Turbulence - 1. Chapter 1

Daniel Murrell
(Friday June 4th)

The classroom had been stripped of a year's worth of accumulated displays, and the students had chucked or bagged everything to take home. Mr Petri sat at his desk with his feet up; he could relax with his eighth graders now. They had been a good group of kids, and he knew they were excited about moving on to high school.

Melissa lamented, "Why do we have to be paired up with seniors?"

Mr. Petri played with his pen while considering the answer. "High School is very different from what you know. You've worked hard, but all your teachers have been right here to assist you. It won't be the same in September. Grade nine is confusing, and most of you will find your marks drop. The high school administrators have determined that if a grade twelve is assigned to mentor you the first year, you will have a better chance of success."

Daniel was not so sure. "But sometimes you see the freshies at the mall doing crazy stuff, all dressed up, because their seniors made them do it."

"I've seen guys dressed like girls kissing each other. How sick is that?" piped in Arlo.

Daniel nodded agreement.

Petri frowned. Why are fourteen-year-olds so hard on anyone who is different? He thought he had managed to establish some measure of tolerance in the classroom. "Remember students, we need to respect transgender expressions of love. . . it's wrong to poke fun at homosexuals and cross-dressers."

"He means fags and drag queens." muttered Simon.

Arlo glanced over at Daniel. They had both been dreading this day, and agreed that they wouldn't let themselves get pushed around.

"You all need to realize something. . . this is not the same as the old Freshie Days I experienced. . ." explained Mr. Petri.

The students rolled their eyes collectively--nobody needed to hear another story about the 'good old days' from their teacher.

"Riverview High School, where most of you will be going, has stopped all that nonsense."

Daniel had another question. "Mr. Petri, why don't we get to pick the grade twelve we have to work with?"

"Yeah," said Maud, "what if they put me with some guy?" She gave no indication whether or not she thought this would be a problem.

Petri took her seriously and quickly responded. "Yes, it is possible the school might pair you with a boy. . . but if this happens, we know you will both be mature and responsible."

Arlo leaned over and poked Daniel, then gave him the finger. Daniel saw himself spending most of his time hanging out with the football team--he felt intimidated by the idea of some seventeen-year old girl coming onto him. He tried not to make much of the whole mentorship idea; he was pretty much top of his grade, so the notion of someone helping him with his homework seemed rather pointless. What he thought he needed, was someone who would take him to parties--hopefully he would get someone who could give him advice on handling girls better. He turned to look at Mandy; she had turned around to say something to Greg.

The bell intruded on the class's conversation. Twenty-six pairs of eyes locked onto Mr. Petri's face in anticipation of his next words. Petri told them to go directly to the gymnasium, where Riverview High School students would organize them for the all important freshie auction. Once he had set his class in motion Petri decided to detour by the staff room for a well-earned cup of coffee. On the way over, several students explained the picture-taking session to the others, using second-hand accounts they had gleaned from older siblings. The noise level grew as the students approached the gym. It was a welcome break for a bunch of restless eighth-graders, who were simply marking time until the end of the school year. It was also their first step into the exciting world of high school.

Arlo glanced at Daniel and commented;"I decided to wear a jersey, so someone on a team picks me."

Daniel wasn't so sure about his friend's tactic. Instead, he chose to dress the way he always did--a Tommy Hilfiger/skater dude, loose and colorful. He hoped this would pretty much let him blend into the crowd at school. Brand name means same--his mom had told him it wasn’t a good idea to stand out. She seemed almost as nervous about his transition into high school as he was.

When they arrived at the gym, the sixty or so eighth graders migrated into a clump. Daniel looked around for Mandy and Greg, but he couldn't see them through the mosh pit. Eventually, someone told the crowd of chattering girls to be quiet, and the mass of boys to stop shoving and bumping into each other. The girls were shuffled into a group on the far side of the gym, while the boys were herded up onto the bleachers by some SRC/jocks. Daniel knew the type--he liked his sports, but didn't hang with the spirit group.

The brawny high school boys organized the lowly eighth-graders into some semblence of order as a few teachers chatted together by the door. Daniel sat next to Arlo near the top of the bleachers; he tried to locate Mandy in the line of girls heading out the door. Mandy struggled with her bag as she moved down the hallway. Girls were asking for mirrors and adding gloss to their already glistening lips. Mandy had hoped for a little time to prepare herself for the picture, and busied herself with the finishing touches. Her older brother had left her with only one word of advice—don't get picked.

