Untitled.

[Abraxas]

I'm putting this in the R section cos I'm sure it'll end up having a bit of strong language and all that. Anyway, I've been writing this for the past ten minutes or so, and have some idea of where I want it to go, haha!
Basically, since I live my life in fantasy, this is something that I'd like to be a true story, sometime in the future. It's, basically, I guess, what I hope will happen when I send in my script. Or something. So my character is definitely me, and all the other characters are based on what I think they'd be like in real life, based on what I've seen, heard, and read about them. Anyway, here's part one. I haven't looked through it yet, so please excuse any typos. :-)


Part One

I’ve always found etiquette to be a bit puzzling, especially when meeting new people. With guys, a firm handshake will generally suffice, but with girls, I always wonder just what to do. On chat shows, the guy always kisses the girl’s cheek. But I, having never been interested in girls at all, found this to be awkward. Particularly now that I was meeting the cast and crew of ‘House.’ Being the new guy, I wanted to make a good first impression. Two months after I’d submitted my spec script to the producers, I got a rather enigmatic call, simply asking if I had any more ideas. Of course I’d said yes. What choice did I have?
Another two weeks passed, and there I was, sitting in an office that was a tad too cold for my liking, nervously clutching the fourth draft of my second script in my hand, waiting for David Shore to come in. I looked down, making sure my shirt was tucked in. I’d dressed nicely, but casually. Jeans, boots, dress shirt, and sport jacket. I pondered my decision, thinking maybe I should have gone for a slightly more formal look. Oh, well, nothing I could do about it now. An agonising five minutes passed before I heard the knob turn. I stood up immediately as David came in with a polite grin on his face.
‘Hi,’ he said brightly, and held out a hand. I shook it as firmly as I could.
‘Hi,’ I said back. ‘I’ve, uh, got the new draft if you’d like to read it.’
David walked around his large oak desk and had a seat, motioning for me to sit down myself. I did.
‘Sure,’ he said, and I held out the script to him. He took it and set it on the desk. ‘Basically,’ he continued, ‘we’re very impressed with your work. Obviously it would be impolite to hire someone new without first consulting everybody . . .’
I glanced down nervously, but when I looked back up at him he smiled and winked. I managed a grin and he went on.
‘So that’s exactly what I’ve done. Everyone here seems to agree that you’ve sent us a very fine script. And, if you think you can continue to deliver work of this calibre, we’re willing to hire you for a trial run. Once we’ve seen exactly what you can do, we’ll look at a contracted position on our writing staff, if that’s what you want. And I assume it is, considering you agreed to meet with me.’
I nodded.
‘Not a big talker,’ he asked.
‘Not really,’ I said. ‘I’m kinda nervous.’
He nodded. ‘No worries; I’m sure you’ll be joking around and pulling pranks on us in no time.’

For the next hour or so we discussed my other ideas (I had five or six so far, and, thankfully, he seemed to be liking them), and talked about a meeting with the rest of the cast and crew.
‘Nothing too formal,’ he assured me.

So there I was, face to face with a dozen people I’d never met before but really admired, not quite sure what to do with myself. David broke the ice.

‘Guys, this is Ben, who will hopefully end up joining our writing staff.’
Murmurs began, though I couldn’t hear what anyone was saying.
‘Hi,’ I said softly.
‘It speaks!’ Said Hugh. He took a couple of steps forward and shook my hand. Very firm. Thick calluses. He smelled like cigarette smoke and moderately-priced cologne. ‘My God, you’re so young!’
‘I’m twenty-one next month,’ I said. I decided to keep it simple. I’d never been one to make an ass of myself in front of celebrities (having met a few), but I didn’t want to risk it by drivelling on about how much I loved everything he’d ever done. He’d never believe it anyway.
‘Christ,’ he muttered. ‘Well, lovely to have you on board.’

I managed to stumble through the rest of the greetings, then everybody broke for lunch and I was left standing there, not sure exactly what to do with myself. I sat on the kerb just outside the building to have a smoke. I wasn’t particularly hungry, having eaten a few hours before, and so just absorbed the atmosphere. Most of the crew were eating outside. Hugh and Jesse were talking a few yards from me, shoveling bits of sandwich into their mouths between sentences. I stubbed out my Marlboro on the sole of my shoe and tossed it into a nearby ashtray. I didn’t notice Jennifer as she came up.

‘I really liked your script,’ she said.
I turned around. ‘Oh. Thanks.’
She sat next to me on the kerb. ‘So, how do you know so much about medicine? Are you in medical school?’
I chuckled. ‘No, I failed out of Uni in my first year. This was just a result of my obsessive compulsive nature, I guess. When I think something’s interesting I have to research it. And I find medicine very interesting.’
‘How come you failed out?’
‘I’m a lazy bastard who’d rather drink with his friends and write scripts than actually go to class. I did pass my writing classes, though, if it’s any consolation,’ I replied.
She smiled and patted my knee. ‘Looks like lunch is over. I’ll see you inside.’

