. Would
Russ do that for him? "Okay," he
whispered and let Russ help him to his feet. They climbed the stairs and in
his room, Patrick sank down onto the bed, as if his knees couldn't hold him
any more. Russ found a spare blanket and draped it over Patricks shoulders,
then sat beside him and took his hand. "Talk if you want
to. Or not. I'm here, either way." Patrick gave him a weak
smile. "You're a good guy, Russ." Russ chuckled. "Not
really. I can name at least ten better ones I personally know." "None of them are
here right now. I'm glad you are." He draped the blanket over Russ's
shoulders too, and they sat closer together, warming each other. After a few
minutes silence, Patrick spoke quietly. "I thought I was
working it all out. I had friends, and a job and then a boyfriend, a real
boyfriend, and everything felt so right. Now... it's falling apart." "You still have a
job. You still have friends. You have very good friends who... who care for
you a great deal. And honestly, this is not the end of the world. David was
your first serious relationship and yes, it failed. But, Pat, most of them
do." "Is this you being
cynical again?" "No. It's just life.
You don't meet Mr Right first crack out of the box. It could take years. The
relationships you have on the way that's... practice. Trial and error."
He grimaced. "Lots of errors." "So I have to keep
going through this same crap over and over again for years?" "Not as bad. I mean
David's on the extreme end of the 'boyfriend from hell' scale. No, most relationships
won't be that awful, but most of them will break down eventually." "I see." "You're... well,
you're a romantic sort of guy." He shook his head. "Like Phil. You
two are... Anyway, you build up your hopes, for every relationship and that
means you're going to have your heart broken a lot, before you find... um,
the right guy." Patrick sighed. He was a
fool, that was clear, full of stupid romantic notions. So he had years of
misery to got through, desperately looking for someone to settle down with
before his good looks faded? Oh hooray, what a life to look forward too. He
gripped Russ's hand tighter, wanting the reassurance of Russ's strength. "Russ," he
said, voice barely a whisper. "Can you just... put your arms around me
for a while. Sorry, I sound so... If you don't want to..." "Of course."
Russ cut him off before Patrick talked himself out of the request, and he
took Patrick in his arms, wrapping the blanket around them both, Cocooned in the warmth,
Patrick let his head rest on Russ's shoulder, and thought he'd like to just
go to sleep like this, find oblivion, with strong arms around his waist,
stroking his back, soothing and tender. A little shiver ran through him in
response to that touch. It brought back memories of good times he'd had with
Russ, times with less tenderness and more passion. There was another type of
oblivion, different from sleep. Very different. God, but he couldn't. He'd
just be using Russ then. But his body was responding and when Russ stroked a
hand over his face, and down his neck, he shivered again and had to shift on
the bed, getting hard already. Russ ran his fingers along Patrick's jaw, held
his chin lightly and raised Patrick's face to his. "I can make it
better, at least for a while," he said, in a whisper. "If you want
me to." "Yes," Patrick
said. "Yes, I want you to." Russ kissed him and it
was so gentle that it made Patrick think of that first night in the Circle,
when Patrick had been so naïve and childish and Russ had been so cautious and
- oh god - David had been there, hadn't he? Had he watched them kissing? Had
he decided than that he wanted Patrick for himself? Had he watched him for
months, waiting for his moment to pounce? "Patrick?" Russ
said, pulling away. "Are you okay? Look, if you're not sure this is what
you want..." "I'm fine."
Patrick pulled him closer and then down onto the bed, until they were well
tangled in the blanket and each other. Russ had all the
necessary equipment of course, and moved quickly, taking control. He stripped
off their clothes and prepared both of them, before saying softly,
"Ready?" "Yes." Patrick
arched his back as Russ entered him, and then wrapped his legs around Russ to
keep him close. "Do it slow," he pleaded. "Make it last." "Of course."
