Read Online Something Different by T. Baggins - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: T. Baggins
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watch a particular sequence carefully. "I could do that. Shoot the wings off a fly. If this fucking pussy country let people buy guns and ammo at Marks & Spencer the way they can in America..."
Michael fought back a laugh. Had he ever in his life enjoyed so much free-floating enthusiasm? Even injured and depressed, James put him to shame. "I'm not sure anyone could shoot the wings off a fly. You might find it especially difficult. You'd certainly need your corrective lenses."
"Hey?" James shot Michael an uncomprehending look. "My vision's perfect, mate. 20/20. That fly's wings are toast." He pantomimed shooting an imaginary insect with his hands, then happily resumed immersion in the movie.
Afterward, James was sleepy and Michael was, too. He had no intention of pressuring James for sex. Stripping only to his undershirt and shorts, he doused the lights and got into bed. Not long after, James crept out of the small bathroom still fully dressed and stretched out on the sofa.
Michael fell asleep assuming James would come to bed when he was ready. But when he awakened at half-five, he found James curled up on the sofa asleep. There was something almost feline about James in sleep, chin tucked, knees drawn up against to his chest. Looking down at him, Michael felt a spasm of desire below the waist. He felt something else, too, harder to define. A gentleness quite apart from his physical response. Taken together those two responses—one feather-soft and considerate, the other visceral, hungry, full of personal need—confused Michael even more than his tumult of emotion after walking off the job.
He touched James's cheek, hoping the other man would wake and fancy some type of intimacy. Intercourse was his first choice, but fellatio or mutual masturbation would be almost as welcome...
"No," James whispered, jerking awake. "No!"
"Sorry," Michael breathed, pulling away. "I'm sorry." Seeing James's wide eyes, his obvious fear, Michael didn't wait for an explanation. He headed into the shower. When he emerged, James was pouring coffee.
"It started when I was twelve," he said, pushing a mug toward Michael. "My uncle Kirk. He came into my bedroom and started touching me while I slept. I woke up and he said if I told anyone, he'd say he caught me doing something dirty. Then he ran his hands over me from stem to stern. I still dream about it, hands groping me while I sleep. In the dream there's no safe place. Not even my own bed in my own room. Nowhere to let down my guard."
Michael busied himself with the coffee, grateful for a task. He found the sugar, added it, then found the half-and-half, pouring it in as well. "How far did it go?"
"He fucked me." James took a sip of coffee. "Lots of times. Then one day I went mental on the bastard—still can't remember what I said—and after I hit him and threatened him, he finally beat it. But by then, other men were starting to come on to me. Offering me money for sex. Finally, I realized... well. Personal truth. That's just who I was. What I was good for."
"A whore for randy older men?"
"Yeah. Like you." As soon as he uttered the words, James looked genuinely shocked at himself. "I—I'm sorry. I'm a bit... unhinged. Never thought a client would do this to me," he said, gesturing toward his mouth. "Angry, I guess. Though I have no idea why I'd take it out on you."
"Because I'm a client, too. But James. This—what's happening now—isn't about what we usually do. I'm not buying you. You don't have to keep a running tally."
"If it's not about sex... then what?"
Michael modulated his breathing. This would be taking a chance. But he could withstand the truth, he knew he could. He could ask James to be honest and not fear it would break him.
"It's about friendship. I think of you as a friend. What we did before—I'd like to go back to it, whenever you're ready. But until then, I want you to stay here, James. Get better. Spend time with me. Unless... unless it's too much. Unless you
Michael fought back a laugh. Had he ever in his life enjoyed so much free-floating enthusiasm? Even injured and depressed, James put him to shame. "I'm not sure anyone could shoot the wings off a fly. You might find it especially difficult. You'd certainly need your corrective lenses."
"Hey?" James shot Michael an uncomprehending look. "My vision's perfect, mate. 20/20. That fly's wings are toast." He pantomimed shooting an imaginary insect with his hands, then happily resumed immersion in the movie.
Afterward, James was sleepy and Michael was, too. He had no intention of pressuring James for sex. Stripping only to his undershirt and shorts, he doused the lights and got into bed. Not long after, James crept out of the small bathroom still fully dressed and stretched out on the sofa.
Michael fell asleep assuming James would come to bed when he was ready. But when he awakened at half-five, he found James curled up on the sofa asleep. There was something almost feline about James in sleep, chin tucked, knees drawn up against to his chest. Looking down at him, Michael felt a spasm of desire below the waist. He felt something else, too, harder to define. A gentleness quite apart from his physical response. Taken together those two responses—one feather-soft and considerate, the other visceral, hungry, full of personal need—confused Michael even more than his tumult of emotion after walking off the job.
He touched James's cheek, hoping the other man would wake and fancy some type of intimacy. Intercourse was his first choice, but fellatio or mutual masturbation would be almost as welcome...
"No," James whispered, jerking awake. "No!"
"Sorry," Michael breathed, pulling away. "I'm sorry." Seeing James's wide eyes, his obvious fear, Michael didn't wait for an explanation. He headed into the shower. When he emerged, James was pouring coffee.
"It started when I was twelve," he said, pushing a mug toward Michael. "My uncle Kirk. He came into my bedroom and started touching me while I slept. I woke up and he said if I told anyone, he'd say he caught me doing something dirty. Then he ran his hands over me from stem to stern. I still dream about it, hands groping me while I sleep. In the dream there's no safe place. Not even my own bed in my own room. Nowhere to let down my guard."
Michael busied himself with the coffee, grateful for a task. He found the sugar, added it, then found the half-and-half, pouring it in as well. "How far did it go?"
"He fucked me." James took a sip of coffee. "Lots of times. Then one day I went mental on the bastard—still can't remember what I said—and after I hit him and threatened him, he finally beat it. But by then, other men were starting to come on to me. Offering me money for sex. Finally, I realized... well. Personal truth. That's just who I was. What I was good for."
"A whore for randy older men?"
"Yeah. Like you." As soon as he uttered the words, James looked genuinely shocked at himself. "I—I'm sorry. I'm a bit... unhinged. Never thought a client would do this to me," he said, gesturing toward his mouth. "Angry, I guess. Though I have no idea why I'd take it out on you."
"Because I'm a client, too. But James. This—what's happening now—isn't about what we usually do. I'm not buying you. You don't have to keep a running tally."
"If it's not about sex... then what?"
Michael modulated his breathing. This would be taking a chance. But he could withstand the truth, he knew he could. He could ask James to be honest and not fear it would break him.
"It's about friendship. I think of you as a friend. What we did before—I'd like to go back to it, whenever you're ready. But until then, I want you to stay here, James. Get better. Spend time with me. Unless... unless it's too much. Unless you
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