Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32


Justice: Day One


A story by Bard Boy [bard_boy(at)protonmail(dot)com]

Disclaimer: This is a work of fanciful fiction set in the future. None of this is real, nor an endorsement, nor a meaningful prediction. This isn’t futurism. This isn’t a manifesto. If it’s illegal for you to read material that involves descriptions of sex between adult men, sex between young boys, sexual exploration amongst children, and sex between adult men and teenagers, this is not the place for you. Don’t read on if that is the case.

Explainer: This is a (sort of) continuation – or rather, expansion – of the story left behind in Solstice. I wasn’t sure exactly how to categorise it on this site, so here it is. Readers of the Adult Friends, Adult-Youth, Incest, and Young Friends categories may find themes of interest here, though categorising it purely as any of the above would only disappoint or offend some readers of those categories. This isn’t a quick jerk-off story. If that’s what you’re looking for, I wrote one of those here. In fact, this story isn’t even that sexy. But it does contain sex – implied, mentioned in passing, reminisced about, and sometimes described in graphic detail.

A note on language use for non-UK readers: This story is largely set in the northeast of England, and many characters use vocabulary, phrases, and pronunciation which reflect patterns of speech in that part of the world. The most obvious example is in characters’ use of ‘mam’ to mean mother. Think Billy Elliot. James grew up almost entirely around Jake and Manny, speakers of West Midland English, whose patterns of speech, pronunciation, word choice, and idioms are markedly different from North East English. This is why James and Manny go for ‘mom’ over ‘mum’, use words like ‘scrage’ to mean a graze or cut to the skin, and drop phrases like ‘fart in a colander’, all while expecting other characters to understand what they mean.

Setting: The locations used in this story are all – with the exception of James his feet on the floor, hands on the arm of the chair, body supported by the cushions. Things seemed a bit more real again. He remembered being a scared little boy, only having turned eleven years old not more than a week or two before, and Jake teaching him this technique; to sit and breathe and feel his body, the furniture that supported it, and the room around it. It was a way to remind himself that he was real, and the nightmares weren’t. This was of course the irony. Manny had seen dead bodies before. He was well aware of the reality of mortality. Yet, there was something surreal about having seen Angelika just now; having examined her frail body, the colour fading from her skin as he worked; having mapped out and sketched everything about the place where she lay. Then, when he was just about finished, someone had finally got hold of her mother, and he felt every tremor of the screaming and the wailing and the fissure of grief, there on the quiet riverbank as the breeze brought small relief from the sweaty summer’s day and the moorhens bobbed by on the honey-glazed water.

Then Dan Turner appeared from around the corner, just upriver, bellowing and dragging an unkempt, shell-shocked little boy by the neck. His skin sparkled with sweat, the uncanny shimmer of it catching Manny’s eye as Dan marched down the bank, overheated from the humidity and his unbridled fury. Dan had held the boy around his neck; he seemed only barely to be restraining himself from beating Archie to a pulp. Had Angelika’s mother computed what was going on, surely she too would have come for the boy – wanted to tear him limb from limb – but she was too busy sobbing into her daughter’s still chest, on all fours on the banks of the Wear. Mary Stanley and Rob Clifford, Manny’s occasional deputies, grabbed Archie by his wrists, too. He’d flopped onto his knees on the grass as soon as Dan Turner had let go of him, his body completely overwhelmed. But Manny, though his head was already swimming with the moorhens, had somehow calmly taken Archie from them, placed a hand on his shoulders, and began to lead him away. He had Mary and Rob clear the way ahead of him, up the steep slope to the castle, emerging with the mammoth cathedral to his right and the castle gates to his left. There weren’t even too many people around; it was the back way as well as being the shortest route.

He watched Archie, stood before him in the middle of the office not knowing what to do with himself. Manny didn’t know what to do with him either. He’d sent word with Mary and Rob to Chief MacKenzie, leaving him alone with Archie in the office. He closed his eyes and took another deep breath, hoping his mind might offer some clue as to where to go next, but not overly trying to force it. He thought again of Jake. Is this what he would have done?

“Archie, I’m sorry, mate,” Manny said, opening his eyes and seeing the lad stood awkwardly before him, the fingertips of one hand tracing his neck where it had been gripped by Dan Turner. “Your clothes are covered in blood and dirt. I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to take them off.”

Archie blinked and pulled at the hem of his t-shirt so that it stretched down in front of him, peering down at it as if realising for the first time that it was splattered with blood and mud. He pulled it off and, not knowing what else to do, held it out at arm’s length to offer it to Manny.

“I mean everything, Archie,” said Manny, trying his best to sound reluctant and kind. “We have to have a closer look at everything you were wearing today because it could be evidence.”

“Everything?” said Archie, with a quiet squeak, giving Manny a scared look before dropping his gaze to the floor. “You want me to take off all me clothes?”

“Someone will be looking for your mom,” said Manny. “She’ll be here soon and I’m sure she’ll bring something else for you to wear. Until then I’ll find you a towel, okay?”

Archie went to say something, but ended up just giving a single, silent nod, and setting about untying his shoelaces. Manny got up and headed to the adjoining bathroom to fetch something for Archie to wrap around himself when he was done.

Manny had just retrieved a pink hand towel – the best he could do from the resources available – when he heard the office door open. Rob had returned, Mary apparently otherwise engaged dealing with the impending chaos. Images of a mob with flaming torches barged their way into Manny’s mind, but he quickly pushed them away again. He walked back into the main office to see Rob standing stony-faced just inside the room, looming over Archie. He was stood awkwardly in the middle of the room next to a pile of his clothes, playing with his forearms as if he wanted to cover himself with his hands but was unsure if he was allowed.

“What’s happening?” asked Manny, handing the towel to Archie, allowing the boy to quickly wrap it around his waist.