[Abraxas]

Urgh, this is tough. Especially considering that I don't know anything about TV shows are filmed, haha! But I press on . . .

Part Two


After a few weeks, I’d managed to get the hang of things around the studio. I could be on set whenever I wanted, as long as I stayed out of the way. Daily meetings took place among the writing staff, discussing ideas for episodes and trying to churn out dialogue. If we’d come up with anything the night before we were expected to present it at the meeting. Meanwhile, we were all expected to be writing our own scripts and handing them in to be edited and drafted as soon as we’d finished. We all did our own revisions and had the scripts approved by the other writers, producers, directors, and medical advisors before the production drafts were printed and handed out.
My first script had been shelved for the moment, it being more suited for a season finale, and we were only at the start of the season.

On the personal front, I’d received a rather respectable lump of cash for my two scripts, so rented myself a small apartment, bought a cheap used car, and set about furnishing my new home with a bed, a couch, a coffee table, dishes, utensils, and appliances, and a small television. I also bought a hamster, and called him Fred. I’d never lived alone before, so decided I needed someone to keep me company. A dog or cat would have been too much trouble, considering my schedule, so I figured a rodent would be just right.

The one luxury I allowed myself was a very expensive electric keyboard with weighted keys. I knew I’d never survive for long without a piano. I’d also had my mum ship my favourite acoustic guitar to me.

By the time my birthday rolled around, I’d become much more comfortable around everybody, and was even speaking above a whisper– a big step for me. Everyone had gotten used to me hanging around, too. The cast decided they’d take me out to a bar in celebration, so that night we headed off to the nicest joint in town. It was a fantastic time. Everyone, including me, got well pissed so we were all able to relax and enjoy each others’ company. At some point during the night, I was coaxed onstage for a round of karaoke. I flipped through the song book and couldn’t find anything suitable, so decided to hack it A’cappella. I picked a song called ‘In the Still of the Night’ and surprised a few people. After all, I considered myself more a musician than a writer– always had. I received a lot of compliments, which made me a tad uncomfortable, so I nailed another white russian and pretended the whole thing had never happened.

At the end of the evening, Hugh and I shared a cab back to our respective apartments, seeing as we lived about ten minutes away from each other. I was dropped off first and Hugh, surprisingly, gave me a hug goodnight and demanded he pay for the cab ride. After a few minutes of arguing back and forth ‘no, I’ll pay.’ ‘Ridiculous– fuck off inside. I’ll pay for it,’ I finally headed up to my room and to bed.

Hugh is an interesting guy. Brilliant and very sweet. I’d, of course, been watching him with particular interest since the very beginning, and I noticed a few things. Mainly the fact that, when takes were cut, he seemed very jolly and silly. If he or anyone else made a mistake during filming, he’d be the first to crack a joke or make a funny face. However, at the end of every filming day, he’d be sat on the kerb, looking completely dejected. Every day, he’d trudge outside, flop down on the kerb, and smoke Marlboro after Marlboro before finally dragging his feet over to his bike and heading off. I wanted to hang out on the other side of the car park, having a smoke, as everyone got into their cars and left, but I was afraid he’d notice me watching, so I usually just left.
Occasionally, though, a group of us would hang out to talk at the end of the day. Hugh never joined in. But the others would catch me glancing at him sometimes. I was warned over and over again: ‘Don’t try to talk to him when he’s like this. He’ll bite your head off. Trust me.’
Thing was, I totally understood him. If I had as much on the line as he did, I’d act the same way. It’s the perfectionism gene. A true perfectionist will never believe they’ve done anything well. Before being offered the job as a writer for ‘House’ I’d been working on recording an album. For six years. And when I left it was still only 3/4 finished. But in television, you don’t have that kind of time. You’ve got to deliver your product weekly, which leaves little margin for error.
Of course, I’d never tell that to Hugh. I could tell, after the first few weeks, that he didn’t want to be understood. Being understood means that people know what you’re thinking, and that’s a scary thing to be on the other end of..

