Date: Fri, 18 Oct 2002 19:43:10 -0700 (PDT)
From: biscuitbox <biscuitbox@ziplip.com>
Subject: Babying Reuben, ch. seventeen

This is a story involving male/male graphic sex and it's
not intended for reading by minors. If you are underage,
or this type of material is illegal where you live, please
stop now, and go read something else! This is a fantasy
meant only for the purpose of pleasurable reading.

Other stories of mine may now be found in the
authors' index under Java Biscuit.

Feedback, always appreciated. New email address:
biscuitbox@ziplip.com


Babying Reuben ~ chapter seventeen, the finale

By Biscuit


The apartment overlooking the harbor reminded Reuben
of the studio where his relationship with Jean began; one
rambling room with a wood stove at the center of it. To
Reuben it seemed like a very good omen. The echo of the
past impressed him more than the view of the harbor.

It was the top floor of an older house in the center of town.
The first floor housed a coffee shop and news dealer. Stairs
lead up the side of the building from a sand swept alley.
The alley travelled on into a cluster of summer cottages that
were boarded up for the season. Beyond them was a broad
expanse of the town's beach. Adjacent was a massive boat
works at the foot of the town pier.

The population of DuPont was small off season, but the
studio was in the hub of year round businesses, the pier
being the heart. There were a number of restaurants and
bars, a small grocery market that reminded Reuben of
his family's store. A bookstore, a library; an art supply
shop that catered to the school.

It was a windy climb to the third floor. The salt air and
damp were intense; things that had irritated and depressed
Reuben before. All he thought of it the day they looked at
the apartment was how nice it would be inside, warmed
by the wood stove, with Jean.


Two miles from the art school. It changed everything.

He biked those two miles for the first time on a late
September afternoon, hoping Jean had come back from
the city. He'd stay even if he wasn't there, knowing he'd
come sometime that night. He'd missed him in the week
and a half he'd been gone, but it wasn't like before.


Reuben was the one who'd forced the issue, but Jean had
given in so easily that it was as though they'd agreed to it
ahead of time. The decision was made the night that Jean
showed up unexpectedly. Reuben shuddered with pleasure,
remembering his happiness, his helpless lust in his lover's
hands. The memory of being backed up against the door,
burning kisses, Jean's hand and voice urging him to come;
it made his dick hard and his heart overflow with love.

Gazing at Jean through the dark that night, he'd known
for certain that it was wrong to be separated for the
sake of a prestigious name on his resume. There were
enough good schools in the city he could choose from.
In a soft, spent voice, in the middle of the night, he'd
made his announcement; not even sure if Jean was still
awake.

"I'm going home with you," he'd said.

Jean had stirred, sleepily. He'd sighed and cuddled him
closer in his arms, tucking the bedcovers around him
securely.

"I'll look for a place in town," he'd said. "We'll figure
it out in the morning."



The bike wheels crunched sand and pine needles that
were scattered across the winding road. It was really a
very beautiful ride to town, he thought. Warmed by
anticipation, he gazed through loving eyes at sights he
knew he was treasuring for the very reason that they
dotted his pathway to Jean; shuttered summer houses, a
gas station where there was wood stacked for sale, the
autumn flower garden in front of a year round home.

There was a diner at the edge of town with a bakery
attached. He stopped there, on impulse, just for the
pleasure of knowing it was a place he'd pass often, to
see what sort of treats he could find.



--------------------------



As Jean could have predicted, Benny was thrilled and
David thought he'd lost his mind. He watched the two
of them bicker nightly and wondered when they would
end up in bed together.

David showed up his last night in the city, like he did
every night, near dinnertime. He wanted to take him
out.

"Too late for that," Jean said. "Benny's already made
dinner and set the table. We're having soup, he's been
cooking it all day."

David groaned with impatience, following him to the
kitchen.

Benny, busy at the stove, looked up and gave a groan
that matched David's. Jean was amused more than
annoyed, he felt indulgent toward his friends on the
eve of being with Reuben.

"I can't believe you're really leaving," David said. As
he spoke he started setting himself a place at the table,
ignoring Benny's malevolent glare.

"I don't remember inviting you," Benny said. David
continued to ignore him.

"You know how crazy it is, don't you?" David said to
Jean, casting a brief glance at the bottle of wine in his
hand. He frowned at it but nevertheless filled his glass.

Jean didn't bother to answer, the argument had no heat
any more.

"He wants to go," Benny said. "And he's going. Why
are you sneering at the wine? Nobody asked you to have
any, anyway."

"Are you really going to leave this annoying child in
charge of your business?" David asked, sitting down at
the place he'd set for himself.

"It's settled," Benny said, lifting the lid from the soup
pot, releasing clouds of savory steam. David sniffed the
air appreciatively when the boy's back was turned.

"It smells vaguely edible," he said. He sipped his wine,
his blue eyes scanning the cook with an expression that
Jean knew well. He wants the soup and the boy who
cooked it up, thought Jean.

