In Safe Hands - 4. Chapter 4

In Safe Hands
by Riley Jericho

Chapter Four

The apartment that the Ortiz family owned, and the one a floor below, were not the same. At least, not exactly, Elliott discovered.

In time, he discovered from Miguel that both had been up for sale when Miguel’s parents - with some inheritance money from his grandpa, who had passed away about four years previously - had started searching for a place; looking for somewhere that could be both a holiday home and an investment. They had all liked this third floor one more, because it was higher and got more of a breeze. They also liked it because the previous owners had changed the layout slightly, adding a door access from bedroom two (Miguel’s room) to the main apartment shower-room/toilet.

Effectively Miguel had his own en-suite and, as an only child, it worked perfectly. The master bedroom - his parent's - had their own en-suite.

Having taken the offer of using his shower, Elliott rested on Miguel’s bed, waiting for his friend to vacate the bathroom. He closed his eyes an started to drift.

"You've really caught the sun you know!" A voice murmured from close by.

Elliott opened his eyes with a start. He'd actually fallen asleep.

He twisted his head to see that Miguel had already showered and was dressed – well, as dressed as he would get! In fact, as he crossed the room in nothing more than a pair of dark peach briefs, the state of undress hardly surprised Elliott any more.

That was just Miguel.

He had this thing for hardly wearing much at all around the apartment, and he’d gotten used to it. Mind you, he had to admit that the dark peach-coloured slips Miguel had drawn on – like all of his stuff - looked quite good on him.

It wasn't the particular style - in fact Elliott had worn the same almost exclusively during the years growing up in South America, Asia and the Middle East. In those places, everyone wore underwear like that. In hot countries, they were cool, comfortable and pragmatic! It was only in coming to the UK that his Mom had refreshed the family’s wardrobe and the packs of grey boxers had appeared. His dad had received the same.

At the time he was pleased, seeing it as a sign he was being treated as an adult! They were comfortable enough, but like the British weather - grey and dull! And now, after fifteen months, a little haggard!

On the other hand, what Miguel was wearing looked great, seemed like they fitted even better and the shade was powerfully intense against his skin.

"Is it sore?"

"No, not to bad." He sat up and could immediately feel the tight heat on his back. "Maybe a bit over the shoulders. We were in the sun a lot this morning." He'd not bothered with sun block this time.

Mistake!

"And yesterday, too" agreed Miguel. He’d left the bathroom door open for him. "All yours. The towels are on the shelves."

The shower room itself, was exactly the same as theirs. There was no bath, just a large walk in shower area. Even that had with no actual door and the whole bathroom was one large 'wet-room'. He showered under lukewarm water, adding a little more hot, just to do his long hair, taking time to work out all the sand.

"Can I use your shampoo?" he called through the curtain of dripping locks. There was no answer, so, stepping out of the shower enclosure momentarily, he crossed the wet-room floor, opened the bathroom door a few inches and popped his head around to look. "Miguel?"

There was nobody there, so he went back under the shower, and used it anyway. Finally, drying off as best he could, he wrapped the towel around his waist and came back into the bedroom, where Miguel had also returned.

"I used your shampoo," Elliott confessed. "Hope you didn't mind?"

"Don't be daft,” shrugged Miguel. “Why would I mind?"

Elliott turned towards the main door to the hallway and reached for the handle. Miguel frowned. "Where are you going?"

“I’m just popping downstairs… I need to find some clothes,” Elliott replied patiently. “You know, from my room, down in our apartment?” Perhaps Miguel had caught the sun too! “I’ll come back up though, if lunch isn’t ready yet.”

"I can see it all now.” Miguel looking thoughtful, but a grin was beginning to form.

“See what?”

“Well - you’re gonna get in the lift, and old Mrs Lopez from the 5^th floor is gonna be in there with that little yappy dog of hers, going down for a walk.” Miguel suddenly started sniggering. “The lift doors are gonna close, accidently catching your towel, which will stay on the third floor, while you – in all your glory – are making your way down to the second!” He was giggling uncontrollably now. “She’s going to pass out with the shock, and the dog is going to start biting whatever it can find!” He was squeaking with mirth at this point and Elliott couldn’t help but start laughing too.

