Six Dead Poets

This story is part of a loose timeline. Some other stories containing these characters are:

Jesse, it was really nothing!

Jesse's Charming Plan

I might Share You

Tags include: #Yaoi, #hair-pulling, #knifeplay, #dominance, #oral, #bondage, #mutual-masturbation, #submission, #older man/younger man

* * * * *

"Jesse?"

I woke to cigarette-scented breath against my face and opened one eye. Will, my best mate and occasional gay lover, was crouched by the bed.

"Good, you're awake. Get dressed."

He straightened up as I stretched.

"Fuck off, Will, I didn't sleep last night and I'm topping Summoner's Rift in—" I checked my phone, "three hours."

Will snorted. "You're not topping anything, Jess. At least, not in this lifetime."

"Ha, ha."

I gave him a pissed off look as he tried to tug the covers off me. "Fuck off! Christ, don't you have anyone else you can annoy?"

I pulled the covers back around me. It was the middle of summer and I was naked under them. And me naked plus Will in this mood, usually led to having to change my sheets the next day or face my girlfriend, Luce's, wrath;

Whose dried cum am I lying in right now, Jesse? And why is there so goddamn much of it?

"Either get up now, or you're going to need to wash your hair before we go out," said Will.

Nice. Get up or he'd cum on my face. Pure class.

"Last chance," he said. "Get. Up."

I closed my eyes and groaned. I was so goddamn tired, and he wanted to make me face people. All I wanted was to spend the night playing LoL, taking the piss out of my team and drinking Red Bull until I got the shakes.

"Right."

The bed dipped as Will climbed over me. He rolled onto his side on the wall-side of the bed and pushed his fingers into my hair.

I half closed my eyes, paralysed, as his fingers massaged against my skull. Then, with a look of smug triumph, he tightened his grip. I closed my eyes and pulled against him as he grabbed the covers with his free hand and hauled them off me.

Cold air hit me, the comfort of sleep evaporating as he ran a hand across my chest and down over my stomach to close around me.

"Warned you, mate."

He rolled up onto all fours and kissed me, his hand still gripping my hair. I opened my mouth to take his tongue, any sense of resistance gone, while he stroked me hard with a firm hand.

I opened my eyes as he let go of my hair and moved down the bed. My hands pressed to his shoulders, then moved to his short, sandy hair, as he took me into his mouth, his eyes on my face.

He didn't waste time, just fucked my cock with his mouth. It took him five minutes to bring me off, and as I came, I met his gaze and saw just how much pleasure he got from my constant readiness to fuck him; even when I didn't know I wanted to fuck him.

He licked the taste of me from the inside of his mouth and made a popping sound with his lips. "Get up. Before I give you a protein hair treatment."

I rolled my eyes, but swung my legs out of bed and got up. As I pulled my robe on, he got off the bed and went to my wardrobe.

He started hunting through my clothes and threw what he wanted on the bed while I watched him.

"What are you doing?"

He glanced up at me. "Saving time. Go, shower. I want to be there by nine."

"Be where, exactly?"

"Private party. You'll like it."

"Right."

"Jess?"

I looked up from considering the clothes on the bed.

"Can you have a fucking shower, please? And shave everything."

"Why would I do that?"

But before I could argue, he put a finger to his lips, and a hand against my chest, pushing me towards the door.

"Go. Hurry up."

I stood in the shower and looked down at the job in front of me. Demanding prick. Thing was, indulging him was usually worth it. Even if it seemed like a lot of effort at the time.

I got to work.

When I got back to the bedroom, he had a can of mousse in his hand.

"Does this make hair look wet?" he asked.

"Yyeees. Why?"

He looked at the can. "Okay."

I pulled on the skinny biker jeans he'd laid out, which were tight against my legs and loose around my crotch, and pulled on the zip-up biker boots he'd chosen, noting he'd picked the ones that were easiest to get off, rather than the lace-ups I usually wore. I held up the fitted t-shirt he'd chosen.

"Really? Not long sleeves?"

Picking this one meant the blue serpent tattoo on my left bicep would show, and I knew he hated it.

He slung an arm around my neck and traced a circle around my nipple. "You're not dressing for me."

I glanced sideways at him. I knew better than to ask. Whatever he had in mind, I'd find out roughly around the time it happened.

He brushed a palm across my nipples, then ran his hand down across my stomach and pushed it into my pants.

