Not the One

Not the One, Part Six

Not the One by ScribePart SixMorning AfterJonathan slept, though it was more like a troubled unconsciousness. His dreams were a strange whirl. There were brightly clothed women and men who teased and jeered, cats prancing and leaping, gas street lamps seen through fog, avid faces lit by candlelight...

Wrong, so wrong. Why? I said no. Didn't I say no? But it felt good--good and horrible at the same time.

Then there was something familiar. The One was there--the one who had visited his dreams since he was a child. He'd never really seen them. They were no more than a form in shadows, with only parts clear--sometimes the eyes, sometimes the hands. Yes, he knew those hands well. They could touch with such gentleness, or such authorotative passion. And the eyes--cool blue, but still somehow so warm.

Jonathan moaned in his sleep. Forgive! I didn't want to, I didn't mean to...

Hush, little one. The voice in his mind was soft, and kind. Do not grieve. It was not of your choice. You are innocent. I cannot be with you, not yet, and you are so young, so full of life. I cannot blame him for desiring you. The voice grew cold. But his selfishness, his disregard of your protests... He had best hope that we do not meet.

Jonathan could not remember anyone else, save his mother, who had been willing to defend him with such ferocity. From this One, both known and unknown, he felt the love and acceptance that he had missed since her death. But from this One, he felt so much more. His mother had loved him because he was her child, part of her blood and flesh--part of her.

But you are a part of me, also, my beloved, the voice whispered. Part of my heart, part of my soul. And someday, perhaps part of my blood as well.

There were the hands--so big and warm, so knowing--stroking, caressing, finding all the hidden spots that made Jonathan tremble and sigh. The touch skimmed down the crease of his buttocks, and Jonathan parted his legs, giving more room. The fingers delved deeper, and a cool slickness was rubbed around the warm entrance to his body. He shivered, but made no protest, knowing instinctively that it was necessary, and that it would be warmer soon.

He had tensed, and a second hand stroked his back soothingly, calming him, as the first finger breeched him, sliding deep. Jonathan made s quiet noise of discomfort, and soft lips descended on the back of his neck in apology.

I don't understand, Jonathan thought as the finger probed and stretched him. It didn't hurt before. The other times it just felt good. But he wouldn't hurt me on purpose. And Jonathan could tell that his phantom lover wasn't being brutal, though his touches were perhaps a bit too forceful. Then the finger was withdrawn, and a solid, warm weight covered him. No, there should be more. He always prepares me so carefully, takes the time to be sure I'm...

"Wake up, Sleeping Beauty." The voice that whispered in his ear was familiar, but it was not the one he had been execting. It wasn't The One. A slick hand wiggled under Jonathan's body, gripping his half-hard cock. "Come on, old friend. It isn't nearly as much fun if you can't enjoy it, too."

Jonathan opened his eyes, confused for a moment. He was laying on his belly, and in the watery, gray light that filled the room he could see that this wasn't his narrow room at his father's house. He wasn't in the even smaller room at he vicar's, or his dorm room, either, and the bed beneath him was softer and more luxurious than any he'd ever been in, except...

That one night I slept with Jamey. The time he... The weight on top of him shifted, bright blond hair drifting down before his face. "Jamey?"

"Feeling better, Jon? You must be, judging from the sounds you made while I was preparing you. The alcohol helps--you're a lot more relaxed than you might have been otherwise."

Prepared? Jonathan suddenly felt sick again. Those dream touches... Not The One, but Jamey--handling him while he was senseless. onatonathan tried to push up, but Jamey just laughed. "Don't be so eager. I'll be inside you soon enough."

"No, Jamey!" Now Jonathan tried to crawl from beneath him, but he was effectively pinned, and his legs still didn't want to obey him.

"Oh, and now he's going to be skittish again. Really, Jon, I never would have pegged you as a fickle tease. You've been leading me along--you can't try to cry off now." Jamey was spreading his buttocks. "Not when the goal is and."nd."

"Please, don't. I... I'm not saying never, but I'm not ready for this, Jamey! I don't want to now."

"What rot." Jamey squeezed and stroked Jonathan's prick, and the younger boy was horrified to feel it stiffen even further. "You're just too indecisive, my friend. You need someone to push the issue."

