On an impulse he used his thumb and forefinger to draw Sebastian's cheeks apart and watched with interest as his come dribbled from Sebastian's still red and gaping arsehole. His cock gave a valiant twitch at the sight, but really, there was not a fucking chance.
Jim finally released him, stepping back and admiring the red streaks he'd left upon Sebastian's buttocks and thighs. He wondered if they'd bruise.
“Take care of the body,” he said evenly to Sebastian's nearly motionless form, suddenly businesslike. “And clean this up.”
He left the room and made for his office. He locked the door behind himself and proceeded to collapse onto the chair in front of his desk, pressing his palms to his mouth to smother the hysterical laughter that bubbled out of his throat.
~*~
1984
Jim was in serious danger of nodding off when at last, he heard the faintest jangle of keys and the creak of the front door. His head, which had been steadily drooping towards his chest, snapped up and his previously fluttering eyelids were now resolutely open.
Quiet steps in the foyer, followed by another indistinct jingle as she hung her keys on the hook. Even her footsteps sounded timid to Jim's ears as she crept around, always wary of disturbing her husband.
He glanced at his clock. It was almost one in the morning, he noted with fearful excitement. Things had to have taken effect by then. He heard her drifting down the hall to her bedroom. She didn't stop to look in on him for once, choosing to overlook the light issuing from under his closed door.
Will she notice straight off? he wondered. She had to. She wasn't that dense.
He listened hard, gnawing his lower lip and plucking at his blanket. Bare minutes had passed when he heard rustling and the screech of his parent's mattress as she climbed into bed.
The screeching of bedsprings resumed again, louder and more urgent this time, accompanied by many gasped reiterations of his father's name. Jim's temples throbbed and his fingers twitched. He desperately wanted to see her reaction, but forced himself to sit quietly and wait. She would need her privacy.
After less than a minute the noises ceased and the utter silence that followed seemed to engulf the house. Jim dared breathe once more, waiting for what would surely come next...
But no wailing scream ripped through the night; no heart-rending sobs echoed through the house, nor even –he thought foolishly– whoops of joy. The silence, which should have been rife with possibilities, now felt unnerving and dodgy as it stretched longer.
As the time drifted towards one-thirty Jim's apprehension melted steadily to a harsh, nonsensical anger borne from deep impatience. What was taking her so long? She wasn't trying to protect him, was she? He hated waiting on tenterhooks for things to happen when he wanted the instantaneous satisfaction of seeing what his actions had wrought.
He jumped out of bed, keyed up and restless, on the verge of bustling to their room to see what the hold-up was, when he detected a shuffling tread heading down the hall. It had to be his mother – anyone else would have set the floorboards creaking like mad. He paused in the centre of his room, standing as tall as he was able. He was unsurprised when the steps halted outside his door.
Jim prepared himself to feign surprise when she brought him the news, though he still didn't know if he could pull off crying on queue. The knob turned and the door swung inward. There was no storm of tears or a gently whispered, 'Jim'. She stood beneath the frame, starting only a little to see him standing there waiting for her. Her skin was stained gold by the yellow light radiating from Jim's lamp, framed eerily against the shadowy hallway.
She walked inside without a word, floral skirt floating around her ankles. Her visage was drawn and blank; even her usually pink lips had turned pale. Jim felt a stab of misgiving and worked hard not to take a step away from her as the triumphant emotions that had been accumulating inside of him crumbled.
Re: You Were My First - Part 5b/5
Jim finally released him, stepping back and admiring the red streaks he'd left upon Sebastian's buttocks and thighs. He wondered if they'd bruise.
“Take care of the body,” he said evenly to Sebastian's nearly motionless form, suddenly businesslike. “And clean this up.”
He left the room and made for his office. He locked the door behind himself and proceeded to collapse onto the chair in front of his desk, pressing his palms to his mouth to smother the hysterical laughter that bubbled out of his throat.
Jim was in serious danger of nodding off when at last, he heard the faintest jangle of keys and the creak of the front door. His head, which had been steadily drooping towards his chest, snapped up and his previously fluttering eyelids were now resolutely open.
Quiet steps in the foyer, followed by another indistinct jingle as she hung her keys on the hook. Even her footsteps sounded timid to Jim's ears as she crept around, always wary of disturbing her husband.
He glanced at his clock. It was almost one in the morning, he noted with fearful excitement. Things had to have taken effect by then. He heard her drifting down the hall to her bedroom. She didn't stop to look in on him for once, choosing to overlook the light issuing from under his closed door.
Will she notice straight off? he wondered. She had to. She wasn't that dense.
He listened hard, gnawing his lower lip and plucking at his blanket. Bare minutes had passed when he heard rustling and the screech of his parent's mattress as she climbed into bed.
The screeching of bedsprings resumed again, louder and more urgent this time, accompanied by many gasped reiterations of his father's name. Jim's temples throbbed and his fingers twitched. He desperately wanted to see her reaction, but forced himself to sit quietly and wait. She would need her privacy.
After less than a minute the noises ceased and the utter silence that followed seemed to engulf the house. Jim dared breathe once more, waiting for what would surely come next...
But no wailing scream ripped through the night; no heart-rending sobs echoed through the house, nor even –he thought foolishly– whoops of joy. The silence, which should have been rife with possibilities, now felt unnerving and dodgy as it stretched longer.
As the time drifted towards one-thirty Jim's apprehension melted steadily to a harsh, nonsensical anger borne from deep impatience. What was taking her so long? She wasn't trying to protect him, was she? He hated waiting on tenterhooks for things to happen when he wanted the instantaneous satisfaction of seeing what his actions had wrought.
He jumped out of bed, keyed up and restless, on the verge of bustling to their room to see what the hold-up was, when he detected a shuffling tread heading down the hall. It had to be his mother – anyone else would have set the floorboards creaking like mad. He paused in the centre of his room, standing as tall as he was able. He was unsurprised when the steps halted outside his door.
Jim prepared himself to feign surprise when she brought him the news, though he still didn't know if he could pull off crying on queue. The knob turned and the door swung inward. There was no storm of tears or a gently whispered, 'Jim'. She stood beneath the frame, starting only a little to see him standing there waiting for her. Her skin was stained gold by the yellow light radiating from Jim's lamp, framed eerily against the shadowy hallway.
She walked inside without a word, floral skirt floating around her ankles. Her visage was drawn and blank; even her usually pink lips had turned pale. Jim felt a stab of misgiving and worked hard not to take a step away from her as the triumphant emotions that had been accumulating inside of him crumbled.