One day, I headed outside just before wrap, and sat on the kerb to smoke, about ten feet from where Hugh normally sat. I watched as groups of people left the studio. As Hugh walked outside, he noticed me sitting there, but pretended not to. I was nearly done with my fag as he sat down in his usual spot, so I contemplated lighting another, but in the end, decided against it. I tossed my butt away, stood up, and walked off. Hugh didn’t say a thing. He was completely wrapped up in his thoughts and probably hadn’t even noticed I’d gone.
Over the next few weeks I did the same thing three or four times, not wanting to be too obvious. But then, the schedule for the writing meetings changed. They ended at the same time as wrap, and, as the writing room was upstairs, we all ended up exiting the building just after the cast. That meant that by the time I got outside, Hugh was already planted in his usual spot, smoking away. I walked past Lisa, Jennifer and Jesse, who were talking just outside the door, and headed for the kerb. When Lisa saw where I was going, she called my name.
I turned back and said ‘no worries,’ then pulled out a fag and sat on the kerb about ten feet from Hugh. He glanced at me as I sat down, but said nothing. I looked over at the other three, flashed them a quick wink, and went back to smoking and staring into space.

This went on for quite awhile. Sometimes I’d have a chat with the rest of the cast before having my smoke, sometimes not. And sometimes, Hugh would be off before I went to the kerb. I’d sit and smoke anyway. Finally, though, one day Hugh spoke. I’d just flicked my cigarette and was about to stand up when he said, ‘can I ask you something?’
‘Sure,’ I replied, turning to face him.
‘Why is it that you always come sit by me, but never say anything?’
‘I thought this was the smoking area,’ I joked.
‘No, seriously,’ he said. ‘I want to know. I mean, I don’t bite.’
‘That’s not what they said,’ I replied, motioning to the rest of the cast, who were watching us talk.
‘Alright, so I can sometimes be a bit grumpy. What, did they dare you to come over here?’
‘No,’ I chuckled. ‘I wasn’t under duress. I just thought that if you did want to talk, you may as well have someone available to talk to. Besides that, just because you want to be alone, doesn’t mean you necessarily want to be by yourself.’
I stood up and started walking towards my car.
‘Oi, Ben,’ Hugh called.
‘Yeah?’
‘Thanks, mate.’

[Abraxas]

Part Three

Nothing really changed after that. If we did ever talk, there on the kerb, the conversation was sparse and superficial. I never complimented him, really– it made him uncomfortable. In fact, we never really talked about ‘House’ at all. If we did, it was Hugh that brought up the subject, not me.
We would talk at other times– between takes, at lunch, at meetings and parties. But the kerb seemed like sacred ground; no talking was necessary. We merely experienced. But enough of semantics.

We did become good friends. In fact, everyone I worked with seemed to welcome me into the pack and within weeks they were like a second family. But it was always Hugh that I related to, that I most wanted to be around, and that I looked to for comfort, guidance, and meaningful companionship. I’d like to think he felt the same way about me, but that’s probably not true.

One night, as I was getting out of the shower at my apartment, the power went out. It was late, and I’d just gotten home from a very long shooting day. Hugh and I had decided to hang out in his trailer and have a few beers before going home, and at around midnight, we parted ways.

I didn’t notice, somehow, that it had started to rain. Until, that is, a monsterous thunderclap shook my bathroom very nearly to pieces. I glanced around nervously for a moment, then peered out the bathroom window– it was ugly. Huge sheets of precipitation flew from the sky and slammed down onto the pavement. Being irrationally terrified of dark bathrooms, I immediately grabbed a towel and dashed out, wrapping the thing loosely around my waist. I fumbled my way to the kitchen and rummaged around in the drawers for a flashlight, knowing full well I didn’t have one. Just as I’d given up my search, the power came back on. I sat down on the couch, still wet, and propped my feet up on the coffee table. I leaned my head back against the wall, and felt the pounding vibrations of the rain outside. It was rather soothing, strangely. After a few minutes, though, the sound seemed to change. I heard three quick raps, rather distinctly different from the rain. I furrowed my brow, puzzled, until I heard the sound again. Door, I thought, and stood up to investigate.

