All the characters and events in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real people, either living or dead, is entirely unintentional.
The story is copyrighted and may not be reproduced in any way without the express permission of the author who can be contacted at:
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PJ
D'n'M Part 7.
From Chapter 8:
What is it they say: the best thing about having a fight is the making up afterwards? Well, D'n'M certainly enjoyed putting that theory to the test during the course of the night -- several times.
Chapter 9:
Nico stretched, his nearly-awake brain groggily becoming aware of his muscles loosening and lengthening as the morning light sneaked in through the not-quite-fully-shuttered windows. He was subconsciously appreciating the space and freedom to fully extend his limbs when suddenly, in mid-stretch, he registered the fact that there was more space in the bed than he was expecting, and that had to mean that there was no other body in the bed with him. He was surprised and, once he'd spent a couple of minutes thinking about it, disappointed. Over the previous few nights he'd become used to sharing a bed. And he liked it. He knew, of course, that most people would be shocked, probably horrified, by the fact of a fourteen-year-old boy sleeping in the same bed as his grandpa. Well, fuck em was his response to that. Yes, he liked it, and, as far as he was concerned, it was no-one else's business where he chose to sleep. And his grandpa wasn't objecting. So, yes, fuck em! The warmth and reassuring bulk of the adult body made him feel safe, something he hadn't experienced a whole lot of in his fourteen years. So what if this sleeping arrangement was the sort of thing a much younger kid might do and which, because of that, would be considered by most people to be more acceptable? And so what if his grandpa seemed to get as much pleasure out of the shared experience as he did? As far as they were both concerned there was nothing weird or inappropriate about it, certainly nothing sexual. Not that they'd talked about it at all, not that first time when Nico had crept into his grandpa's room, lonely and confused, and not at all since. They'd talked, of course they had, enjoying early morning chats about the day ahead or what to have for breakfast. But the subject of the mutually-pleasurable bed-sharing had never seemed sufficiently important to be worthy of discussion. Maybe, when it came down to it, they both feared that doing so would break the spell, and neither wanted to destroy the magic of the new relationship which was blossoming out of the emptiness of the past. It was their unacknowledged way of starting to make up for all the lost years.
On this particular morning, just as on most mornings, Gerry had been up shortly before seven to pee, and, on leaving the bathroom, had decided that, as he was awake and ready to get on with the day, he'd go down to the kitchen and make a start on breakfast. It had been several days since the drama at the Reed family home when the repercussions of the Buenos Aires hotel room incident had been dragged into the open, more than the two days that Milo had told Nico he'd be spending with his grandfather. During these extra days, even though Milo had kept in touch by text and phone calls, Gerry had got the feeling of a growing sense of unease in Nico's general demeanour and state of mind. He guessed that the boy was beginning to feel abandoned by Milo and Dan, maybe even completely rejected. Not that he'd said anything, but Gerry could tell that the boy was unsettled and, when it came down to it, pretty much totally confused by the uncertain present and an unpredictable future. He also knew, as Nico didn't, that Milo and Dan had taken some pretty momentous decisions in the last few days which would have a major impact on the boy. Milo had called several times to update his dad on the idea of getting Nico into school as soon as possible and they'd already had a couple of exploratory conversations about which of the houses in the new riverside development might be their next family home. Yes, there were certainly some significant changes on the horizon, so Gerry decided that this would be the day when he and Nico would sit down and talk about what he wanted for his future, and that a good opportunity to make a start on that conversation would be while they were both tucking into a good old-fashioned full English breakfast. So, assuming Nico was still fast asleep in bed, Gerry busied himself in the kitchen with his thoughts turning over what might be the best approach to take with such an important discussion.
Upstairs meanwhile, as Nico gradually regained consciousness, he knew nothing of his grandpa's plans for breakfast, or the need for a serious conversation about the future. On the other hand, something he did know was that his arms and legs weren't the only parts of his body that were stretching out and lengthening, but, as usual, he paid no attention to the activity inside his sleep shorts as he rubbed, first one sleepy eye, then the other, allowing in more of the muted early morning sunlight. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time he'd responded to the demands of his adolescent dick, not that there had been much demanding going on. The truth was that there had been very little action in the underwear department for months, not since before his mum had died. Yes, there had been the standard first-thing-in-the-morning stiffness, but he'd had no desire to touch himself down there other than for the purpose of emptying his bladder. Sex in any form, whether real, on-screen or imagined, had been of no interest to him, apart, that is, from the disastrous episode in the Buenos Aires hotel, so the rare and unsolicited boners he'd experienced had been ignored, and even wet dreams, events that were such a familiar and unwanted experience for most teenage boys, had been non-existent.
Something about this morning, though, was different. Perhaps it was because he was alone in the bed; perhaps it was because his teenage hormones were keen to remind him that it was more than time for his hand and dick to get reacquainted and of the fun he was missing out on. Or perhaps it was because his head was telling him, finally, that the past was the past and that it was okay to let go of some of the dark times that he'd endured and move on. But then again, perhaps he was just fourteen-year-old horny. Whatever, the hand that had been rubbing the sleep from his eyes hesitantly, but with focused intent, changed direction, turning downwards from the smooth and unblemished teenage face, across the hairless chest and developing abdominal 4-pack, under the elastic waistband of the loose cotton sleep shorts, through the small tangle of curly, mid blonde pubic hair, finally arriving at the root of his lengthening and thickening adolescent dick.
