CHAPTER 37
The height of summer had passed now, the long light evenings beginning to be a memory; in a twilight hour, Aaron lay on the floor of the flat; he had been silent for a while but Dora was patient, content now to wait and let him take the conversation where he would.
"Do you think we're getting better?" he asked, twisting backwards to look up at her.
"Do you see becoming better as a finite process?" countered Dora, throwing a question back at him. "I mean," she said, elaborating as she saw the puzzlement in his eyes, "do you see 'better' as a particular place you will reach one day, a moment you will arrive at, recognise and never move from again?"
"Yes," agreed Aaron. "I mean no," he contradicted himself. "I dunno...I just wondered," he finished lamely.
"Aaron," sighed Dora, "you are 'better', you always have been 'better'," she smiled at him. "Perhaps what you need to ask yourself is 'are you coping'? Have our chats helped you to cope? But that begs the question, 'what is coping?"
"Has this been therapy?" Aaron asked, ignoring the tangle of her question. She was good at that, he had realised, tangling questions.
"Do you think it has been?" replied Dora, asking a question again.
Aaron screwed up his face in concentration as he considered his answer to the question; he wasn't really sure what therapy entailed but this hadn't felt like his vague idea of it. He shook his head a little.
"Can I get back to you on that one?" he asked.
"Of course," laughed Dora. "But don't spend too much time worrying about it. Now put the kettle on and we'll have a coffee before you go."
She watched him move smoothly from the floor, rising easily and going through to the small kitchen. It had been a long month, she was tired, she wasn't as young as she once was, but it had been worthwhile, so worthwhile. She smiled to herself, a wry smile tinged with sadness; they had been to some dark places together, she had held him as he cried, tears for Jackson, tears for his friends, a storm of tears for a young man he had known so briefly. He had reached these places himself; she was perhaps only a guide, a torch, offering a beacon of light in his darkness. But he had faced the darkness with bravery and she believed he had reached beyond his darkness.
Jackson too; in some ways it had been harder to reach Jackson; guilt was perhaps a more difficult, more insidious emotion to dislodge, to make safe. But they had worked hard together; she had tried to open his eyes, make him see; she wasn't sure that she had, in the end all she could do was try to weave a safety net for him. She hoped she had done that now.
"What time is Jackson's appointment at the hospital tomorrow?" she called as she heard the clatter of mugs and jars in the kitchen.
"Three fifteen," called back Aaron, "Hazel's taking him."
Dora could hear the disappointment in his voice, even from where she sat at the table in the sitting room.
"And...?" Dora left the question hanging in the air.
"And nothing," said Aaron, coming back into the room. "Cain's got stuff he needs doing, Hazel's free; it's no big deal." He handed her the mug of coffee before dropping into the seat opposite her.
Dora looked at him, debating with herself. Soon, she thought. Tomorrow.
"Tea at the Woollie then, afterwards," she suggested, making up her mind. "I have something I need to talk to you both about."
Aaron squinted at her, puzzled.
"Don't look so worried," continued Dora. "Have you heard from Greg and Finn recently?" she asked, changing the subject.
"Yeah," replied Aaron, comfortably slurping his coffee. "We're going up at the weekend. Oh!" He stopped speaking abruptly, realising. "I'm sorry, Dora, we should have said something sooner."
"No, no! That's fine, Aaron," Dora said, quickly reassuring; the timing couldn't have worked out more perfectly she thought. "I'm sure you'll have a lovely weekend; Greg is a good host."
"He is," agreed Aaron, thinking of the hearty meals he had had at the Vicarage in previous visits. It would be nice to get away again, even if it was only for a couple of nights.
They parted a short while later; Aaron to walk the few steps up to Smithy Cottage, Dora picked up a blank piece of paper and stared at it. Then she reached for her telephone.
...
Aaron jumped into the bed beside Jackson.
"I'm so glad this is the last night we're gonna have to do this," he said bouncing round onto his stomach as close to Jackson as he could, "I want my own side of the bed back."
"Oh I don't know about that," protested Jackson, "I've rather got used to this side now; I quite like it."
"Oh no way!" laughed Aaron, snuggling closer, putting his arm across Jackson's belly. "Once those casts are off tomorrow, we're back to normal; it still feels all wrong doing it this way round!" His hand slid across Jackson's flat stomach, caressing his flank; his fingers making small, teasing, circular movements across his skin. He felt Jackson move under his touch, easing away, then pushing into his fingers.
"Shit! This is so hard!" breathed Jackson. "I want to be on top of you and fuck you properly."
"Patience," replied Aaron, a smile in his voice, "tomorrow." He bent his head to Jackson's chest, nuzzling into the smooth skin below his shoulder, his lips grazing, gently nibbling their way towards his nipple. He sucked a little, feeling the small bud begin to swell under his attentions, flicking his tongue over the growing hardness.