“Mary’s gone back down to the scene to do some management. Kenzie wants to speak to you and the rest of the council as soon as possible.”

“Okay,” said Manny. “Alright. I need to examine and interview Archie before I do anything else. Any sign of his mother?”

“No idea,” said Rob. “Sure she’ll turn up eventually. They’ll probably be dragging her in by her hair if she leaves it much longer.”

From the corner of his eye, Manny caught a startled look passing across Archie’s face. He frowned at Rob and thought about practicalities. He needed to get rid of him.

“Rob, could you have a look around the castle and see if anyone has some clothes that might fit Archie?” requested Manny. “Can’t very well speak to him in the nude after I’ve examined him.”

“No problem,” said Rob, looking a bit put out.

“Drop the stuff back here when you find it, then go and do whatever Kenzie thinks you and Mary need to do to contain things as best as possible.”

“Right,” said Rob, frowning with his entire body. He was a tall, lanky man with a long nose. The manner in which he hunched forward was an ever-reliable barometer for his emotional state.

“See you later,” said Manny, after Rob had spent a few seconds steadfastly not leaving.

“Yes,” said Rob, shaking his head as if he was dazed, and reluctantly turning to leave the office. Manny was finally free to turn back to Archie.

“Is me mam in trouble too?” whimpered Archie, looking as terrified as ever.

“No, mate. Don’t worry about that now.” Manny re-found the armchair. “Archie, could I ask you to come and sit on my lap?”

“Suppose,” said Archie, clinging with one fist to the towel around his waist and beginning a slow shuffle to where Manny had sat down.

“Right,” said Manny. “Let’s have a look at you. Nothing to be worried about.” He held Archie’s head towards him with both hands and looked at the boy’s face. He ran the tip of his thumb over the bridge of Archie’s nose and his cheeks. “How did you get these scratches, Archie?”

“Don’t know.”

“Are you sure?” said Manny, supporting the back of Archie’s head with his left hand and examining the cuts with the fingertips of his right. “They look sore. And fresh.”

Archie shrugged. He was looking at Manny’s chest.

“Do you have any other scratches like this?”

Archie shrugged again. Manny ran his hands down the boy’s bare back and front. Archie shivered, goosepimples instantaneously pocked his skin, bronzed from a summer out playing by the river.

“I can’t feel anything,” said Manny. “Give me your hands.”

Archie obediently put his little hands into Manny’s. Manny looked them over closely.

“You have some nasty looking scrages on your hands, too,” said Manny. “And lots of dirt and blood on your fingers and under your nails. Is that your blood, Archie?”

“Dunnaa,” said Archie, still looking half-focused at Manny’s chest rather than his face. “It might be.”

“Well, was there some other part of your body that got cut to cause all that blood?” Another shrug. “Could it be someone else’s blood, Archie?”

“Could be,” whispered Archie.

“Whose might it be?”

Archie shook his head and teared up. Then he coughed and gave another little shrug.

“Were you playing with Angelika, Archie? Did she get hurt?”

Archie nodded, tears beginning to plop down his cheeks like cannonballs dropped from the ramparts.

“You know I’m going to have to ask you more about that, right Archie?”

A little nod. Another sob.

“Because you were playing with Angelika when she got hurt, weren’t you, Archie?”

Archie sucked back snot and nodded again, with slightly more prominence. Another sob.

“Archie, I’m going to ask you a question now, and I need you to be absolutely honest with me when you answer it, and as grown-up as you can be. Okay?”

The boy nodded again but stayed quiet. Manny took a deep breath.

“Archie, when Angelika got hurt, did you…” Manny closed his eyes and breathed in again, steeling himself. “Did you – you know – was your willy out, at all?”

“No!” squeaked Archie with wide-eyed incredulity, finally looking Manny in the eye again.

“Okay, it’s alright,” said Manny. “You definitely didn’t touch any of her private parts or take your willy out?”

“No!” protested Archie. “I’m not… I’m not a pervert! Why would I do that?”

“Okay, okay,” said Manny, “it’s alright. It’s fine. I believe you. That just means I don’t have to examine you down there as well, okay? Thank you for answering me truthfully. Good boy.”

Archie had settled into a heavy, rasping sob, scrunched as tightly as possible into Manny’s chest. Manny limply cradled Archie against him.

“Where’s me mam?” wailed Archie. “I wanna go home with me mam! Tell her to come fetch me!”




James was in the Recorder’s Office on the top floor of the castle keep when he received a knock at the door. He was quite surprised to see Rob Clifford, one of Manny’s part-time lackeys, stood on his threshold leaning his long body forward like someone had attached a pair of weights to his nipples. James looked at him quizzically, inviting him to speak.

“MacKenzie wants to see you,” said Rob, sounding vaguely accusatory in the manner of a child teasing another about having to go and have a difficult conversation with an adult. James screwed his mouth to one side in mild irritation.

“I’m meeting her this evening to discuss Saddler Street,” he replied.

“Oh, that’ll be cancelled now. I can tell you that much.”

“Why?” said James. “What’s going on?”

“Not my place to tell you,” said Rob, the corners of his lips flickering with satisfaction. “You’ll have to go and see the chief and find out.”

James sighed. “Thanks Rob. Is that all?”

“That’s it.”

“Fine,” said James. “I’ll finish up what I’m doing here and be right across to the council room.” Rob hovered in the doorway. James had turned to return to his desk but spun again to place a hand on the door. “Rob, I need to finish what I was writing.”

“Oh, sorry. I’ll be on my way.”