Upon opening the door, I gasped. Hugh was stood there, completely soaked, withered, and really out of it. He wore a thick brown leather jacket and his motorcycle helmet.
‘Oh my God, come in,’ I said quickly. He didn’t move. Didn’t seem able to. I reached forward and pulled him inside, and he nearly collapsed on me. I grunted and shifted my weight (all 120 pounds of it) under his shoulder, then dragged him to the couch. His feet scraped at the carpet as he struggled to gain footing. I half- set him down and half- dropped him onto the sofa, and then pulled off his helmet. Somehow, his hair was soaked. It curled and frizzed around his temples, dripping into his bloodshot, drooping eyes.
‘Jesus Christ, mate,’ I muttered, unzipping his jacket. Underneath it, his shirt was wet and clung to his chest. I leaned him forward to remove his jacket, and he almost toppled off the couch. Keeping him in the forward position, I pulled his t-shirt off over his head, then leaned him back and set about removing his boots and socks. Somehow, even his socks were wet. His jeans were slick and black with water, too, and I hesitated in taking them off. I stared into Hugh’s eyes, hands precariously hanging over his waistband. He looked back at me and blinked. I took that as a go-ahead and undid his jeans. Pulling them off proved to be incredibly difficult. He couldn’t even stand up on his own, so I had to put an arm around his lower back in order to lift his buttocks off the couch. I struggled with his jeans for at least five minutes and, in the process, couldn’t avoid pulling down his thoroughly-soaked boxer-briefs as well. He sat there, naked, on the sofa, shivering uncontrollably. Goosebumps rippled across every inch of his body. His teeth chattered together. I pulled off my damp towel and dried off his hair, then rubbed it roughly around his chest and back, trying to summon some warmth from his internal body heat. When he was sufficiently dry, I dashed to the thermostat and turned up the heat to a blistering 90 degrees, then turned on the coffee maker and ran into my room to grab my terrycloth robe.
Upon returning, I found that he was still unable to stand, so I moved him, with enormous difficulty, to a dry area of the couch, draped the robe over him, and curled up next to him in an effort to get him warm. He was shivering slightly less, and I took this as a good sign. After a few minutes, I figured the coffee was done, so I poured him a cup of it, white, with a generous portion of sugar, and brought it back to the couch. His hands were still shaking too much to hold the cup, so I brought it to his lips and tipped it back. He sipped, swallowed, then turned his head away slightly. I set the mug down on the table and curled back up to him.
‘Are you okay?’ I asked. He managed a slight nod, then leaned his head against mine and brought his legs up onto the couch. I adjusted the robe to cover his knees.
‘Hang on a minute,’ I said. ‘I’m just gonna go throw some clothes on, okay?’
Upon receiving another nod, I got up off the couch and walked quickly into my room, cursing myself out. My 21-year-old body still wasn’t entirely under my control and, though I hated myself for it, I was getting turned on by all this. I dug around in a drawer and found the tightest pair of briefs I had, slipped them on, and then found a pair of baggy pyjama bottoms and returned to the couch. I didn’t bother with a shirt– it was far too hot in the room for that.
When I got back, he was holding the coffee mug, sipping slowly from it. I sat down and he smiled tiredly at me.
‘Just the way I like it,’ he managed.
‘How you feeling?’
‘I’ll be okay. Hey listen, thanks.’
‘Not at all.’I shifted uncomfortably. Hugh wrapped an arm around my shoulders and pulled me close, kissing the top of my head.
‘No, really. I owe you. I never would have made it home. The water is up to my pegs. Probably higher by now.’
‘God. I didn’t know it did this here,’ I said.
‘I’ve never seen it rain like this.’ He breathed in deep and took another sip of coffee. After a moment: ‘So, how can I repay you?’
‘It’s really not necessary. I like helping people.’
‘Listen, mate.’ He pulled back a bit and stared me in the eyes. ‘I wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t make this up to you. Come on, what do you want? I could take you out to dinner, buy you a motorcycle, give you a blowjob, write you a novel, whatever. You name it, it’s yours.’
I fought against blushing, but couldn’t help it.


Next bit's up to you guys. That is, if you even care. I'm just doing this for shits and giggles, so it could go either way. You want shagging, you want no shagging, I'm good with either. So, vote away. Delegate. I'm here to please you (imagine this said in my best radio-announcer voice). :P

[I tried to outsmart House]

*grabs popcorn that she was going to grab after the second part*

Uh....I don't know....

I mean, how long do you plan on making it? If it's short, yes. If it's a long story, maybe give the relationship more growth.

[Abraxas]

Probably short. This was the main scene I'd thought of when I first started writing this (which, I realise, is crap, but I felt the need to get the idea out, haha). Problem is, I'm crap with endings, so even though I want it to be short, it may end up being long just because I don't want to bother trying to write an ending. It could go on indefinitely, haha!
I guess I'll have to do some thinking.

[Abraxas]

A-ha! Another suspenseful (?) chapter follows. To continue:

Part Four

I scratched my ear, and he kept on staring. I tried to look away, but found I couldn’t. Something about people making direct, point-blank eye contact with me makes it almost impossible for me to look away. I blinked. He didn’t. It suddenly felt as if there was too much air in the room, and I noticed how hot it was. A drop of sweat crawled sneakily down the back of my head, giving me goosebumps. I twitched slightly. Hugh had stopped shivering.
‘Um,’ I croaked, ‘are you warm now? I mean, can I turn down the thermostat?’
He raised his left eyebrow almost imperceptibly, then paused for a fraction of a second too long and smiled. ‘Sure, go ahead. I’m getting a little bit hot myself.’
The way he said that could almost have been a double entendre. But then again, I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly at that precise moment.
‘Okay.’ I said, but found it very difficult to move, as if all the blood had rushed to my legs, making them very heavy. I blinked again. When I popped my eyes back open, Hugh appeared to still be staring directly at me, but he wasn’t, not exactly. More like through me, or slightly to one side, or between my eyebrows. And that seemed to unlock the strange paralytic grip he’d held over me. But what made it confusing is that, by the hint of impenetrable playfulness glinting in those steely eyes, he seemed to know exactly what he was doing, and what he’d just done. I stood up and moved stiffly to the thermostat, taking it down 20 degrees or so. As I did so, I caught his reflection in the glass pane of a picture frame on the wall. His eyes flashed a bit; he was playing with me. Not maliciously. He was reading me, toying with me, seeing how far I would go with him, and seeing how much of an effect he had on me.
I won’t lie: the effect was immense.
I returned to the couch but didn’t sit down. ‘You, uh, want a refill on that?’ I asked, pointing to the coffee mug.
I counted the seconds. There were four of them before he said, very lucidly, ‘yes, please.’
I collected the cup and went to the kitchen to pour him some more coffee. I made myself a cup (adding a healthy portion of Bailey’s), too. Props, I find, make welcome distractions in these types of situations. I brought the cups back and sat down. Hugh had propped his feet up on the table and adjusted the robe so it lay lazily around his midsection. I handed him the cup and he sipped, then set it down on the table. In doing so, he leaned forward. In my peripheral vision, I could see that much of his backside was being exposed, but I didn’t look.
‘Thanks,’ he said, righting himself. I nodded. I crossed my right leg over my left, uncomfortably.
‘So,’ I found myself saying, ‘if you wanna stay here tonight that’s fine. I mean, it looks like the rain’s not going anywhere anytime soon.’ Damn it, why did I say that? Why now, of all moments? I don’t want him to be right about me.
‘Sure, that’d be nice,’ he said. ‘Thanks.’He inhaled deeply, and let out a long sigh. ‘So, about that repayment. Have you figured out what it is you want?’
Oh, Christ, not this again.
‘Can I sleep on it?’
‘Sure.’ He winked. He winked.
The thought, I’m not a pervert, you know skirted around my brain for a moment, and I came very close to blurting it out, but instead buried my nose in my coffee cup and took a long drink. A very long drink. When I came up for air, he was staring at me again.
‘Sorry, am I freaking you out,’ he asked innocently.
‘No, not at all,’ I lied. A little too quickly. His eyelids twitched in concentration, but he pretended to buy it. I should have a tattoo: ‘world’s worst liar.’
In reality, it was only a half-lie. He wasn’t freaking me out, per se. He was making me nervous. Uncomfortable, even. But I wasn’t freaked out. Not in the ‘Oh my God he’s going to rape me any second’ kind of way, at least. No, definitely not like that. Not by a mile.
Not that I would have minded all that much.
‘Sorry?’ I heard him ask, off in a distance. I snapped back to reality.
‘Hmm?’
‘You said, “not that I would have minded all that much.”’
‘Oh.’ Shit. ‘Just, erm, thinking aloud,’ I muttered.
‘You wouldn’t have minded that much had I been freaking you out? Or wouldn’t have minded something completely different? That much?’ he asked.
I read him quickly– remarkably easily. He wanted the truth. Unhindered, unrepentant, unabashed truth. He cocked an eyebrow.
‘Um, something different. I guess.’ I stared at the wall clock for a moment.
‘Care to elaborate?’ he prodded.
‘Uh,’ I stalled. I looked at him again. ‘Not really.’
I looked back at the clock. This time it read 1.30. It hadn’t bothered to give me any useful information before, but I suppose that’s how it is with clocks. You really have to stare them down for a long time before they’ll tell you what time it is. Which is ironic, because I had a feeling that this is where the conversation was going. He was going to stare me down until I gave him the requested information. I considered just giving in, getting it over with. It was pretty inevitable I’d end up telling him exactly what was on my mind, and I may as well make it as quick as possible. But I figured there was still a small margin for escape.
‘Oh, come on,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry what it is. We all think odd thoughts from time to time. I like parentheticals. They interest me.’
‘This one wouldn’t. Trust me, my mind is a very scary place to be. And usually pretty boring.’
‘Can I guess?’
I thought this over. This could be my easiest way out. I’d still be telling him what he wanted to hear, but without really saying anything. Okay, I thought.
‘Okay,’ I said.
‘Were you thinking,’ he began, ‘that you wouldn’t really mind a blowjob all that much?’
Well, there you go. Jump right in, no floaties or nose plugs. Margin closed.
‘No.’I fidgeted.
‘But I am close, aren’t I?’
‘Um . . .’
He grinned. He was enjoying this a bit too much. But then, maybe I was, too, in a slightly perverse, masochistic kind of way.
‘Surely,’ he continued, ‘it couldn’t have been that you wouldn’t have minded giving me one all that much.’
Here was a possible out. If I admitted to that, I wouldn’t have to tell him exactly what had been on my mind previously, which was kind of sick, even for me. I decided to run with it.
‘Well,’ I stammered, ‘I guess it could have been that.’
Utter rot. No way would he believe that.
‘Alright, I’ll go along with that.’ He said. ‘I don’t believe it for a second, but owning up to that means that you were probably thinking something much more embarrassing, and I won’t make you divulge that.’
I blinked again, then managed a weak half-grin. What now?
‘What now, indeed,’ he said.
I gave him my best ‘how the fuck did you know what I just thought’ look. He smiled.
‘I would have thought the same thing. Trust me, no mind trickery going on here.’ Another wink followed.