Jonathan scratched desperately at the sheets as he felt the broad, slick nub of Jamey's arousal press against his anus. "Please don't please don't please don't..." Jamey flexed his hips, driving the thick staff several inches into the tight, reluctant sheath of Jonathan's body. Jonathan gave a choked cry, burying his face in the pillow.

There was an apologetic kiss on his ear. "Yes, I know, I know. I should have given you another finger before I mounted you, but damn, Jonathan... You're more than a man can resist, truly you are." Jamey moved again, sliding deeper, hearing Jonathan's whimper, and feeling the magnificent grip squeeze as toy hoy hitched in pain. Jamey moaned, "Fuck! You're bloody fantastic, Harker! I don't think I've ever had anyone tighter, man or woman. Just a bit more now."

"It hurts."

"Be brave." Knowing that it would cause pain, Jamey still couldn't resist. He thrust hard, burying himself to the root, putting his arms tightly around Jonathan as the smaller boy jerked. He whispered, "It's all right! Everything is all right, Jonny. Just be still for a moment, eh? Get used to it."

Jonathan closed his eyes, feeling the tears slipping down his cheeks. He wasn't sure if they were from pain, humiliation, or grief. It wasn't that he'd never conceived of this act. He knew that he'd engaged in it--in his dreams, with The One he was meant to be with. But it hadn't been like this--it hadn't hurt like this. And he hadn't felt... used.

Jamey could tell that Jonathan wasn't enjoying this like he was, and he was sorry about that, but he wasn't about to stop. The first buggering was usually uncomfortable, it couldn't be avoided. He'd just have to be sure that he made Jon happy after he'd had his own fun. After all, he wanted the boy to be willing later.

Jamey pulled back, relishing the snug squeeze of the virgin passage, then thrust back into the moist heat. It was heaven. He meant to go slowly, to give Jonathan every chance to adjust to the new sensations, but it was just too much. He found himself going faster and faster, till he was plowing into the quivering boy with hard, deep strokes, their bodies meeting with moist smacks.

Jonathan had given up protesting. He gripped the pillow, pressing his face into it to muffle his yelps when Jamey gave a particularly vigorous lunge. Surely it had to be over soon? Jamey seemed to be in some sort of carnal transport, and it couldn't last long.

The truly horrifying thing, though, was that through the pain, there was a dull, burning pleasure building. Jamey took hold of his hips, lifting him for a better angle, and his cockhead suddenly reached a place that it hadn't before. Jonathan cried out, jerking in shock, and Jamey chuckled, "Yes! There we are, I knew I'd find it for you!" He thrust, finding the spot again, making Jonathan leap beneath him. "There, sweetheart! There!"

Jonathan felt a hot, liquid gush deep in his bowels as Jamey crushed himself against the younger boy. "Ah, damn! I'm sorry, Jon, but I just couldn't last. You're too sweet."

Jamey pulled his softening cock from the clasp of Jonathan's body, and he rolled the boy over. Jonathan's pale skin was flushed, rosey from brow to chest. His large brown eyes were dark and sparkling, the pupils dilated, and his beautiful lips were parted and trembling. Jamey noticed the moisture on the boy's cheeks, but he told himself that it was the sweat of passion and exertion. He wouldn't consider that it might be tears. He chose to ignore that--instead he saw that Jonathan was erect, his beautiful, strong cock lying up against his belly. Jonathan stared at him num the then put his hands over himself.

"Lord, boy, don't be modest now." Jamey pushed his hands away. "Don't cover yourself like that. Now, don't worry, beautiful boy. Jamey will take care of everything."

"Oh, God, Jamey, please... You got what you wanted--just leave me alone."

"You don't mean that," said Jamey confidently. "There's no daddy or vicar or teacher here to stop you enjoying this, Jon, and I'm damned if I'll let you deny yourself a bit of pleasure." He bent his head, nipping one firm, pebbled nipple, and Jonathan's head thrashed in silent denial, but Jamey saw only passion.

His hands holding Jonathan's wrists firmly to the mattress, Jamey kissed and licked his way down Jonathan's heaving chest and abdomen till he came to where Jon's glans lay against his lower belly. He ignored the weak protests, listening only to the gasps and moans as he took the sweet, hot flesh first into his mouth, then down his throat.

