For the next week William felt as though he were walking on air, brimming with
a new sense of self confidence, and his attitude bled over into everyday life.
He exuded calm assurance with an added expectation that everyone would see the
difference in him and defer to it. They did, treating him with more respect,
or so it seemed, listening to what he had to say and valuing his opinion.
He still sat – somewhat gingerly for a few days – at the front of the class, flanked by Jones, Salomon and Forster, though now it was from personal choice rather than decree. As a wolf, William decided he needed to distance himself from the ragtag of humanity around him; they should hold little interest for him unless as prey.
Only Elijah proved a sticking point. His hopeful wide-eyed gaze followed William wherever he went, like one of those dastardly portraits, and William found himself looking out for his friend and missing him when he was back in Cropper’s rooms. He dreamt about him, of their encounter in the prep room, and in his mind it lasted longer, went further, making him wake with an ache in his balls that his own hand was unable to slake. However many times William chastised himself for such weakness, the desire to have –protect – the other boy remained.
Thursday came and went, and William was not required to undergo his twice weekly cleansing. Neither did Cropper desire his presence in bed. In fact, the only sexual encounters he had were those he instigated, first by dropping subtle hints and then, on three occasions actually ordering Lyall to his knees so he could get some relief from the insistent arousal that plagued his dreams.
Then, on Monday week, William was unexpectedly called up in front of the housemaster, the somewhat appropriately named, Mr. Fury.
“Come on in, young man,” the florid faced teacher called when William appeared at his study door.
William smoothed his jacket and stepped inside, closing the door behind him, and trying to hide his nervousness. Since being at school, his only contact with the masters had been in class, as all but the most severe disciplinary matters were left in the hands of the bigger boys. He was at a loss to explain why he had been called in today.
“I have had correspondence with your uncle,” Fury opened and William’s heart sank into his boots. Was this about the letter home? In the ten days since writing it, William had entirely forgotten the missive and circumstances had changed so much that he no longer knew whether he desired an excuse for escaping chapel.
The housemaster was still speaking; “I understand your mother feels you need additional tuition in Greek and, at your prompting, has suggested to your uncle that this could be undertaken by a boy in your year. Salomon, I believe.”
William nodded, unable to gauge where the conversation was leading and unwilling to open himself to criticism.
“A most unsuitable tutor, I would have to say,” Fury continued, inspecting a sheaf of papers on his desk. “Salomon has something of an unsavoury reputation and the company he keeps is only one reason for my disapproval. The fact that he is a Jew simply adds to my distaste for the whole affair.
“Tell me, Bartlett,” the housemaster said, peering at William. “Why would a God-fearing boy like yourself wish to keep such company?”
“I-I,” William stuttered, staring at his boots. “I only sought to improve my Greek, sir. There was no other motive.”
Fury leaned back in his chair and gazed at William in silent contemplation. Finally he nodded, as though seeing something he approved of and said, “Then it is a good thing I was able to find an alternative, and may I congratulate you on both recognising your weakness in this subject and in finding a most excellent tutor; the sixth former, Patrick Farrell”
“Brutus?”
“Ah, yes. That ridiculous affectation. Quite how he constructed such an abomination from a perfectly acceptable name like Patrick is beyond me. But whatever the lad calls himself, the fact remains that he has magnanimously agreed to tutor you.”
The housemaster sat forward and shuffled his papers, confirming the arrangements and dismissing William all in one breath. “You are excused chapel until the end of year, Bartlett. During those two hours, you will join Price in the fourth form prep room where you will work on your Greek with Farrell. That is all.”
William stumbled from the study in shock, hardly able to grasp the implications of having his Sunday mornings so rearranged. At least he could protect Elijah, of that there was no doubt, but Brutus in the room with them on a legitimate basis and for the entire two hours meant that –
He ran into someone and rebounded off them cursing, only to collide with another boy. Damn it all, he couldn’t think straight with all these people around.
Finding a secluded corner near the stables at the back of the school, William sat on the ground and leaned against the wall letting thoughts of Elijah come as they pleased. Sad eyes peering out from under a shock of black hair, lighting up with hope – and maybe something more – when William appeared. His touch, tentative and exploratory like his kisses, tasting of want and need and William himself. The heat of his breath, the flavour of his tears, the way all William wanted was to wrap him up and treasure him forever.
He sighed, and banged his head gently on the stone. He wanted Elijah, that much was clear, but he also wanted Brutus. There was something entirely animal about the older boy that made William feel wanton and free from any restrictions. The way he possessed you in his arms, the strength of him, the sheer size was enough to make William’s knees buckle at the memory.
And then there was Cropper, with his closely guarded emotions, capable of sending William’s heart fluttering whilst driving him mad with frustration. And Brolly, full of quick wit and cutting comment yet exuding possibility and wild passion with every movement. And Lyall’s grudging generosity, always willing to give either of his body or his mind, but covering it all with some self-deprecating comment. Even Andrew, doe-eyed and vulnerable, wearing his fear on his sleeve like a badge of honour.
Was he a glutton wanting them all? Yes, probably. But frankly he didn’t care. A wolf shouldn’t care. A wolf bestrode the world and made all bend before him – or something along those lines anyway.