"Okay you little bitches—get inside."

Mandy tossed the bag against the wall and slipped the glasses onto her nose. She had done as much as she could. She wondered how Greg and Daniel were doing.

For Daniel, all the talk now seemed pointless, so he sat in silence, watching the first group leave the gym. The minutes stretched on, and he grew restless. He wished he had brought a game with him. Why is it taking so long? Class pictures only took about twenty minutes, and that included the girls too. . . Daniel also wondered why the pictures were not being taken inside the gym as usual--why were students being led to separate quarters? Eventually, he was called down by an aggressive looking senior carrying a clipboard. The line of boys backed up in front of the Art Room door.

"They can make you do whatever they want, you know," warned Simon.

Simon had abruptly turned back on Daniel, forcing him to back-peddle into Chow. Chow in turn, elbowed Daniel back forward.

"What?" Daniel asked, feeling a little light headed because of the unfamiliar routine.

The thin, undersized boy turned back around and stared at him, but Daniel continued to draw a blank. Freshie year seemed such a long way off to him—it was like a mystery. His classmates had joked about 'serving a senior', but their predictions were lost in a fog of fantasy and ignorance. Daniel lapsed back into silence as the other boys shuffled and talked amongst themselves. Daniel and Chow leaned against the brightly colored mural.

"I sure hope I don't get a fag. . . If you don't look tough, a fag will buy you," said Chow.

Daniel glanced at Chow and then back to the head of the line, wondering when the door would open.

Simon added, "My brother promised to get me a cheerleader—she'll make a man outta me."

Daniel had heard this from Simon before. It had been something to laugh at in class, but at this moment, he didn't feel like bantering with Simon about getting his rocks off; sex and boners were pretty personal to Daniel. Chow gave him a little push and he elbowed him back reflexively. Then he turned back to Chris for a few words of reassurance.

"Arlo's sister said it was no big deal. She said she just went to a couple of keg parties," Chris shrugged a response to Daniel.

Daniel thought Kim was cool, even though she didn't have time for Arlo and his "queer" friends. True, she had called him cute, and even dropped him off at home once when it was raining. Although she was barely heading into grade eleven, Daniel was no closer to her than his next shower. Why don't they just use our school pictures? Daniel didn't like sitting for photos, and it didn’t help that his mom was always taking them.

Denver stepped through the door and scanned the line. What a collection, he thought to himself. Skinny red hair, blue eyes... tight, looks bright... bad nose, needs a hair cut... too fat... must have failed a year... there's a hot one! His eyes paused on Daniel's open face and shock of blond hair. The clothes hung loosely on the kid, but from the way he carried himself, Denver had a feeling there was something there. A little young for grade nine though... still, he might be the one.

Daniel caught blackshirt looking at him and turned away quickly. God, he’s big! The senior looked like one of the university players Daniel had seen on T.V.

"Okay, fresh-meat, get inside."

The boys shuffled through the door.

Denver watched them move, then on an impulse he grasped the cute kid's shoulder and pushed him aside with his other hand on the boy’s chest. When the dark kid walked past, he pushed the young freshman back in line through the door. Ooh, I was right. . . hard meat. You can feel the heat. . . and the kid smells good too. Daniel barely registered the attention as he moved past. This whole ordeal just didn't feel like school to him--none of the teachers had accompanied the students to the art room. There were four eleventh graders in the room and they seemed to tower over the twelve eighth graders.

Simon smiled at one of the older boys and cracked, "hey bro. . . what's up?"

A giant with a fiery constellation of zits stepped close and twisted Simon's tittie, until the boy collapsed to his knees with tears in his eyes. "What's your name you little queer?" the goliath demanded, increasing the pressure on the boy's nipple.

The kid gasped, "Owww, you're hurting me!"

"Call me 'master', dick breath."

"You're hurting me – ‘Master Dick Breath’!"

The boys let go to a chorus of snickers which was met with stoney slilence by the older boys. The giant pusged pushed Simon down when he tried to get up.

"Hey! That's my brother. . . lighten up on him!" This came from a heavier version of Simon with a grim look on his face.

The Pimple, as Daniel decided to call him, reminded his comrade that respect was still due, and told Simon to kiss his foot and thank him for teaching him manners. A much more subdued Simon did what he was told.

Then Simon's brother surprised the boys with a terse, "strip off your shirts girls. . . and just pretend you’re having a grab and jerk circle at one of your gay parties."