Once Rob was sufficiently far away, James sighed, shook his head, and pushed the door to. He had no intention of walking across the castle with Rob. He had no idea what it was that made Rob so evidently take satisfaction in grating on him, but izmit rus escort James could hazard a couple of guesses. He went to the mirror on his office wall and attempted to straighten his unruly hair. It had been a hot, sticky day, overcast and heavy, and he’d spent most of the morning and early afternoon running his hands across his head as he sat at his desk trying to write. As a result, his brown locks protruded in all directions, his cowlick forming a plume on the front right of his fringe, the other side spiked off to the left in a darker mat of sweat and grease. Even the straighter hair on top of his head was flung in all directions by sweat and the pressure of his hands. He would look unkempt at whatever this meeting with Kenzie was, but there was little he could do about it now.

James plodded down the stairs of the keep, winding his way through the Norman Chapel to the council room. He pushed the door open by the faded brass sign, Senate Room, without bothering to knock. She had asked to see him, after all.

James was mildly surprised that the first face he saw as he entered the room was Manny, who shot him a weak smile. Manny looked tired and ashen faced; hardly his usual sunny self. The self that still gave James a little tingle in his testicles sometimes when Manny’s laughing eyes met his across a crowd, sharing a joke that only they truly understood. Now Manny’s eyes told him, lovingly, to steel himself but not panic.

Freya MacKenzie was stood at the vertex of two tapestried walls, surveying the room with folded arms. Her dun hair hung in a great curtain at jaw length all around the back and sides of her head. She nodded at James as he caught her eye and sat down beside Manny, who gave his forearm a gentle squeeze. Alongside them, it seemed the whole council had gathered at short notice. Harvey, the chief provisioner; Amrit, the old doctor; Georgia, the buildings manager; Saffron, the marshal; Ruairidh, the head carpenter. Everyone was present; some still evidently in work attire, called in midway through one job or another. Silence fell across the room as Kenzie unfurled her arms to her sides and strode forth to address them.

“There’s been a murder,” she said.




James was back in his office. Manny was sat by his side; Kenzie was stood in the doorway. James could barely focus on what she was saying. Everything he heard made his stomach flip and his mind wander up towards the ceiling, the castle rooftops, the flagpole. Kenzie was stood in the doorway in quite a fancy suit – or at least a suit – which must have been hidden away in some castle wardrobe for decades. Her voice went on. Manny squeezed James’ shoulder. James thought that Chief MacKenzie looked like what, once upon a time, people might have called a career politician. As a teenager he’d read the term in a gigantic old Sociology textbook from the shed at the winter house, when he’d fallen out with Manny one long December night and wanted nothing more than to be alone to delve through the mysteries of the past. In fact, he was minded of the megalomaniac high school principal in that cartoon about the cynical American girl, which they used to watch sometimes at the winter house. They didn’t get most of the references, nor half of the jokes, but they watched it all the same because it was about teenagers like them. Or at least, a version of how teenagers like them might have been, once upon a time.

“…all things considered,” Kenzie was droning, “that’s why we believe you to be the best person for the job.”

James had stayed just lucid enough through Kenzie’s winding soliloquy to follow the gist and understand the gravity of her conclusion.

“You want me to do it?” he heard almost his childhood voice squeaking.

“You don’t need me to tell you that you’re the cleverest one here,” Kenzie said, shaking her head. “Plus, you’re good with kids. They all love it when you teach them. And aren’t you always going on about how you were brought up by some kind of genius…?”

James winced. Surely, he didn’t talk about Jake that much, or that effusively.

“Also, Emmanuel will support you with his investigation, but it really doesn’t fall to him alone to come to a judgement. The council has nominated you to fulfil that role.”

Manny ruffled the back of James’ hair. James sighed.

“Fine. Fine. I’ll do it. I’ll take responsibility. Just… I need time and space to do this, okay? I don’t want mobs banging on my office door every hour of the day.”

“You’ll have my full support,” said Kenzie, sounding – to James – far too slick again by far. People of Mars! I mean – Students of Lawndale High! “If there’s nothing more, I have a lot of people to speak to now. You know, in light of what’s happened…”

“Bye, Freya,” said James.

“Good luck,” she said, turning to walk back down the stairs and out into the aether.

“You too,” muttered James, and leaned back in his chair.

Manny put an arm around him. “I support you too, man,” he said. “We’re in this together now.”

“Can I see him?” asked James.

“Yeah,” said Manny. “I’ll take you to the room we’ve put him in.”




“So, there’s absolutely no doubt he did it?” whispered James, as he and Manny approached the door to Archie’s holding room.

“His clothes were covered in her blood,” said Manny. “I had to take them off him. So were his hands. There was nobody else down there with them.”

“But you said there’s nothing sexual going on?”

“No,” said Manny. “I asked him if he touched her or took his willy out; he said no. He’s ten. I believe him.”

“Right,” said James. “Okay. Anything else I should know?”

“His mother still hasn’t turned up,” said Manny, “so I apologise for what he’s wearing.”

James sighed heavily, closed his eyes, and put his hand to the doorknob. Manny unlocked the heavy wooden door with an old metal key. James was minded of entering a mediaeval dungeon, even in the plush keep of the castle.

The door swung open. James opened his eyes to see a scrawny, dirty-blond-haired little boy, lay sprawled on a single bed in the plain little room. His eyes and cheeks were red and puffy from crying, and there was a hint of a dried candle of snot on his upper lip. He was wearing faded, baggy, blue shorts that looked as if they might fall down if he stood up, and evidently no underpants underneath, from how much of his buttock James could see down the yawning leg of the shorts. A tatty vest hung over his torso, looking somewhere between a bedsheet and a night gown, reaching two-thirds of the way down his shorts. James let out a heavy breath again.

“Apparently it was the best Rob could do,” whispered Manny, seeing James’ gaze play over Archie’s pathetic spread-eagled figure. “So he says.”

James pulled a wry face, dimpling his left cheek and raising his eyebrows, and walked the couple of paces he could across the holding room to squat next to the bed.