"Fuck," I squirmed under his hand. "What are you doing?"

He was massaging my cock, and not leaving my balls unloved, was what he was doing.

He pulled his hand back out of my pants. "Just making sure I could get my hand in there."

"Well done you, mate."

I pulled on the t-shirt. I'd been working out with him the last few months, and I had more to fill it out with than I had when I'd bought it.

"Very nice," he said, stroking it flat against my stomach.

"Mate, if you think you're putting me on the game, you can fuck right off."

He laughed and pushed his hand into the back of my jeans to squeeze my arse.

"Trust me."

"Yeah, but I don't, do I?" I said.

I pulled away from him and started tying leather around my wrists. I left my eyebrow ring (ironic) and earrings as they were.

He watched me put on eye makeup in the mirror, then handed the can of mousse to me.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" It was Luce's. My hair was shoulder length, and I usually just left it alone once it was dry.

"You ever watch those Japanese cartoons?"

"Anime?"

Yeah. Maybe once or twice.

"Yeah. Can you do your hair like that?"

What the fuck was he planning? I gave him a sidelong look as I took the can from him and squirted a good handful of mousse out, then worked it into my hair. When I was done, my hair was sleek and flat, separated into sharp spikes, with strands of it shaped so that it fell across my face.

I turned to him. "That what you want?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Good." He put a hand to his mouth, considering me. "Okay, jacket."

He picked up the one he'd tossed on the bed. It was a black denim motorcycle-style jacket. I was glad he hadn't gone with leather. It was too warm for leather.

I slipped it on and he nodded his approval.

"Right." He took something from his pocket. Will's pockets were like a magical fucking treasure chest. "Get your hair out the way."

I held it clear while he fastened a leather thong around my neck, then let my hair settle again and looked at the pendant in the mirror.

"Did you just brand me?" The circular silver pendant had a 'W' stamped into it.

"Maybe," he said, and grinned.

His obvious excitement made me nervous, but whatever he had planned, I knew I'd probably enjoy it. But that didn't mean I was going to let him do whatever he liked.

I picked up a bottle of Hugo Boss from the dresser and he took it from my hand.

"Ah, no, not that cheap shit."

He picked up his own cologne from beside the bed and sprayed it on me. I coughed and waved a hand in front of my face.

"I didn't need it in my mouth."

"Then learn to shut your mouth."

He grinned as I gave him a filthy look, and patted his pockets. He was wearing his black utility jacket and I wouldn't have been surprised if he was packing a bottle of tequila and a nine inch dildo in there.

"Right, let's go."

I jogged down the stairs ahead of him and put my head around the door to the lounge to say goodbye to Luce. She wasn't there. Last we'd spoken, she'd planned on staying in tonight and having some friends over. No Luce. No Luce's friends.

"Did you see Luce on your way in?" I asked Will.

He shook his head.

Odd, but I was sure she'd be fine.

"Right, cab should be waiting," said Will, and pushed me out the front door.

We drove into the city, and then down towards Portishead. After travelling along a narrow wooded lane for a couple of kilometres, the cab turned into the driveway of an old two-story detached house surrounded by grass and trees. The land sloped away to water, and I could smell the stink of mangroves.

"What is this place?"

I couldn't hear any music coming from the house, which meant this wasn't the kind of party I was expecting.

"It's a private venue," said Will, as he checked the time on his phone. "Good. Five minutes early."

The moon was high over the water, making his eyes glow pale like a husky's. He put a hand to the hair that fell across my face and flicked it back, but with all that mousse in it, it just swung back into place.

"Your hair's gone hard."

"Yes," I said. "So, we're here because?"

He put his hands in his pockets. "Twice a year they hold a party here; at the end of winter and at the end of summer."

"So, they're holding this party because winter is coming."

He sighed. "You know, mate, I'm quite glad your mouth's going to be full for the rest of the night."

I frowned as he clapped me on the back. "Shall we go in?"

We walked up the steps together and he knocked on the door.

A woman opened the door wearing a white tennis dress with a scoop neck that showed off giant tits, her neck strung with diamonds, and her platinum blonde hair styled into curls that fell against her shoulders.

"And you are?" she asked Will. Asked Will. Not me.

"William Blake," said Will, as The Lady's eyes roved over every part of me except my eyes. She met those last.

That wasn't his last name. Will's last name was Sullivan.

"And this is?"

"Jesse," said Will.