Having reached its once-familiar and now quickly-remembered destination, the hand began gently massaging the growing inches which lay expectantly across his lower tummy. Along the underside and up to the dark pink helmet, then slowly back again to the root, the hand followed its obviously-not-forgotten route for five or six rotations, resulting in even more swelling and stiffening, rapidly achieving six and a half satisfying inches. Soon a second hand appeared to join in the action, travelling slightly further south than its twin and cupping the smooth ball sack, gently manipulating the delicate contents. It wasn't long before a small pearl of translucent liquid emerged at the tip of the neatly-cut dick, soon to be discovered by the first hand and expertly distributed over the top two or three inches of the now throbbing and excited fourteen-year old boyhood. Gradually the pace of the massage increased, Nico's breathing became shallower and his hips began to undulate up and down. The muscles in his tummy tightened as tiny sparks of electricity zapped from dickhead to toes and from balls to scalp. After so many fallow months, Nico could tell that this was going to be a climax of monumental and historical significance. He was on the very edge of the point of no return, subconsciously asking himself why he'd left it so long since the last time and eagerly anticipating what would almost certainly be the most humungous cum ever, pushing his hand to move faster, grip tighter, when ...
"Nico!" The shout came from downstairs. "Breakfast in ten minutes. You've just about got time to shower before we eat. Move your butt!"
"Aaaagh! Grandpa!" His butt had already been moving pretty nicely, thought Nico, along with several other important body parts. But now the hand faltered, the hips stilled. Nico gasped to catch his breath as his abs relaxed. Meanwhile his balls screamed in frustration and the thrilling sparks of electricity instantly switched off.
`Fuck! Fuuuuuuck!!'
Fifteen frustrated minutes later Nico sat at the kitchen table. He was teenage-boy ravenously hungry but even the sight of the piled-high plate in front of him couldn't shake the memory of what almost-but-hadn't happened up in the bedroom. And the large, perfectly-browned sausage on his plate definitely wasn't helping him forget. He had, of course, thought about finishing himself off as he stood under the hot water in the shower but had decided that a hurried, under-pressure jerk-off would be a waste of all the months and months of cum build-up that was still waiting to explode from his balls. A fleeting question flashed across is mind - why had he not even had a wet dream in all that time? -- but it disappeared out of his mind just as quickly as it had popped in. No, he decided, much better to wait until he could put on a `polished' performance, giving special and leisurely attention to all the leading body parts and with no-one around to disturb the show. And that, he was suddenly realising, meant he'd probably be spending the night, not in his grandpa's bed, but in his own bedroom. How was he going to explain that? He definitely didn't want him to think that there was anything wrong or that he, Gerry, had done something to upset him. Oh well, he'd got the whole day to come up with a plan. In the meantime, there was this fantastic plate of food to take care of (including the sausage). That was going to take all his attention for at least the next ten minutes, so coming up with a convincing explanation for the change in sleeping arrangements would have to wait.
However, it wasn't long before Nico's focus on his breakfast was interrupted.
"So, I've been thinking." Gerry began tentatively. "I'm wondering how you're feeling about things."
"Things?" mumbled Nico through a mouthful of food. He was only half listening, unwilling to be diverted from the serious business of filling his stomach.
"Yeah, you know, the future and stuff."
"Stuff?"
"Going back to the apartment, your uncles, school, Mrs. Bolton? That sort of stuff."
"Oh, Mrs. Bolton's okay. She's always straight with me, doesn't treat me like a kid."
"Is that what you think everyone else does?"
"Huh?" Reluctantly Nico put down his knife and fork. His grandpa was obviously determined that they should talk - with a capital T. "Well, yeah, sort of. I mean, I s'pose I am an actual kid, but it's not like my life so far has been exactly normal, with a normal childhood."
"You mean with your mum and ev ..."
Before Gerry could even finish the sentence Nico's attention was no longer on his breakfast and fully on the defensive. "Don't blame my mum for what happened to the two of us. She did the best she could." Silently he wondered if that was true as he picked up his cutlery and very deliberately turned his attention back to his plate. "It wasn't her fault that her best was pretty crappy. That was down to the drugs and stuff, and all the bastards who trashed her right from when she first fetched up in Argentina."
Stung by the strength of feeling so evident in Nico's words, and the truth of them, Gerry wasn't sure how, or even whether, to continue. No, perhaps this wasn't yet the right time for the `what's next?' conversation. Perhaps Nico was still trying to process what had been said at Helen and Roger's place a few days ago. Perhaps his mum's death was still too raw. Or perhaps he was just a hungry fourteen-year-old-boy who didn't want to think of anything except clearing the plate on the table in front of him. Whatever, ramping down the pressure was clearly the best option.
"Yeah, I get it. Sorry I mentioned it. You finish your breakfast and then, how about a kick-around when you're done?"
"Yeah, why not? Good plan." Nico swallowed a mouthful of juice. And then, apparently as an afterthought, "Have you heard anything from Uncle Milo today?"
Gerry noted the slightly anxious note in Nico's voice. It confirmed his suspicions about the boy's state of mind. Somebody needed to reassure him about his future and, most importantly, his place within the family. "Not today, not yet. Why are you asking?"
"Just wondered. I thought, maybe, we'd see him today. And Dan, I s'pose."
"You could message them, find out if they're planning on coming over." Gerry registered the look of uncertainty on Nico's face. He needed to think quickly. "I've an idea. Why don't I send a text and suggest that we meet them at the park? There's usually a pick-up soccer game on a Saturday morning. They could come and watch you play and then we'll all go somewhere for lunch. Your choice. How does that sound?" He hoped the prospect of playing as part of a team, not just with his creaky old grandpa, would lift Nico's spirits. And having lunch together afterwards would also give Dan and Milo a chance to talk through the plans they'd made about the way forward for the three of them. It wasn't fair to keep the boy in the dark and, if they were sensible, they'd try to make sure that he felt to be fully involved in the process of making decisions about his future. After all, like he'd said just a few minutes ago, he wasn't your average fourteen-year-old kid and his uncles needed to start appreciating and acknowledging the reality of that.
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