The boys glanced at each other, then at The Pimple, before self-consciously pulling off their t-shirts. Daniel tried to keep his eyes off the others, but once again noticed blackshirt's eyes on him.

Denver felt a stir. Flat muscular abs, tight buns, and long legs leading to the front of the jeans; the slightest hint of a nice, tight little package. . . Denver was sure that other seniors would be taking a similar interest in this kid.

Troy, the grade eleven who Daniel referred to as The Pimple, had grown bored with the whole deal. These little geeks were only good for slapping around, and he didn't need to look at their skinny chests either. He would much rather check out the pussy potential down the hall. The administration might keep him off the chicks today, but after the auction closed at the end of the week, it would be plowing time. He glanced over at Denver and sneered to himself. Everyone on campus thought Denver was a hero with a ball; teacher's pet for sure; every hot chick wanted to hook up with him; and his parents had too much money. But for all of that, Denver was a screaming queen.

Troy looked back at the shrinking freshies and squinted at them. Denver would pay to look at these pricks... probably creaming his jeans right now planning how to fuck them. I may fuck some of you over next year too, but Denver 's likely to suck your balls right out of your bags and fuck you doggy style till your assholes turn inside out. . .

Denver just wasn't the same guy Troy had known in junior high.

"Okay jerk-wads, here's the drill. Stand in front of the blue screen, while Trace takes a picture of your girly bodies. . . Smile like you just felt up your best friend, and try not to get a hard-on looking at each other. And don't do a damned thing without our say-so, or it's your ass."

Daniel waited his turn, trying hard not to touch or be touched. He was lucky he wasn't the first, because Jeff got his bag poked just for reaching for his shirt. Simon's brother put his foot on Jeff's neck while he was down and told him he forgot to thank him for the lesson in manners. Daniel got the message: do nothing unless told to, and always thank your master. Daniel tried it out later when he thanked The Pimple for letting him put his shirt back on. He was rewarded with an unexpected smile from blackshirt.

"What happens next dudes? Are you done with us or what?" asked Chris, just another kid trying to get along with the older boys.

The Pimple frowned at him and then smiled slyly. "Well, first you get taught not to speak to your masters without permission. . . Then you go back to class."

The older teen grabbed Chris by his shirt collar, and yanked him out of the line. The incredibly aggressive attitude of the high schoolers was beginning to wear on Daniel—he couldn't figure out why they were behaving like such bullies. Nevertheless, he got up the nerve to raise his hand.

"What is it kid?" blackshirt asked. For some reason, blackshirt didn't seem to possess the mean-spirited intentions of the others, and Daniel felt he was standing on safe ground.

"Please--master," he quickly blurted, "When do we find out who our mentor is going to be?"

Simon's older brother stepped forward to answer him. "Your pictures are posted on the school's Fresh-bay web site, and seniors bid on your skinny ass for a week. Bidding closes Friday at 12:00 noon. Your Master will pick you up at this sad little kindergarten at 3:30 on Friday. . . so don't try to slip away." He started to turn away when he saw Chris's hand go up. "What is it, toad?"

"What if nobody buys you?" Chris was trying not to struggle as The Pimple held on to his upper arm with a firm grip. Chris was a tough guy on the junior high campus, and it was somewhat ironic to see him getting pushed around by the grade elevens.

The Pimple replied, "Oh you'll get bought, even if you only make a dollar. Every freshie gets a mentor. It's part of the activity fees."

Troy dragged Chris over to the chalk board and grabbed a meter stick, then forced him over to the teacher's desk, shoving him down and leaning on his neck. Troy glanced at Simon's brother. Check the door ans see if any teachers are about." He shifted his eyes to the cowering boys. "Line up you tools. . . your bum buddy needs a lesson." The eleven boys came over slowly and examined Chris's tense body bent over the desk; his face was turned away from them. "C’mon girls. . . take this stick and whack his ass."

The Pimple slapped the ruler into Chow's hand. Chow looked at the stick and then over at Chris's vulnerable butt. He took a half-hearted swat at his classmate, who flinched at the contact against his jeans.

"Harder, you pussy!" Troy ordered, snatching the meter stick and landing a jarring blow across the boy's tensed up cheeks.