Jonathan stopped struggling, surrendering to the erotic assault, but he took no joy in the act, even as his body rushed toward release. Jamey swallowed greedily as Jonathan spent, drinking the boy's essence with relish. When the flow ceased, Jamey spent another minute or so nursing at the softening rod before he allowed it to slip from between his lips, planting an approving kiss on the damp head.

Finally Jamey loosened his hold on Jonathan's wrists, sliding his hands up the boy's forearms in a caress. He moved to the side, preparing to pull Jonathan inis ais arms for a post-coital cuddle.

Instead Jonathan lunged off the bed. For a moment an astonished Jamey thought the boy was going to bolt naked into the hall. Instead Jonathan stumbled to the dresser, clutching frantically for the basin. He lost his footing and slipped, landing heavily. Just in time he bent over the basin in his lap and vomitted once, then twice.

Jamey watched, open-mouthed, the laughed once. "Well, I've seen that reaction from the one who did the swallowing, but I must say that it's the first time I've ever seen the one who received be sick." He got up and squatted beside Jonathan. "Are you through?" Jonathan hitched slightly, but nodded. "Good. Give me that mess." He took the basin, openee coe commode, and dumped the mess into the slop bucket. Then he rinsed the basin, poured clean watn itn it, and took a face cloth.

Sitting beside Jonathan on the floor, he wet the cloth, then gently wiped the pale boy's face and throat. "Congratulations, Harker. Your first morning after. I'm going to suppose that your head aches, too?" Jonathan nodded. "Thought so. What a shame. You can't have really enjoyed that nice little eye-opener. Well..." he patted Jonathan's shoulder. "All part of being a man. It gets better after you throw up. You'll feel easier in a bit, though I don't suppose you'll be up to breakfast?" Jonathan shook his head. "A bit of toast and strong tea might help that stomach."

He stood up as he spoke, opening a drawer and pulling out fresh linen. Jonathan watched in disbelief as he laid them out, then casually began washing his sticky cock, cleaning away sperm and traces of blood and shit. That's mine, Jonathan thought. My dirt and blood--and he's so casual about it. "No, thank you." And that was my voice. My God, how can I sound so normal?

Jahad had finished his ablutions, and emptied the basin. He refilled it, then began to dress. "Well, I'm going down and rousting the cook into giving me a bang-up breakfast." He gave Jonathan a rougish smile, and even leanded down to pinch his cheek. "For some reason I have quite an appetite. I'd suggest you go ahead and wash up before you go back to bed, or dress. It gets dreadfully tacky if you let it start to dry." He walked toward the door. "Sleep in as long as you like. I'll tell the staff not to make the room up till you've gotten up."
He paused at the door. "Or I could have them draw you a bath? A nice, hot soak could make you feel better." He looked a little sheepish. "I know I was a bit rough with you for your first time, but it gets better, Jon--honestly. A good soak will just melt the aches away."

"Jamey," Jonathan said weakly. "First... no. That's all. No more."

Jamey nodded. "Not for a bit. You'll need time to rest, and realize that you weren't really hurt. But you'll see that it's just that the skin around your asshole is more delicate than some people think, and there's always a little tearing when you start out. I'm going out to The Chillton Club after breakfast. If you decide you want to join me there for luncheon, just tell the man at the door--I'll leave word." He winked at Jonathan, then left, shutting the door after him.

Jonathan sat for a moment more, leaning his head back against the wall to stare blankly at the ceiling. That's it. That's all it was to him--an eye-opener. Now he's off to a big breakfast and a day at his club. Jonathan got to his feet stiffly and cleaned himself, shuddering at the mess.

He wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed, but just looking at the wide, comfortable bed, with its smooth stained sheetde hde him feel sick again. He pulled his clothes on, then left the room.

"Yer up sooner than I expected." Jonathan turned quickly, almost losing his balance, but the man who'd come up behind him caught his shoulder. "Steady on, laddie." It was the young man who'd opened the door for Jonathan and Jamey the night before--the one who'd left the bottle in Jamey's room. The man noticed his anxious look and said, "It's just old Carson, Mister Harker--you know me."

"I... yes. I'm sorry."

"No need to apologize." He patted Jonathan, letting him go. "His Nibs said yer didn't want nuffin, but I thought I'd have a look meself. Bad head, eh?" Jonathan put a hand to his forehead. "Thought as much. And the belly. Yeah, you would. Here, have this." He offered Jonathan a glass of water. Jonathan took it, and the man opened a twist of paper, shaking a powder into it. The liquid fizzed, sharp, medicinal smell drifting up to tease Jonathan's nostrils. "You drink that up. It works a treat."