“So,” decided Miguel when he’d eventually calmed down. “Why don’t we save both you, her, AND the dog years of trauma counselling and just borrow some of my stuff?”

“YOU are the most WEIRD and TWISTED guy I know, Miguel Ortiz!” Elliott shrieked, his sides hurting badly now. Miguel seemed to take that as a yes and, without further ado, began to select clothing from his drawers and cupboards.

"Start with these." After routing through his sock and underwear drawer, he tossed Elliot and pair of briefs. Elliott caught them mid-air and, whilst Miguel was still searching for the rest, slipped them on. Covered at least as decently as Miguel, he pulled the towel from his waist and used it to rub busily at his long, wet, wavy blond hair.

“Have you got a brush?” His muffled voice came from under the towel mop.

“You look good in white, you know,” noted Miguel, watching him from by the wardrobe. “I thought you might. Not everyone can wear white, but it suits you. Sorry – no brush though.”

Elliott appeared from under the towel and took a moment to scrutinize himself more closely. Miguel was right. At his hips, the white did look quite good. He could also see that the briefs were the same style that Miguel often seemed to prefer to wear; in fact was wearing right then.

Other than the colour, they looked exactly the same and they fit him as well as they did Miguel. He fingered the soft waistband, which, instead of being black - as it was on the pair Miguel was wearing - was a light, warm silver grey. The three centimetre band didn’t pinch and wasn’t stringy like the cheap ones often were. They hugged him lightly and snuggly.

Intrigued, he twisted his neck around, to peer at his backside and could both feel and see that they fitted well back there too, arching high over his hips, but still tucking close under his bum without pulling or stretching. He’d had a bunch of pairs once that seemed always to be riding up into his crack and had been uncomfortable and crap.

These were not anything like that!

“They’re not bad, I guess.”

“I’ve got a white shirt here, too.” Miguel held up a soft collared sports shirt. “It’s more cream, than white.” He held it up against him. “Yep that’s nice. Try it on.”

Maybe it was a bit unusual to be dressed by someone like this, but actually Elliott didn’t mind. In fact, again, it was pretty much ‘par for the course’ for Miguel Ortiz! There was also something quite nice about someone taking the time, and care, to choose the right clothes for you because they wanted you to look good. Even the underwear!

There was a full-length mirror fixed to the wall and Elliott took the shirt, held it against himself and considered it.

The shirt looked good and, more and more, he liked the briefs too. They were a damn sight better than the boxers he’d been wearing! In the mirror he could see Miguel watching him. What was it his Mum had come up with the other morning? Two peas in a pod…

As he turned in the mirror slightly, he could also see that he really had caught the sun on his back and shoulders. Ouch – that could well be a bit sore later.

As if reading his mind, Miguel produced a bottle. "Don’t put the shirt on yet. Mama gave me this."

"What? What is it?" asked Elliott, turning to look.

"Some after-sun cream. It's meant to help. I went to get it while you were showering."

"I'm fine..."

"Don't be an idiot - and anyway it's supposed to stop you peeling," countered Miguel.

Elliott shrugged and nodded. He probably needed it. Standing patiently, he submitted as Miguel squirted some of the contents around his shoulders.

"CRAP - IT'S COLD!" he squealed, shuddering. "Can't you warm it up or something?"

"You're such a girl, Elliott Carter!” Miguel sniggered heartlessly. “Keep still, for God's sake!"

"Where does your Mom keep this?” He grunted as more got splashed down his lower back and gently rubbed in. “In the freezer?"

"Stop whining! It's not that bad!"

"OK - you try it then!"

"I'm not burnt," Miguel stated, matter of factly.

"Who's the girl now!" he goaded, as Miguel finished off. "Come on - lie on the bed, and I’ll put some on you and – here’s the deal - if you make one single noise, even the slightest squeak, you owe me a Euro.”