“Hello, Archie,” he said, warmly. “My name’s James.”

“You teach the older kids, don’t you?” sniffled Archie quietly, not looking at either of the adults filling the little chamber.

“That’s right,” said James. “And I’ve been asked to talk with you about what happened today.”

“I need the toilet,” said Archie, quickly changing the subject.

“There’s a potty under the bed, Arch,” said Manny.

“I ain’t using it,” pouted Archie. “I want the real toilet. When’s me mam coming to fetch me?”

“You’ll see her soon, I promise,” said James, as soothingly as he could muster. “But for now, you have to stay here. You understand, don’t you, Archie?”

“I wanna go home,” he muttered.

“I’ll speak to you again when your mom gets here,” said James. “Is there anything you want me to do for you until then?”

“I wanna go the toilet,” replied Archie, still refusing to look at either of the adults, spread out on his back like da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man. James and Manny looked at each other, exchanging pale, tired gazes across the couple of square metres of room.

“Okay, Archie,” said Manny. “You can come with me to the toilet in my office. But, if you use your potty here, you get to go in private. If you come with me, I have to keep hold of you all the time.”

Archie went quiet and contemplated the options for a few seconds. Evidently coming to the conclusion that he’d bought his bridge and was now unable to back down, he stuck to his guns. “Real toilet,” he said. “You already made me show me willy before.”

“Up you get, then,” said Manny.

Archie slid onto his bottom on the edge of the bed, his bare toes touching the bare wooden floor. “Does he have to come too?” said Archie, nodding his head towards James.

“Not if you don’t want me to,” replied James, assessing Archie again as the boy sat upright beside him. He didn’t seem big for his age. For some reason that stuck in James’ mind like a stray thorn in a woollen jumper. Archie shrugged.

They followed Archie around the corner to Manny’s office, the man’s hand on the boy’s shoulder the whole time. James noted that the shorts definitely were making slow progress down Archie’s hips and buttocks. Manny showed the boy through the office door and into the little bathroom. Archie pushed the shorts a little further down his thighs and pulled the voluminous vest up a little way to clear a path for his urine. James decided to stay in the office proper. Some things are best left private.

Manny, on the other hand, had little choice but to watch as Archie’s flaccid willy, the foreskin not quite fully covering the tip, released a stream of fiery yellow liquid into the toilet bowl.

“James,” he called. “Do me a favour and fill up the cistern from the water jug?”

James sighed and joined them in the cosy en suite. He was also granted little choice but to see the last of Archie’s dribbles from his alabaster worm as he flushed the toilet and refilled the cistern from the jug. Archie seemed satisfied with having forced the men to watch him urinate. Something about his cocksure demeanour suggested he knew the process was more embarrassing and awkward for them than for him. Power from powerlessness, thought James. He’s making us do things.

They made Archie wash his hands and led him back to his room. The boy flopped back down on the bed as James left him a little cup of water on the floor. Manny waited for James to come out and locked Archie back in, the sturdy old key clanking the lock shut.

The pair looked at each other.

“What did you think?” sighed Manny.

“A bit strange,” said James. “I mean, the whole making us both take him to the toilet thing. But it’s obvious he’s still just a really scared little boy.”

“I know,” said Manny. “It’s frying my brain, man. I can’t square that little lad being the same person who just killed an even littler girl.”

James shrugged.

“But he did,” said Manny.

“And now we’re in it together,” sighed James.

Manny shot him a wan smile and squeezed James’ shoulder. “Always, man.”

Just as warmth was spreading through James’ belly, and he was about to part his lips to say something more, the charm was broken by loud shouting from the courtyard. James and Manny immediately made for the window.

“Oh, fuck,” said Manny, looking down at the scene playing out below. James shook his head.

Rob had a scraggly dirty-blonde woman gripped by the upper arm. She was shouting as she was manhandled across the castle grounds, a bag under the arm she was being gripped by, and a little girl of toddling age being dragged along in her other hand. The handful of passers-by in the courtyard stood and watched in surprised silence. James could see other faces at neighbouring castle windows.

“Good job we just locked him back up,” groaned Manny.

“Yeah,” breathed James, the butterflies in his stomach turning into a whirlpool that sucked through the hollow of his legs to the floor below.




“Where’s me boy? You’ve got to let us see him!”

Harmonie Stephens was frantic, like a trapped animal. James was reminded of walking through a field full of cows and watching them contemplate whether to stampede to protect their calves. She balled her fists so hard they were white.

They had rushed to get her indoors after she’d been brought in; decamped to Manny’s office. He had a beat-up two-seat sofa she could sit on. James found someone to look after the little girl, who was led away, sobbing her heart out at the confusion of the commotion and the separation from her mother. Manny was busy bellowing at a self-satisfied Rob about tact and optics. The moment was a kaleidoscope of adrenaline and confusion; pounding hearts and eardrums; thoughts folding in on themselves until all that remained was a great, sucking vortex.

“You’ve taken me daughter now as well!” Harmonie ranted. “Where’s me boy? You’ve gotta give me me boy!”

“Give me his things,” said James, quietly. “I’ll fetch him and get him dressed properly.”

“Why isn’t he dressed?” demanded Harmonie.

“His clothes were filthy,” Manny tried to explain. “It was really for his own good that we changed him out of them. We found some other clothes for him to wear, but he’ll be much more comfortable now in clothes of his own.”

“I know what your type are like,” izmit escort barked Harmonie, darkly. “You think, ‘there’s that bloody troublemaker; that’ll teach him, make him strip his clothes off’. Well he’s a bloody human being too, y’knaa! He’s a little boy! He’s my little boy!”

“It really wasn’t like that, Miss Stevens,” said James. “Please can I have his clothes?”

