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Post by ryan on Oct 16, 2008 1:35:43 GMT 1
He could hear it in the others voice, in the broken sentences that the man stuttered out. There was no denying it. Ryan didn't have to see it for him to know that it was true - Tristram Blake wanted him. It made him frown, for a moment, almost as if he was disappointed. In a way, he was. He had hoped that this would be one man to not give into him. But apparently he was like everyone else. Like every boy or girl Ryan Robins had ever shagged.
He was like the bosses he'd had during his summer jobs, like the men from the pub that squeezed his ass when he went to buy a drink. He was like the girls that flirted with him because there were rumors he'd do them good. He was like every person on the earth that had ever wanted and never loved him. And it hurt.
With every breath that he took, with every little move of his hand, he felt it surging through his veins. The desire to be different faded into the background, almost as if it had never existed. If this was the only thing he was good for, then he might as well play it all. He might as well give him everything now and be done with it.
It wouldn't make any difference anyway, whether he did it now or in a few weeks. Whether he pretended to be innocent only to be seduced by this teacher. If there had to be some reason he was doing this, it might as well be the fact that he was too proud to let anyone else seduce him for the moment. A strange thought, perhaps. The Slytherin boy who was finally showing his pride, by doing things that poor men and women were bought for every night.
At least he didn't take money for it. Money he had. Material things had never been lacking in his world. His parents house was filled with things, his own wing stuffed with gifts that often still had the price tag on. His room was more a museum than a bedroom, and there had never been anyone to tuck him in at night. He was the boy that spent his twelfth Christmas at home, alone, because the famous Aurors had to work. The boy that had nothing but baked beans to eat because they forgot he was coming over.
He was the boy that wished himself a happy new year by the light of a candle only. That watched through the window as his neighbours cheered and hugged and set off fireworks. Ryan was the one who watched, who probably, logically, knew a lot more about love than anyone else did. He was also the one that love wasn't meant for.
No. He was meant for fucking, for careless whispers and shallow shags in a dorm, a closet or perhaps a sofa. He wasn't the one that would be put down on a bed and made love to. But that was okay. He'd known this all along, hadn't he? Tristram...well he was just another man. Another notch in his bedpost, a thing to brag about to his dorm mates.
He might as well make it a good story. Ryan didn't bother responding to the mans question, pressing lips to his jaw instead as his hands made easy work of the others trousers. He was at his best in the dark. In the dark and on his knees, sucking cock like the good little boy that he was. At least this would be something Professor Blake couldn't grade as dreadful.
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Post by tristramblake on Oct 16, 2008 2:07:58 GMT 1
Tristram staggered backwards as Ryan pushed him, half tripping on a mop as his back slammed into the wall. His phobias was taking control again, and he was loosing all control over his body. He was shaking again, his breathing nothing short of hyperventilating. He half thought he might be sick, but his throat was too constricted for even that. And he couldn’t see, he still couldn’t see. Tears were streaming down his face by then, and he screwed his eyes shut, trying to block out all he horrors, retreat into himself.
Somewhere inside of him, something was yelling, screaming that he was a teacher, that he had to stop this, do something about it, but the phobia has completely taken over, and there was nothing he could but sweat and shake as Ryan undid his belt buckle and slid his trousers down.
Just the feel of Ryan’s mouth on his cock made him cry out, a strangled sound that sounded more like it was cased by fear and pain than pleasure. His eyes rolled back into his head and his body shook harder than ever. His mouth kept letting out moans and whimpers, but his mind had fled from the moment the phobia took hold.
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Post by ryan on Oct 16, 2008 13:40:52 GMT 1
Ryan knew damn well that he could physically please any man. He'd learned how to at the tender age of twelve, when someone first took an interest in him. He was small, always had been, but not as terribly skinny as he was now. The boy had been older, seventeen, eighteen maybe. He'd kept saying that Ryan had such an innocent face, that he looked so young and fragile.
Ry had just wanted someone to love him. He'd done things he wasn't proud of now, things he'd been too young for. Things he had never been ready for, yet he'd done them all. It only took a night or two, for him to be used and discarded. After that, he wanted to run home and tell his parents. He wanted someone to wrap an arm around him and say that he hadn't changed, that it didn't make him any different, any less loveable.
But they hadn't been around, and when they had finally come back, it was too late. He'd fallen victim to his own mind, to that never ending voice that hammered in his head, saying that it had been his fault. That he had done something wrong, something to deserve this. That he would never deserve more.
