The Orchestra - Sinfónia Lifsins - 6. Stress

If there was any hope my colleagues would see sense and treat the kid for what he was, it was fast fading away. The longer they spend playing together, the more they seemed taken by that intruder. At the break on Wednesday they surrounded the kid to inquire about his boring, gloriously perfect life. I tried to keep my distance, but inevitably I ended up learning a thing or two about the brat:

One: his mother worked at a hospital in Akureyri. They had the most disgustingly wonderful relationship imaginable.

Two: he was gay (no surprises there).

And three: he was still a virgin. The bastard had to ask him about it, and the kid’s look of embarrassment was the best face he had pulled since we were forced to become acquaintances. It was almost fun to watch him rapidly shake his head to deny he had ever had any sort of sexual experience. This was just another piece of evidence that the ISO had hired a child, not a professional musician.

And if the bastard tried to argue that I was not much younger than the replacement on my debut, I could at least say that at seventeen I already knew what to do with another man’s cock.

The last rehearsal before the concert ended with Gummi giving a motivational speech to boost our confidence. We were still packing our instruments at the stage; he did not give us time to finish. He walked towards replacement and made him get up. The newbie was blushing even before the boss said anything. I was forced to pay attention to the next ten minutes of talks, because as much as I wanted to look away, Gummi would turn towards me every five seconds or so. The boss knew what I thought about this whole mess, but he had no intention of letting me speak my mind or of letting me do what I wanted.

Gummi’s speech was very predictable. It was not about giving our best in the difficult situation we found ourselves in (i.e., no decent leader, 81 out of 82 musicians blinded by the poor excuse of a replacement that was found for him, and a whole country building extremely high expectations for said poor excuse of a replacement, in a way that he could not possibly ever meet them), but about ensuring that the newbie had the time of his life.

So our concert would not be about doing our best for the public to prove that we were past the uncertainty of the last few weeks (which we really were not), it would be about doing our best to make a little kid happy and give him his Christmas present a month earlier. Suddenly we were not adult musicians in a serious profession with well-established duties; we were the private source of entertainment for one lucky kid who thought he was in some way special.

“The whole nation will be watching! We better not screw up! Right, Siggi?” The bastard reached me before I could feel his presence. Gummi had finished his speech a while ago. The intruder had then taken the opportunity to thank everyone for being oh so incredibly nice to him, before being once again surrounded by his new fan-club. At least the kid had the decency of not looking at me like the boss did.

“I don’t think they will notice if any of us screws up. They’ll be too focused on the replacement to hear anything we do.”

“Aw, you’re brooding again! That’s kinda cute, you know?” His arm came around my back and his head rested just below my shoulder.

“You think everything is cute” like the kid. If I did not know my sad excuse for a best friend I would think he was trying to compare the two of us.

“Not really, but you probably have a point.” He lifted his head to grin and wink at me. “I mean, how many guys have you met that think your dick is cute? Speaking of which, I think Little Siggi has been neglected as of lately, don’t you agree?” And as if to prove his point, his hand magically appeared on my groin, one outstretched finger away from my zipper.

“I’m not having sex in my workplace, thank you very much.”

“Then let’s get out of here and fuck like rabbits!”

“Sure, why not?”

We were planning to wait until we were home, but Dmitri’s hand was squeezing my ass as soon as we passed Harpa’s main entrance. By the time Karen had parked in our garage, Dmitri and I were already temporarily contaminated by the excess of endorphins rapidly taking over our bodies.

(...)

Later that night Gísli and Karen decided it was their duty of the day to prepare dinner and make sure I was not poisoned while they did so, which left me and the bastard with no other alternative than lie in the couch like two depressive potato sacks. The high from the quick make out in the car had left my body as fast as it had come, so the drunken fucking machine had been trying to keep me distracted. Too bad for him there was no way I would forget about the catastrophe that tomorrow’s concert was bound to be.

“Dinner is ready, boys!” Karen called from the kitchen. The bastard easily pushed me away from the couch and guided me to where the other half of our household was so that we could help them set the table. “Siggi, we made you chicken, salad and potatoes with cheese sauce. Go take your lactose pills.”

“You don’t need to remind me of those things, Karen. It’s annoying.” I had already done that, anyway. I could smell the cheese from the living room, along with a whole cabinet of potentially poisonous spices they probably used for their food.

“Well, you forgot about your latex allergy once, so excuse me if I care for your wellbeing.” She winked at me and the bastard. He grinned. I groaned. How could they find that funny? They were not laughing two years ago when I was in hospital. Maybe if they had been the ones with tubes stuck down their throats for the entire night they would not be so found of the memory.