[I tried to outsmart House]

WoW, I'm riveted, This is going very well Abraxas. My only question, out of some weird sort of curiosity, are you really that shy about that sort of thing?

[Abraxas]

Thanks very much!
Shy about which sort of thing? Blowjobs, talk of sex, or being stared at? Haha!
Either way, I'm staying fairly true to my own character, as I would probably act based on this exact situation. If it were somebody else, I may act differently.
If I were intoxicated, I wouldn't be nearly as shy! Haha! God knows I've propositioned any number of attractive men when drunk (usually half-serious, and I usually get turned down, but ya know, the intent is there).

[Abraxas]

Part Five

Woohoo! Intensity in ten cities! Haha! Comments, as always, welcome! Here we go, on we roll . . .




‘Okay.’ I thought for a moment, then said ‘I’m gonna go pop your clothes in the wash. Hang out for a minute.’
He nodded, and I collected his jeans, socks, underpants, and t-shirt, checked his pockets, then went down the hall to the laundry room. After stuffing the clothes in a machine, I went back to my apartment and grabbed a packet of cigarettes off the kitchen counter, lit two, then returned to the couch and handed a fag to Hugh.
‘Cheers. Mine are probably soaked.’
‘No problem,’ I said, sitting down.
We smoked in silence, and as Hugh stubbed out his fag in the ashtray, he said, ‘Mind if I use the loo?’
‘Sure. It’s just through the bedroom,’ I said, pointing to a door across the room. Holding the robe around his waist, he stood up and headed to the bogs. While he was gone I stuffed my hand down my pants and rearranged a few things. After a minute, I heard a flush, then Hugh called my name.
‘Yeah?’
‘Come in here,’ he said.
I closed my eyes for a moment, then went into the bedroom. He’d put the robe all the way on and tied it in a loose knot about the waist, and was stood at my desk with his hand in Fred’s cage.
‘You can take him out if you want. He doesn’t bite,’ I told him.
He gingerly plucked up Fred and held him in one hand, stroking him with the other. Fred licked his finger.
‘Nice keyboard,’ Hugh said. ‘Feel like playing something for me?’
‘Um, sure,’ I said, sitting on the stool and turning on the keyboard. I fiddled with the knobs for a moment and threw down a few jazz chords. ‘Any requests?’
‘Play absolutely anything you’d like,’ he said. ‘So long as you wrote it.’
I chuckled, then started to play a long, classical/ jazz piece I’d written about a year previously. It was my favourite thing to play. It was full of ups and downs, used the whole keyboard, had loads of tempo changes, and switched frequently between major and minor keys and various modes. It was called, rather appropriately, I feel, ‘The Madman.’
I played passionately, throwing myself wholly into the music. The piece was about 12 minutes long, and so gave me a good amount of time to forget a bit about the discomfort I’d felt earlier. I always played with my eyes closed, so I didn’t notice Hugh moving behind me until I felt his hands on my shoulders just as I played the final arpeggios of the song.
‘That was lovely,’ he whispered in my ear. He let his hands slip down onto my chest, and kissed my neck softly. My thighs instantly bunched up, and my stomach tensed. I glanced to the right and saw my robe folded up on the chair.
He’s naked, I thought. Jesus Christ, he’s naked, on purpose, in my bedroom. With me.
He dragged his lips to my shoulder and scraped his teeth across my skin. This was too much.
‘Èrm, I, uh, gotta pee,’ I stammered, then stood up and walked as calmly as I could to the bathroom. I shut and locked the door, and suddenly felt a surge of frustration shooting from the bottom of my throat to the backs of my eyes.
Pull yourself together, Ben. You can’t stay in here forever, I thought, as the tears sprung to my eyes and spilled down my face. Come on, you idiot. Think of something. Anything.
I was suddenly aware of my hands hurting, and realised my fingernails were digging into my palms. I unclenched my fists and wiped at my face, then looked in the mirror, breathing deeply. It was no use. My eyes were already red-rimmed and bloodshot. The irises, normally a darkish green or pale gold, sparkled blue like they always did when I cried.
There was a soft knock at the door, followed by Hugh’s voice. ‘Benj? Hey, are you okay? Please open the door.’
I blinked a few times, then slowly opened the door a few inches. What else could I do? I turned around, facing the sink.
Hugh stepped up behind me and turned me to face him. He’d put the robe back on. I looked at the floor until he placed two fingers under my chin and lifted gently.
‘Hey, hey. Come on, what’s wrong?’
I swallowed and shook my head. ‘N-nothing.’ I tried to keep my voice level, but it broke in the middle of the word.
Hugh frowned, took my hand, and led me back to the bedroom. I stood by the edge of the bed and watched as he lay down, patting the area next to him.
‘Come here, I want to talk to you.’
I sat where he indicated, and he put an arm around my back and lay me down. I rested my head on his chest.
‘Benny, I am so sorry I upset you.’ He kissed the top of my head. ‘I never wanted to hurt you. Will you please tell me what’s wrong? Please?’
I felt the tears again. Hugh pulled me closer and I let them come. I tried to speak but couldn’t.
‘Did I frighten you?’ he asked. I shook my head. ‘What, then?’
‘It’s not you,’ I managed. ‘You didn’t do anything.’
‘Are you just having a bad day, then, or . . .?’ he asked, awkwardly.
I sat up and looked him dead in the eyes. ‘Don’t you get it?’ I pleaded. ‘I’m in love with you.’