Harmonie picked the bag containing Archie’s things up from the sofa and threw it at James’ chest as he approached her. He caught it in a bear hug, like in faded posters of football goalkeepers, and headed off in silence to attend to Archie. Manny had to reach over and slide the key into James’ back pocket. He was in too much of a rush to leave the room to have remembered.

Harmonie hung by a thread as the door clicked shut behind James. Her head was in her hands, dumpy, bony fingers clutching at her brow. She sobbed and hacked. Manny watched as if in third person. He saw himself doing nothing.

“Did he do it?” Harmonie raised her head to ask, gutturally, pleading with Manny with her eyes. “Has he done what they said he done?”

“I’m sorry,” said Manny, witness for the second time in a few hours to the moment a mother’s heart ground into ash.




“Archie,” James said quietly, opening the door just a crack to let his voice through. “Is it okay to come in?”

“What do you want?”

James opened the door slightly further to see Archie flopped down spread-eagled on the bed, exactly where they’d left him. His eyes were pink and puffy from more crying.

“Your mom’s come to see you,” said James, warmly. “She’s brought some of your own clothes to put on.”

“Me mam’s here?” exclaimed Archie, rocketing up to a seated position on the bed, supported by his hands behind him. “Has she come to take me away?”

“You know that can’t happen right now, Archie,” said James. “Look, let’s get you dressed in your own clothes, then I’ll take you to see her.”

“Alright,” sighed Archie. He stood up and easily slipped himself out of his oversized vest. The baggy shorts rode so low that James could see the clefts where Archie’s thighs joined his hips.

“Let’s see what you’ve got,” said James, reaching into the bag. He felt another pang of pity for the boy wash over him as he pulled out a faded, threadbare pair of briefs, slightly discoloured at the front. “Well, those can go on first,” he said, trying to keep his voice level. Archie took them from James and turned his back to him to drop the shorts he was wearing and put on the underpants.

“Looks like you have a choice,” said James, observing what emerged next. “Trackies or shorts?” The tracksuit bottoms looked as if they might be a bit small for Archie. The old, silky sports shorts had worn gossamer thin on the bottom to translucence.

“Shorts please,” said Archie. “It’s proper hot and sticky today.”

Archie turned around to take the shorts and put them on. James noticed that the briefs were tight on him, too; pressing his bits to his body so the shape was revealed through the fabric and a little fold of scrotum protruded from one leg hole.

“Looks like you’ve got socks and a tee-shirt here too,” said James, passing the rest over to the boy. The socks had a hole in one heel, but at least they fit his feet and rested naturally above his ankle. The tee was white, with a faded image of Pikachu – some sort of yellow cartoon rodent with red cheeks.

“Ready to roll?” asked James.

Archie nodded. “I really wanna see me mam.”

“Do you want to hold my hand?”

Archie looked at James long and hard, cocking his head to one side, pursing his lips and narrowing his eyes, as if weighing up an impossible decision.

“Okay,” he eventually said in a quiet voice, while looking at his and James’ feet. James held out his hand. It took a second for Archie to take the plunge and grab it. When he did, James swung it and gently rubbed the boy’s knuckle as they made their way along the corridor.





“Oh, Archie!”

He had sprinted across the room and launched himself at his mother on the sofa, rocking her backwards. Archie was sprawled full length across Harmonie, head nuzzled between her chin and breast. Her grip around his body belied the terror that Archie could be sucked away at any moment, back into the empty vortex with all their thoughts and feelings and hopes and fears. By the time James had retaken his seat, the two were sobbing noisily into each other.

“I’m sorry, mam!” choked Archie. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

“I know, Arch; I know,” Harmonie was cooing gently, stroking him all over; kissing the top of his head and inhaling his hair.

“I messed everything up!” he heaved, snot and tears and saliva heavy in his throat, obscuring his voice. He coughed. He had the hiccups. His body was overwhelmed.

“I love you so much,” Harmonie was whispering. “So, so much. You’ll always be my special boy. Always. No matter what.”

“I never meant it, mam,” he croaked. “Honest I never meant it. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“I know, darling. I know.”

“I did it for you, mam.”

“Shh… don’t talk silly now. You’re getting yourself all confused.”

“I really did… I’m sorry.”

James had felt himself go grey. His forehead was grey. His cheeks were grey. His heart was grey. Even his bowels were grey. All he could do was watch and feel his mind overload, over and over again, in an endless cycle.

Manny was drowning in the tide, too. On the riverbank, he’d imagined himself, and Tracey, and Theo, and felt the shockwaves as they burst from Angelika’s mother and ripped through the air. Now he was in the eye of the storm. And again, he was watching himself, and Tracey, and Theo. He was watching everybody lose.

“What about Angelika’s mam and dad?” asked Archie, sobs rumbling through his entire body. “Do they know I didn’t mean it? Do they know how sorry I am?”

“Don’t worry about that now, baby boy. Everything’s gonna be fine eventually. You’ll see.”

“Will somebody tell them for me?” said Archie. “That I’m really, really sorry. And that I never meant it. I really never meant it.”

“They’ll find out, Archie,” James heard himself say, his voice cracking through the granite air like rogue diamond. “I promise everyone will know what really happened.”




James only realised just how hungry he was when he entered the hall of the castle and smelt the aromas of food from the kitchens. But hunger alone could not adequately account for how lightheaded he felt; how his stomach seemed to have come uncoupled from the rest of his body.

He received his chicken and veg in stock gravy with thanks, and weaved his way through the long, row tables to where Manny was sitting, alongside Tracey and Theo. Manny was eating pensively; Tracey trying to encourage Theo to eat his meal. James’ arrival didn’t help her cause.

“Uncle James!” cried the boy, climbing up onto the table on his knees to reach across and hug James around his waist. James smiled awkwardly and carefully put his tray down next to Manny’s, worried that his little nephew might send his dinner flying at any moment. He ruffled the boy’s dark, wavy hair.