Jonathan looked at it doubtfully, then took a deep breath and drank the concoction. It tasted awful, but he finished it, and immediately felt a little relief, at least from his physical complaints. Carson nodded his approval. "There you are. Now all you need is a bit of time between you and last night, and you'll be fine."

Jonathan handed the glass back. "Thank you," he said sincerely. "I think I would have had to crawl up the stairs without that."
"Ah, ain't no need for you to be doing that. I can have Mister Jamey's room made up in a tic, an' you can have a lie down there. That's what his special friends usually do."

Jonathan stared at him. "Special friends?" Carson smiled, winking. "Oh, God."

"Here, now!" Carson took Jonathan's arm firmly. "You've come all over pale!" He reached for the door knob. "Let's get you back to bed."

"No!" Jonathan wrenched away from him.

"What's wrong, laddie?" He blinked, then said slowly, "It's not what I said about his special friends, is it? Oh, you mustn't trouble yourself about that! It's not as if he's running them through his bed. No, choicy is our Mister Jamey. But really..."

He bit his lip. "I shouldn't be saying this--it isn't my place. But you're a nice lad--always been real respectful, like. I don't want you to get hurt. Don't be spreading it about that I said this, but..." He hesitatated, then said, "Don't go falling in love with him, eh? He's as fine as paint, an' a right charmer an' all, but I can tell that you're the sort who's going to want someone for always and only, and Jamey hasn't got that in him, yeah? He's going to get the title when his dad passes on, an' that means the'she's going to have to make a marriage, for the sake of the estate."

Jonathan regarded the young man, feeling stunned. He was talking to him as if he was a village maiden who'd been tumbled by the eldest son of a local lord. He pushed himself away from the wall and said, with as much dignity as he could muster, "You needn't worry about me losing my heart, Carson, or my head. I can assure you that I'm not interested in Jamey... like that."

He turned and made his way to the stairs leading up to his room. Carson watched him go thoughtfully, noting the dispirited droop of his head. Last night he'd been caught up in Jamey's gleeful anticipation of seducing this handsome, fresh young man. Since Jonathan still had another year of school, and Roswell wasn't stingy about sharing his paramours, Carson had rather hoped that there might be a chance to strike up a mutually pleasant physical relationship with Jonathan. Seeing the young man's state after his first night with Jamey, he was beginning to doubt that Roswell's seduction had been as harmless as he'd thought.

While he cleaned Jamey's room, that suspicion grew. For one--the level of drink in the bottle he'd provided was much lower than he would have expected. Young Harker had been nicely tiddly when they'd returned from their evening out--Carson could tell. There shouldn't have been the need to feed him so much alcohol. The boy must have been in a near stupor when Jamey finally took his pleasure of him. Where was the sport in that? The reeking contents of the slop pail testified to Jonathan's state as much as his haggard appearance had. In contrast, Jamey had been quite chipper, eating a hearty breakfast and joking with the staff.

Then there were the soiled cleaning cloths, and the sheets. Carson stared at them for a long time. Spunk, yes, you expected to find that after such an encounter, and there was enough there to indicate that both of the lads had enjoyed themselves at least once. And the shit wasn't much of a surprise, either. But the blood... That was nasty. Though there wasn't enough to alarm him, he judged that there was more than there should have been, had the seduction been entirely joyful for both sides.

Carson made the bed. He would wash the sheets himself, as he had before, in order to keep the school laundress from worrying that 'one of t' lads is sick, like, an' shouldn't we tell t' butler, or headmaster, or summat?'.

He wasn't sure exactly why this was disturbing him so much--Jonathan Harker wasn't the first fellow student Jamey Roswell had debauched. He wasn't the youngest, either. But somehow...

Carson paused in the hallway, his arms loaded with dirty linen, and gazed at the stairs that Jonathan had mounted earlier. He thought of Jonathan's time at the school, his unfailing politeness, his genuine smiles, the little thoughtfullnesses that he performed to lighten the load of the menial staff, his friendliness to some of the very young, and frightened new students...

Mebbe he ain't the first what Jamey has had, Carson started down, but for some reason this is the first time I feel like someone has been dirtied.