Jackson moved his good arm over Aaron's back, his fingers making small, circular movements at the back of his neck, feeling his short, spiky hair, still damp from his shower, leaving its moisture on his fingers.
His touch sent shivers of anticipation the length of Aaron's spine, he moved, trailing tiny kisses across Jackson's body.
Suddenly Jackson squirmed away from him.
"Ah that tickles!" he gasped, twisting away a little. "You know it always tickles when you get me there!"
"I know," replied Aaron, grinning down at him. All at once they were a tangle of limbs, twisting, writhing, Jackson hampered by the casts, had only one leg and arm to defend himself with, to hold Aaron against him with.
"I am so gonna get you back tomorrow!" exclaimed Jackson, attempting to lunge at Aaron but prevented by the awkward casts, he fell back to the bed, laughing.
"No you won't," teased Aaron, "you won't have the strength and will still have to be careful. I on the other hand..." he left the remainder of the sentence unsaid. Suddenly his hands seemed to be everywhere over Jackson's body, tickling, teasing, caressing, arousing; his lips followed, kisses reigning down on any bit of skin he could reach.
Pinned beneath him, Jackson responded; breathlessly he nipped, drawing Aaron's attention, their lips met, their tongues collided, played with each other, danced a lust-filled, erotic dance.
Aaron thrust his hips against Jackson, his hardening cock caught between them; it felt good, the pressure against it as he held Jackson tightly to him, his fingers raking the length of his back. His hands reached lower; Jackson was hard too, for a moment Aaron let his hand stroke it then he moved, turning quickly until he could put his lips to it.
Jackson groaned; his excitement rocketing as Aaron's lips slid over his cock head, his tongue pausing to tease his slit that was already beginning to slowly leak pre-cum. With his good arm, he pushed against Aaron's hip until Aaron understood and moved to straddle him.
Jackson could reach Aaron now, could caress him, cup his balls, tighten his grip slightly and feel the matching increase in pressure on himself. He leant forward a little, able to reach Aaron's buttocks; he kissed them, ran his tongue slowly over the patch of skin he could reach; in the soft darkness he could still make out the contours of Aaron's body, the curve of his butt cheeks, the soft puckering flower of his arse. He blew, gently and instantly felt rather than heard the deep groan of arousal that thrilled through Aaron's body, almost lying now on top of him. He bent his head forward and blew again, his warm breath so close to Aaron's skin he could almost feel his soft hairs moving in the breeze he created. He put out his tongue, flicking it rapidly over that puckered flower, even in that brief moment, feeling it tense then relax until he licked again.
Getting more urgent now as their excitement increased, Aaron's mouth sucked firmly on Jackson's rigid cock, his tongue and teeth teasing as his movements increased their speed, matching Jackson's own. He could feel the tension building, a shudder beginning to constrict in the centre of his being; Jackson had stopped blowing and licking now, his fingers touching and exploring were controlling the sensations flooding through Aaron's body.
Jackson's breath was coming in ragged gasps now, the moments between each breath allowing his crescendo to build; his fingers stopped moving, only clutching Aaron's balls as he held his breath, second after second, shaking slightly as his orgasm took him. As he took a deep shuddering breath into his desperate lungs he suddenly knew Aaron was on the very brink of his own orgasm. Returning his attention to Aaron, Jackson slid his hand up and down his cock, licked his tongue, once around his arse and upwards, teasing his crack.
Aaron came. Copiously; his juice shot out, covering Jackson's hand and dripping down onto his chest. With a last shuddering, heaving sigh of satisfaction, Aaron rolled from Jackson's body.
Jackson moved, awkward, hampered by his casts, he twisted towards Aaron.
"Ouch!" The thud of cast against head.
Jackson flopped back onto the bed. "Sorry," he gasped, "I didn't mean..."
"It's okay," answered Aaron, propped up on one elbow now, the other hand rubbing his head. He was lying against Jackson's legs, still facing his feet.
"I was trying to reach that tee shirt," explained Jackson, nodding over his side of the bed. "My leg must have moved and got you."
"Like I said," Aaron sat up and reached over Jackson, scooping up the tee shirt from the floor, "I shall be very glad when you get those things off tomorrow." He began dabbing at Jackson's chest.
"Here, I'll do that," Jackson snatched the tee shirt from him and began scrubbing at his chest. He squinted down, looking from his chest to the cast on his arm. "I hope none of this stuff has got onto my casts, it's not like there hasn't been enough of it around the last few weeks." He lifted his arm, twisted his head near to the edge of the cast and sniffed.
"Well there won't be much of it there, will there," scoffed Aaron. He bent forward and sniffed.
Jackson giggled. "If anyone could see us now; you with your arse in the air, sniffing my cast, to see if it smells of old cum!"
"It smells of fresh cum!" announced Aaron, sitting back on his heels; he grinned down at Jackson. "But tomorrow..." he didn't finish his sentence; Jackson used his good arm to pull him back down on top of him. They squirmed comfortably together into another kiss. A long kiss.