Make Me Soar (35 page)

“Sir, can we talk?”

Alan gave a start. Dorian stood by the coffee machine, two mugs in his hands. His cheeks were pink, his eyes bright.

“Sure. How about we go into the lounge and I’ll get the fire going?”

Dorian nodded, and Alan led the way out of the kitchen and into the lounge. By the time the fire had caught, the coffee was ready to drink. Dorian sat beside him on the couch, drinking, his gaze fixed on the dancing flames. His knee bounced, and he trembled a little.

Alan put down his mug. “What is it?”

Dorian mirrored his action and then drew his legs up onto the couch, hugging his knees. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking today.” His eyes shone. “And it’s helped me come to a decision about where I go from here.”

A shiver slipped down Alan’s spine as he contemplated whatever the hell was coming. “Oh?” His voice was steady.

Dorian nodded. “Actually, it was Justin who put the idea in my head.” His gaze met Alan’s. “But I wanted to discuss it with you, to see what
you
thought.”

With a calm he certainly didn’t feel, Alan leaned against the cushions, his legs drawn up under him. “Go on.”

Dorian drew in a deep breath. “I’d like to become a counselor.”

Alan blinked. “I see.” He paused for a moment while he collected his thoughts. “What would that entail? Would you require more qualifications?” His heart sank at the notion of Dorian taking on yet another degree. The lad couldn’t be a student
all
his life.

Dorian smiled. “The thing is, I already have a degree in Psychology, yeah? So all I’d need would be a certificate in counseling, or maybe a diploma. It’s only one year of studying, but I wouldn’t be able to get on a course until September. There’s one at the Manchester College.” He was almost bouncing.

Alan folded his arms across his chest. “You’ve been doing some research, I see.”

Dorian nodded enthusiastically.

“Okay, now tell me
why
you want to do this.”

Dorian sat upright, cross-legged on the couch. “It felt good that I was able to help Justin. Something he said made me think. He said that I didn’t get into a pity party with him, but that I empathized. Well, that’s how a counselor
should
be, able to show empathy but remain objective enough to offer the right advice.”

“Fair enough. But it seems to me you’re basing this decision on two or three conversations with Justin. I get that they went well, and you were able to help him, but is it enough? Being a counselor can be a tough job, Dorian. You’d see people who are struggling to overcome all manner of issues.”

Dorian stared at him. “Are you trying to talk me out of it?”

“No!” Alan rose to his feet and sat on the coffee table in front of him, leaning forward. “I’ve been a counselor, so I know what I’m talking about. I just want you to show me what’s led you to this point. Convince me that this is not Dorian the perpetual student talking to me now.”

Dorian bobbed his head slowly. “Okay.” He studied his hands, clasped in his lap. “I guess the main reason is….” He paused, his gaze lowered, and then he lifted his chin to reveal those beautiful brown eyes that gleamed. “It makes me happy to be able to help someone else. To take what I’ve experienced and apply what I’ve learned from it. Let’s face it. I have two degrees, and I was still searching for something to do. The idea of being a counselor, well, it’s something I feel passionate about.” He smiled. “Is that a good enough reason?”

Alan leaned forward and kissed his forehead. “Probably the best reason there is.”

Dorian’s cheeks glowed. “Thanks for that.”

Alan laughed. “The kiss or the approbation?” He loved this latest development. Dorian was turning out to be full of surprises. The flush that rose from beneath his sweater to travel up his neck was adorable. “So what will you do until September?”

“There’s things I could be doing in the meantime that would be useful, especially if I want to work with places like George House Trust. For instance, I went onto their website, and they’re always in need of volunteers.”

“To do what?”

“Help out at coffee mornings, fundraising events, stuff like that.”

Alan leaned back on the table, his weight on his arms. “Seems to me like you’ve been doing a lot of research today.” He became still when Dorian’s smile faltered and his teeth worried that lower lip. Alan knew the signs by now; the lad had something on his mind. “What else were you researching?”