“Let’s get going, this thing is hot!” Gísli exclaimed, motioning for us to let him pass with a steaming pan in his hands. The stuff inside smelled like tomato sauce. I was glad to move away.

At the table, after five minutes of the usual ‘oh, that tastes good’, ‘well done’, and ‘please don’t mention it’, the subject inevitably changed to that of tomorrow’s concert and its ‘young prodigy’ star. At least the bastard’s hand my thigh offered some sort of distraction.

“We should place bets on how long people will applaud for!” The oboist suggested.

“If there are many old women in the audience I’ll bet fifteen minutes or more” said Karen. “Gunni is the sort of guy who catches a woman’s eye…”

“A man’s too.” The bastard added in that stupid grin of his.

“What do you mean?”

“Gunni’s a sex magnet, Siggi. I don’t think I’m the only one who wants to fuck his cute little ass all night long.” He spoke as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. As if it was completely natural for all gay men to be attracted to little kids. “He’s got a ‘please fuck me’ sign written all over his face”.

“No, he hasn’t. He has a ‘don’t hurt me, I’m twelve years old’ sign plastered all over his body” I pushed the bastard’s hand away from my leg.

“Aw, someone is jealous!” He laughed. Karen and Gísli did too. “Don’t worry, Siggi, I’m pretty sure I can find time to fuck both of you!”

“That is disgusting. You’re sick.”

“No, I’m not. It’s you who refuse to see Gunni as the young man he is. You can’t bring yourself to get over Arnar. Not that I blame you for it, but…”

“Arnar has nothing to do with it.”

“Yes, he does.”

“Or maybe Siggi is just jealous because Gunni and his mother get on really well.” Karen interrupted our argument and purposely avoiding looking at me. At least she acknowledged it had been a low blow.

“Don’t throw my father into this. The fact that the replacement looks and acts like he could be still in Primary School has nothing to do with my relationship with my father.”

“I think Siggi’s had enough. We should change the subject now.” Gísli’s understatement was surprisingly effective. Karen and the bastard finally shut up. Thanks to Gísli I was able to finish my meal in peace and run to my bedroom as soon as I was done.

(...)

(Warning goes from here)

“I’m sorry, ok?” The bastard’s silhouette was visible against the door frame. “I promise I won’t talk about Gunni or Arnar and make you upset again. Is there any way I can make it up to you?”

“Get condoms and lube. You’ll do whatever I say tonight.” The bastard being who he was, this was probably what he had planned all along.

“My pleasure, boss!” Sure enough, he was on the bed in two seconds, and naked in half that time. His erection was already pleading for attention.

“Take my clothes off and don’t touch yourself. You’ll be really sorry by the time I’m done with you.” Dmitri made a face, but did what he was told. “Touch me and prepare my ass. I want lots of lube.”

“Your wish is my command!” Despite being a bastard for everything else, the Russian was remarkably skilled in the art of fucking. He kissed my jaw while his hands worked on my lower body.

“Give me the condom.” The non-latex type, twice the price of the normal ones. We had learned our lesson after the incident Karen had alluded to earlier. His fingers were still playing with my asshole, stretching it as much as they could without turning foreplay into fisting. My fuck-buddy was one of those rare extremely well-endowed specimens. It was a necessary precaution if I did not fancy a trip to the hospital with a bloody ass.

“Siggi…!”

“Wait.” Condom ready. His cock remained painfully neglected. “I think I’m not ready yet…” Making My ass sank into his hand, riding it fast.

“Please, Siggi…” His eyes slammed shut. His hand gripped my cock with more force than necessary.

I finally thrust against his cock, letting all of it in at once. Fuck the doctors saying it was not a good idea. It felt good. That pain felt good. His hands went to my hips, smearing my body with lube. I was on all fours over the bed and he fucked me from behind. I moved faster to get more of that tingling pain. I needed more of it. Much more.

Dmitri’s hands clung to my hips, shoving me against his cock. Deeper, more painful, more pleasure. His grip hurt too. He came first. Loudly. The used condom was tossed across the bedroom to be properly disposed of hopefully in the near future.

“What do you want me to do now?” He asked still on top of me. “I can get my…”

“Your hand will do. I’ll take all of it.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

He kissed my neck and jaw. More lube, and four cold fingers went in. He kissed me again, anywhere his mouth could reach. The thumb went in. The stretched hand became a fist as soon as it was wholly inside. He hammered against my prostate, faster and stronger every time. I came all over his hand and the bed-sheets.

“That was good…” Dmitri murmured. He withdrew his hand slowly. The pain was pure agony. “Do you feel better now?” I nodded. Dmitri cleaned up with the ease of someone who has been doing it for far too long. “You’ll have a good night now?”

I nodded again, already half-asleep.