Rory and Sebastian

==Author comment : Thank you so much for your feedback. I wanted to upload a slightly shorter chapter of the two of them getting back into the swing of being a couple. The next story will cover Rory's mom's birthday, as well as bringing back characters for different POVs like Rory's friends Robbie and Virginia. Thank you again. I'm looking forward to bringing the story on to the next stage of their lives, but also I'm enjoying writing them as a college couple!==

*****

==FROM RORY'S POV==

Sebastian lay sprawled on the sofa on the second morning of our three-day visit to his uncle's cottage. He was flicking idly through his phone while I tidied up our breakfast things. He had offered to help, but that seemed like too many of the proverbial cooks for a very simple task. In any case he had cooked, because he seemed to doubt my cooking skills.

"If I had Tinder or Grinder on my phone, even after we started dating, you'd be fucking pissed, right?" he asked.

I glanced over from the sink into the open-plan sitting room: "Is that seriously a question?"

"Obviously, I don't have it," he laughed. "But a friend of mine on the squad at college has it, and his girlfriend just found out. She's really mad and Ryan doesn't seem to get why."

"Well, first of all, if you had Grinder, I'd kill you. Or myself. And/or everyone around us. But even if it was Tinder, yes, I'd be very upset."

"Grinder is worse than Tinder, I guess. There's no pretence there. At least it's honest, I suppose."

"What would you do if I had it?" I didn't feel overly enthused at my boyfriend's defence of the principles of Grinder.

"I'd be devastated," he said. "Why would you want to lead other guys on or flirt with them, unless you didn't love me enough? That's what I'd think."

"You'd be right," I said, joining him as my chores finished. "Because that's what it means when anyone does it."

"People are dumb," he tossed his phone to an empty seat. "I'm trying to make Ryan see her POV on the squad's WhatsApp, but him and half the guys are acting like I'm betraying the bro code. Fuck that. Come cuddle."

He patted his chest with his right hand. I lowered and shuffled my way down until my head rested in the curve of his neck.

"I'm glad we're here for longer, this time round," I said. "It feels like a proper break and, of course, it's lovely here."

Sebastian had started stroking my back. His other hand rested behind his head. "Me too, baby."

"How's your arse today?" I whispered.

"Why the fuck are you whispering? It's a bit late to play coy," he laughed.

I nuzzled into his chest in a half-faux embarrassed way, as his hand on my back pushed me in tighter toward him.

"You're so fucking cute, Rory. And my ass is doing good. Why? Are you hoping to get back on it?"

"I don't care who's on top," I said, truthfully. "I just thought we should make the most of being away together."

"Well," he said, with a stretch and a smirk, "I'd quite like your dick in me again, so I guess that settles it."

I leant up and ran my hand over his cheek and into his hair. "Listen..."

"Oh fuck, what is it?"

"Shut up," I smiled. "Listen, I just wanted to apologise for the other night. I... don't interrupt... I know we sort of sorted it all out yesterday, but I wanted to properly apologise for asking you to sleep down here, rather than upstairs with me. That was less than ideal. I was slightly hysterical with tiredness after the amount of work last term, and I did genuinely, honestly, think you'd put up more than a fight, but I shouldn't have done it and I really am truly sorry."

"I know, sweetheart, and I am sorry if I was rude or embarrassed you in front of your friends at college, too. It's just, you know, getting back into the swing of things."

"Sebastian, I won't ever walk out on us again."

"That's not what you did before."

"Alright, but to re-iterate, I always want to put the effort in, fight the good fight, if that makes sense? When we need to."

"Okay."

He pulled my head down and kissed me on the lips. My tongue parted his lips and I felt him getting hard in his sweatpants. The kiss began to get more intense, signposting its conclusion. I pulled out of the embrace, "I suppose we should go upstairs?"

"In a minute," he grinned. Sebastian pushed me up and got off the sofa. As he stood over me, he peeled his top off and threw it onto the chair with his unwanted phone. Then he commanded, "Sit up, Ror."

I did and he returned to the sofa, straddling me in the process. I placed my hands on his sides as we kissed again. Sebastian was building himself up, his body - that firm, determined frame of his - was already beginning to pulsate with desire. Even after the number of times we had slept together, it was still exhilarating for me to feel how ... I don't know if this is the word, but, how vital he was. It was lovely, intoxicating, wonderful, to be wanted so intensely. And to be swept up in his confidence, energy and lust.

The exhilaration, however, received its customary and temporary chilling twinge when he reached down to inch my own t-shirt off me. Of course, it was pathetic and irredeemably idiotic to still feel even momentary insecurity about my body at this stage with Sebastian. But then, how could I compare to him? When he was so wonderful, so fit, so perfect? I fell short compared to most people, but compared to him...

"Arms up," he grinned. My t-shirt was nudged out of our way and, his arms now on the back of the sofa on either side of my head, my darling swooped in for demanding, insistent kisses on the right hand side of my neck. It drove me wild. Him kissing my neck always did. He then lowered himself to my chest and begin to tease my right nipple with his tongue. He stopped for a second, a glance both knowing and questioning - I must have tensed or breathed in round my stomach. I smiled reassuringly at him and guided his head back to my chest.

"Are we good?" he asked, shrewdly.

"Yes," I half-lied. "Honestly, sweetheart. Please, don't stop."

He bit my nipple this time, a trifle roughly and enveloped the whole thing in his mouth. I arched my back in surprised pleasure since, usually, if I'm quite honest, this doesn't really do very much for me. My hands trailed up and down his back and sides. He had leaned back on my lap to angle into my chest; once he finished with my chest, he lurched back in to kiss me again. I moved my mouth down to his nipples to return the favour, since I know he enjoys it. I smiled with one in my mouth as the thought flashed across my mind that he might not. After all, he might be too polite to say anything. Like me... No, he'd say something.

He stood up and pulled his sweatpants off. He spat roughly into his hand and used it to stroke that magnificent cock of his. He leaned over to yank my bare feet up. He kissed my toes and stared into my eyes. With my big toe in my mouth, he winked at me. I laughed throatily. I was too hard to laugh too much, but too in love not to find his staggering confidence utterly endearing. I reached down and rubbed my boner through my pyjama bottoms. The fucker was beginning to hurt and Sebastian noticed. I lifted my bum off the sofa as he stripped the pyjamas off me and, stopping to kiss and nibble on my inner thigh, he began giving me glorious, wet, sloppy head.

After a few minutes, I pushed him back up to his feet and, still sitting on the sofa, I returned the favour. I loved doing this to him. The angle was awkward and I stopped to get on the ground on my knees in front of him. "Bad angle," I explained with a smile, before guiding his dick back into my mouth. I groaned with pleasure at getting him back in there. I worked up as much spit as I could and began sliding back and forth. Sebastian is a big boy; it takes work to build up momentum. As spit began to trail out of my mouth, he hissed, "Fuck, yes, that's it, baby. You look so fucking perfect like that. Your mouth stuffed full of my dick." His hand came round to the back of my head and he began to thrust a little. I could tell he was trying to hold back a little and I looked up at him, mouth still full and eyes a little watery. I grabbed both of his butt cheeks and began to thrust him in and out. He half-groaned, half-yelled.

"Rory, stop or I'm gonna blow!"

I got up off my knees and he pulled me in for a kiss. I was still a little breathless, so it's no exaggeration to say that for multiple reasons, he had made me go weak at the knees. His hands raced over my back and slapped my arse lightly.

"Should be go upstairs?" I said.

"No. I wanna fuck on the couch. I want you to fuck me on the couch." His hands caressed my balls. "Is that okay with you, stud?"

I giggled. "Whatever you want."

"That's right."

I rolled my eyes. "We still need lube, though."

"Wait here."

He bounded upstairs, naked as a jaybird and I thought, for a second, of what would happen if we made a mess on the sofa. It was red. The cum would stain. But a moment later, Sebastian appeared in front of me again and told me to get on my back. As he straddled me, he licked my fingers and then coated them in lube. When he was prepped and ready to go, I began to ease my cock into his asshole. He took a couple of deep breaths but once it was in, he sighed happily.

"I fucking love this. Okay, Ror, give it to me."

To be more accurate, he gave it to himself, because he of course was doing most of the riding given the position we were in. At one point, my dick fell out of his ass and I started to laugh when I awkwardly tried to reinsert it and kept missing.

"You do it then," I groaned. "I feel incompetent."

"Don't worry. I always know what your cock wants even before you do."

"How can you still be thinking of ..." Gosh, he was tight. "Jokes, Sebastian?"

He stretched over me and we kissed. After a few minutes, we separated as he lay on his back and brought his knees up and legs apart. I re-entered him and he groaned, "I love you so much."

I became more aggressive, hammering in and out of him while he kept up a stream of expletive-leaden encouragements. I squirted some of the lube onto my hand, picking it up from the side table where Sebastian had tossed it, and used my slippery fingers to jerk him off while trying to maintain my own stride. He shot his load over his abs and pecs. There was a fine sheen of sweat on his body and the cum still there when my balls began to tighten.

"I'm going to cum," I told him. "Where do you want it?"

"On my face," he grinned. I, still pre-orgasm, was flustered and red in the face as I pulled out of him. He knelt on the ground and his arms reached around the back of my legs to rub them as I stood over his grinning, open-mouthed face and twinkling eyes, furiously jerking off. He closed his eyes as I erupted, with cum hitting bits of his hair, nose and cheeks. When I'd finished I felt shaky and he stood up to put his arms around me.

"Let's stay here forever," he said. His voice was deep, soothingly authoritative and his arms tightened me into him again. I kissed him on the lips, not even remotely concerned about the state of his face. Every bit of me felt like it was his property, or protectorate. I don't know which. But I knew it was one of the feelings I enjoyed best in the world. His face trailed downwards for his lips to pucker very gently in the crook of my neck.

*

The final day of our stay there, on that occasion, saw the weather break into pleasantness. There was a sense of Spring properly peeping through the clouds and humming through the air. Although it was by no stretch of the imagination warm enough to don t-shirts, we took advantage to roll out a matty old picnic blanket in the cottage's gently sloping back garden. It looked better than it felt, unfortunately, which necessitated Sebastian returning indoors to emerge with cushions from the armchairs and (recently cleaned) sofa.

I began to read a book for my course, about the emergence of Islam, but Sebastian plucked it from my hands. "Read for fun or don't read at all," he said. "You need to relax."

He was sitting upright, sunglasses on for the bright if not overly warming sunshine, and he faced away from me staring out over the garden's stone wall towards the rolling countryside, all of it uninterrupted from this vantage point, save for a few discreet power lines held aloft by old timber posts. My head rested on a cushion near his legs and I faced in the opposite direction to his gaze.

"You read history all the time," I protested in my most feeble spirit. I yawned. I could smell lavender from the garden's bushes.

"Yeah, but I'm a loser."

I snorted disbelievingly and smiled. "Won't you read aloud to me, then?" I asked. "That would be lovely."

"Why? You've got a much more beautiful voice than me."

I yawned again and nestled further into the cushion. I put my hand on his leg: "Please, darling. I'd like it."

He grinned at me. "You're hand on my leg could get me to do anything. Fine. But you'll be bored," he warned, as he picked up his book.

The words floated out over the garden, carried by his warm voice. He read with feeling and eventually lay back on the rug. It was a biography of Benjamin Disraeli and I have never forgotten it. Not because it was particularly interesting, although I'm sure to anyone interested in politics it would have been, but because he read it with such feeling and such sincerity. It was the kind of delivery that could only come from someone who truly and profoundly understood what they were reading. Even more so than his physicality, Sebastian's intelligence was one of those things that I acclimatised to, in the sense, I mean, that I would tell people when I spoke of him that he was 'clever'. He was and I knew that he was. It was an adjective I used to describe him all the time, but when you are around someone so much and are so very close to them, I think it's perfectly possible to lose sight of their most obvious traits. Or, at least, to grow so accustomed to them that you stop appreciating them. Then, every so often, you're reminded of them in full and glorious technicolour. Listening to him read from that book made my heart swell with pride and awe. My mind floated back to one of our first dates, when he had spoken so eloquently about the Spanish Inquisition, one of his favourite topics, and I had been condescendingly taken aback to discover that the frat-esque boy from the First XV rugby squad had such a deep and insightful mind.

When he reached the end of the chapter, he closed the book and patted his chest. I moved over to him, but kept myself prone, facing towards him as he chatted. A few days after we got home to Kent, my parents were going to be hosting a big party for my mother's birthday and Sebastian was, of course, invited as my plus one. This raised the ghost of him having to spend more time in close quarters with my brother Dermot, whose disapproval of our re-kindled romance was a running sore. Sebastian usually affected to be unperturbed by Dermot's animosity and politely avoided mentioning it whenever he could. However, Dermot was both feisty and utterly incapable of hiding his glowers. Given that he was my brother and they would be attending my mother's birthday, there was nothing that Sebastian could do if Dermot crossed the line from icily disdainful to out-and-out rude.