"Fuck you," Benny said, stirring the soup. "And don't
think you can barge in here any time you feel like it
when he's gone."

"I wouldn't dream of it," said David, winking at Jean.
A week, maybe less, Jean thought, feeling a whisper
of arousal at the thought of the two blonds in bed
together.



The risks hadn't changed but the conflict had ended.
His mind was made up. It was true that he might be
courting disaster but the relief was so profound that
he was willing to take the risk.

Things had fallen into place. Benny was eager to try
his hand at managing the shop and loved the idea of
housesitting. Jean knew this slower time of year was
ideal for him to learn the business in.

Jean had always run it the way his mother had, as a
solo endeavor, bringing people in as needed to work
in the shop. At one point he'd wondered if Reuben
might want to be involved. But in spite of, or maybe
even because of how he was raised, Reuben had no
taste for it.

For Jean it was different. He didn't grow up as the
son of shopkeepers. His feelings about it were shaped
by his mother's pleasure in it, not by drudgery.

She hadn't discovered her love of antiques and trade
until after his father died. For her it was an adventure,
a rebirth. The main difference was the significance of
the money, he thought. His mother's family had it and
Reuben's family didn't. Her pursuit, like his own, was
based primarily in pleasure, not need. He'd inherited
both her money and her love of finding treasures.

She'd never had a manager or partner and at first Jean
felt uneasy at making that change. But he'd realized that
there was a significant difference between them. The
shop had been her passion, she'd never found another
love after the death of his father. For him it had been
much the same in a way, no one had seriously claimed
his attention for long. But now he had Reuben. That, he
thought, was the difference between him and his mother.

To have Benny in place in the shop, freeing him up,
would be a very good thing in the long run.

It hadn't been hard to find an apartment in DuPont;
the town was quiet in the off season and the rent was
cheap. When summer came the studio on the harbor
would get expensive but he'd decided it was worth it
when he saw how much Reuben loved it.

Just to be able to think of him without aching was
enough for Jean. If he was making a mistake, so be it.
For now he was happy, incredibly happy. He could
hardly admit, even to himself, how relieved the boy's
simple announcement in the middle of the night had
made him feel. He'd sounded so sure of himself that
it was easy to give in.



After dinner, while Benny and David were making
peace over a second bottle of wine, Jean resumed his
packing. Nearly done, he found himself standing in
the doorway to the nursery, gazing at things that
hadn't been used in a long time.

At first, in the spring there hadn't been time for it.
Between Reuben's school work and his own trips, it
seemed there weren't enough hours in the day, days
in a week for the leisurely indulgence of the nursery.
Later, Jean had resisted it. It troubled him to think
of it now.

The issue of Reuben leaving home to study at DuPont
had loomed between them; making Reuben sullen and
Jean distant. But the starkest change had come, he knew,
with the death of Reuben's father. All of his own fears
and doubts had coalesced around it.

I felt too guilty to baby him when his father died, he
thought, walking into the room.

He remembered then, with pain, how often he'd seen
the boy in this room by himself. It came to him with
a terrible certainty that Reuben had wanted to be
comforted here. He'd wanted exactly the thing Jean had
denied him; to know that his daddy wasn't lost, wasn't
gone.

I knew what he wanted. In my heart I knew it, and I
didn't give it to him because I'd decided it was wrong.

He'd ached to go to him and had held back with an
almost perverse determination, telling himself that
Reuben needed time alone to grieve and that babying
him had to stop, for Reuben's own sake.

He sat on the bed and picked up the white Christmas cat,
remembering how wrong it had seemed to even think
of assuming the role of Daddy; an affront to the real
father Reuben had just lost. He hadn't dared approach
him that way, feeling almost ashamed of the impulse
to offer himself in place of his lost father.

A wash of guilt passed through him that was familiar
in a way that had nothing to do with Reuben. Jean's
heart sank with recognition of a much older pain. It
was rooted in the death of his own father; it was his
helplessness as a boy in the face of his mother's grief.

I was afraid to see Reuben look at me the way she
did, longing for a man who was gone, a man whose
place I couldn't take.

Such a fool, he swore at himself; remorse gripping
him like a vise as he thought of the nights he'd
stayed in the living room, waiting for the pink glow
of the nursery light to go out before going to bed.

Unthinking, he was holding Reuben's cat in his arms
like a baby. He suddenly focused on its face, its silly
button eyes staring up at him.

I can't go back in time and give him what I should
have given him then, he thought, but he's waiting
for me right now. I'll be with him in less than a day.

"And I'm taking you with me," he said aloud to the
cat.


--------------------


The wind whipped loose strands of Reuben's hair as
he raced up the stairs from the alley. Jean's van was
parked at the foot of them.

There was no answer when he called out, but the air
was deliciously warm and fragrant with wood smoke.