The blush slipped from Dorian’s cheeks. “I… I was looking up information on skin grafts.”

Ah
. Alan had been expecting this. He kept his voice steady. “And what did you find out?”

“The sites I found were talking about removing burns and scars, and there were different approaches.”

Alan sat up and studied Dorian’s face, noting his pallor. “Do you mind it that much, lad?” He spoke softly.

There was silence for several long seconds. “I’ve put Berlin behind me, Sir. I feel like I’ve come through it a much stronger person. But that brand….” There was that full lip, caught in his teeth again. “Whenever I touch it as I’m dressing or undressing, whenever I catch sight of it in a mirror, whenever I feel it pull… I’m reminded of how stupid I was, of the enormous mistake I made.” There was a hitch in his breathing. “I can’t help it, Sir. I’ve tried to ignore the way I feel, but I can’t get past it.” He unfolded his legs and got up off the couch, picking up the two empty mugs. “I’ll just go and wash these.” Dorian exited the room in a hurry.

Alan rested his elbows on his knees, his chin supported by his clasped hands, listening to the sound of running water as Dorian cleaned the mugs.

This was not good. Not good at
all
.

He closed his eyes and concentrated. Somewhere there had to be
something
he could do to help Dorian. But what? Alan was full of admiration for the sub having come so far. The last thing he wanted was for this to hold Dorian back.

He went over to the fire and poked it, stirring the glowing embers beneath the logs, his mind searching for a solution.

Because there had to be one.

A
LAN
HEARD
the shower shut off as he went through into the kitchen to make them both a hot chocolate before bed. It was already ten o’clock, and he’d switched off the TV when Dorian had gone to take his shower. It had been a quiet evening, due in part to Alan’s preoccupation. In his head he was still ruminating on Dorian’s intention to do something about his brand.

The milk revolved in the microwave, and Alan got ready the two mugs, hot chocolate spooned into them. The hum of the microwave barely registered. Alan was deep in thought.

After everything Dorian’s been through, all the insights he’s gained into the way his mind works, it all boils down to this
—
those four letters, etched deep into his flesh
.
That word which will forever remind him of one mistake
.

There had to be
something
Alan could do, because feeling
this
helpless was anathema to him.

Once he’d stirred in the hot milk, Alan went upstairs to turn on the electric blanket. The night felt particularly chilly. Even though he’d soon warm up once he was under the duvet, he hated that initial chill of getting into a cold bed in a cold room. The bathroom door was ajar, giving him the view of fogged mirrors and tiles gleaming with condensation. Alan went into his bedroom and clicked on the blanket. On his way downstairs he stuck his head around Dorian’s door—and came to a dead stop.

Dorian was standing in front of the wardrobe, naked, his back to the mirrored door. He’d craned his neck to peer at his reflection, and it was obvious he was looking at the brand. What caught Alan’s attention was the expression on his face, regret alternating with frustration.

As quietly as he could, Alan withdrew from the doorway and crept downstairs. To make his presence known would have been wrong; it felt too much like intruding on a very private moment. It was his house, but that room was Dorian’s personal space. When he reached the foot of the stairs, he called out to let Dorian know there was a hot drink awaiting him. Then he went into the kitchen, picked up the mugs, and carried them into the lounge, where he deposited them on the coffee table. The fire was dying, so he crouched down in front of the fireplace and grabbed a handful of kindling. Behind him he heard the
pad pad
of Dorian’s bare feet coming down the stairs. Alan focused on his task, building up the fire with more logs until the flames cast a warm glow around the darkened room.

“I do like it when there are no lamps and it’s just the light from the fire.”

He turned. Dorian sat on the couch, bundled up in his green robe, feet tucked under him, hands wrapped around his mug. The firelight caught in his eyes.

Alan smiled. “Yes, me too.” The logs hissed and crackled. He felt the soft rug beneath his fingertips. In that instant he was transported back to the night of the snowstorm, the two of them on the rug, his mouth on that soft skin, that hard cock…. Just the memory was enough to make his dick harden. All it took was the association of firelight, darkness, and that rug.