Having demonstrated for the others, he handed the stick back to Chow. Chris made a little whimpering noise. Chow juggled the stick back into position, then whacked his classmate with a bit more force. As each boy took his turn, Daniel’s stomach fluttered. This was something he simply could not do. Simon, on the other hand, really hauled off and hit Chris hard. The fiery spirit of the smaller boy suggested he was up for another blow. Throughout junior high, Simon had been the target of abuse from the bigger boy, and this was payback time. Daniel felt more than a flash of anger, as he helplessly witnessed the smart-mouthed little shrimp beating on his friend.

Simon handed the meter stick to Daniel. It was Daniel's turn now—he felt it was completely wrong to hit his friend, but the big boys scared him. His chest tightened and he felt a shortness of breath; but inevitably, he dropped the stick on the floor. The Pimple glared at him, rolled his eyes to heaven, and then cold-cocked the young teen with a straight arm. Taken completely by surprised, Daniel staggered backward, tripped and sprawled into a nearby desk, before crashing to the floor.

"Next," announced Troy, as if nothing had happened.

The next few boys took their turns without comment, or even a glance in Daniel's direction. When the last blow had been delivered, The Pimple leaned over to whisper dangerously in Chris's ear, "what do you say fruit cake?"

"Thank you master" Chris responded hoarsely.

Troy leaned down again and remarked, "be a good freshie from now on. . . and maybe next June I'll see that you get laid." He let Chris get up and gave him a friendly little shove over to the rest of the group.

"Okay you limp dicks, head back to class. You're still grade eights for another week.”

As the boys left, The Pimple turned his gaze on Daniel, who was sitting on the floor next to the desk, arms wrapped around his knees, head down.

"Next!"

"This is getting out of hand," remarked Simon's brother. "I've got better things to do. . . I got no time for this."

Denver stirred himself and added, "yeah, this is getting lame. If it wasn't for the time out of class, I'd bail on the whole thing. You guys get the next group started and I'll deal with this freshie. . . And Troy. . ." Denver faced The Pimple, ". . .take it down a notch. . . you have a whole year to prove your as tough as Terrence Shipley—may your psycho senior get his balls shot off on his next patrol!"

"Amen to that!” Troy gave his classmate the knowing eye. “And don't have too much fun with this chicken bone, Denver. . . Your boyfriend will get jealous and bitch slap you."

"Whatever. . . Hey kid, get up."

Daniel rose from the desk, but kept his gaze away from Troy. As the other three grade elevens moved to the door to collect the next group, Denver put his hand on Daniel's shoulder. Daniel flinched at the sudden contact. He didn't look up at Denver, but instead shrank from the boy towering over him.

"What’s your name kid?"

"Daniel Murrell. . . master." Daniel gave Denver a quick glance.

As the next group of boys shuffled in, Denver guided the young teen out into the hallway. Denver didn't have a good destination in mind, until he saw an old janitor coming out of her work room. He recognized her immediately, and drawing on one of his talents, dredged her name out of the past.

"Hi Lucy, how's it going?"

Mrs. Parker paused for a moment, before her face broke into a smile.

"Why Denver Hawk, you grace our humble halls with your blarney once again. Could it be that you are finally graduating?"

"Yes indeed, the Blackhawk flies free next spring." Denver had no issues with Mrs. Parker, so he gave her a genuine smile. "How is Dorothy doing this year?" He knew it would please Lucy to know he remembered her somewhat unlovely daughter.

"Gosh! She’s at grad school now."

"May I borrow your room for a few minutes? Daniel here is a little confused about next year and I need some place to talk to him." Flash another smile.

Mrs. Parker took in Daniel standing beside the older boy, and nodded once, before moving down the hallway with her cart. "Sure, help yourself." She glanced quickly back to add, "You be good to Daniel now, he's one of the nice ones."

Yes indeed, thought Denver, he is one of the nice ones. "Come into my office, freshie."

Daniel walked into the tiny room and waited while Denver closed the door and locked it; he figured he had only a few minutes to spend with the kid. The boy refused to make eye contact with him, so he sat on the desk and offered a calm voice.

"Daniel, look at me."

Daniel turned and looked up into the friendly eyes. Denver surprised him by reaching forward, grabbing his belt and drawing him closer. "Kid, you're going into high school next year. If you follow the crazy rules you'll be fine; you'll make some cool friends; maybe earn some respect. . . you understand?" He gave a couple of playful tugs on the boy's belt.

"I guess," Daniel shrugged, feeling slightly confused.

