Bedtime Storyfor Brenda
by Kevin Robnett
"Awwwww, Mac!"
Richie's voice echoed down the hallway before he limped into the bathroom, the Highlander right behind him. His socks, dirty and grimy, made no sounds as he moved across the tile floor. The jeans, sticky with mud and blood, had been sliced through in places. The same mixture coated his hands and shirt.
Duncan moved to his side as he gasped, his torn palms foolishly gripping the white porcelain of the sink. Carefully, the Highlander lifted them off, grimacing from Richie's agonized face. "I told you the shower."
"But," Richie hissed.
"No buts, Rich," Duncan said to cut him off. "It's either I give you a sponge bath or you get in the shower. We need to get you cleaned up."
Richie nodded, careful not to move much. He knew chasing after the Scalper had been stupid -- as Duncan had pointed out to him just outside. But the fading adrenaline no longer kept his mind off the pain, and he hurt. "Sh..sh..shower," he decided, not wanting the embarrassment of Duncan wiping him down like an invalid.
A hand steadied him as he swayed. "All right," the Highlander agreed. "Get undressed while I get some things."
After MacLeod had left, heading towards the bedrooms, Richie let out the breath he had been holding. It hurt as he reached for his shirt hem, tugging it out of his soaked jeans. As his arms lifted, pulling his ribs higher, a blinding shot of pain burst through his torso, powerful enough to cripple him.
A whimper escaped his lips as he shut his eyes tight against the pain. He tried to lift the shirt higher, even a token amount -- say above his navel, but another wave of pain tore through his chest.
He remained like that, not willing to give into the pain and lower his arms. He was going to get his shirt off, and then his pants, and crawl into the fucking shower....
"Here.… Let me help." Duncan's voice echoed loudly in the bathroom. Hands touched Richie's, gently removing the cloth from his fingers. "Richie...."
Unwilling to open his eyes, and see the concern that was evident in Duncan's voice, Richie let go, planning to raise his arms so MacLeod could undress him. But as he did so, pain blossomed, so intense that his knees buckled.
He slid forward, falling into Duncan's ready arms. The small discomfort from the scrapes on his chest hardly compared to the stabbing agony from his ribs. "I got you," Duncan soothed, supporting the young man with his own body.
It took several moments before Richie could breathe comfortably again, then more until he stood by himself. "Just leave your arms at your side, Rich. I'll pull the back up and over your head." Cool air caressed his back as Duncan lifted the shirt, carefully guiding it across the sickly pale flesh. Once it was bunched under Richie's arms, MacLeod slowly lifted the back over Richie's head, using his hands to keep the injured youth still.
"There," Duncan said, tossing the ruined T-shirt onto the floor.
Richie sighed, glad the first ordeal was over. He smiled as he opened his eyes, his face freezing as he looked at the Highlander. Duncan was naked, except for a pair of tight black biking shorts that left little to the imagination. "What...?" Richie gasped.
Duncan smiled, self-consciously. "I didn't want to get my clothes wet -- and I didn't want to upset you..."
It took several seconds for Richie to figure out Duncan was planning to shower with him. The thought was trapped between "god, the man is hung" and "god, the man is gorgeous," with "oh, god, I'm getting hard" following close behind. "No... Mac...." Words disappeared off the tip of his tongue. How could he explain?
A hand rested lightly on his bare shoulder, sending sparks across his body. "You can barely stand, tough guy. If I leave you alone in the shower, and you fall...Tessa will have my hide."
The teenager stiffened as he felt Duncan's hands going to his jeans. "No... Mac..." His fingers dug into MacLeod's pulling them away from the zipper. No way was he letting Duncan take his pants off with him hard as a rock. "I'll do it."
Unzipping his pants and shoving them off his hips was almost as painful as the look of mistrust the Highlander was giving him. Richie felt his rod stiffen as his eyes raked over the Highlander's olive-brown skin. Arms bulged as they rested, crossed, over a perfect torso. The young man wanted to lick those biceps, then move across the pectorals to lap at that throat, bared for his inspection.
Duncan never looked down, never anywhere but straight into Richie's eyes. "Well?" he asked, motioning to Richie's boxers and the erection he just had to have seen.
Ashamed, embarrassed and desperately horny, the teenager slid the cotton underwear off, letting them slip to his ankles wrapped in his jeans. Trapped in his jeans. Clothing he couldn't seem to take off. Vainly, desperately, he tried to kick them off, aware that his cock was bouncing in the air. God, he wanted to crawl into a hole and die.
"Here," Duncan finally said, moving closer and dropping to his knees. Richie almost came as the mighty warrior carefully lifted out first one foot and then the other. Without so much as blinking, MacLeod stood back up, gently grabbing Richie's elbows and pulling him into the glass-enclosed stall. "That wasn't so bad, was it?" he asked cheerfully.
