Date: Sun, 2 Aug 2009 05:18:22 +0000 (GMT)
From: Alex Douglas <alex_d0uglas@yahoo.co.uk>
Subject: the price part 7

Copyright Alex Douglas 2009

Author's note: This is a revised version of a previous unfinished story.
It's taken me 6 years to finish it, so finally here it is. All feedback
greatly appreciated. Email me at alex_d0uglas@yahoo.co.uk and I'll do my
best to reply.

- - - - -


He didn't tell anyone about what the consultant had told him. He felt
helpless and out of control. There was no sense drinking it away, so he lay
on the sofa, filling his brain with inane daytime TV and thinking of
nothing. Megan was exhausted after Jack had developed colic and Cal was
busy catching up with his family, it seemed, because he saw nothing of
either of them. His mood was so black he didn't particularly care. He
didn't want to see anyone. He ordered food and slept, long, dreamless
hours. At least the nightmares had eased off. But it was hard to feel
grateful.

A few days later, Owen called round. "What's going on, mate?" he said,
handing Sean a bunch of flowers. "Haven't heard from you in ages, it
seems. Do we need to have a conversation?"

Sean put the flowers in a vase. "A conversation about what?" he said,
pulling at the excess leaves absently.  "Oh, you mean...that." It felt
strange to use his voice again, after so many days alone.

Owen sat down and ran his hands through his hair. He'd shaved off his
beard. It made him look younger. At the same time, the skin was whiter
where it had been. Sean felt a smile curling at the corner of his
mouth. "That's a nice Irish beard," he remarked.

A grin lit up Owen's face. "Yeah," he said, rubbing his chin. "Didn't think
about the tan thing when I shaved. You don't, do you, when the weather's
like this all the time." He gestured to the window. The sky was grey, the
clouds heavy with another impending delivery of rain. "Suppose I'm outside
a lot, though."

"Anyway," Sean took a couple of beers from the fridge, "you didn't come
here to talk about the weather."

"Cheers," Owen clinked his bottle against Sean's and took a drink. "Yeah,
no, I just wanted to ask. Where this is going, like. I really like you, you
know that. But I get the feeling your heart's not really in it." He
paused. " Are you going to tell me I'm wrong?" His face was so earnest, his
eyes green like the forest.

Sean sighed. "No, you're not wrong. I really like you too, but..." he took
a drink. "There's someone else. Nothing's happened, I don't know if it ever
will, but it's not fair on you... unless you're just after something
casual, of course."  He winked, trying to shift the heavy mood. "That's all
I'm good for at the moment, to be honest." They were difficult words to
say. But he felt better for telling the truth, finally.

"It's that bloke who called round here, Cal?" Owen's voice was neutral. He
was picking at his thumbnail, as if he was trying not to care.

"I suppose," Sean said. "But...well, you know what's happened. It's not
like we're going to go prancing off into the sunset anytime soon."

Owen chewed his lip. Finally, he cocked his head to one side and
smiled. "Casual, then?" he said. "I guess I can live with that, until
someone else comes along."

Sean smiled, surprised. "You're pretty amazing, you know that?"

A big grin. "That's what they all say."

"Well, "they" are spot on. And you're not bad at the guttering either."

"Cheeky bastard!" Owen laughed, and Sean felt his mood lighten. Owen stood
up and put down his beer. "Want to see my new tattoo?" He pulled off his
t-shirt and turned his back, peering over his shoulder at a black Chinese
symbol on the small of his back. "It'll give the ladies something else to
look at when my workman's arse is showing, like."

Sean's eyes travelled over the symbol, the tight muscles of Owen's back,
the faint t-shirt tan. His jeans were loosely balanced on his hips, the tip
of his crack just a shadow. "Nice," he said. "What does it mean?"

"It means "tiger" as in "tiger in the sack". At least, " he laughed, "I
think it does. Can't bloody read it, can I!"

Sean ran his fingers over the smooth skin. "Well, let's see if that's
true...tiger," he said, laughing. Owen's kiss was hot and slow and wet, and
he felt his cock start to emerge from its hibernation. Under different
circumstances, he thought, then Owen's hand slid down his zipper and he
thought no more.