[Abraxas]

I so wanted to leave you hanging for at least a day, but couldn't help it. Here's:

Part Six




Feeling like a complete idiot, I fled for the kitchen, lit a cigarette, and poured myself a double whisky. I necked it and coughed, feeling it singe the back of my throat and coat my stomach with silky heat. I gripped the countertop for a moment, then got a warm can of coke from the cabinet and swallowed half of it in one go. Shakily, I took a deep drag of my cigarette. The ash crumbled and fell on the floor. I grabbed the whisky bottle again, and lifted it to my mouth. No need for a glass this time. As I was about to drink, the bottle was pulled from me.
‘Hey, now,’ a soft voice said. ‘You don’t need to be doing that.’
‘Well what the hell would you do in my situation?’ I snapped. I instantly felt horrible– this wasn’t his fault. His face fell for a split second.
‘I suppose you’re right,’ he said. ‘But at least drink it from a glass, would you? Here, come with me.’
Hugh collected the bottle, coke can, cigarette packet, and glass, and nodded toward the couch. I followed him and sat down. He poured me a single shot and I took it, then sipped some coke. He took a shot himself, then sighed.
‘Okay, Benj, tell me what’s up.’
‘I thought I already did.’
‘Well, yes, but that has to be only part of it, hasn’t it?’ he asked. ‘I mean, there’s more, right?’
I nodded.
‘Look, mate. I’m not going to judge you or mock you, and I’ll try not to make you uncomfortable. But I’d really like to know what, exactly, is going on.’
‘I guess I’m just confused,’ I started, selecting my words carefully. ‘I mean, you were acting like . . . y’know.’
‘Like I wanted to sleep with you or something.’
‘Yeah. And I was . . . I mean . . .’ God, this was difficult.
‘Oh, God, you’re not celibate or anything, are you?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘I was just . . .’
‘Already turned on, and you thought I was teasing you or something?’
‘Not exactly that. I tried so hard to hide it. I really did. I mean, first of all it was completely stupid because I was just trying to keep you from getting hypothermia or whatever, and I shouldn’t have been thinking about anything else at all. Because I didn’t want to fuck anything up between us, and because I didn’t want to fuck up anything between you and your family either. And because I’ve been in this situation before, and it really hurt me, even though he was so cool about it and we were still best friends after that, but . . . I guess I just figured I couldn’t be that lucky again,’ I blurted.
‘Woah,’ he said. ‘Slow down a bit, let me catch up. You were in love with a guy who was married, and you told him, and he was okay with it?’
‘Not married, but he had a girlfriend. And I told him, and he was really nice about it. But it was still . . . I mean, he was my friend and I saw him all the time. It was just hard, being that close to him.’
Hugh nodded. ‘And you never did anything with him?’
‘No.’
‘Do you wish you had?’
‘He cheated on her. And I wished it would have been me. Partly for the obvious reasons, but partly because I wouldn’t have done it. I would have told him no. And then he wouldn’t have had to feel bad about it afterward. And his girlfriend wouldn’t have found out anything, because there wouldn’t have been anything for her to find out. The bitch told his girlfriend. She said, “how does it feel to be with a guy who likes to fuck other girls?” If I’d known who she was I would have beaten seven kinds of shit out of her.’
Hugh sighed. Blinked. The corner of his lip twitched. He swallowed. Poured a shot of whisky and handed it to me. I drank it.
‘Well,’ he began, ‘I can see why you got so upset. If I’d had any idea of any of this, believe me, I wouldn’t have touched you.’ He waited a moment for the air in the room to clear, then said ‘I had no idea you were so protective of the significant others of men you’re in love with.’
I couldn’t help laughing. ‘It does seem ridiculous, doesn’t it?’
‘A little bit,’ he admitted. ‘So, if I wasn’t married or seeing anybody . . . ?’