Russ adjusted his position a couple of times, until Patrick moaned out loud. "That's it,"
Patrick gasped. Russ had explained to him a while back, with the unblushing
candour that only a gay medical student could achieve, that 'the enjoyment of
anal penetration for men hinged largely on stimulation of the prostate
gland'. At the time Patrick had just been begging him not to stop. He didn't
care why it felt so good, he just didn't want it to stop! Russ didn't give any
anatomy lectures this time though. They were almost totally silent, but for
sighs and eventual moans of pleasure. That pleasure filled Patrick head to
toe and all his pain and trouble faded, as passion took control and at last,
the oblivion of orgasm made it vanish entirely. He recovered in a few
moments to find they were still in each other's arms and was grateful for
that. For all of it. For those moments of forgetting, moments when he could
know nothing but pleasure. Feel nothing but Russ inside him, bringing him
closer and closer, at last, at last making him soar into a blown out white
sky. "I've taken you away
from your studying," Patrick said, stroking his fingers through Russ's
hair. "That's okay. You're
a much more interesting subject to study." He winced. "But I'd
better take a shower and get out of here, because those two downstairs are
going to be giving me very funny looks." "You don't have to
go yet, do you?" "The time is getting
on a bit. I've got a lecture at nine tomorrow." "Oh. Well, okay, of
course. I don't want to keep you up late." Russ slipped out from
under the blanket and gathered up his clothes. A quick peek out of the door,
then he made a dash for the bathroom. Patrick smiled at that
dash, and lay back in the bed. Damn. Why did Russ have to go? He could stay
here. Patrick would shower too and they could snuggle in under the covers,
wake up together in the morning. And there he went having stupid romantic
ideas again. Russ was not that man. Mr Right. Russ was a fuck buddy nothing
more. And he got a free fuck
here tonight, a nasty voice whispered inside Patrick. In exchange for a few
cuddles, you give him a quickie. Classy. Patrick groaned and buried his face
in his pillow. Did he think sex solved everything? Did he think a few minutes
of orgasm-induced oblivion could make his problems go away? Russ stepped back
into the bedroom, dressed now. "Hey. I'll tell the
other two you've gone to bed. Ah, see you at the weekend?" "Yeah, I suppose
so." Patrick's voice sounded flat, dead, and Russ looked at him,
concerned. "You okay? You want
me to stay a bit longer?" "No. Just go, Russ.
I'm fine." "Well... okay."
Russ raised a hand in a quick wave goodbye and left, closing the door behind
him. Patrick lay on his bed, the blanket itchy against his skin now, thinking
he should get up and take a shower, but he couldn't be bothered to move. After a few minutes there
was a soft knock at the door, and Nick's voice sounded from outside. "Pat, you still
awake?" "Come in,"
Patrick said, sleepily, realising he'd started to doze off. As Nick opened
the door, he hastily checked to make sure the blanket covered him properly. "Hey," Nick
said, coming into the room a couple of steps. "Um, you need anything?
You didn't eat..." No, he hadn't, his dinner
left abandoned in the microwave. "Not hungry." "Well can I get you
anything? Tea, or maybe some hot chocolate. You like hot chocolate." "I like it in the
middle of winter," Patrick pointed out. "But, tea would be nice,
thanks, Nick." "You sure you're
okay?" Nick stepped closer and glanced down at something. Patrick
realised that it was his clothes on the floor and saw Nick blush as he
presumably worked out that Patrick was naked under the blanket and what he
and Russ had been doing up here. "Um... Russ... said you were kind of
upset." His features darkened in a frown of disapproval and Patrick
wanted to groan with shame. "I'm okay now,"
he lied, ashamed about lying too. "Just... things getting on top of
me." Yeah, like hot medical students with great arms. "Okay," Nick
said, backing up towards the door. "I'll make the tea. It'll take a few
minutes. You - ah - get into bed properly and I'll bring it to you." He left and as soon as
Patrick heard his footsteps retreating down the stairs he got up, grabbed his
bathrobe and headed into the bathroom. The shower ran hot right away and he
cleaned himself up and dried off quickly. Back in his room he stuffed his
dirty clothes in the laundry hamper and put on some clean, respectable
pyjamas. Nick reappeared with a tray, just as Patrick got into bed. "I made you a
sandwich too, and found some Jaffa Cakes I think Colin was hiding. You should
eat." "You're too good to
me, cuz." "I know. Don't
worry. One day I'll call in the favour." He sat in the same seat Ray had
sat that night he brought Patrick home and watched over him while he slept.
How many men would have done that without making a pass? Hah, not Russ! Well,
no, that wasn't fair, Russ wouldn't have made a pass that night, when Patrick
was so battered. The question was, if Ray had been here tonight would he have
done any different than Russ? Patrick was starting to cringe at the thought
of it already. All he'd wanted was to be held. Why did it always have to lead
to sex? "Pat," Nick
said, after sitting in silence for a while. "You can talk to me. I know
you think you can't, you know, about the gay stuff. And maybe sometimes it
makes me embarrassed. But you can still talk to me." Could he really? Maybe.
But right now, Nick had dark circles under his eyes, from staying up late
studying, from those exams coming up soon, next week in fact. He didn't need
any more stress. "Thanks, Nick. Right
now, could you..." He didn't know where the thought came from. Another
type of reassurance perhaps, or taking comfort in nostalgia. "Could you
talk to me about my dad?" Nick looked startled, but
then smiled. "Of course. You remember that day us and our dads went down
to Brighton for that FA cup match?" Patrick closed his eyes
and drifted away into the memories. |
© E Charles 2009