Richie knew he was being laughed at. That made his face burn redder as he limped naked into the shower. Once inside, Duncan turned him toward the head, reaching around him to grasp the handles. “I’ll do it,” Richie quickly decided, knocking the hands away. Not to be so easily dismissed, the Highlander reached around further, encircling him with strong arms locked at his waist.
"All right." Silence. “You do actually have to turn to the handles, tough guy,” Duncan finally murmured. “And….”
His shaking hands found the knobs and turned. A harsh gasp from Richie as the cold water hit his bare skin and abrasions obliterated the rest of the Highlander’s sentence. “Damn!” he cussed as the arms held him tighter, his body trapped in front of the spray. The cold water warmed quickly, turning to hot faster than Richie’s overstressed brain could process. “Arrrrgh,” he kept repeating as he adjusted the temperature.
“Finished?” Duncan asked as he settled on barely scalding water, even though his abrasions screamed. His muscles were much more comfortable, and as his aches and pains melted away, so did the grime, dirt and blood on his skin. Lost in a warm buzz of endorphins and steam, he hardly noticed as a hand not his own brushed up his stomach and chest. Fingers stroked away the sweat, leaving behind tingly skin, red from the hot water. The other traveled languidly to his head, pushing gently forward until the spray sliced through his hair.
“Ahhhh,” Richie moaned as fingers carefully worked shampoo into his curls, massaging his scalp. Nothing better to soothe the blinding headache he had since the accident. Everything felt so good, especially the warm slick body behind him, accidentally pressing against him every time he swayed in the shower. Especially, the rigid object that kept digging into his butt. “What….?”
Whatever it was brushed against his ass crack as Duncan rinsed his hair. He missed the first part of the Highlander’s reply, the noise of water running down his head momentarily deafening him. “…just an automatic reaction to what we’re doing.”
Richie didn’t think it’d take a rocket scientist to figure out MacLeod was straighter than a board. “Oh,” his mouth whispered as his brain processed the brush-off. Like hell he’d give up so quickly. His hands entwined with Duncan’s, leading them down his body until all twenty digits were wrapped around his achingly erect member. “Nothing automatic about this, big guy.”
A chuckle brushed against his ear as the fingers started stroking. “You think this is big now?” With only soapy water to help, that blunt object pressed hard against his ass, sliding its way into his tight bud. “I’m surprised you’re up to this being hurt and all.”
Filled like he’d never been before, unable to think as both their fingers worked his rod, he moaned. “Ohhh, hurts so good!” He leaned his head back to rest on a strong shoulder, letting the hot water splash his chest and run down his torso. All the little aches and pains, scrapes and bruises hardly compared to the flashes of sensation bursting from his ass and groin. He never wanted it to end.
“What the fuck is going on?” Tessa screeched, standing there holding the shower door open, glaring at the two men in her life, two naked men having sex in a glass-walled shower.
“Oh, god!” Richie gasped, caught, sitting up in his bed as he orgasmed. Cum splashed all over his stomach, soaking into the covers around his thighs. He looked frantically around, knowing he had heard Tessa, not finding her in the dark room. Not hearing her outside his door. Not hearing them in their bedroom having wild monkey sex. “Just a friggin’ dream,” he rationalized.
A glance at the clock informed him it was still early morning, four a.m. His headache was just returning, and all the little scrapes and bruises covering his body wanted their pain acknowledged. Last time he was going to do anything that stupid. He didn’t need the lecture from the Highlander. Although, the make out sex fantasy in the shower was a new big favorite.
For one blindingly brief second, he wondered what the old man would do if he had a scraped arm presented to him for a "kiss to make it better." From that to a blowjob was only forty seconds difference. After four hundred years, surely the Scot would have at least tried sex with a guy.
Plus, his bladder was about to burst. Richie checked his reflection in the mirror of the bathroom after taking care of business. Pale skin dotted with dark bruising and red scrapes. Flat chest with enough hair on it to weed-eat. Small dick. Very little experience. Not to mention a face that screamed “bottom boy” at the top of its lungs. Nope. The Highlander wouldn’t go for him. Certainly not with “Drop Dead Gorgeous” Tessa salivating all over him.
"Wake up, lughead, he’s way outta your league,” Richie told his reflection. He added a “damn!” when he found the empty Tylenol bottle in the trashcan. He left his bathroom and headed out to the hall, hoping Tessa might have some…and that she wouldn’t be too angry at being woken up.
He reached out to knock, stopping as he saw the light flickering under the doorframe. Quietly, he listened at the door, hoping not to get too steamy an earful. When he heard Tessa talking to herself, mostly under her breath, no sounds of skin slapping on skin or moaning or bed creaking, he braved a chance and slowly slid the door open, whispering “Tessa” as he did so.