A whirlwind of emotions coursed through his mind. The school administrators talked about the value of the menoring program--he wanted desperately to get along next year. Riverview High was a big school, but this picture taking session had been brutal. The room smelled of chemicals and garbage, and Daniel was not comfortable with blackshirt holding onto his pants. He wanted to step away, but he was afraid the high school student would hit him like the other one had.

"Daniel!"

Again, the boy glanced up at Denver .

"There are responsibilities in high school. . . and when you make a mistake you take the consequences. . . Yes?"

Daniel nodded slightly.

"Are you ready to face the consequences now?"

Daniel stood silently.

"I can be on your side, but you can't duck freshie year."

Denver focused on the boy's face—he seemed to be thinking things through. Denver’s eyes were drawn to the spot where the boy's ear merged with the jaw line. He followed the line down to his chin and up to his lips, taking note of the slight movement of his left nostril. He finally made eye contact with Daniel's open gaze.

"Yes. . . master."

Denver tried to remain impassive as he pulled the now rigid boy forward with a handful of his t-shirt and then down across his lap. He silently held him in place with a firm hand to his shoulder. Daniel's buttocks tensed, squeezed together with the shock this turn of events had brought. Blackshirt's eyes traveled along the curve of Daniel's back and the flat of his hand came down with a sharp jolt, impacting suddenly on the soft mounds of the boy's buttocks. The boy tensed and rippled under his hands as Denver repeated the blows. Denver stopped at five, pushed the boy off his leg, then slowly flipped Daniel to his feet.

"What do you say?"

With tears in his eyes, the boy whispered "thank you, master.”

Daniel took a step back and froze. Denver wanted to draw him back and taste the tears on his lips, reassure him that he was really a friend. . . but he knew this was not the time.

"Go back to your class. . ." And when the boy turned silently to leave, an ominous reminder. ". . . freshie." He watched Daniel pause.

"Thank you, master."

And then the boy was gone.

Denver and Mark
(Friday evening)

Denver and Mark made love after school--Mark was a dark elf finishing grade ten. After six months, Denver was feeling a little consumed by their relationship. Denver always held something of himself back, even in their most intimate moments. Mark never did. Denver might have characterized sex as sharing. For Mark, it was giving to the point of surrender. Denver held some rational distance in his relationships. Mark would keep no such perspective. The pattern had been set the previous Christmas, when they first became aware of each other's existence.

Predictably, Denver was working the crowd. Predictably, Mark was hanging back watching the scenery. It's not that Denver was the center of attention everywhere he went. In a school of two thousand or so people, it was easy to be anonymous. Still, he was known and revered by many. Denver was the grease that smoothed tenuous relations in a group; he made people feel accepted; he helped people fit together. Rowdies at a party unconsciously avoided him, because even when he was tanked, Denver would not tolerate their antics--he was about conversation and good will. People knew he had a weakness though—he raged against this whole freshie thing. His position made him a few friends, but it had made him more enemies.

The party was in one of the older neighborhoods and the small house was crowded with people trying to forget that the Christmas break was almost over. Mark had come to the party with friends, who busied themselves by arguing about the finer points of some videogame. Mark possessed other interests, and was reduced to only making polite noises, as he sipped on his beer. Denver drifted into the conversation and stayed a little longer than he planned. He didn't seem to notice Mark in the group, but Mark surely noticed him. The younger teen was drawn to their differences—Denver 's size and fair looks, his easy manner. The older teen had a thin face, and unruly shock of blond hair. Mark thought Denver was a Toledo blade—bright and sharp. When he left the circle to talk with yet another acquaintance, Mark found himself tracking the eleventh grader's movements around the room.

Likewise, Denver found it much easier to keep track of Mark as the party progressed. The grade ten was still sitting with his friends in the corner of the dining room. Mark was an exquisite stiletto—thin and flexible with perfect balance. A sixth sense told Denver to be back at Mark's group in time to pick him up. Mark's friends were ready to leave, but he was hanging back; he wanted to keep watching the object of his interest, while he figured out some way to get the eleventh grader to notice him.

Denver eventually made it quite easy, by cutting into the discussion with, "Well I guess Mark is leaving with me then." He followed that with a frank smile and a wink at the tongue-tied grade ten.

After Mark ditched his friends, Denver eased him over to an interesting group who recognized him from his funny role in the fall production. Mark didn't notice when Denver moved on to talk with a freshie sitting by herself. The older teen did not reappear until later when the party was getting rowdy.