‘If you were gay, I’d fuck you silly,’ I said. ‘That’s the other thing I don’t get.’
‘What’s that?’
‘You’re straight. And anyway, I mean, I’m not that good-looking. I’ve got all the muscle tone of an eight-year-old girl, my voice is higher than Michael Jackson’s, and I’ve got weird ears. I mean, I could more or less understand it if I were, say, Johnny Depp or someone, but what gives?’
‘I decline to answer that question.’
‘Oh, what, I have to tell you everything but I don’t get to ask any questions? That doesn’t seem fair in the least.’
‘No, I mean I can’t answer that question because I don’t really know the answer. I guess it was just an odd urge. I guess I was kind of curious about a few things,’ he said.
I was looking him in the eye when he said this, and he was unreadable.
‘Damn it, it’s so hard to tell when you’re lying. I hate you actor-types.’ I stuck out my tongue.
‘I’m not lying,’ he said. But I still wasn’t convinced.
‘Okay, I guess that’ll have to do. Just wondering, though: are you still curious?’
‘Ahem.’ He stammered for a moment, staring at the floor. ‘Yeah.’ He looked up. ‘What about you? Are you still . . .’
‘Uh, pretty much, yeah.’
I glanced down and realised my cigarette had gone out. I re-lit it and blew out rings. Hugh lit one of his own.
‘Well, this isn’t awkward in the least,’ I said. Hugh grinned. ‘And this whisky isn’t doing a bit of good. Did you replace it with apple juice or something?’
‘What, you wouldn’t have noticed that?’
I shrugged. ‘Probably would have, yeah.’
I smashed my fag in the ashtray, and a moment later Hugh did the same.
‘Would you hurt me if I kissed you?’ he asked.
‘I had my fangs filed only yesterday. Would your wife hurt you if you kissed me?’
‘Oh, you would bring her into it, wouldn’t you?’ he teased.
‘I’m just mean like that.’
‘No, seriously. Would you object?’
‘No, seriously, would your wife object? And what about those three kids of yours?’
‘Damn it, Ben,’ he said, slightly angrily. I was a bit stunned. ‘Forget about all that. I really want to know.’
I sighed. ‘I wouldn’t hurt you any more, or any less, than you wanted me to.’
His eyes softened, then closed. He nodded. ‘Okay.’ His eyes popped open again. ‘Then please. Just do this for me. I really want this, and it’s not just because I’ve had my cock stuffed under the waistband of this bloody dressing gown for the past hour, which makes walking incredibly difficult.’ He paused. ‘I know you want it, too.’

He kissed me.


Right, so, the sexy-sexy stuff will probably have to be linked to, since I don't know just how far I can take this in the 'R' section. If there was an NC-17 or X section, I'd have no qualms, but I will have to provide a link to the next stuff. Just as an FYI. I want to be a good (naughty little) boy! :D

This post has been edited by Abraxas on Nov 30 2006, 10:57 AM

[I tried to outsmart House]

Yeah, I'd hate for this to get moderated and have to see all of this wonderful work go down the drain. :D

It's kind of funny. Both sides of my brain are enjoying this story, but one half's going "Oooohh" while the other's going "No, this wouldn't happen, Hugh's straight..." and so on. Whatever my brain may be saying, I'm enjoying the story and you are obviously enjoying writing it.

[Abraxas]

Haha yeah, screw brains! :-)
Glad you're liking it, any rate. More coming soon.

[Abraxas]

Okay, here's the link for the sexy-sexy stuff. Quite graphic and I've never done anything like this before (in writing, or in real life, haha!) so forgive me!

Story

For those who may not want to read it, here's a synopsys: they shag.
Or, if you're not into that kind of thing: they don't.

:D

[I tried to outsmart House]

That was nice! I'm not normally the type to read that sort of stuff, but that was interesting. I liked your input of the little-known fact (except maybe around here) of Hugh's actual first name. I'm sure you enjoyed writing this little gem.

[Abraxas]

Thanks, glad you liked it. If the mood strikes, I might come up with a proper ending, but I'm not sure. Teehee!
:D