Chapter 20

Peter walked into the apartment without saying a word, and took Timmy into his arms. The two men clung together and rocked back and forth. When they finally broke the clinch, both felt sheepish and turned aside to wipe tears.

"Ah, man, I'm really sorry, Timmy," consoled Peter with great feeling.

"Will... ," Timmy's breath caught, and he coughed several times. Wheeze, wheeze, "Poor Will, he heard screaming when they died," he squeaked, then was wracked with a paroxysm of hacking. Near the end, tiny droplets of blood and mucus flew forth with each spasm. Peter supported him to a couch, and held a tissue up to help Timmy catch the errant blobs.

"Timmy, Timmy, please, don't speak," Peter begged, rubbing Timmy's back. Timmy nodded, and determinedly focused on making his throat relax. Finally, he got the cough under control, and leaned over against Peter, trying to burrow right inside of him.

Peter gathered him in, fiercely nurturing the teen. Will walked into the room, attracted by Peter's voice, and Peter freed an arm to reach out and grasp Will's hand. "My man, I just heard. I'm so sorry you had to go through something so gruesome."

Will nodded, gazing away in a distracted manner. "Yeah," he sighed. "They've gone to be with God now." Pulling his hand away, he wandered over to the window and stared out without seeing anything.

Peter was flummoxed by Will's response. Obviously Will had medicated himself with his religion, and was failing to deal with the shock and trauma of the experience. "Will," Peter said, "please tell me about it."

A look of tension passed quickly over Will's features and was gone, replaced by a vacant smile that was rather eerie in affect. "I've prayed with God about it," his dogma was wooden, "and He has reassured me."

"Hmmph!" responded Peter. "Will, I think God is helping you by giving you people you can talk to about it."

Will's eyes widened with, terror? Agitation? Anger? "No!" he shouted. "All I need is Jesus!" He stopped, and his lips began moving without any sound emerging, obviously praying. He whirled, and stalked away, retreating to his room where he firmly shut the door to forestall any further discussion.

Peter took a deep breath to steady himself. Will was obviously in shock. Peter didn't know what to do, but he knew something should be done to save Will from his self induced stupor. Without a clue of how to proceed, he decided to do nothing and hoped time would convince Will that he must deal with the awful experience. High emotion and deep intimacy were not Peter's forte. He worked his unease about Will out by turning his attention to the trembling young man in his arms.

Peter rubbed his big hand over Timmy's back. Timmy looked up at Will with round, moist eyes. "Shall we go now?" Peter asked. He didn't think it was good for Timmy to be around Will in Will's current state. Timmy nodded, wanting nothing more than to be with Peter. He disentangled himself from Peter's loving arms, and gathered up the things he needed for staying overnight.

As they were leaving, Peter knocked gently on Will's door. When there was no response, Peter called through the barrier to tell Will Timmy would be away for the evening. Hearing nothing, Peter only hoped Will had not done anything stupid as Timmy and Peter went out to Peter's car.

During the short drive, Peter told a few light hearted stories about his day, and wouldn't let Timmy speak. The sight of Timmy hacking his throat out had been disturbing and worrying. At the house, Peter parked the car away and took the young man inside.

"Let's get you something to help that throat," Peter fussed. He made some tea with lemon and honey, and put in a very small amount of whiskey to help sooth the sore tissues. Timmy sighed in gratitude as he sipped the remedy. When he finished, he reached for the whiskey bottle.

"Timmy..." chastened Peter, as he took the alcohol and put it away. "Getting drunk is not going to help."

"Yes, it is," rasped Timmy. He had an irritated scowl on his face.

"Believe me, I have nothing against a little drink, some smoke, having a good time, but it has to be in moderation. You should not use drugs or booze to escape," Peter lectured. He stopped, realizing he sounded more like a father than a friend and possible lover.

Timmy's lower lip poked out as he expressed a pout without using his voice.

"Hee hee," laughed Peter, grateful he had not turned Timmy off by acting so parental. Suddenly, the desire that he had so far been able to hold in check washed over him, and he leaned toward Timmy. Timmy's eyes widened, then closed, as he accepted the intended kiss. One turned into two, then into a whole series of caresses that deepened and merged together. When the two finally broke apart, they were both gasping for deep breaths. They gazed at each other hungrily, and without speech and or much break in eye contact, they rose and went into Peter's bedroom.

Peter pushed Timmy back across the bed. He wanted to spoil Timmy, to make their first time together special and perfect. He had thought long and hard about his relationship with Timmy and how far to go, and until now his reluctance to take advantage of such a young person had restrained his actions. Tonight, his fear of intimacy with Timmy was overridden by his uncontrollable desire for this young man. Under the desire, fueling it, was an emotion that could be defined as nothing other than love, and described only as terrifying.

Peter pushed away the fear as he urged Timmy to recline across his large expansive bed. Beginning at Timmy's feet, Peter began kissing and licking and fondling the boy's taut skin. Peter's cock was so hard, so yearning, but he ignored it as he worked upward. Timmy was on fire, as Peter's lips sparked every nerve, cell, and sinew ablaze. Timmy squirmed on the bed, wanting to grab Peter's head to move that wondrous mouth to his hard pole. Peter remained out of reach, s.l.o.w.l.y. drawing his tongue along Timmy's inner leg and pushing it under Timmy's left knee as he teased the right with his fingertips. Timmy groaned and pushed his legs apart in invitation. Peter moved between Timmy's thighs, now interspersing nips with kisses, driving the fever ever higher.

The first lick across his testicles make Timmy jerk in surprise, and moan in pleasure. Peter licked and nuzzled the orbs, then took each one into his mouth as he explored its texture and mobility with his tongue. He sucked them powerfully. Timmy grabbed onto the sheets to hold himself in place, the pressure was so intense. Releasing Timmy's balls, Peter ran his tongue up Timmy's shaft, nearly driving the cum out before him. Timmy gritted his teeth and held on, though, not wanting to explode yet. It was a battle that Timmy was eventually going to loose.

Peter pursed his lips into a tight O, and slid them down over the top of Timmy's penis for the first time. Timmy made a noise more like a howl than a groan, as tears began running out of the corners of his eyes to fall on the quilt beneath him. He tried to touch Peter, to draw him upward so that Timmy might move downward to serve Peter instead, but Peter resisted. Timmy cried at the attention, no one had ever focused this much love on him, ever, not in his whole life, and he felt painful stabs of guilt for his lack of deservedness. And yet, his penis pulsed and throbbed, glorying in the obeisance of Peter's mouth upon him. He couldn't stop the thrusts that his hips used to drive his cock deeper into the heat. He couldn't, in the end, stop the hot, molten cum that exploded out, over and over, to sear Peter's mouth and throat and stomach. He could only sob in gratitude and guilt, and take Peter's spewed cum that splashed over his thighs like the sacrifice it was.

Oddly, Peter wouldn't look Timmy in the eyes in the morning. In view of the hours spent in sexual contact and sweet cuddling the next before, Peter's behavior made little or no sense in Timmy's mind. When he went to Peter and tried to hug him, Peter stood sullen and resistant, unable to respond other than with a bright red flush. Timmy shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant, but his insides were churning. What was the matter? He tried to eat the fried eggs Peter put before him, but they soured on his stomach and he told Peter he was unable to get them down. Peter said it didn't matter, don't worry about it. Awkward silence followed.

Peter pushed his own plate of half eaten food away, and turned toward the cabinets in the corner of the kitchen. "Timmy, I'm going to take you home now."