“Hello, Theo,” said James. “I’ve missed you too.”

“Theo! Get down!” snapped Tracey, yanking the little boy back down onto the bench.

“I was saying hello to Uncle James!” Theo said, intonation rising in pitch as a matter-of-fact protest of innocence.

“We don’t climb on the tables,” said Tracy, firmly. “Come on now. Your dinner’s getting cold.”

“Hi, Tracey,” said James, settling himself down at the table. “I take it you’ve heard what’s happened?”

“Sounds like you have your work cut out,” she replied drily, attempting to feed Theo from his fork. Theo took a mouthful of chicken and potato and chewed happily.

“We both have,” interjected Manny. “James isn’t in this by himself.”

“Of course not,” said Tracey, replacing Theo’s fork on his plate. “We’re all here for you. You know that. It must be awful, dealing with… well, you know. Horrible.”

“Uncle James, can we do tickle mouse?” Theo interrupted.

“Sorry, Theo. Mice aren’t allowed in the dinner hall.”


“What do you think?” said James, his eyes smiling at Theo’s cheeky, food-stained face.

“Cos… if we let the mouses in the hall, then… then the mouses will eat all the food!” exclaimed Theo, finishing with a broad, milk-toothed grin. Just like his father.

“Theo, you need to concentrate on eating your food,” sighed Tracey.

“I’m not hungry, mammy.”

“If you don’t eat all your dinner, you won’t ever grow up to be big like me and Uncle James,” said Manny, locking eyes with Theo and giving him a serious look.

“Okay, daddy,” Theo sighed. “I’ll eat some more. But only chicken. No more taters or brockly!” He stuck his tongue out animatedly, making James smirk. Theo gave his daddy’s grin again.

“James and I need to head up and get some more work done after dinner,” said Manny. “You don’t mind, do you, Trace?”

“No; I can make sure this little devil’s in bed,” said Tracey, touching Theo’s crown as he gnawed away, open-mouthed, at a piece of roast chicken he held in his fingers. “Just don’t be too late, okay?”




“Why did you say that to him?” said Manny. “About knowing what really happened?”

They were in James’ bedroom. James had removed his button-down overshirt and thrown it to one side. He was sat on the end of the bed looking and feeling exhausted.

“I dunno; it just came out,” said James, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. “He was so obviously genuinely remorseful, and clearly still in shock. He must be struggling to process what he’s done, and terrified of what might happen next. I s’pose I felt he needed that support.”

“Alright,” said Manny, kicking off his shoes. “I know he’s cute, and he seems helpless, but don’t let him get under your skin. For all we know he battered that girl to death in cold blood. If you’re going to do this right, you have to keep a clear head.”

“I’ll be fine,” said James. “Today was just… overwhelming, is all. I need to wind down.”

“Come here,” said Manny. It was an order, but a gentle one. James got to his feet and stood before his brother. Manny held James close, in a shattering bear hug, then stood holding him by the hips, looking down into his eyes. “You okay?”

James answered by way of leaning forward and nipping at Manny’s lips with his, open mouthed, the tip of his tongue tickling back and forth over the crevice of Manny’s mouth. Manny parted his lips in response and held James as close as he could. Their tongues wrestled. There was the friction of Manny’s short, shadowy brown beard, barely more than long stubble, against James’ closely shaven face. A piece of chicken tumbled from one of Manny’s upper molars, and James drank it down hungrily with a gobful of Manny’s saliva. Manny pushed forward and forced them onto the bed, which creaked in protest at the two grown men collapsing onto it.

“I’ll give you what you need,” breathed Manny, millimetres above James’ face. James could feel Manny’s thick shaft poking against the inside of his thigh, straining at its restraints. He shivered from head to toe.

“I need it,” said James. “Please.”

By way of acknowledgement, Manny lifted the hem of James’ tee-shirt and pulled it over his head with minimal resistance. He recognised it as an old one of Jake’s tops, the album cover design on the front so faded that one could only make out the outline of a rose and the text ‘Generation Terrorists’ if they were looking for it, and so placed it to one side, offering it more reverence than being thrown passionately at the wall. James’ torso was almost as bare as the day he was born, offering Manny plenty of skin to suckle and kiss. James groaned; felt his erection grow and throb in his shorts as Manny licked his way around his chest, avoiding the patch of downy blond hairs at its centre, darting now and then for his taut pink nipples, ringed with stringy brown hair. His entire body pulsed as waves of tension and frustration were hoovered away by Manny’s hungry mouth.

James moaned again as Manny worked further down, tickling his tummy and prodding at his bellybutton with an arrowed tongue. James’ underpants had dampened with sweat as he felt Manny’s fingers at his waistband. He lifted his hips to allow his shorts and boxers to be pulled away in one swift movement, kicking them off as they reached his ankles. He was naked and on his back beneath Manny, fully clothed, manipulating his body like a puppeteer. His exposed member, a narrow six-ish inches, bobbed at a 45-degree angle from his body, a bare trunk emerging from a modest brown bush, which dissipated into downy blond fuzz as it radiated away from his manhood. Manny followed a golden trail from James’ bellybutton until his nose was buried in woody-smelling golden-brown hairs that scraped and tickled at his nostrils and lips. James’ warm, velvety stiffness pressed against his face, now ever so slightly sticky at the tip. Manny ran his nose up the underside of it lovingly, inhaling the saltiness of James’ musk and revelling in how it made James shiver from head to toe. Manny gave the base of James’ shaft a quick, broad kocaeli escort lick.

“I won’t tease,” said Manny, smiling at James over the tip of his penis. “I want you to come while I’m inside you. Sixty-nine while I lube you up.”