"Dermot will be fine, Sebastian," I said, in a deliberately calm tone. "He won't do anything to ruin Mum's evening and he's been fine about you and I for months."

"He's been fine with you about you and I," corrected Sebastian. "He leaves the room when I'm around."

"That was Christmas."

"I know you Mastertons," he smiled. "You know how to hold a grudge."

"Don't worry..."

"I'm not worried."

"Liar."

"Not liking something isn't the same as being worried. Would you like it if Evan treated you the way Dermot treats me?"

"That's different," I reasoned. "Evan's older."

"Dermot's old enough."

His jaw had set and I could tell he was getting annoyed, which was my cue to un-press the point. There was no point in ruining the afternoon by an overly zealous defence of Dermot, especially considering that I agreed with Sebastian that Dermot was behaving poorly and that, by all rights, Evan and Jenny Carson had equal reason to be horrid to me, when you thought that their brother had been just as upset by our long ago break up as I had been. Thoughts of different people's reactions to our separation raised another flag about our homecoming.

"Dominic Kirchner's having another party on the 5th," I said. "Are you going?"

He sighed. "Probably not. Are you?"

"No," I said, firmly. He noticed the abruptness.

"That was very firm, baby."

"He invites Joshua Peterly," I explained, trying to sound nonchalant and failing miserably.

"Fuck, yeah. New Year's," he remembered. "Well, if you're not going, I'm not, either."

"You don't have to do that. He was on the squad with you."

"If he wants me there, or you, he should know not to invite Joshua fucking Peterley. I know Dom's an idiot, but he's not that stupid. Everyone knows how I feel about that stupid cunt."

"I defriended Joshua."

"Good. I did the same back in school."

"Did you?"

"Course I did. After what he did to you. I threatened to beat the shit out of him, so a friendship on Facebook seemed a bit disingenuous, right?"

I remained silent. A bird sang somewhere nearby and a stronger gust of wind heightened the scent of lavender. I tried to push Joshua Peterly out of my head, lest my unconscious accidentally began to associate that lovely smell with memories of him.

"When did you defriend him?" asked Sebastian. "You should have done it in school after he cyber-bullied you."

"I was not 'cyber-bullied'," I protested. "Especially not by a moronic insect like Joshua."

"Fuck up. Yes, you were. There's no shame in saying that. Jesus."

"I unfriended him after you and I broke-up. He messaged me two weeks after it happened - 'Just heard that he cheated on you. Guess he got tired of having a fat fuck.' After that..."

"He what?"

I nodded. I'd been gazing over him for a few minutes, but I refocused to his face at his question. I half-smiled and gently shrugged. "Of course he did, Sebastian, that's what he's like. It's irrelevant now, anyway. Obviously."

I could feel how tense he was beneath me. "He what?"

"Don't get angry."

"That stupid... vicious... For fuck's sake, Rory. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Why does it matter? It was ages ago, we weren't together and he's, you know, awful. Please don't get angry."

"How can I fucking not get angry?"

"What are you going to do, Sebastian? Re-friend him to de-friend him? Drive to his house and donkey punch him for something that happened nearly two years ago? Who knows, maybe he's grown up... Sweetheart, don't get angry. Relax. Sebastian, you mustn't be so cross."

I traced my fingers through his hair, but even from behind his sunglasses I could tell he wasn't looking in my direction. I let him simmer for a few minutes and kept caressing him.

"I don't like people thinking I cheated on you," he said eventually. His voice sounded strained and there was a slight tremble in it. "I wouldn't want anyone to think... It would annoy me if people thought I didn't know how lucky I was."

"What does matter what anybody else thinks?" I soothed. I kissed him on the cheek. "Sebastian - you'd burst a vein if you thought I was taking seriously anything someone like Joshua said."

He pulled me in and sighed in defeat. "It's just shitty and annoying, but you're right."

The wind blew harder again. "Isn't it idyllic?" I said.

He smiled but didn't answer.

"Sebastian..."

"It's just that one day we're going to get married and I don't want people think I'm a douchebag that you settled on or who didn't appreciate it. Whatever. It's annoying."