Farewell from the Bookshelf!
Please note that GLBT Bookshelf -- the community wiki which was the parent to this fiction blog -- went offline on May 31, 2016, after seven years' service to members.
All Gay Romance will remain online till the end of 2016 in order to give contributors every opportunity to recover materials uploaded here.
Many thanks to all who contributed over the years, and good luck to everyone in your future works!
A D/s romance novel by Fabian Black
The Station Master’s brat, Michael Mosse, has a deadline pending in more ways than one.
Joseph Townsend never planned to live a life of domestic bliss with anyone, let alone a spoiled and vain young man some thirteen years his junior, but there he is, happily domiciled with Michael Mosse in what was once a Victorian Stationmaster’s house. However, the domestic waters suffer disturbance when it becomes clear that Michael has something on his mind.
The modern day Station Master and Michael’s Top, Joseph, is keen to know what it is. His attractive partner has a convoluted way of thinking, which usually doesn’t bode well either for himself or the people around him.
Michael finally confesses to having problems with a deadline at work. He’s been set a design project that he’s less than happy about. He feels he ought to have been given a more prestigious job by his boss, Tom, Joseph’s brother. He wants Joseph to intervene on his behalf.
Joseph refuses and issues a warning. Michael is to set aside resentment and meet the deadline properly or find himself in trouble, not only at work but at home.
An unexpected visitor to the kitchen of the Station house, a wild red fox, claims Michael’s attention and serves to distract him further from the task in hand. Joseph isn’t pleased. To begin with he isn’t an admirer of foxes.
As things turn out the fox sets Michael towards the meeting of another long overdue deadline.
As night receded and morning crept forth, Michael dreamed again, his unguarded mind leaking a fragment from the stronghold of memory into his sleeping consciousness.
In the dream he was at the seaside. He heard the sound of the waves lapping the shore and the echoing cry of gulls circling in a sun-drenched sky. He could smell the butterscotch aroma of sun block cream on hot skin. Youthful laughter rode the sea breeze as they jumped over the frothy breakers curling lazily in, their bare feet slapping wet sand. Flopping down at the water’s edge they let the waves tickle their toes while shading their eyes to scan the horizon and watch the ships, pondering on their cargoes and destinations.
“Time to go. It’s almost dinnertime.”
“I don’t want to go, I like it here.”
“We’re going. I promised to have you back for dinner. Come on, I’ll race you back along the beach.”
“All right, but you have to let me win.”
“No, I don’t have to let you win, it isn’t winning if I let you win.”
“Then I’m too tired to race. I want a piggyback.”
Teasing laughter, “I want never gets…”
“I want a piggyback, I want one! I’m tired. Mummy says you mustn’t let me get tired.”
“You’re not tired, you’re just lazy. I’m not giving you a piggyback. You need exercise to build you up. Come on, stop whining and hold my hand, we’ll run together. It’ll be fun, we’ll leave footprints in the sand…”
Michael forced open his eyelids, dispelling dream visions. An early morning commuter train ran along the track outside, rushing on into the distance, leaving a lingering echo of its presence, which faded gradually to silence. For a moment the silence hung heavy weighting the air like a farewell left unspoken.
Turning quickly onto his side Michael studied Joseph’s sleeping face, the full lips, slightly parted, the dark brows arched above wide set eyes, eyes that when open shifted colour between ocean shades of grey-blue to blue-green according to the interior climate of their owner. His jaw was shadowed with heavy stubble. He could grow a reasonable beard in a matter of days. There was no prettiness about his face or body, nothing transitional, they showed no hint of the child or adolescent he had once been. At thirty-six he was masculine and fully mature, a man in the prime of life. Michael gently traced a finger over the stubble, sexy too. He moved the finger down Joseph’s throat to his chest, stroking the coarse hairs. His body was firm and well toned but not overly muscled. Michael didn’t care for gym built torsos with their bulging pecs and exaggerated egg box abs. He knew from experience that their creators were self-absorbed and had little spare time or inclination to adore others.