A pained yell and the dull crack of flesh hitting flesh saw William up and running before he’d even realised that he was on his feet. He skidded around the corner and stopped. Jones had Elijah pinned against the wall, an arm across his throat, his arm pumping as he drove his fist into the other boy’s gut. A few feet away the scuffle was more two sided as Spencer took on Salomon and Forster, doing his best to meet punch after punch and failing by the looks of things. Despite his bigger size, the two other boys were as tenacious as terriers, hanging on to him and slowly wearing him down.
“Stop!” William yelled, running forward to interpose himself between the fighters. Salomon and Forster halted right away, letting Spencer drop to his knees and recover his breath. Jones simply paused, peering around to see who had interfered.
“What do you want, William?” he sneered eventually. “Come to join in the fun or are you scared of getting your lily-white hands dirty?”
Ignoring the veiled insult in both tone and words, William drew himself up to his full height – still considerably smaller than Jones – and snapped, “You call this fun? Outnumbering and thrashing boys younger than yourself?”
“I wasn’t only going to thrash him,” Jones said, turning back to cast a leering gaze down Elijah’s body. “I’ve heard that this one whores himself out to Brutus and I don’t see why he shouldn’t do the same for me.”
Elijah looked sick and averted his face when Jones leant in to kiss him and, annoyed by the rejection, Jones grabbed a handful of hair, slamming Elijah’s head back against the wall. “Keep still, will you. Or it won’t simply be your mouth I’ll be using. It’s not as though you’re on Cropper’s untouchable list.”
That was enough. William couldn’t take it anymore. “He is,” he said, stepping closer. “That’s why I’m here. To take him to Cropper.”
Jones released his victim, hands raised as though denying any intent to harm, and frowned. “He didn’t say anything to me…” he began and then cried out as Spencer snatched the opportunity to launch himself across the muddy yard into Jones’ back.
Salomon and Forster immediately joined in and William took one look at the fray, grabbed Elijah’s hand and ran, dragging his reluctant friend behind him.
Badly winded by the blows Jones had landed and by fear, Elijah gave up protesting after a few steps and allowed himself to be tugged along, staggering in William’s wake. But eventually his legs let him down him and he fell, his hands tearing lose from William’s grip as he tumbled to the ground.
“Are you all right?” William asked and Elijah gazed up at him feeling more than a little confused.
“Alex,” he said. “We have to go back. They will hurt him.”
“Hush, don’t worry.” Concerned hands ran over Elijah’s face and he closed his eyes, nuzzling into the touch. William’s voice, thick with some emotion Elijah couldn’t identify, said, “He may be beaten, but other than that Cropper sees to it that he will be safe. They had much more in store for you.”
Elijah thought about that for a moment and then opened his eyes and sat up. “How do you mean, ‘Cropper sees to it’? Spencer detests Cropper.”
Looking shifty and kicking his feet into the cobbles, William didn’t answer. Elijah allowed the silence to continue, certain his friend would confess sooner rather than later.
“There they are! Get ‘em!”
Jones, and what now looked like a sizeable gang, appeared around the corner of the building and Elijah was dragged to his feet again and running.
“Can’t…. Can’t,” he gasped after a few hundred yards as a band tightened round his chest preventing him drawing breath.
“In here, quick,” William said, pulling him down a narrow gap between two buildings and opening a tatty looking gate that Elijah would never have noticed.
They slipped into the small yard, William shutting the gate quietly behind them, and both leaned against it, hearts thudding as they listened for sounds of pursuit. Voices passed by, some seeming too close for comfort and Elijah gripped William’s hand. It received a reassuring squeeze and Elijah smiled, back under that bed all those months ago on their first night hiding from Brolly and the others, the first time William had offered him comfort.
Slowly the sounds receded, and they waited a few moments before heaving joint sighs of relief and sliding to the ground.
“Thank you,” Elijah said.
“My pleasure,” William answered and then grinned, “Can I kiss you again now?”
Blushing outrageously, Elijah mumbled, “You could, if you wished it.”
And for the second time in as many weeks, Elijah found himself with a lapful of William, a very passionate William who seemed determined to devour him from the inside out. He did his best to reply in kind, chasing and flicking at William’s tongue with his own until it retreated, and then following it to explore a new, and yet strangely alluring, mouth.
Two pairs of eyes watched them avidly from a window overlooking the yard and
as William and Elijah set about exploring each other’s bodies, an instruction
was issued that Brutus heard all too rarely.
“Fuck me.”
He complied, preparing his partner tenderly before pressing inside, very much aware that he was peripheral to the activities outside. As their bodies moved slowly together, they continued to watch smaller hands gripping and groping, tugging to free heavy clothing and release desperate aching cocks.
Taking another, much closer, into his hand, Brutus asked between teasing squeezes and strokes, “Do you think they will go too far?”
“Unlikely,” came the answer, voice tight with control. “I doubt either would know where to start.”
“William is brighter than he seems. I wouldn’t put it past him.”
“If he does, he will be punished. Though it will be a pity for Price to slip through our fingers at this late juncture.”
Reflections of the setting sun fell directly on the boys in the yard, casting their youthful bodies in glorious golden light; a pair of wicked angels debauching a corner of heaven with their wanton writhing and impassioned cries.
“He is close to joining us, you think?”
Cropper smiled as the two boys shuddered against one another and his own climax
washed over him. “Oh yes,” he said when he could speak again. “
I will have him by tomorrow. And my William back too.”