Without a further word, both men arranged themselves in position. Manny unbuttoned his shirt while knelt in reverse over James’ face, allowing James to lower his shorts and underpants, which he lifted his legs to kick off once he was done. He descended into position and took James’ slick knob into his mouth without ceremony, swirling his tongue around and fully withdrawing the foreskin with a hand at the base of the cock. James was presented with a large, dripping penis pointed directly at his face. Like him, Manny wasn’t particularly hairy, but his bush was rather impressive, in thick black hair. As children, his penis had always been slightly longer and fatter than James’, and so it remained a little longer, and much girthier than James’ adult penis. James let his nose and mouth rub against Manny’s close-drawn testes as he reached for a little bottle of vegetable oil on his bedside table. He passed it down to Manny and folded back his legs to expose his rear. He felt the first prod of Manny’s hand just as he took half of Manny’s dick in his mouth, swallowing down the free-flowing juices as they clashed with his saliva. Somewhere, on some deep, emotional level, there was something about the scents and tastes of a man’s sexual organs that made James feel complete. And there was no man left alive that he was closer to than Manny Addo.

James had had to back off and nibble at Manny’s wrinkled scrotum by the time three fingers were being flared and twisted inside his anus. “Please,” he said to Manny, “start now.”

Manny swung away so he could kneel behind James. He twisted him into a semicircle, the small of his back rested on Manny’s kneeling thighs. Manny lined himself up. The two kept unbroken eye contact as Manny’s thick cock head slipped sharply past James’ resistance, in a single, quick stroke.

“Oof!” grunted James. Manny leant over him and attacked his mouth with gnashing lips, James’ legs pushed up vertical and helpless as nearly seven thick inches of Manny meat slid to full depth within him. He felt the tickle of armpit hair on his knees; he felt the pressure of Manny’s hips on his buttocks; he tasted Manny’s breath and saliva dancing with his own like drops of ink flooding through water; he smelt the sour scent of oil, and the rich aroma of his own backside. All of that registered but barely. The warmth; the fullness; the intimacy of penetration was overwhelming. It dominated his senses. It had his dick dribbling thick webs onto his upturned chest. He broke the kiss, feeling Manny beginning to build up a rhythm, slapping and squelching beginning to quicken and keep time. He managed to croak out an order, the same order he’d given the first time they had been together like this; the first time Manny had delved his most precious and sensitive organ into James’ innermost core.

“Harder!” he said.




The sun was setting when Manny finally made his way back to his home, the first floor of the first staircase of Hatfield College, a grey stone townhouse, built centuries ago. He first checked on Theo, who was sleeping soundly in his bed, snuggled in with far too many teddy bears. He cuddled a worn-out badger toy in his arms, a gift for a little boy some sixty-five years before. Theo’s favourite.

“Sweet dreams, my baby boy,” whispered Manny, planting a little kiss on Theo’s forehead and stroking his wavy hair, rabbit soft. Theo murmured in his sleep and smacked his lips. Manny withdrew. It was very late. He didn’t want to wake him.

“How was work with James?” asked Tracey, pointedly, as Manny entered the bedroom. She was sat up in bed, reading in the flickering light of an oil lamp. Her thin nightdress clung to her form as she sat atop the covers, propped up by pillows against the headboard.

Manny shrugged and began removing his shirt. Tracey sighed and shook her head.

“You fucked him again, didn’t you?” she said. “Don’t lie to me; I can already smell him on you.”

“Tracey,” began Manny, pausing topless with his hands on the flies of his shorts to look his partner in the eye, “you know you’re the only woman for me.”

“Yeah,” sniffed Tracey, placing the book to one side and smoothing the front of her nightdress, “well I’m not the only person for you, though, am I?”

“Tracey, let’s not do this again,” sighed Manny, pacing over to sit facing her at the end of the bed. “You’ve always known how it is with me and James. He’s my brother. He needs my support.”

“Most brothers don’t have sex with each other,” Tracey sniggered mirthlessly.

“It’s the way we were brought up; we’ve been through this all before a thousand times,” said Manny. “Please, can we just go to sleep?”

“The way you were brought up?! Manny, that man abused you! The pair of you! It’s plain as day and you two are the only buggers daft enough not to see it!”

“I’m not having this conversation again,” snapped Manny. “I feel fine. James feels fine. We were loved, Trace, and we were saved, and that’s really all there is to it.”

“So you’d be okay with it if James wants to love Theo in that way, then?”

“What the hell is wrong with you? Why would you say that? Theo’s five. James fucking dotes on him. They love each other as family, not sexually. What’s the problem?”

“What about that ‘tickle mouse’ thing they do? It’s a bit weird, like, don’t you think?”

“No! I don’t think! It’s a kids’ game; Theo loves tickle mouse!”

“Where did James learn it then?”

“Probably when he was a kid from his mom, or some other adult he lived with.”

“So, from that Jake, then?”

“Don’t say his name like that,” sighed Manny. It was a whisper, but a whisper of fury. A rasp of righteous anger. The room seemed hotter, stickier, more oppressive now, in the constant dancing and twirling of the warm, oily light.

“Look, Manny, love,” said Tracey, setting her face and voice more softly and sliding down to touch Manny’s hand on the bed with her toe. “All I’m saying is, maybe it isn’t for the best for you or James to keep giving him sex every time he feels down. What happened to the two of you as kids obviously left more of an impression on him. The best way to help him, is to talk to him, like. Not give into him and take him back to that place. You understand?”

“Maybe that’s true,” Manny responded, sucking in a deep breath that puffed out his sweat-glistened chest. “But maybe the more simple explanation is that James likes dick and there’s no-one else to help him out around here? Cos that sounds more like the James I’ve known since we were eleven.”


“Don’t,” he groaned, rubbing his eyes with his fingertips. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Me and James know who we are. We’re not victims. We weren’t abused or hurt or damaged. You don’t know the first thing about Jake. You have no right.”