Joseph made a lateral transition from slumber to wakefulness as Michael’s tongue circled the head of his morning erection causing genuine arousal to replace an automatic reflex and keep him hard. He lay for a few moments enjoying the sensation and then he reached for Michael, pulling him into his arms, biting kisses onto his shoulder and neck before seeking his mouth.
Michael played cowboy, straddling Joseph and slowly impaling himself on his lube-slicked cock. He rested for a moment adjusting to the sense of fullness, taking pleasure in having Joseph’s thick, heavily veined penis inside him. Positioning his hands on Joseph’s shoulders he pressed his knees into the mattress and began to ride the shaft, slowly at first, then faster, concentrating on losing himself in the physical sensations of sex, finally feeling Joseph’s body approach climax and arch beneath him, his hands gripping his hips.
“That was a wonderful morning alarm call,” Joseph wrapped his arms around Michael’s sweat hazed body as he collapsed on the bed beside him. He kissed him tenderly, “thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Michael completed the little ritual of courtesy that always occurred after sex. He snuggled closer into Joseph’s arms.
“What’s wrong?” Joseph rubbed a strand of soft, honey-blond hair between his fingers.
“What do you mean what’s wrong, was I off stroke or something? I thought I performed rather well, brilliantly in fact. You hardly had to do a thing except come.”
“I gave you a generous helping hand towards the end, though admittedly you were wonderful, but then why wouldn’t you be.” Joseph smiled and gave a mischievous little wink. “I taught you everything you know.”
Michael giggled delightfully, “ah, you only think you did, when actually you fell for my innocent little virgin act. All along I was in fact the hot star of numerous porno movies, going by the working name of Jonnie Hardon and appearing in such classics as ‘fuck me tender,’ alongside renowned porn king Pelvis Pressingme.”
“Behave, you bad boy,” Joseph, laughing, swiped Michael’s flank. He sobered, “and getting back on subject, what’s wrong? There was urgency in your action. What hurt, real or imagined, was it a panacea for?”
“You know what they say, Joseph, never look a gift horse in the mouth, especially if you’re naked, because it just might chew off your nuts.” He sat up.
There it was again, the question disguised as a name. Michael gave it reply, but not answer. “I wanted sex.”
Joseph quirked an eyebrow, saying dryly, “and of course whatever Michael wants, Michael gets.”
Michael grinned. “See, you do understand how it’s supposed to work. Now if we can just build on that simple principle and take it beyond the bedroom. We could start with that new higher spec game computer I want. It’s not like I’d have to go into debt. My parents would give me the money if I asked them.”
Joseph raised himself to a sitting position, suddenly serious, “I said no. You don’t need it and that aside you’re too old to be leeching off your parents. I told you not to mention it again, didn’t I?”
“Yes, you did, I’m sorry.” Michael slipped his nightshirt over his head. Re-emerging he gazed at Joseph for a moment, and then reached his arms around his neck in a silent embrace.
“Tell me,” murmured Joseph, gently rubbing his morning rough face against Michael’s smoother one. “Tell me why you’re sad this morning?”
“I’m not sad. I never get sad.”
“Yes you do, you often get sad, you just disguise it as something else or hide it under an action, like sex.”
“I dreamed, that’s all,” Michael gave admission to the fact, “and it made me want sex.”
“Was it an erotic dream?”
“Then why did it make you want to have sex?”
“I like sex. It makes me feel better.”
“So you were sad then, if you needed to feel better so urgently?”
“Joseph,” Michael’s voice sounded a rebuke, “sometimes I think you watch too many episodes of Time Team. You’re always trying to dig things up, things that usually aren’t there.”
“Was it Jude?” Joseph made an intuitive guess. “Was he who you dreamed about?” He studied Michael’s face, noting the ripple of disquiet that hearing the name always brought to his face.
“Yes,” Michael reluctantly whispered the confirming word. Joss had done it again. He’d successfully interrogated him and made him say something he didn’t want to say. He was so Gestapo.
“I wondered.” Joseph hesitated then said hopefully, “tell me about the dream.” What he really meant was tell me about Jude, but he knew that to say so would guarantee there would be no answer.