Association….

Alan felt a lightness spread throughout his chest, and his pulse quickened.
Now
there’s
an idea….

He got to his feet and sat in the big armchair next to the fire. Dorian watched him, as if he sensed Alan’s excited state. Sure enough, the lad put down his mug, gaze fixed on Alan.

He kept his breathing even, forcing as much authority into his voice as he could. “Take off your robe, boy.”

He saw the effect of his command immediately. Dorian stiffened for a second or two, swallowing. Then he nodded, standing up and slipping the robe off him. His collar gleamed around his neck, his cock visibly filling. Dorian stood still, waiting.

Alan patted his lap. “Sit astride me, facing me.”

Dorian smiled and walked across to him, his breathing that little bit faster. He straddled Alan’s lap, his knees tight against Alan’s thighs. “I think we’ve been here before.” That smile widened.

Alan didn’t return his smile. Instead, he reached up and stroked across Dorian’s chest, making the lad shiver. Dorian caught on quick. He sat up, back rigid, his face straight. “Sir.”

“Whose is this body?” Alan demanded quietly.

Dorian gulped. “Yours, Sir?”

He nodded slowly. “Good boy.” He trailed his fingers lower to tweak Dorian’s nipples, then twisted them slightly. Dorian let out a gasp, followed by a low whine when Alan tightened his grip. “These are mine.”

“Yours, Sir,” Dorian agreed at once, beginning to sound a little breathless.

Alan released the tiny nubs and moved his hands lower to wrap one around his cock, pulling back the foreskin slowly, grip tight around the shaft. Dorian arched into his touch, lips parted.

“Your cock, Sir.”

“Oh yes.” Alan growled out the words with his eyes focused on Dorian’s face. With one last tug he slipped his hand around Dorian’s waist to where that word was burned into his lower back. He stroked over it, feeling the raised edges of each letter.

Dorian froze, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

“What does this say in English?” Alan stared at him, keeping his breathing regular, his heart pounding.

“H-hole, Sir.” Dorian lowered his gaze, chin dipping toward his chest.

Alan stroked over his arse to his crack and pushed a finger slowly over his hole, all the while never letting up that gentle caressing of his brand. “This hole?” He pushed up with his hips, letting him feel Alan’s erection beneath him.

“Y-yes, Sir.” Dorian was quivering all over, his hands on Alan’s shoulders now, fingers digging into the muscled flesh, his eyes closed.

Alan rubbed over the puckered entrance, pressing against it, feeling the tight muscle resist him. “Whose hole is this?” At the same time he caressed the scarred flesh, staring at Dorian.

Dorian jerked his head up, eyes wide open. “Yours, Sir.”

Alan kept his gaze locked on Dorian while he brought his finger to Dorian’s mouth. “Get it wet.” Dorian did as instructed, breathing rapidly, hips beginning to roll. Alan nodded, smiling at last as he pulled his dripping finger free of Dorian’s hot, wet mouth. “That’s right. This is
my
hole.” He sank his finger into Dorian’s heat, noting how the lad pushed down on it, body gently writhing. Alan kept up that slow brush of fingertips over the brand, his hand moving in time to the finger sliding in and out of Dorian’s body. “
My
hole,” he repeated, adding a second finger and pushing as deep as he could, still stroking over the brand.

“Oh, God,” Dorian whimpered. “Sir.”

Alan grinned. “Do you like that, boy?” Like he needed to hear the answer.

“Fuck… I mean…. Oh God,
yes
, Sir.” Dorian was panting, riding his fingers faster and faster.

Alan brought his fingerfucking to a halt, and Dorian let out a groan of frustration. Alan grabbed the back of Dorian’s neck and pulled him down into a fierce kiss, letting the lad feel his hunger, his need, his desire. Dorian moaned into his mouth, tongue sliding against his, hips rocking. Alan’s dick was granite behind his zipper.