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TWO
That night Danny had the same dream.
He was wrapped deep in a pile of straw, just like usual. It was dusty, suffocating.
It was high summer, very hot and pitch black: no light at all, like he was blind.
At this stage it wasn’t threatening. There was no sense of menace in the darkness, only a kind of doped paralysis. He could smell the hay, feel its weight on his body, but his breathing was easy and deep, as if at some level he knew he was safely asleep.
Abruptly he realised he was in the old hayloft at Jerrett’s, and with the knowledge came a peculiar shifting of the light, as if he’d come into the darkness after being outside, his eyes slowly adjusting, becoming aware of hazy red silhouettes, of objects swimming slowly, and with a faint hint of menace, into focus. Then the weight on him shifted and he realised that someone, or something, was lying on top of him.
He tried to lift himself off the floor and couldn’t, but now it was not that doped paralysis that prevented him, it was whatever was on top of him, pinning him down. Then the weight shifted again and became, unmistakably, a person. A man. He could smell fresh sweat from him, feel their skins sticking together as if they were both barechested.
“Danny…”
The voice seemed to call from a long distance away. He knew that voice, but he was still blinded, struggling to see.
“Danny…”
The man was somehow closer, hotter. He could feel breath on his face now, like a draught of hot air. He struggled again to get up, and it was as if the man suddenly came into his own body much as Danny had, as if he too had been paralysed up to that point.
He felt the unmistakable sensation of the man’s face close to his, his cheek brushing against his as he turned his head. He felt a sudden and immediate panic, but now he was gripped, as if the man held his head rigid in two massive hands. He was going to kiss him. Danny knew it before the man even moved. Then his lips were there, horribly cold and wet in that heat, as if the man were dead or frozen.
The man’s mouth moved off, trailing across his cheek. He felt heavy and drugged under the odd icy, burning trail of that mouth. He was aware of a bitter metallic taste on his lips, like snail-slime. He felt poisoned, slowly dying.
“Danny.”
The voice was suddenly right in his ear, no longer disembodied, but breathless and urgent, close.
Danny could feel a sudden excitement. The man had not touched him, there was nothing sexual in that cold kiss, and yet Danny had gone from nowhere to the point of no return in seconds.
The man was suddenly thrusting against him. He could feel his tongue, a horribly cold, thick thing, trying to push between his lips, and yet, somehow, he was still saying Danny’s name, over and over again, in that low, urgent voice.
Danny felt himself surge up as the man’s tongue finally pushed into his numb mouth. It felt huge, thrusting down his throat, coated in that same thick poisonous slime. Danny gagged convulsively, body jerking up. He groaned and twitched as the man’s smell seemed to engulf his head: salty, sweet, exotic – horribly familiar.
“Wake up, Danny. For Christ’s sake, wake up.”
Danny’s eyes jerked open, body half upright, panting with fright, as someone shook him.
He found himself held there, staring at John, half-dressed, frowning down at his pale face.
He blinked stupidly and dropped back down onto the bed as John let him go, defensively pressing his fists to his sticky groin. “What is it?”
John’s frown deepened, eyes going from Danny’s glistening chest to his face before he said, “It’s time to get up. What did you think, fire drill?” There was a pause that felt a hundred years old before he added, “What was all the groaning and moaning for?”
Danny blinked again, eyes suddenly somehow focusing on John’s, then he blushed the dull brick red of all redheads. “Nothing, bad dream.”
John smiled disbelievingly, his eyes flicking down the bed to where the unmistakable shape of an erection showed through the thin summer blanket.
Danny tugged over onto his side, curling up, face flaming. “Why don’t you fuck off and let me get up?”
John smiled a small smile. “Seems to me you’re up already.” He stood up slowly and moved to the door. “And you’ve overslept half an hour.”
“Alright, alright. If you’d piss off I’ll get up.”
“Don’t worry about me.” He opened the door. “I’ve seen it before, remember?” And he went out, closing the door behind him.
Danny lay there for a second or two, fists clenched, eyes tight shut, then he sat up and jerked the sheet back, trying to dry up the mess as best he could.
His cock was still standing to attention as if it had some kind of depressing intention of never going down. He could still feel his skin crawling with the unpleasant sensation of the man’s skin against his, the crushing weight. He felt repulsed by his own arousal.
Stuffing his ill-disciplined member inside his trousers, he pulled on the rest of his clothes and went downstairs.
Rab was hanging off the tractor, passing something down to Ian in the yard. He swung round when Danny came out the kitchen door. “Well, well, look who’s at the cow’s tail.”
Danny said nothing. John stuck his head round the kitchen door. “He got lost in a dirty dream. Couldn’t tear himself away.”
“Oh yeah? Who was it then? Anyone we know?” Rab climbed down off the tractor at the possibility of a new point of attack.
John came out the back door, wiping his hands. “Won’t say. Obviously a big girl though, you should have seen the size of his hard-on.”
Rab laughed, too loudly, but Ian only ran a hand through his lank hair. He smiled though; that twisted smirk that served him for a smile. Oh, Ian was happy enough.
“Practising for the big day maybe.” John was suddenly close up behind him, making Danny spin round at his nearness.
Ian laughed sourly. “What big day? He hasn’t got a cherry left to lose – unless it’s with a sheep.”
Danny pushed past him aggressively. “Are we going to do any work this morning or are we just going to fuck about?”
Rab winked at John over his shoulder. “Tetchy, tetchy.”
“Must be love,” John answered softly, no smile at all.
Danny stopped and turned. He had never realised before just how irritating his brother’s face could be.
“Come on, you lot, get a move on.” Their father came out, slamming the back door, shattering the moment.
Another day had started.
They came into the kitchen in dribs and drabs at one o’clock. The tractors were hot and creaking in the noon sun. Already Danny could feel yesterday’s sunburn playing up, although he’d kept his T-shirt on for as long as possible.
Rab and Ian were already at the table. His mother was ferrying cold food over from the fridge. “Eat,” she said to him. “Before it gets hot.”
Danny pulled his shirt off and sat down, well away from the sun slanting in the back door.
Rab leaned back in his chair and smiled his dirty smile. “Well, Don Juan?”
Danny gave him a warning look.
His mother looked up at him from the plate of ham she was cutting. “Don Juan?”
“He’s taking the piss,” Danny said, trying to divert her attention.
“I’ve told you before about that expression.” She slapped ham on his plate. “Why Don Juan? What have you been up to?”
“Nothing.” He concentrated on cutting his meat, trying to hide his irritation. He didn’t know why he was bothering.
Rab and Ian exchanged malicious glances.
“Leave him alone, you two,” she said flatly, and went into the living-room in search of missing glasses.
Ian immediately sat forward, body bent over the table, elbows spread wide. “Think our Daniel’s left his mother any dirty evidence?” He made a small noise like he was sucking his teeth.
Rab sat back again, laughing abruptly, too loudly, just like he’d done that morning in the yard.
Ian’s body bent further forward – so far he had to tilt his head in order to look up into Danny’s face. “Oh, he’s a dark horse, our Daniel. Wouldn’t know it to look at him, would you?”
He dropped his cheek suddenly onto his hands, like a small child falling asleep, then began tracing a pattern on the table with his fingertip. He whispered so softly that Danny barely heard him, “Bet I can guess who it was about…”
Danny jerked up out his seat. “Why don’t you fucking shut up?” His face was scarlet.
“Here, what’s the language in aid of?” His father came in, shaking out his shirt. “Well?” he demanded, looking from one to the other.
Danny was standing at the table, glaring. Ian sank back in an odd satiated boneless slump. It was Rab who answered, “He’s just getting upset at nothing, as usual.”
“Tell them to leave off me,” Danny demanded.
His father turned to him. “Who the hell are you shouting at? You go and eat outside if you can’t control your temper.”
“Don’t worry, I’m going.” And he grabbed his plate and stalked out the door.
“You two want to…”
But Danny didn’t hear the rest of his father’s sentence.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: If you can’t be bothered waiting six years to read the whole story, I suggest you fork out the measly £8.49 and buy a copy of the book (available from Poison Pixie’s own site or via Amazon sellers or Kindle)
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