= = = = =



A couple of days later, Declan Crilly called, to remind Sean about the
class reunion. Two weeks to go. Can't go to that in a wheelchair. Sean
finished drying the dishes from the night before and threw the tea towel
down, wiping his brow. Grabbing a packet of crisps, he went into the living
room and sprawled over the sofa, marveling at the addictive qualities of
Trisha and Jeremy Kyle. He watched Jeremy casting judgement on a teenager
who'd fathered six children in a year. "You go, Jeremy!" he muttered,
raising a handful of crisps to his mouth. "Last thing we need is more chavs
running around."

Now he'd had time to think, he knew in his heart there was only one
option. The cast, the wheelchair, more physio. He had already accepted it
in his mind. There was just the practical side to worry about. He would
need help with pretty much everything,just like before. But he couldn't
move in with Megan again now she had the baby, it wouldn't be fair. Then
he'd had a brainwave and called Jude to see if she was available to help
out, and luckily for him, she was. She'd taken a holiday after Jeff's
death, going to Australia to visit her sister. "It'll be nice to look after
someone who's going to get better," she said, and they had made
arrangements, sorted out fees and chatted about the weather in Perth.

"Damn sight nicer than this shit," Sean remarked to himself, remembering
the conversation, looking out at the grey skies. People were talking about
April showers. But since it rained most of the year, it seemed like a moot
point. Despite the weather, he felt a lot happier. The date for the
operation was scheduled two days after the class reunion.

The credits started to roll up the screen as tears were rolling down the
young father's face. Time to go out, do something. Go for a walk, while he
still could, rain or no rain. But just as he was pulling on his coat, he
heard a bang outside. Opening the door, he saw Cal's Audi parked
haphazardly on the pavement and Cal on his knees, trying to gather grass
cuttings into a heap while Cassie licked at his face. The wheelie bin was
on its side, its contents scattered over the street. For a second, Sean
leaned against the door and smiled to himself, watching Cal trying to push
the dog away, a warm feeling stealing into his heart.

Pulling the door behind him, he went over. "Need a hand?" he asked, trying
not to laugh.

"Yeah could you..." Cal spat as Cassie licked his mouth. "Take this
mutt. Sorry about knocking over the bin." He held out the lead. "Please?"

Sean took the lead and tied the dog to the gate. "Let me help you," he
said, hunkering down beside Cal. A shot of pain made him gasp, and he
overbalanced and fell on his arse. Cal looked up from the grass cuttings
and they both burst out laughing at the same time.

When the giggles subsided, Sean hoisted himself to a standing
position. "Leave that shit," he said. "I'll do it when I get back."

"You'll get fined," Cal said, frowning.

"I'll sue them for picking on the disabled."

Cal's eyes widened. "Is it that bad, your leg?"

Sean grinned. "I was talking about you. Who on earth allowed you behind a
wheel? They should be shot."

"Cheeky sod!" Cal smiled, and Sean pulled him up. His hand was strong and
warm. Sean had to force himself to let go.

"I was just going for a walk..." they both said at the same time, and
laughed again. It had been so long since he'd seen Cal laugh. He was even
more beautiful than ever, dressed in black as usual. He'd cut his hair
shorter than Sean had ever seen. It was soft, not clogged with gel. He'd
put on a bit of weight, and his face had lost the gaunt look he'd worn for
so long.

"We can go to the park," Sean said. Cassie's tail began to wag. "But I'm
driving."

As they drove, Cal was bright and full of chat about his mother, his
brothers. One of them had got married, and had a baby on the way. The
oldest one, Feargal, was about to emigrate to Canada, which was causing
Valerie a lot of heartbreak. But nothing on Cal's father. He was still
refusing to acknowledge his youngest son's existence, and a shadow passed
over Cal's face as he said it. "Apparently he won't have photos of me
anywhere in the house."

There was obviously something else on Cal's mind, as there was on Sean's.
As he parked the car, the dog's whining was so loud he couldn't hear
himself think. He skidded slightly on the gravel underfoot as he stepped
out of the car, jarring his bad leg and for a moment he couldn't breathe
with the brief shock of pain that left him gasping in its wake. Letting the
dog out, he turned to tell Cal about his impending operation, but Cal got
there first.

"I'm selling the house," he said, as they started off along the path Sean
had taken the day he and Cal had been reunited over a broken wrist. "I just
can't live there anymore, it's too big and... anyway." He took a deep
breath.  "I wondered if I could stay with you for a few days while the
decorators are in." He looked out over the playing fields and sighed. "I
can't stay with mum, obviously. And my brothers have all got some shit or
other going on. I...don't really have any friends here, any more."