Miguel’s eyes narrowed. "OK - try me! And if I don’t make a noise, you give me the money? A euro, right?" Taking the challenge, he lay face down on the bed and waited. "Come on then," he smirked impatiently. "You might as well get your cash out now, you know!"

Elliott sat down on the edge beside him and waited. After a few moments, Miguel twisted his head.

"So?"

"I'm not ready yet," he replied. "I didn't say WHEN I would do it – now turn round and stop looking!"

Very gently he blew on the dark brown skin of Miguel's back.

"Shit - what was that?" Miguel started in surprise.

"There - you made a noise!" Elliott crowed triumphantly.

"NO WAY! That doesn't count. The rules were making a noise with the cream."

Elliott considered that. "OK - fair enough. But there's nothing to say I can't do anything else beforehand."

"Within reason. No sticking pins in me!"

"OK - within reason and no pins," agreed Elliott.

"And it only counts if I make a noise when you actually use the cream," Miguel added.

"Agreed,” Elliott promised. He sniggered, evilly. “I’m going to totally torture you, you know!”

“Do your worst then!” Miguel rested his head on his arms and waited. For a while there was nothing, not even a sound, and then his leg jumped when something scraped along the sole of his foot.

“That tickles!”

“Stop whining – I’m only just getting started!” Elliott grinned in anticipation. This was going to be fun! He began by trailing a fingernail up one of Miguel’s calves and it went from there…

* * *

Lying on his bed, Miguel was squirming. He gritted his teeth. He was actually quite ticklish and Elliott was merciless, attacking him with short glancing grazes, never touching long enough to become used to it. Manipulating and persecuting him, to Miguel’s over stimulated body, it felt like caresses. Not knowing where or when the next one would come was agonizing!

A pair of thumbs ground their way up the back of his thighs. He was becoming so sexually aroused, it was all he could do to not start thrusting into the mattress.

Oh fuck! He shuddered silently as every nerve was afire. The trigger point was getting closer.

“Nice pants,” came a voice behind him and he gasped inwardly as Elliott touched him there. Again, it was light and delicate, the fingers running across the soft material of his briefs.

He liked his underwear. He had the right frame for them and they suited him. He was delighted they also suited Elliott, and it gave him a buzz to realise that his friend was wearing them just then. Too much of a buzz.

On each side, a finger slipped under the material and traced along his cheeks. Oh God – this was unbearable! Elliott had NO IDEA what it was doing to him. Even now, he was lying on something so stiff and hard, he would never be able to stand up without it being seen.

A finger traced up his inner thigh again and slipped under the soft cotton around the sensitive area under his crotch. It was subtle. Impelling. A movement that threatened to set a bodily function into motion. Miguel began to panic. What if he ejaculated and started pumping right here on the bed? The feelings he was getting were heading him in that direction. FAST. What if he couldn’t help it and squirted? The worst thing was, he couldn’t stop Elliott, or turn over and push him away, ‘cos he would see the…

“AARRGGHHH…” He squealed in shock as something extremely cold hit him, right in the small of his back. “SHIT – THAT”S COLD!”

“That’s one euro, if you don’t mind!” sniggered Elliott ecstatically, jumping up from the bed in victory. Miguel on the other hand, for reasons unknown to Elliott, didn’t move from his prone position.

“You want me to rub this stuff in for you?” Elliott asked, assuming this was what his friend was waiting for.

“You might as well, now you've dumped it on me!"

Spreading the thick white cream with his hands, Elliott began to knead it into Miguel’s back. He pressed his thumbs and fingers in the circular massage strokes, up and down his back, as his Mom had showed him.

After a few moments, Miguel sighed. “Is there nothing you can’t do?” he murmured. It felt great, though was not helping with what was hiding underneath him!

“Mom showed me – she’s really good at it.”

“Elliott – your father’s here." The voice of Isabella Ortiz carried down from the kitchen. "I think your lunch is ready!”

Elliott pulled a face. “I’d better go," he chuckled. "I’ll see you after lunch.” Playfully, he smacked Miguel, one final time, across the dark peach material stretched over his bum. “Are these for me?” he added as, next to the white shirt on the chair, were a pair of cocoa brown shorts.