His eyes searched the room; it was too small for Jean
to be hidden in. Then he heard the sound of the shower.

He set the bakery bag on the table near the windows.
Churning gray sky and water, shades from pearl to
steel and charcoal with hints of blue; undertones of
murky blue in the water. A cold view, he thought, but
the chill of it was distant, the room toasty around him.

He turned away from the windows, hungrier for the
sight of things from home. There were boxes piled
here and there throughout the room, some of them
stacked empty that had already been unpacked.

He must have gotten here early, he thought, surveying
the scene with pleasure, wondering if he should strip
out of his clothes and join Jean in the shower. He'd
showered before leaving school, but ...

Reuben's eyes fell on the familiar fuzzy shape of his
white cat sprawled on the bed pillows. His heart
skipped a beat.

He saw the lamp and realized that part of the warmth
of the room was the rose light from the shade; the
satin comforter was folded at the foot of the bed.

These things stirred depths of longing that were almost
painful.

Don't, he cautioned himself, but his body didn't listen
and his heart was soaring. He brought my cat! He felt
the burn of tears behind his eyes.

He thought of his bear, sitting on its shelf by his bed
in the studio at school; in its place of honor under the
painting of Jean. He didn't sleep with it but he kept it
near him. Since Jean had stopped wanting him that way
he didn't let himself bring the bear to bed with him. But
he couldn't give it up entirely either. He kept it close by
though he wouldn't cuddle it.

Oh God, he thought, I can't let Jean find me in tears
over the damned cat! He wiped at his eyes.

He couldn't resist picking up the beloved beast to hug it,
to feel its soft fur on his face.

A year or so, he thought. That's how long it had lasted
once he'd moved in with Jean; a little more than two
years all told. It was painfully obvious when Jean grew
tired of it. He'd used lack of time as an excuse, but
Reuben had no doubt that it was lack of desire.

He'd battled his own yearning, telling himself that to be
with Jean was enough. And it was. He loved him, with
or without the soothing rituals. But how he missed all
the special caresses, the special things. He clung to the
sweetness of Jean calling him baby; the last vestige
of a whole little world that he'd loved.

Reuben was rubbing the cat's silky paw on his face
when he realized he wasn't hearing the sound of the
shower anymore.

When he turned around, Jean was there, his robe tied
loosely, his damp hair spread over the towel on his
shoulders.

So handsome, thought Reuben, wondering if he'd get
what he'd asked for, for his birthday. The chance to
paint him from life instead of memory. When Jean
asked him what he wanted when he turned eighteen,
he'd had the answer ready. But then again, he'd asked
for the same thing at Christmas and hadn't gotten it

"I love to see you holding him," Jean said, coming
closer. Reuben held still, waiting, hoping.

Jean kissed his cheek, near his ear, arms encircling
him.

"Everything a baby needs is here," he said.



-----------------------------



Jean found the sound of the wind, the muted rhythm
of waves hypnotic. He was as deeply immersed in the
pleasure of handling Reuben as the boy was in being
touched. The world outside the windows had grown
dark.

He felt patient in spite of how hard he was, how his
dick begged to take the place of his finger deep in
Reuben's ass.

I'll get there, he told himself, feeling the sweet pull
of his baby's body. My long-legged baby, he thought,
smiling. The slim thighs spread over his own were
worthy of a dancer.

Almost eighteen, he thought, amazed. He's not just a
pretty teenager, anymore. The little bud of a boy he'd
fallen in love with was flowering into the man he
had always dreamed of meeting.

Jean fastened the diaper snugly, remembering Marcel
showing up with Reuben in tow, how he'd groaned
with dread when Marcel told him how young he was
-- and then been unable to resist him.

I didn't know how lucky I was, what a chance I'd
be given.

It was like the cat he'd had as a boy, a big stray tom
that he'd seduced with kitchen scraps and taken in on
the first cold night of winter, with his mother's
reluctant blessing. He'd always wished he'd had that
cat as a kitten, had more years to love him; wished he
could have seen him as a little guy.

Well, I got my wish in Reuben, he thought. He made
up his mind in that moment that he'd give Reuben
what he wanted for his birthday. He'd pose for him,
but more than that, he'd let the boy fuck him if he
wanted to; the unspoken subtext of posing.

It was at the heart of why he'd never sit for him. The
passivity of posing, the energy Reuben crackled with
when he painted. Jesus, he thought, the way he looks
at my ass. It was a recipe for winding up on his belly
with his baby's cock up his butt. If he wants it, Jean
decided, gazing down at his dreamy-eyed lover, he'll
have it.


He teased the boy's bound cock and Reuben voiced a
groan full of need.

"Now, baby," Jean said, widening the rent in the fabric
to expose more tender ass. He pressed the head of his
dick into the heat between the smooth cheeks, moving
forward slowly until he was on top of him.

My kitten, he thought, soon to be my tomcat -- but
always my baby.