That's the worst idea I've ever heard, Sean wanted to say. He imagined Cal
walking around in his boxer shorts, damp from showering. Cooking in the
kitchen, wearing that stupid apron. Sitting next to him on the sofa,
drinking beer. He would get used to it, then feel like shit again when Cal
left. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what would happen.
Cassie bounded past, her full weight landing on Cal's foot as she tore into
the trees after a squirrel. He hopped and swore for a second while Sean
laughed.

"She's a handful," Cal said, watching her barking up at the tree the
squirrel had run up to escape. "Anyway what do you think? I won't be any
trouble. And she can sleep in the garage, if you want."

Sean shrugged. What was there to say? "No" wasn't an option. He would just
have to take a cold shower every day and hope that Cal's decorators were
fast. "Sure," he said. "Just bring your stuff over...like whenever." He
sighed, trying to ignore the conflicting feelings in his head. So wrong,
but what was the choice?

That evening, Megan had plenty to say about the issue. "Tell him to come
and stay with me," she said, her t-shirt pulling free of her waistband as
she stretched up to get a packet of pasta from the cupboard. "You're just
setting yourself up for a fall, baby brother. You must be mad."

Sean caught a glimpse of the roll of baby fat around her waist. It had been
one of the multitude of reasons his own mother had resented them so much,
the loss of her figure, and consequently her husband's fickle attentions.
The drinking and bingeing hadn't helped her lose it, either.

"Mad," he repeated. "Yes, I think so. But he said he hadn't any other
friends, what could I have said?"

She stirred the pasta into a saucepan of boiling water. "Tell him he's
welcome here." she said again. "I don't think I'll have any problems
keeping my hands off him, sweetie. He can help with the baby."

It sounded like a good idea, but he was reluctant to say anything to
Cal. Despite all his misgivings, he wanted him in his house, more than
anything. "The dog's coming too," he said. "You don't want a dog around the
baby, do you?"

Megan raised an eyebrow. "That's a pathetic excuse and you know it," she
said.

He shrugged. "I can't help it."

The letterbox flapped in the hallway. "That's the Telegraph," he said, glad
of an excuse to leave the room. "I'll get it for you."

"You're not getting away that easily!" Megan shouted after him.

He paused to look at himself in the hall mirror. His blond hair was
sticking up, as usual. He squinted, noting the creases around his eyes.
Rubbing his chin, he wondered if Cal saw what he saw: thirty six years of
living in that face, the tiny scars from the accident, the slightly crooked
nose which he'd broken years ago falling off a mountain bike, the white
hairs around his temples. Or did Cal see what Sean saw when he looked at
his former school friend: underneath the caresses of the years was the face
of the boy he had grown up with and loved. He thought of the photo Jeff had
taken of them in the hospital café, and couldn't stop himself from smiling
a little.

"Don't be a mug," he told his reflection, but it just smiled back, dumb.

= = = = =

Cal came with two huge suitcases of clothes, the dog and a Playstation. A
perfect distraction. Sean flopped back on the sofa, annoyed at failing once
again at Prince of Persia. His thumbs were so sore he couldn't continue. It
was doubly annoying when Cal took the console from him and effortlessly
maneuvered the Prince past the obstacles and up to a safe platform. "You
sure you don't want to try again?" he said, grinning.

"That's a stupid game," Sean said, flicking on the TV. Cal was sitting so
close. He was painfully aware of the warmth of his body, the scent of his
aftershave. The cold tap in the shower, as he had prophesied, had been used
more frequently than ever before. And the worst thing was, Cal seemed
oblivious to the effect he was having. He'd forgotten his bath robe and was
using one that Megan had left, a short, pink one that left little to the
imagination. His hair was damp after his recent shower. Sean stared
straight ahead at Jeremy Kyle. Today's topic was eating disorders, a crap
one. It meant that Jeremy wouldn't be so judgemental, which was the whole
point of the show.

Cal leaned forward to put his empty cereal bowl on the new coffee
table. The ridiculous robe gaped open at the front and Sean looked out of
the window at the sky. He had noticed on the first day that Cal's nipples
were dark and glinted with gold piercings and he couldn't look again. Even
the thought of it made his cock start to wake up in his jeans and he stood
up. "Time for my shower," he said, trying to keep his voice normal. "Then
we can take the dog to the park if you want. I feel like a walk."