“Yep,” Miguel murmured.

“Thanks. I’ll bring them back later.” Pulling on the shorts and white shirt, he turned to the door.

“OK – see you in a bit then,” replied Miguel, endeavouring to sound relaxed and sleepy. Still he didn’t move from the bed.

Elliott’s eager voice drifted down the corridor. “Hey Dad – did you know that Señor Ortiz is an artist? Come and look at some of these pictures!”

Still prone, Miguel tracked the conversation between Elliott and his father, into the lounge. They were there quite a while, until he heard Sam’s voice too. Then the three of them came back into the hallway. Finally, the clunk of the apartment’s front door indicated they’d left.

AT LAST!

“Lunch will be in five minutes, Miguel!” called his mothemothership ,” he replied.

Five minutes. It certainly wasn’t going to take that long! Tentatively, he rolled over to see a damp spot where his dick was making a significant tube shape, pointing up, and to one side, of his briefs.

Standing and moving quickly to the door, he pushed across the small latch – another helpful addition left by the previous owner – and returned to lie on his bed. Peeling down his underwear he took hold of his length as it arched out of the discrete mass of dark curls, accumulated around the base.

It’s wouldn’t take long at all!

He started to masturbate – slowly at first, but it quickly became urgent. Thirty seconds later he pushed himself over the edge and, breathing heavily, spurted white strings onto his belly in relief.

God - that had been good!

He lay there, uncovered, until the afterglow dissipated, leaving him, unexpectedly, with a real sense of disquiet. Taking Elliott’s discarded towel that still lay within reach, he wiped away the evidence. He pulled up his underwear and curled up, foetal-like on his side. Though the room was still warm, he felt chilly and uneasy. He had an inescapable sense of having done something that wasn’t right. A mistake. A feeling of failure, and of letting himself – and Elliott – down.

So why the HELL did he have to go and do that?

Not liking any of the answers, he got off the bed, donned some shorts to give the damp spot time to dry, and went down to the kitchen to eat.

* * *

Downstairs, the Carters were also having lunch.

“That’s a nice shirt, Elliott,” noted his mum as she spooned bowls of soup for the family’s lunch, supplementing the bread and cold cuts, set around the table. Having sent Benedict up to find him, she'd then had to dispatch Sam, as the food sat on the table waiting. She was more than a bit uptight!

Elliott tried, successfully, not to smirk.

That's a nice shirt.

In fact, he would have been quite surprised if she hadn’t noticed! Nothing got past her, and she knew every scrap of clothing he owned. She would definitely want to know where he got the shirt and shorts!

“It’s Miguel’s – I’m just borrowing it.”

“Did you run out of your own?”

He just shrugged as she rounded on Sam. “Don’t slurp Sam. It sounds disgusting!”

“I just found out that Manny Ortiz is an artist.” His dad changed the subject, hoping to lighten things up a bit. “You should see some of his paintings – they’re amazing!”

“I’ve seen them too,” put in Elliott, tearing off some bread to dip in his soup. “He’s good...really good! Nice soup, Mom...” he added.

"Mommy got it from a tin," said Natty, matter of factly. There was a moment's pause and then everyone, including Rose, started giggling and lunch started properly at last.

"Why don't you go have a snooze, Hon?" Benedict made the offer after they’d all eaten. "The kids and I can clear up, and then I'll take them out for ice-cream or something."

"YEEAAAAYYY!" applauded Sam.

Rose smiled gratefully. She was bushed! Only as she began to unwind on this holiday did she realise how tired she actually was.

Giving orders to keep the noise level down, Benedict - with what turned out to be minimal help from any of the kids - cleared the table and washed the dishes. "Okay," he said, calling them to him when it was all done, "let's go. Natty, where's your hat?"

“It’s on the balcony.” A voice drifted from the bedroom. A mom, ever on alert.

“OK Hon – we’re off. See you later.”

Elliott donned his new straw boater. and followed his siblings to the car.