Nothing he had ever witnessed or heard about prepared him for the scene laid out before him. Candles surrounded the room, bathing everything in a warm, soft light. Everything seemed to glow, especially the glistening Highlander as he stood, naked and spread-eagled against the canopied bed, his limbs stretched out and tied top and bottom to the two posts at the foot of the bed.
He was naked. Well, except for the spiked collar around his neck. And sweating. And definitely gagged.
Tessa, however, stood off to the side, wearing somewhat more leather, one of those outfits in the Fredrick’s catalog he stole from the mail pile, face partially masked and curling a bull whip in her hands. Both pairs of eyes turned to Richie, frozen in the doorway, frozen in shock. “Oh, man,” he gasped, biting his lip at the sudden pain of his erection tenting his restrictive boxer shorts. “Oh, fucking, man.”
The man in question started fighting against the restraints, looking between Tessa and Richie, frantic to get loose. “Silence,” Tessa shouted, whacking the Highlander against the straining chest with the curled whip. Duncan stopped and what sounded suspiciously like a whine gurgled from behind the gag. Richie couldn’t tear his eyes away from MacLeod, entranced by the reality that was even better than his fantasies. And the Scot was definitely hung, especially with leather straps binding up his balls and shaft until it stood curved into the air, pulsing and veined with need. The mushroom, fully exposed from the foreskin by the intense pressure, glimmered with precum. Richie’s jaw ached just looking at the monster.
Suddenly, the whip encircled his throat, a makeshift collar pulling him back as Tessa whispered seductively in his ear. “Like what you see, naughty boy?” With a shove, he stumbled forward, guided and controlled by the throat, forced to kneel in front of the Highlander by the normally cool, collected sculptor. “Would you like some candy, little boy?” she asked, forcing his head forward until Duncan’s cock brushed against his cheek.
Fingers behind his jaw opened his mouth, and the rigid shaft was guided into the waiting hole, stretching Richie’s lips tight against the hot flesh. “Mmmm,” he moaned, the vibrations sending MacLeod’s body into fits. “Mmmm, mmm,” he tried again, choking, desperate to clear his airways of the invading monster. But Tessa pushed harder, shoving more and more down his tight throat. Until the curly hairs brushed his nose. Until all ten inches of Scottish warrior was crammed in his mouth. Until Richie couldn’t breathe and felt himself pass out.
“Rich?” Duncan asked, gently tapping his face. “Rich?” The word echoed in his head, driving away the blackness. He gasped, filling his lungs with air, cool sweet air. “Rich!” Duncan almost shouted a third time, cradling the young man’s head as he lifted it up. “Open your eyes,” he added. “Open your eyes and breathe normally.”
“What?” Richie asked, too tired to finish the thought. God, everything hurt, his head, his skin, his muscles.
Duncan lifted him so he was sitting on the sofa, clothed in warm sweats. “You fell asleep on us, tough guy. And somehow started choking."
Unconsciously, Richie’s eyes flicked down to the Highlander’s crotch before returning to the concerned face of his friend. “Sooo…what were we doing?” Even in pain, the question sounded far from innocent.
Tessa walked up, setting a large bowl of popcorn in his lap. “You said you wanted to watch movies tonight, so Duncan ran out to the video store.” She handed over a large glass filled with cola, then turned to the Highlander to hand him a bottle of water. “What did you say you got?”
Thankful to have something covering his quickly sprouting erection, Richie barely flinched as the pair sat on either side of him. With the couch being so small, they were pressed together, but apparently neither wanted to sit in the easy chair. A warm fuzzy feeling sprouted in his stomach as he realized they wanted to be near him. Even if it took a little bike spill to worry them. The warm fuzzy feeling intensified as both reached toward his lap, for the popcorn. What a wicked little fantasy this could turn out to be.
An elbow dug into his side, gently, but still enough to cause a sharp pain. “What?” He turned to Duncan, who seemed caught between amusement and concern.
The Highlander’s arm lifted over his head to settle on the back of the couch. “I told you we’re watching “The Princess Bride” and you seemed out of it. Are you all right?”
The opening strains of the movie echoed in the room. Richie looked into the eyes of his very best friend, his almost father, looking at him with such worry and love. Then he glanced over at his other best friend, who opened her home and her heart to him, treating him as worthy of her love and trust. No daydream, no fantasy could ever compare to this wonderful bedtime story.
“Am I ever,” Richie replied, leaning over until his head rested nestled on the Highlander’s shoulder. He tugged Tessa down with him, until she rested against him, in full reach of Duncan’s hand behind them on the sofa. There, nestled in the protective arms of their Immortal love, the trio watched a fairy tale involving love and loss….
...and a storybook ending.