"Let's head out now." Suddenly, Mark was more than ready to leave—he followed the handsome grade eleven out. "You want to stop by my place?" Denver asked, as they crunched their way down the snow covered street to where Denver 's car was parked.

Mark's throat tightened, and he wanted his reply to come out right. "Sure. . . Sounds good."

He let the distance close between them on the path, then felt an emotional shock when his elbow and shoulder brushed against the older teen. A few steps later, he felt Denver make a second contact. In the shadows, both boys felt the passion rise between them. Denver stood near him to unlock the passenger door; Mark touched the eleventh grader’s shoulder. "Denver?"

The tall blond turned to look down at him. Denver reached out to ruffle the back of Mark’s neck, and then bent down to kiss the boy full on the lips. Denver swung Mark around against the car in a tight embrace. He felt Mark's arms slide around inside his jacket and start to caress his back. Denver slid his right hand down the back of Mark's pants and slid the fingers of his left down behind Mark's belt buckle to feel the heat of his groin. The younger teen's cock rose to brush Denver 's finger tips.

They didn't speak much as they drove to Denver 's house. Mark followed Denver silently out to the back yard, where Denver pulled a cover off the hot tub. Steam boiled up through the cold air like a pot on the stove. The steam mixed with the soft snow flakes, drifting down from the sky reflecting the city lights. Denver put his finger to his lips and slipped into the kitchen, while Mark stared at the dark windows of the house and the snow falling past his eyes. Denver returned with a bottle of whiskey. He took a long pull from it, then handed it to Mark. The young teen smiled and took a drink; the whiskey burned down to his guts. When he looked back, he noticed Denver pulling off his coat and shirt. The gracious host stepped closer to Mark, and took the bottle from him, gently setting it down on the edge of the hot tub. Then, in a few graceful moves, he helped Mark remove his coat and shirt. The young teen shivered as the wet flakes landed on his bare torso. Denver 's fingers played across his chest and back. In the dark, to the accompaniment of the churning water, Denver explored Mark's body. They took their shoes off and then Denver 's hands drifted down to Mark's belt. Denver knelt, and slowly undid Mark's pants. Mark's cock began to swell as Denver slowly pulled the fabric away from his hips and down his legs.

During their six months together, they had developed small routines, made easier by Denver 's dad's frequent absences. Love-making was an established ritual; mutual satisfaction was a given--they did it almost any time of the day. After six months, their sex had developed subtexts, most notably how Denver kept his distance at school. They behaved as friends, and Denver made it clear to Mark that he wouldn't tolerate intimacy in public. Kissing, touching, and sex talk was reserved for when they were alone—it was just a matter of style. But Mark needed more, and the hypocrisy frustrated him.

By June, Mark was trying to deal with his anxiety about his boyfriend's impending freshie. Denver wasn't telling him anything. The majority of grade twelve students paid little attention to the whole process, and often ignored their mentoring responsibilities. For bullies, it was a chance to hurt; for the civic-minded, it was a chance to feel useful; and for a few, it was a real turn-on. Mark knew Denver was going to pay for a freshie, and was worried about his lover’s motives.

They rolled apart, and Denver admired Mark's smooth body as he slid off the bed and went into the bathroom. Denver 's thoughts drifted to the boy he had encountered the previous afternoon. Just another good looking junior high kid. . . until he stood there and dropped the stick. The boy had suddenly turned into a real human being. When Troy pushed him across the room, it had been hard for Denver to contain his rage. Troy was an incredible prick—hadn't he any memory of the summer back when he went into grade nine? To Denver’s credit, he kept it together and tried to hold onto his plan. He had gone to the elementary school to fight the system that had hurt him so badly three years before. But now he felt confused. The private moments with the boy had opened the door to feelings Denver had not been aware of—desire and dominance.

Denver remembered the feel of Daniel in his arms. The boy’s muscles had rippled under his arm; the smooth butt cheeks below the pants had invited his touch. He remembered the tears clouding the boy's eyes as he looked up with that hurt look of one betrayed. Denver could still hear the sound of his breath and voice. The feelings were there even when he tried to stop them. He remembered Daniel's lips.

Mark came back and wrapped himself around Denver 's hips; he began sucking his lover’s cock. Denver had thought he was too spent, but his cock responded to Mark's touch. Denver closed his eyes to focus on the sensations of tongue, lips and hot breath.

His heart ached when he came. . . the lips he was responding to were Daniel’s.