It was that same voice he'd lived with for four years now. A voice that was chalked up to his disease, when it was finally established. Ryan wasn't sure if that was it, or if maybe the voice was just that of a little kid forced to grow up too soon. Forced to deal with things he was too young for. It reasoned that he'd provoked it somehow.
It was partly the reason why he'd stopped eating at some point. First it was only at dinner time, ignoring the sausages and gravy that were put in front of his plate. Then it became lunch as well, which he claimed he was too busy for. Breakfast...well breakfast had never been his strong point. People didn't seem to notice, or maybe they just didn't care. Except for Marius. Marius was different somehow, and that scared the fuck out of him. Marius hadn't just used his body, he'd made him whole, for just a little while. Because Marius cared. It wasn't love, not in the way he wanted to be loved, but it was something.
And that something scared him so much that he was on his knees now, in a dark cupboard, sucking off his teacher. Because he didn't know how to handle this. People were never just nice. They would always want something, the same age-old thing that he'd come to know. And he was scared that he'd crossed the line with Marius, that he would drive him away like he'd done to everyone else.
It wasn't about pleasure, though the moans and whimpers helped in a strange way. They made it easier for him to stop thinking, to stop going 'Oh my God, what am I doing?' while his head bobbed up and down. He didn't want to think, ever anymore. He just wanted to do what he was good for and never feel that silly hope for a normal day.
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Post by tristramblake on Oct 16, 2008 21:59:28 GMT 1
Tristram couldn’t tell how long he’d been there, pressed up against the wall, sweating and shaking, hardly able to see for the coloured lights that were flashing in front of his eyes. He was having a panic attack, he was dimly aware of that. He was breathing so fast he almost wasn’t at all, and he could hear his heart pounding as if it had relocated to right inside his skull, pressing hard against his eardrums. His stomach felt like it had been caught up in a storm at sea, lurching at pitching as if he was actually standing aboard a ship, not in a broom cupboard at Hogwarts. And of course, the room was spinning.
But this was different from every other panic attack he’d ever had, because never before had he had someone sucking his cock whilst it happened. It was worse, ten times worse than any other. His knees were shaking and he thought they might give out beneath him, and jolts of something electing kept sparking along his nerves, and there was this deep, forbidding pressure that was building up inside him, leading to something terrible, apocalyptic that he feared almost more than he’d ever feared anything before.
And then it hit, ripping through him like the talons of a hippogriff. He felt as if he’d been shot with the killing curse, as if he’d been incinerated from the inside out, and it didn’t stop, like his skin was soaked in oil and on fire. His whole body was convulsing, his head hitting the wall over and over, and as if from far off, he realised hat that should probably hurt. He could hear screams, strangled yells, moans and pleas and wondered for a moment if other people were having the same terrible ordeal as him, before he realised the sounds were coming from his own mouth.
Vaguely, Tristram wondered if he’d died. He didn’t seem to have a body any more, it all seemed to have dissolved away, crumbled to ash and fallen out from under him. At least I don’t need to be worried about the dark any more, he thought, as bright lights fired randomly across his closed eyelids. And then he fainted.
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Post by ryan on Oct 16, 2008 22:16:43 GMT 1
There wasn't much that Ryan was thinking at the moment. He was mainly going through the motions, snippets of thoughts running through his brain, combined with the sounds that Tristram was making. It didn't take him long, he hadn't expected it to, either. It was something he'd learned to be good at, good enough to taste when someone was close to orgasming.
The first time he'd blown someone he'd been surprised and quite honestly a little sickened by the taste. It still wasn't his favorite taste in the world, but he'd learned to deal with it. It was a small price to pay, after all, once the other had shot his load he was free to do what he wanted. It was like a free ride. Only in this case, he felt that he really didn't want to do anything else with or to Professor Blake.
To be honest, he felt a little sick. Mainly of himself, and he was actually relieved when Tristram fainted. It would have made for an amusing sight if it weren't for the fact that he was shivering, needing to get the hell out of here before he consciously realized all he'd fucked up. Finally withdrawing his wand, he made some light, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The man had slumped against the wall, so Ry rearranged him the best he could, making sure that the man was at least a little comfortable - and safely tucked in. After that, he got out as fast as he could, wishing he could run straight to hell.
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