“Manny,” Tracey sighed again, tears in her eyes and exhaustion in her voice. “It’s just… it’s still hard for me to understand. Even now. And you and him are so secretive about things when you’re together. It’s like… It’s just like there’s something between you that I just don’t get. I just want to understand that, love. Because you are my love, right? You, me, and Theo? James, even.”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” said Manny. “Please, can we just sleep?”

“I know; I’m sorry. It’s been a long day for all of us, like.”

Manny stood back up and stripped out of his shorts and boxers. He slid under the covers alongside Tracey. She douted the light and was soon under the thin summer bedcover too.

“You know,” Manny said, lying on his back in the darkness, “today I saw that little girl lying there dead, and I saw her mother so heartbroken she looked as if she would crumble at any minute, and all I could think of was us; how much I love you and Theo; the lengths I’d go to protect him.”

Tracey listened quietly. Manny could hear her breath in the silence of the bedroom, right beside him. She rolled over and pushed herself against him, taking his hand in hers and placing it against his heart.

“Then I saw that boy – and I knew he’d done it, but I just felt so much pity. I mean, I wanted to give him a right lamping. Part of me did. But mostly I just thought, what has hurt you so much that you’ve ended up doing this? And I’m scared of what the answer might be, Trace. I’m really fucking scared.”

“Manny,” said Tracey, nuzzling herself against the side of his chest, cheek rested on his bicep, “none of this is on you. None of it’s your fault, and nobody expects you to have all the answers. And all of us are here for you, okay. Just talk to me. Please.”

“If I’m not meant to have all the answers, then who is?” said Manny. “James has gotta work out what to do next, and don’t think we both don’t know there’s already people who want to see this lad strung up.”

“We can be there for him, too. We’ll stick together.”

“You should have seen him, when his mom turned up earlier,” said Manny, adjusting his arm so Tracy was being cradled into him as she lay against his chest. “He was beside himself. I think he’s in shock. He seems so full of sadness, and guilt, and… not even anger. That’s the weirdest thing. He even said to his mom, I did it for you. What’s that all about? What’s that boy seen in the years before they came here?”

“I know, love. It can’t be easy, dealing with things like that. You don’t have to do it alone. We can talk any way you want. Even just like this. As long as you’re letting it out.”

“You know, seeing him with his mom, I thought of us too,” said Manny. “That’s the worst thing. I was imagining us as them too, and you just realise – it’s such a fucking mess. It’s a mess and it’s tragic. For two families. And I’m so scared that nobody else is gonna get that. They won’t.”

“I hear you,” said Tracey. “And I understand. Shall we sleep now, Manny? Let your mind rest until morning?”

“I love you,” said Manny. “I do, you know. Even if I do some strange things.”

“I’m sorry I brought that up,” said Tracey. “Really I am. Let’s forget it for now and rest, eh?”

“Love you.”

“Love you too.”




James was dreaming. He knew he was dreaming because he was in the middle of a city, with big, old sandy-coloured stone buildings, and there were people and cars and buses and bicycles everywhere. But he kept forgetting it was a dream and realising again; having to remind himself.

They were in a place. A food sort of place, with a counter and tables. Jake was there, and there was someone else he was with. He looked a bit like James, but he can’t have been, because it was an adult, and there were people and cars and buses and bicycles everywhere, so it must have been long before James was born. The adult’s face was blurred, but familiar, like someone he recognised had been deliberately obscured from him. His accent matched Jake’s. Maybe stronger. He couldn’t tell. But he could tell they were together. Together together.

There were twin boys. They didn’t look much like Jake, nor the other man. Not that James could see him clearly, but he knew they didn’t. They weren’t in between either. Maybe they had been adopted. There were people everywhere; so many it made James’ head spin and his stomach tumble. They queued for the stuff. James wasn’t sure if he was there with them, or just some invisible observer. A spectre. An interloper who hadn’t happened yet, or perhaps never would.

“What flavours do you want?” said the man to the boys.

“Mint!” exclaimed one boy, happily.

“Yeah! I want the mint one too!” said the other.

“It’ll be less fun if you both get the same one,” said Jake. “If you get different ones, you can share with each other and get to taste two flavours. What do you think?”

“I want mint,” repeated the first boy.

“Okay, Scott, you want mint. What about you then, Tommy? Is there something else you’d like to try?”

“What’s the blue one?” Tommy said, poking a finger to the glass and leaving a smudgy fingerprint behind.

“I don’t think you’ll like the blue one,” said Jake.

“Is there a chocolate one?” Scott interrupted.

“Yeah, I want a chocolate one!” said Tommy.

“How about this one,” said Jake, directing Tommy’s attention away from the brown stuff in a tub that had captured his focus. “It’s Daim bar crunch. You like Daim bars.”

“Is it chocolate?” asked Tommy, dubious.

“Can we have a taste of the Diam bar crunch?” asked the blurface man to an anonymous server. He scraped a little of the creamy-brown stuff from its tub on a little flat wooden stick thing, then handed it over. Jake took it and fed it to Tommy.

“Yum-ee!” Tommy bounced. “Can I have that one, please daddy?”

“Are you getting mint for me?” said Scott, pulling at Jake’s arm.

“Stop mithering,” said Jake. “You can see papi’s ordering for us.”

“Papi,” said Scott, trotting over to the other man. “Did daddy tell you to get me a mint one?”

James had forgotten where he was. He had no idea what was happening. All the people and the sounds of the cars and buses and bikes made his head spin. He stumbled through a door. A ragged man sat on the pavement near the doorway and eyeballed him. He bared yellowed teeth. It was almost a snarl.

“Spare any change, pal?”

James opened his eyes in the deep blackness of his bed, reeking of sex.

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *