Mr & Mister Danvers: Initiation - 4. EPISODE 3: THE QUID

EPISODE 3: THE QUID

My jet-black fringe draped above my eyebrow.

I blew the darn thing and eventually swiped my hair back. I said to Ryan, "I can’t take that.”

We were in his bed, in this room that’s cluttered and slightly damp from all the fucking we just did.

The blinds were closed, and only a smidge of sunlight entered through the slits, while the sweat of sex was all over the bed, along with the smell of carnal pleasures that had gone rank and rancid.

Normally, when I’m inside his room, I’m very hopeful that the sheets are new whenever I’m around.

We were in a post-coitus haze of clarity as he wiped his cum from my stomach with a tissue, holding a cigarette in his right hand as he peered up to look at me.

"Nope," he said. "It’s wrong when you stare at people like that."

"What did I do?"

Brown, greasy cropped hair slightly covered a lean, gentle face; Ryan wasn’t a looker, but he had an amiable, trustworthy mug worth considering, and I liked that.

His slight frown creased his brow, and he said, "You were bonking me with your eyes. You can’t do that around normal people. They’ll faint."

"But I can’t take your money."

His frown eased a bit, then resumed as the greens in my eyes tried to persuade him, leering at him with intensity.

But he knew when my eyes of seduction were busy with its art of persuasion.

"Stop lookin’ at me with those eyes, you devilled fox you. Just take the fookin’ three hundred quid for Brady. It’s not for you but it’s for him. Don’t be a prat and think it’s free. You still owe me. So, just take it."

He puffed a cigarette and dotted his smoke on an ashtray on the nightstand as he shoved the crumpled money in my hand.

I fetched my wallet from inside the trousers lying on the ground and slipped it uncomfortably inside my wallet.

"But it doesn’t feel right; I’ve already owed you so much, Rye."

He grabbed my soft cock; flaccid as it was, it was sensitive to touch.

Gazing at his body riddled with tattoos except for the parts that could be seen from wearing a shirt, I rubbed his arm and smiled at him to say that I was ready for another round.

Soon, my cock was fully engorged as he slowly pulled back the foreskin and said, "You owe me £450 now."

"Geezus Christ. That’s how much I owe you?"

"What are you on mate? That’s not a lot. You make it sound like you owe me thousands of quid." He slumped forward, kissing my neck, and said, "I preferred it if you came to me—that way, you’d make me feel like I’m wanted."

"You know I hate owing anything to anyone."

"Yeah. But who’s asking?" He saw me worried and tried to distract me by saying, "You know I’ll never ask you to pay for something I’d given wholeheartedly. Don’t think about it, mate. You’re making a big deal out of this, and it’s not a big deal."

He played with my cock as he slowly wanked me off, touching my foreskin and eventually getting in between my legs to lick the head.

I brushed his cheek, and his clear brown eyes flickered up. "You didn’t steal the money from your father, did you?" I had to ask.

"Bugger do I care?" he said, slurping at my cock, with his velour gloves on my shaft and his mouth speckled by a frothy emollient of precum and saliva.

Seconds later, he was haunched on the bed, positioning his friable arsehole above my stick.

The sound was a grunt, a grunting explained by a mixture of being whacked by a fist and a flicking of his fun-sized nipple.

He whimpered as I entered him. "That fucking bastard gets what he deserves—oh shit, oh my god."

"Are you ok?"

"Yeah," he said, easing his way onto my dick. "If he loses a few hundred quid, he’ll eat his money when he dies."

"Don’t say that," I said, feeling like I was about to bust again as he sat on my hips, getting fucked by impaling himself. "He’s still your father."

He tried going for my lips, while I dodged it and started suckling his tiny tits.

And since I hated the smell of cigarettes, I began pistoning his arse, where his whining and groaning were as loud as the large mirror staring in front of us.

I had to change positions; this was unnerving and too narcissistic.

"Oh shit, faster...fuck me babe," he muttered, while delirious in the bliss of my cock, skewering his insides.

I quickly pulled out my dick and pushed his face on the bed and held up his arms, face smashed on his pillows.

"Who’s your fucking daddy?" I whispered. That always gets him cumming when his dad's issues become a part of our sex equation. I smiled at how ridiculous I sounded. "I won’t fuck you till you tell me who’s your daddy?"

"YOU!" he grunted and muttered, "Fuck me daddy! Give me that cock...please."

I’ve never enjoyed being called daddy while I’m in a state of euphoria.

Being a literal dad myself, there’s a certain discomfiture when I hear it said by a grown adult man.

I began slamming my cock as I wanted to make our second round very quick.

It was around eight in the morning, and I still had to fix Brady and dad’s lunch.

There was nothing in the fridge, and with the three hundred quid Ryan had given me, I might as well shop for groceries with that.

Moments later, I came inside him and collapsed on his back.

I hurriedly pulled out my dripping cock without much of a minute to rest or pant for air.

I forgot to wear a condom, but I’m certain Ryan hasn’t had unprotected sex with other men, not while we’re fucking.

I’d kill him if he gave me something—and he knows that, so much so that he'd shown me his negative STD lab results a week ago to give me the go-ahead to fuck him as I wish.

Though it’s unfair that I haven’t shown him my results, I've never had any test whatsoever to prove that I have a clean slate.

I disliked getting pricked with needles, and I'd never had bareback sex apart from a couple of ex-boyfriends I’d been with and Ryan.

The smell of sex was getting to me, and the room smelled so much like room-temperature onions that I wanted to head off to the shower and clean myself.

A quick ten-minute shower later, I stepped out of the bathroom, drying my hair with a towel, and asked him, "You’re really not going to clean yourself?"

"No," he said, smoking another puff as he turned around, showing me his asshole dripping with my cum. "I want to bathe in your smell. And the pillows smell of you." He grabbed the pillow and wrapped it around his head. "Don’t worry. I’ll shower after lunch. Let me enjoy you first."

"Weirdo," I noted with a grin. "You’re such a pig."

"I’ll always be a pig for you, oink oink," he said. "But I shouldn’t have smoked a faggot."

"Why?" I said, putting on my trousers and jacket.

"You hate the smell. I should’ve known we’d fuck when you called."

Brushing my hair in the desk mirror, his naked reflection was a bit jarring with the way a fully tattooed man was leaning on Hello Kitty pillows and a Pokemon-themed bedsheet.

"Hey, I only came here to talk, but you lunged at me. I was in the middle of telling you about my shitty morning when that gobshite Rodgers was at our door...and then five minutes later, you were taking my trousers off."

"It was raining. Rain makes me horny."

It’s true.

I dropped by his apartment three blocks from ours to borrow some tomatoes while I was making a sandwich and perhaps talk.

But I wasn’t expecting that I’d be fucking him for nearly an hour.

I should’ve anticipated that coming here would lead to us shagging.

Sex was our transactional language.

I’d give him sex, and I’d get something I wanted—an ear to listen to about my problems.

Helping curb loneliness, and the money was an added bonus this time around.

"Serves you right for coming here anyway," he said.

"As long as we’re not kissing, I’ll keep shagging you."

"You’re still going that route babe." He laughed and lit up another cigarette. "I know what your cum tastes like, but I have no idea what your mouth tastes like."

"And you’ll never find out," I said, closing the door.

"Wait," he said, "Are you sure the money’s enough? You said Brady needed money for the school trip, right?"

"He’s already missed it."

He put his cigarette out on the ashtray and dashed to his closet to grab his bag. "Here’s 300 more in case you come up short."

I closed the door and said loudly from the hallway, "You’re too kind mate. The money you lent me will do."

He shouted back, "Tell me if you need more. Laters babe."

Closing the gate to Ryan’s two-floor apartment; he’s really blessed to have a three-bedroom duplex in London, all paid for by his dad.

Even the Subaru he’d been selling to me—or practically shoving to my face that I take for free since he knew I needed the ride—was gifted by his father on his 26^th birthday.

They’re not on the scale of the ultra-rich, but they do belong to the wealthy upper middle class.

His dad owned several daycare centres all across the UK, along with several laundromats and some illegal gambling rigs on the side.

A bit of money laundering here and there, and his dad has had good business acumen for rotating money wherever he needed to.

Ryan’s dad, Mr. Adams, had been hounding me to go work for him.

A former bobbie would be a valuable asset to his illegal enterprise, and he’d told me he required my muscle and my brains to manage his business.

Of course, he didn’t know that I was aware of his shady dealings.

But a decorated cop turned over to the other side; that’s predictable.

I had never given him my answer, and he’s never stopped pestering me about it.

He’d also been pushing me and his son together ever since he caught me fucking him at their house that night they’d gone to the Bahamas.

He’d told me, "Call me dad, Greg. I know it’ll only be time before you become part of the family mate."

He’d been quite outspoken in telling Ryan that he would be a stupid piss tart to let go of a man like me.

That would be accurate if Ryan and I were ever in a relationship.

But we’re not.

And we’ll never be.

Ryan was a spoiled brat with no sense of responsibility.

Make him accountable and liable for anything, and I would gladly marry the guy.

It was the only thing missing in our friendship slash fuck-buddy relationship that he’ll probably never have and will never understand.

He's great with Brady and great with my dad—he’s also a great listener.

And the sex was good.

But even now, he was expecting me to uproot my entire family to move in with him; he didn’t even realise that I’d be bringing in a kid with me along with a paraplegic father who’s tied to the couch the whole day.

That's exactly why I said no to his proposal of marriage that he had sprung up on me right after we fucked in his kitchen months ago.

It was so unrealistic that I was sure I’d be taking care of three people instead of having a partner who’d help me with the ones I’ve already got.

However, I knew that if push came to shove and we were kicked out of our flat, we could stay at Ryan’s place for the meantime.

The problem was, Ryan’s such a slob that I knew I would be cleaning up his apartment. It would turn out to not be such a good environment for Brady since the kid has asthma.

Our hail mary pass, our last fucking option, would be for the three of us to move back with my aunt, who lives in Leeds.

That would be a death sentence none of us want.

I was just at Waitrose, having purchased the almond milk Brady likes.

He said it tasted like biscuits.

He’s well ok with regular milk, apart from the times he has a bloody and watery stool from consuming normal milk, which gets me worried.

When I have some cash, I buy him a little luxury contraband to pair with his cereal.

I call it contraband because the almond milk costs £3.75, and I could get a Chicken and Sweetcorn Sandwich from Sainsbury's with a drink and a bag of crisps for £3.50. It’s daytime robbery, if you ask me.

It’s the only thing I get from that shop—the rest of my groceries I get at Aldi; it’s much cheaper.

Pushing my trolley to my nearest Aldi, I was in the adult diaper section, checking out two brands.

The other is £6.40 for a pack of 12.

The ones I usually get for Dad, on the days where I’m out the whole day, are the £4.80 ones with 10 pieces.

Although it rarely happens that I am out the entire day, I would still drop by the house to change dad’s diapers, or carry him to the toilet so he could take a shit.

That’s why I needed a car; in case there was an emergency, I could easily get back home and take care of the matter.

"Get another brand," said a voice behind me.

"Which one?" I asked while holding a box of adult diapers.

"Get the one that has an elastic band. It keeps everything intact and the inner thighs get to breathe. It’s more expensive at £8.35, but trust me, the person who’ll wear that will thank you for it."

I looked over my shoulder, but there was no one there.

Then I saw a tall man to my left carrying a basket with a bucket hat.

He turned left and vanished into the dairy section.

What a very odd man, but surely a helpful one.

While I was busy at the checkout counter transferring my items to the conveyor belt, the same voice said, "Glad you followed my advice."

Worried that I may have a creep or a stalker behind me, I saw the bucket hat from my peripheral.

Never looking at the man to avoid interaction, I quickly paid and hurried to get out of there while crossing the parking lot, sensing there was someone following me.

I've previously run into a few stalkers and have had my fair share of encounters in the past.

One of them was a woman by the name of Idina, who repeatedly stopped by the precinct to inquire about me until everyone working at the station grew accustomed to her presence.

She was a nutcase in general, and I discarded her as such.

The other was a guy who had followed me home after Ryan and I had gone out to a gay bar.

My Glock 17 was there to greet him when he knocked on my door, unannounced, in the middle of the night.

He was waving his arms about in the air and said, "Mate! I came here simply to shag!"

He was obviously cute, so I debated whether or not to shag him.

But when I showed him my police badge, he scurried away like a rat.

The last one was more complicated.

I was sent cryptic videos showing snippets of my face in police uniforms cropped up on gay porn stars getting pounded.

It lasted for several months until he sent my son to school with a letter of invitation addressed to me.

That was the last straw.

I hunted him down like a stray dog needing to be put in a pound and eventually got him.

He turned out to be my neighbour who saw me getting dressed while I was naked, every single day.

If he wanted a dick pic, he could’ve just asked.

As we raided his house, I nearly snapped his neck when I yelled, "You fucking leave my son out of this, you sick pervert!"

He is currently serving a ten-year sentence for harassment and stalking.

Serves that bastard right!