What he wanted to say was "Get some fucking clothes on." And: "Any chance
of moving out?"

It wasn't Cal's fault the decorators had used the wrong colour. It also
wasn't his fault that the boiler had burst and needed replacing, or that
the surveyor had recommended having the wooden floors replaced before
putting it up for sale. "It's just an old house," she'd said. "These things
need doing." He couldn't help those things, but he certainly could get
dressed quicker in the mornings and stop lying around the sofa in that
woman's bath robe, or even worse, his boxers. Sean felt himself going
around in a state of low level arousal that was like the irritating buzz of
a fly, just too far away to swat but not close enough to react to.

With the bathroom door safely locked, he relaxed as the spray of warm water
hit his skin, and his hand drifted to his semi-erect cock. He imagined
pressing his lips against those dark little nipples, feeling the metal
under the tip of his tongue. As his hand speeded up, he recalled how Cal's
cock had felt in his hand all those years ago, and the well-worn old memory
brought him quickly to a climax. He bit his lip as his cock pulsed in his
hand, shooting white lines into the swirling suds at his feet and waves of
tingling pleasure throughout his body. His mind was pleasantly blanked out
by the force of orgasm and he leaned his forehead against the steamy glass,
panting.

As he rinsed off and stepped out of the shower, he felt the blank space
fill with guilt. Unable to get to sleep easily at night, he had heard the
desolate sounds of muffled tears coming from Cal's room, the grief that Cal
tried so hard to hide. He'd noticed that Cal was drinking every evening.
Not much, but maybe enough to take the edge off. And here he was,
supposedly the supportive friend, perving at every opportunity and whacking
off over past events that might as well never have happened. He couldn't
wait for Cal's house to get sorted out. It was ridiculous that he had to
creep around his own house with his eyes dancing around the floor like a
religious aunt at a Chippendales show hen night. "Stupid fucking moron," he
muttered at his reflection, rubbing shaving gel over his chin. He didn't
need to shave, but it would give Cal more time to get dressed at least
because he still took at least an hour to get ready to go anywhere.

Some things never changed.

= = = = =

The days went past uneventfully. Cal was out of the house a lot, which Sean
was grateful for. He had things to do of his own, such as moving all the
things he would need for day to day living down the stairs. It would be a
while before he would be able to make it up the stairs again after the
operation. Going to the bathroom would be a pain. His was an old house,
with an outside toilet which he had never used. He cleaned it all up and
built a ramp for the step at the back door. The practicalities were a
depressing reminder of what was to come, but he counteracted it by
imagining his life finally getting back to normal, when he was able to walk
properly again.

He organized a pre-reunion barbeque which turned out to be a rain soaked
disaster. The burgers looked more like charcoal and the salad looked like
vomit. Not one of his better attempts. Luckily an order to the local Indian
sorted that one out, as well as copious quantities of beer. He invited
Declan and a couple of his old rugby mates, Tom and Ger, and after they'd
got over taking the piss about Sean's cooking, they'd had a laugh. He'd
realised that none of his former schoolfriends knew he was gay, and he
didn't want to spend the whole reunion talking about it, or around it.
Declan, who'd never played rugby in his life, slapped him on the back.
"Damn, I bet you're sad you never got to grab my bollocks in those scrums,"
he'd said, a modest look on his face. "These guys have regretted that for
years."

"You know," Tom had said. "We grew up in a sheltered fucking environment. I
had no idea that people were gay until I got to uni."

"Or that they walked among us," Ger had added with mock terror on his face,
and they'd laughed themselves silly. No big deal. He was glad that his
former schoolfriends were a bit more enlightened than the average, or the
types who'd spray insulting graffiti on a dying man's door.

Cal had missed the barbeque and staggered home at well after midnight,
drunk and incoherent. He smelt of cigarette smoke and sweat, and Sean put
him to bed, dutifully tucking him in and leaving the usual packet of
Nurofen and a glass of water beside the bed, a bucket on the floor. Cal's
t-shirt was inside out. He fingered the label for a second, and then
stroked Cal's damp hair. "What are you doing," he whispered, his heart
swelling with love and pity, wishing he could just wave a magic wand and
make Cal feel normal again.

Cal's brow wrinkled and he shifted in the bed. "Stop fussing, Jeff," he
muttered. " M'okay."

You're far from OK, Sean thought, going into his bedroom, the shine gone
from the evening.