"He's your entry?" the woman asked.

Will nodded.

"Does he... perform?" she asked.

"Uh, I am standing right here, you rude bit—"

Will put a hand over my mouth, keeping his gaze locked to The Woman's.

I pushed his hand away. "What the fuck, Will?"

Will put an arm around my shoulders and said quietly, "Shut the fuck up, Jess."

The woman smiled at us. At me. It was unsettling.

"I see you've marked him already. Good. Well, come in then."

Will gave her a polite nod of the kind you didn't often see outside period dramas, and put his hand on my back, guiding me inside.

I stepped over the threshold into a foyer that smelled like Christmas. It was lit with a huge scented candle burning on a side table next to a sheaf of cinnamon sticks in an earthenware jar. It was a relaxing, welcoming scent, and some of the tension dropped out of my shoulders.

A set of stairs directly ahead led up to the second level, while to my right I could see into a mood-lit lounge, where low jazz music was playing. Down the hall to my left was another dimly lit room out of which floated the sounds of cutlery against plates and clinking glasses.

The woman closed the front door behind us.

"Take him into the lounge and introduce him before you take him upstairs. You're in room three aren't you?"

Again, she spoke to Will. Not to me.

He nodded.

"Very good," she said.

I put my hands in my pockets and stubbornly turned to face Will as The Woman stalked off in the direction of the dining room, the skirt of her dress swinging against the backs of her tanned thighs.

"What the fuck is this?"

Will put his hands on my shoulders. "Relax."

"No."

"Have I

ever

put you in a situation you couldn't handle?"

Open for debate. If I had a boundary, Will seemed to think it was his job to fuck his way through it.

"You'll enjoy yourself. I'd tell you more, but it'd spoil things for everyone."

"What the fuck am I supposed to do?" I hissed at him.

He stepped in close and rested his forehead against mine. "Trust me. Follow my lead. Be your charming self."

"And if I want out of here?"

"Say you want out and we're out of here. No questions. No hesitation."

I looked into his eyes and figured he meant it.

"Fine. Introduce me."

The lounge was filled with middle-aged men in expensive suits smoking cigars and drinking cognac. The waiters who passed around the hors d'oeuvres all looked our age or younger. They were all young guys; androgynous young guys. I was starting to get a sense for why I was here.

Flames crackled in the grate of a huge open fireplace, and the room was filled with the smell of cigars and wood smoke.

It was lit by dimmed chandeliers, the steady walking bass of jazz music low enough for the men to talk over without raising their voices, as long as their conversation was intimate.

I turned to Will as we stood just inside the entrance. "Did you sell me into slavery?"

He laughed and patted my shoulder. "I don't think you're ready for that."

I shot him a glance as a man looked up and noticed us. The moment he did, the others stopped their discussions about whatever fascinating things England's elite discussed over cognac, and turned towards us.

Will patted my shoulder. "Hi folks. I'm Will and this is Jesse. We'll be up in room three."

One of the younger men in the room, dressed in a dark blue suit with a blue tie cut with white diagonal stripes, walked up to us. He did the same eye-roving thing the woman had, only when he was done, he held out his hand for me to shake.

I took it and gave him a firm handshake, matching his grip.

He smiled and turned to Will. "Room three?"

Will nodded.

"I like room three." He winked at me. "You're delectable."

"Do you have a name?" I asked.

"Byron," he said.

No it fucking wasn't.

He looked to be in his mid forties, with dark hair receding at the temples, and light brown eyes that glittered in the low light of the lounge.

"I'll see you in room three," he said, and moved out of the way so another man could inspect me.

After a succession of men introduced themselves as 'Tennyson', 'Hardy', 'Wordsworth', 'Yeats' and 'Emerson', I gave up bothering to try and remember their names. They didn't want to say who they were, I wouldn't bother trying to figure it out.

Finally, a heavyset older gentleman approached us. As he did, the others moved back respectfully, giving him space. They watched quietly as he moved in close to me and did the oddest thing. He put his hands on my shoulders and sniffed my hair.

As he let out his breath, I smelled cognac and cigar smoke against some woody scent, some cologne he was wearing, and felt something stir in the pit of my stomach.

I said nothing as he took a spike of my hair and slid it between two fingers. His fingers smelled of cherry tobacco. I recognised it because my granddad had smoked cherry tobacco in his pipe, and his flat had reeked of it.

He put his fingers under my chin and tilted my face up, and pressed his lips against mine.

The second man to ever kiss me. I hadn't been expecting that.

I reached out for Will, and he put his hand on my arm.

"Jesse, this is Oscar. He owns this place."

'Oscar' finished his tongueless kiss and pulled back. He brushed his thumb over my mouth and the smell of cherry tobacco was overpowering. There was an electric hunger in his light blue eyes.

"Do you suck cock?" he asked.

My mouth dropped open.

"Yes," said Will, since I wasn't capable of speaking. "Quite likes it."

Oscar smiled. He pulled at a suit jacket that didn't close over his girth and tilted his head to one side. "See you in room three."

As he stepped back, the others resumed their conversation. I watched him wander off, following a waiter; either chasing down the hors d'oeuvres or just chasing down the waiter, it was hard to tell.

Will patted my shoulder. "Shall we head upstairs?"

"Can I at least have a drink?"

"You don't want this stuff, mate, trust me."

I walked ahead of him up the stairs, feeling his eyes on my arse, and walked down the hall until I reached a door that said, conveniently, 'Room 3' on an ornate gold plaque.

I pushed the door open, and Will closed it behind us.

The room was done out in earth tones, lit by low-hung chandeliers that cast an orange light against the ceiling. It was filled with teak furniture, with a heavy wooden bed in the centre flanked either side by ornate plush chairs upholstered in red, with gold-painted woodwork. At the foot of the bed was a buttoned leather ottoman that ran the width of the bed.

On the teak buffet that ran down one wall was a silver tray holding a bottle of red wine and two wine glasses.

"Wine?" I said to Will. "Why don't we get the good stuff?"

Will laughed. "Because theirs is full of Viagra, and we don't need that shit."

"I need something," I grumbled. "What the fuck is going on?"

The place felt suspiciously like a brothel.

Will sat me on the ottoman and then poured us both glasses of wine. He left his on the tray and handed the other glass to me.

I took a sip. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't my thing. I patted my jacket pockets. I was sure I'd packed entertainment before I'd left.

Will folded his arms and watched me search my pockets until I met his gaze.

"You do this straight, or you don't do it at all," he said. "I need to know if you need to pull out, and if you're fucked up, you're not going to be able to tell me."

"But I can have wine?" I said, with a hint of sarcasm.

He nodded. "You can have your twelve percent. You just can't have anything I found in the plastic bag in your pocket."

Did it surprise me he'd pick pocketed me? Not in the fucking slightest.

"Okay, the rules," he said. "I'm here to make sure you're okay. I won't be joining in, because my focus is your safety. But once we get home, you'd better believe I'm going to fuck the crap out of you."

"Okay," I said, dubious.

"Room three is the 'oral' room," he went on. "So no one's going to fuck you in here. Mostly they'll expect you to give, but don't be surprised if someone wants to suck you off."

I swallowed hard. I was

getting

hard. I sipped my wine as he carried on.

"They'll take our phones. It's a privacy precaution. Some of the clients might want you blindfolded, or the lights off. The bolder ones won't care, but be aware everything's being recorded, so that they have a record of it if you try to blackmail them later."

"Oookay." Why the fuck would he think bringing me here was a good idea? I looked around for cameras, but if they were there, they were well hidden.

"You'll need to sign a waiver saying you're okay with all of this before anyone comes through that door. Once you do, nothing you say will get you out that door except the phrase you and I agree on here and now. What do you want it to be?"

"How about 'get me the fuck out of here?'" I suggested.

"Too long. I need one word that you can say no matter how panicked you get."

Panicked?

He stepped up to me and put his hands on my shoulders.

"Things can get intense. You're going to enjoy yourself, but at any point that might turn to panic. Happens to at least half the guys who come here. It's nothing to be ashamed of, but keep it to one word. Some people use the traffic light system. Green means good to go, yellow means go slow, red means stop. But you still need a word that gets you out of this place."

I thought about it. "Home?"

"Okay. Home's fine. Last up, you decide what you want to do, but expect physical guidance. You don't like what's happening, say so. They might listen, they might not. But don't use 'home' unless you want me to pull you out of here and take you home. I hear that word, there won't be any more discussion, we'll be gone. I don't care if you're naked, I don't care if your dick's in some guy's mouth, we're gone. You understand?"

I nodded.

He walked back over to the dresser and gestured for me to join him. I got up and he handed me a pen.