The cloister was cool and dark, the ancient stones stained by and cloaked in a silencing layer of living moss. The basso drone of the chapel organ was here only a dim, aeolian hum; vague, atonal at this distance. Yet old Brother Sebastian could be relied upon to keep up his playing until fully midnight or so, after his obligatory accompaniment of the final chant of Compline, held at nine in the evening, had finished.
He was working on a new composition (he was ALWAYS working on a new composition, he said), as he was very fond of telling anybody within earshot at table. The monks ate in nominal silence as the lesson was delivered from the lectern at the head of the table. But Brother Sebastian was nearly deaf, and gifted with a strident clarion voice, and didn't care what anyone else thought. All of which made his attempts at whisper in the refectory almost as bad as his musical extemporizations in chapel.
Meanwhile, Master Foxkind, one of the young scholars in residence, was slipping furtively amongst the quiet shadows of the arcade, pausing at intervals in the dark behind pillars to listen for footsteps. It wasn't ghosts he was looking out for, whatever the stories said. For no boy should be out of his room this late, and there'd be hell to pay if he got caught.
But this wasn't an ordinary sneak-out. And if the sound of the organ made it harder to hear the sandals of the older monks, then it ought to do Fox the service of masking the sound of his own tread. But he could hear the creak of his own leather, and the beat of his heart. He'd just have to be all the more careful.
He wondered absently if Brother Sebastian might actually be trying to learn to play with his left hand, tonight, on the keyboard. Which would be a definite artistic enhancement, he added to himself. Or at least, certainly couldn't hurt much, he amended. Brother Sebastian never did employ his left hand upon the keys during the Liturgy of the Hours, reserving that most precious limb, rather, for his amazingly random, kaleidoscopic, puzzling - and sometimes startling - changes to the selection of organ stops.
None of the other students who knelt beside Fox (as they all called him) eight times each day, adding their innocent alto and cautious tenor and nervous, cracking baritone contributions to the chant of Divine Service seemed to notice. Nor did the monks in the forward stalls, with their timeless pace and mature, deep-chested tone, ever seem bothered by the weird, provoking, meaningless sound combinations - and the occasional shattering sforzato blasts which screamed from the poor, strangled soul of the organ under Sebastian's wringing hands. But Master Fox could never bring himself to call such shivery, amystically painful experiences: "Art". Dear Maestro Vivaldi back home would have cringed too, he thought, smiling to himself.
With the greatest of luck and ease, Fox, now fourteen, had matured suddenly and quickly into a rich, manly baritone, of which he was rightly proud. Before even Father Vivaldi could say "castrato" - which would never have happened, as Fox's own Venetian father was too rich and powerful. But his father had ultimately refused Fox the life of music which he had always desired (if not particularly sans couilles), choosing instead the austere cloister of a monastery in which to continue Fox's education. His father cherished the hope that his son would carry on the family's merchant heritage when he came of age. Fox lost no love on his father for sending him away, but he was more than glad that his father hadn't delivered him over to the impresarios of Naples in such a permanent way as to insure he could reach all the highest notes for the rest of his life. His own father could have actually done that, he acknowledged, unflinching.
The thought still made his testicles crawl.
Suddenly there were a pair of voices from the intersecting arcade ahead. Fox dived reflexively into the shadows as the Abbot and the Prefect of Boys passed not two yards from him, their dark woolen habits sweeping the floor with great, cold authority. His dark hair and eyes, and the deep brown of Fox's own hooded robe helped to hide him in the fortuitous darkness.
The Abbot was in charge of everyone and everything in his monastery, an absolute monarch. And the Prefect of Boys was his students' chief disciplinarian: judge, jury and executioner. Fox worked hard at his studies, and his labor assignments, and helped out enough to get noticed. Everybody at the cloister liked him. But he sometimes found himself threatened with the business end of a peach switch for getting into all sorts of mischief - for which, too, he had a definite knack. But he was bright and witty, and he had a simple, fearless charm, and a sure talent for talking his way out of any guilty situation. Which talent saved him from becoming rather intimately acquainted with said flexible green wood on more than one occasion. But at this late hour, the mischief he was getting up to would have been dealt with, seriously indeed.
When the coast was clear, he pressed on, hastening so as to avoid any more near occasions for potential discovery. His destination was down two more hallways and a turn to the right ahead, in one of the lesser-used sections of the building. He was sure that deaf old Brother Sebastian, blasting away far off on the organ, could hear the scuff-snick of his sandals on the clean stone floor. Heart pounding with more than just the fear of detection, and sweat appearing under his arms, he willed himself to slow, be more cautious.
He found his target, and knocked as quietly as he could on the thick, iron-bound door. Two quick knocks, then three slow ones, and two quick ones again - that was the signal they'd worked out. Young Master Cef was more than a little cautious, too, not wanting an uninvited stranger's mistake to lead to him having to invent an explanation for opening the door as for a visitor at such a late hour. Fox waited precious eternities, surveying the arcaded path in both directions, more than ever anxious of discovery. Even his bottom was sweating, and he knew the robe would itch him later. Then the door quickly opened, and he stepped through, turning to close it securely behind him.
Cef was the youngest of the students there, thirteen, and the smallest, too. His nickname, "The Littlest Monk" was just too endearingly, unbearably cute, like him - and a little bit appropriate, but only a bit. He was in the most junior rank of the scholars, a year behind Fox, and not a monk at all. He did well in his studies, too, but was not at all as bold or strong as Fox. He had curly blonde hair, huge winning blue eyes, and was still waiting the growth spurt that marks the true beginning of adolescence. Which made him look all the more adorable, and too, somewhat more filled out than he really was.
Despite his fetching appearance, Cef was very shy, Fox lately having become his only friend.
His robe was too big by a couple of sizes, and hung over his hands and dragged on the ground whenever it could. He pulled and tugged at it from habit, and kept the garment cinched tight around his waist, and bloused front and back to take up the excess length - and to hide the embarrassing constant stiffie with which boys his age are sometimes plagued. And which, in its own way, had originally given rise to the double-entendre inherent in his nickname.
Fox initiated the ritual of greeting. He drew near to Cef, and placed both hands frankly on the younger boy's shoulders. Cef answered by reaching up to cup Fox's elbows in his honest, small palms, and leaned forward a little. Fox had to bow more deeply to bring his cheek alongside his friend's. "Pax tecum," he offered quietly, a bit self-consciously, into the small ear before his lips.
"Et cum spiritu tuo," responded Cef shyly, oddly uneasy, too. The warm sweetness of Fox's breath on his face made him shiver a little. The ritual over, the relax to just-boys.
"Are you ready?"
"Yeah. You?"
"Ready as I'll ever be, I suppose. Are you sure this'll work?"
"Trust me. Can't fail." Or if it does fail, we'll both be disgraced right out of here, and nothing will matter anyway, Fox thought. But there was no time to worry.
They had met up after the None Service (three in the afternoon), earlier that day, when lunch was over, and work detail, too (their instruction periods being all in the morning). Cef had spent the afternoon hoeing peas in the garden; Fox, currying horses in the stables. They were both feeling grimy and sweaty, and stank in chapel as they chanted, firmly but sweetly, under the strange rod of Brother Sebastian's burdensome and curious counterpoint.
"Hey, Fox, wanna duck out and take a walk?" Quiet, bookish Cef liked walking, the one exercise he enjoyed, and had explored the countryside all around on his solitary afternoon hikes, farther than anyone imagined. Everyone knew that he always went alone, disdained company at all times, and was generally kind of stand-offish. The other boys were righteously offended at his eccentricities, or made themselves up that way at least, and they took every opportunity to hate him and haze him for a thousand various and sundry imagined moral and physical flaws. Even the Prefect himself had noticed (or he'd been snitched to by some of the other boys), and had taken counsel with Cef about his attitude.
Which made no difference to Fox. They weren't really friends, but Fox was the carefree sort of boy who could enjoy being with almost anybody. He wasn't intimidated by Cef, or taken aback by his reserve. He felt sort of affectionate towards Cef, thought he was cute in a soft-bunny sort of way. But still, ignored him.
Fox suspected that what kept Cef detached was shyness, simple and pure. And loneliness - there was plenty of that for boys away from their families in the austerity and discipline of a cloister. But it was still odd: no one had ever heard of Cef inviting someone on a walk with him. The little snot was too introverted for that. Or conceited. Or perhaps no one would admit to hanging out with him, even for a short hike.
"Sure. But I need to bathe. I smell like a horse's ass in the rain."
Cef laughed. "I'm pretty grungy, too. Got a better idea than a bath. But you gotta trust me."
"Sure. What's the big secret?"
"That's just it: a secret. But it'll be cool. Meet me outside the scullery door, behind that big rock outside the walls, so they won't see you. Five minutes, OK?" Cef disappeared without waiting for an answer.
Fox made for the kitchen, careful to sneak past the monks on kitchen duty, and the students bustling about the pantry and buttery and scullery. The kitchen was strictly off limits except when assigned as work, but sneaking about was something that all the boys there had to learn, and he was cautious not to get caught. He made it out the door, past the stinking midden heap, with its perpetual cluster of dirty, leprous beggars and other animal scavengers who lived off the not-inconsiderable dross of the monastery kitchen, and the nearby farmers who used the worst of the mess for compost. When he had got to the safety of the sheltering rock, Cef was already waiting for him, haversack in hand.
"Hi, Master Fox. Brought along a snack. The cooks think I'm cute, and not fat enough. They save me morsels, and samples of the baking. Are you ready?"
"Yeah. But where're we going?"
"A secret. You promise not to tell?" he posed, a little nervously.
"Promise. But what's so secret about it?"
"Something I found on one of my walks. Something neat! You won't even miss not getting your turn in the bathhouse today."
They set out together through the afternoon sunshine. There was a gentle breeze, and the sun wasn't too hot. Perfect for an early spring afternoon. There had been much rain lately, and everything was bright with green and flowers, and buzzing bees busy at making more green and more flowers. They tramped a good long way, over fields and across a couple of rocky hills - tough work in sandals meant for indoors and the garden path. Cef was himself content with little or no conversation, seeming wholly absorbed in the walking.
But Fox wanted to talk with him, felt driven almost, more alone in the shared quiet than if Cef weren't there. And when it came to thinking of what to say, what to talk about, he was as uncomfortable breaking the barrier of silence as trudging on in the awkwardness. Cef did seem to be intimidating him, he thought, with that strange, fey distance of his. He didn't like it - threw him off his poise. Nobody was supposed to do that, not to Fox.
"I like walking," Cef broke in. "I go all over, on days when I can manage to sneak away."
"Everybody knows that. You aren't much of a sneak."
"So. But do they know where I go? Do they follow me? CAN they follow me?" He tossed his curls innocently, tauntingly.
Do they really care? Fox thought, biting off sarcasm. Arrogant little bastard: I should've stayed behind. Never do this again.
"You think I'm weird like the rest of them. Don't you?" It was a statement, not a question. A challenge.
"No. I don't think you're weird." Yes.
Cef didn't say anything for a while. "You think you're something special 'cause I asked you along on my walk? You aren't you know." He looked right at Fox, challenging him.
What a waste of an afternoon, thought Fox. They had walked on a few paces, when he was taken by an idea. He dropped back a bit, then suddenly threw himself at Cef, knocking the smaller boy to the ground as gently as he could (without being too obvious he wouldn't dare ever to hurt him).
"Hey, asshole! What's that all about?" Cef rolled over, struggling to rise.
Fox hitched up his robe to his thighs and straddled Cef, sitting on the other boy's belly, bare knees in the grass. "It's to teach you manners, you spoiled little brat! I'm special 'cause I'm me! And YOU asked me along, remember? So maybe I am special just because you asked me after all." He held Cef's gaze unrelentingly, as he finished in a whisper.
And Cef was weaker, as Fox knew. In both senses.
"Alright," Cef capitulated after a while. "Maybe you're right. I guess I did invite you." He was embarrassed, hot in the face and red in the ears. Realizing something, too, something strange. Cef wasn't as frightened as he would have figured, after having had Fox knock him down and sit on him like that. He got enough of that from the older, bigger boys. Enough that it didn't surprise him. But not enough that it didn't make him angry enough to cry. Which he did, often, to his eternal shame.
So he didn't understand it: why he wasn't angry and afraid just then. And lying on one's back in a field with someone sitting firmly upon you isn't the best way to think things like this out, he decided. And Fox looked so cool sitting there, like that.
"So if I promise to be good, will you let me up?"
"OK, but remember. One more wise crack, and I kick your ass." Fox grinned suddenly.
Cef smiled, sort of warm and glowing, almost to himself. He couldn't figure out if he actually liked Fox, or if it was just the nice day and the long walk. His muscles were warm and loose, and all the worries of study and schedule left behind the monastery walls. Couldn't figure out, either, why he wasn't upset about getting bowled over onto the grass. It just felt great to be there, and Fox was nice to have there, too.
(Sitting on him. Hunh? What a strange thought...) Why make it so difficult as that?
Fox saw the smile, grinned wider himself. He was surprised, too, that Cef wasn't more upset after the tackle. He thought the other boy would cry, embarrass them both. Or want to fight (unlikely: all the boys said Cef was a sissy). But Fox was pleased all the same. He never understood his own talent for handling people, especially people who were out of sorts with the world around them.
"I guess you must be," Cef admitted, after a while.
"Must be what?"
"Special. I did invite you out here..." He let it age in the air like an old, unpleasant cheese. Finally laughed.
Fox laughed, too, and felt the atmosphere lift. "So does that mean we're, like, gonna be friends or something?"
That thought surprised Cef. But only a little, less than he expected. (Had he expected it? He wondered.) He paused for a very long time, then countered, "Are you saying you want to be friends?" with a slight turn to the snide.
Great, thought Fox. He's still at it. The asshole's so full of himself. Alright: so I'll call his bluff. "Well, I guess so. Don't have many friends, you know."
Cef snorted. "Yeah, right! You know everyone. And everyone likes you. You're the most popular boy in school. No friends? I'm so sure!"
I just want to kill him, thought Fox. "I meant, YOU don't have that many friends..." He let it hang, a dirty accusation, in the afternoon stillness. Waited to see what he'd provoke.
But Cef called the bluff, with unexpected honesty. "Guess that's right. I don't have many. Friends. Never needed. Never got. Something like that. You know the other guys roll me, beat me up all the time."
"Yeah," Fox replied softly. He wasn't ready for Cef's self-exposure. Didn't know what to say. He felt a little guilty, too; defended himself, "But I never got into hurting you like that."
"No," Cef conceded, "I don't think you did. But you still think I'm weird."
Fox figured he'd try his luck one more time. "Actually, no. No, I don't. I don't think you're weird. And I bet you I can knock you down again before you can say that one more time, that I think you're weird."
Cef was quiet, walked on with no further sign of what he was thinking. Or none that Fox could sense, anyway. Seemed he'd withdrawn back into his old shyness again. Except maybe that he smiled a little now and then. Especially when Fox wasn't looking. But Fox kept catching upward glances from the smaller boy towards him. Never enough for eye contact; very tentative, testing. Fox felt an improbable sort of reward in those small, furtive glances, something warm and brotherly. Or so.
Fox was thinking about his own feelings right then. Why was he troubling himself with this kid? Certainly he had enough friends that he didn't need to put himself out for this one brat. Why do I feel all warm and comforting towards him, anyway? he wondered. True, Cef was small and dear, and indecently cute. And his hair was beautiful, all golden and highlights and sun. Damnit, he felt protective of the little kid. Silly. But, whatever: that wasn't reason enough to go through all this crap to be friends. Certainly not.
But Fox was an honest boy. He knew that Cef's beauty was part of that was going on inside him. Cef was cute as a button, and smart as hell. And Fox knew he himself was strong enough to live with that: to live with knowing that he liked Cef, and in a way that might be hard to explain to his father. Or Cef's father. Or the Abbot and Father Prefect. But truly, Fox wasn't worried. At least right then. It was too nice a day to be upset by bedtime fears and his strange secret yearnings. Fox would survive it all, grow up and find a place where he wouldn't depend on people, people who could outcast him for the things he might think about while waiting for sleep each night. He took a deep breath, stretched his arms wide, embracing fearlessly all that he could see. Trembled slightly when he reached out a hand to Cef's shoulder.
"What?" the younger boy challenged, more out of habit than fear.
"Nothing. Just it's such a beautiful day. I like it here. Thank you for taking me on your walk. It would be cool to be friends with you." That kind of admission, of real pure feeling, was the sort of thing that could get a boy thrown out of the monastery school. Or at least tormented so badly that he'd probably quit, flee in disgrace. And Fox found it wasn't entirely a feint, either. He liked touching Cef, he discovered.
Cef nodded, vaguely. "We're almost there, you know." But he didn't shrug off the hand on his shoulder, and Fox let if drop away naturally a few moments later. By that time, Cef was again deep in thought.
Fox found himself led into a stand of trees in the middle of a hollow. The oaks and aspen were tall yet immature, not thinned or cared for, and there was much underbrush.
"Found this when I was out walking this way," Cef commented, a little proudly, a little shy, catching his friend by the sleeve to drag him deeper into the thicket. "It's tough getting through the scrub and trashwood, but wait 'till you see what's inside!"
When they had passed through the encircling screen of foliage, there appeared a small pool, clear and deep and shimmering with unseen power. Fox thought he could see wisps of steam rising from the margins of the water. Flecks of quartz and mica in the bright sand of the bottom sparkled like crystals.
"And look," Cef added. "Blackberries on these vines here, growing out over the water."
Cef knelt to untie his sandals, and Fox understood that the pool was good for a swim. He hurried to undo the snowy white, knotted cincture girded about his middle, and hung it over a convenient branch, safely away from the staining blackberries. Then he bunched up the robe behind its hood, and drew it swiftly over his head, found a stouter branch for it.
It was warmer there, out of the wind and in the radiant warmth of the pool, and Fox stretched heartily. His body was somewhat pale in a not unhealthy way; lean, but now previewing the full musculature of manhood, with the gangliness of adolescence fading early before the onslaught of his growing maturity. The dark hair of his head, body, and boyhood contrasted against the smooth milkiness of his skin, as he tried to reach the tallest of limbs above his head. Cef glanced up briefly, grinned to himself, then put out his tongue as he continued to fight the twisted thongs of his sandals.
Fox's feet were bare before Cef had managed his laces, and he stood there unself-conscious waiting for his friend. Cef looked around a bit, as if to make sure the coast was clear. Then he began fiddling with the cord tied around his own belly, as if having trouble with the knots there, too.
"What's the trouble," asked Fox. The younger boy looked up at him, meeting his eyes. The gaze drifted downward innocently, curiously. Fox realized. "You got a problem undressing or something?"
"Yeah. I guess I do," whispered the younger boy, his face reddening. "A little. Weird, huh? Please?"
"Alright, whatever. I'll just turn 'round here..." And with that, Fox half turned, pretending to study a particularly interesting thorn branch laden with berries. Cef quickly unfastened and unwrapped and untied, and turning away himself, pulled the robe up and over his head. Fox peeked a little unwillingly, and found his friend's body still boyish, without the teenage awkwardness which was soon to come. Cef's thick, curly blond hair and creamy skin were beautiful, Fox realized, a little ashamed at his betrayal; he pulled his eyes away. But not before he noted the smoothness of skin was unadorned by body hair, save the barest peachy tuft of boyness. Cef's small but rigid member was pointing its angry red wetness at the heavens, in that perpetual way that had inspired his nickname and caused endless taunts and jests from the other boys.
Cef was almost in the water before Fox noticed, and turned to join him. Fox bit his lip involuntarily as the roundness of buttocks and the deep cleft between disappeared into the bubbles and eddies of the pool. He joined his small friend, and they splashed and played for a while, as swimming boys must do.
Cef showed Fox where to stand to feel the hot mineral current filtering up through the sandy bottom. As they crowded near the living source of the spring, Fox felt the light casual brush of his friend against him, and (once, he thought) the inquisitive touch of a hand on his hip.
"You're a shorty, you are," Fox said mildly. "You'd fit right here under my chin when we stand close. Cef blushed, looked down at his hands, smiled.
Fox hopped out briefly, dripping in the verdant shade, to retrieve a small piece of rough tallow soap that Cef had brought along in his haversack. And as they stood there in the water, facing away out of nervous modesty, they passed the soap back and forth behind their backs, scrubbing themselves in the makeshift privacy to an clean, welcome glow.
When they were through, they sought out the deeper parts of the pool, and sat stretched out upon the bottom, with their chins barely above water. Cef had to struggle to find a place where he could relax without drowning, as he was indeed smaller than Fox. When they were both comfortable, with sighing and closed eyes, they were facing each other, hips between each other's feet. They watched the last of the soap bubbles float away off to water the screening foliage.
"A tithe for your thoughts," Fox broke the silence.
"Cheap. It's peaceful here. So quiet. Like there's no more chores and no more study to be done. And no more Hours to chant, and fasting from dusk, and Mass in the early of the predawn. Hey, are you hungry? I brought some food, you know."
Cef gave a small gasp, at least that's what Fox thought, when Fox climbed out again to get the edibles. But he covered it with more talking, telling Fox of what there was to be found in their small larder. They had a cold leg of goose, which they passed back and forth, getting their faces and hands liberally greasy. And biscuits torn wide and filled up with butter and cheese and honey. With a treasure trove of small green apples, the sour but juicy kind that taste so good after a long, hot day on the road. They shared the wealth and laughed and washed again, and finished up with mouthfuls of the dark sweet berries they plucked standing from the overhanging thorn bushes.
They were standing there waist-deep in the steaming water greedily devouring the juicy fat blackberries, jumping slightly to reach higher branches when the lower ones had been bared of fruit. A few berries had dropped into the water, and Fox occupied himself scooping out the floaters to eat. Meanwhile, Cef had found a low underwater outcropping of rock on the floor of the pool, to better reach the higher branches above him. So when Fox reached for a particular dark shiny berry floating in the water in front of Cef's belly, to his surprise he touched the tip of Cef's boyness.
"Hey, watch that stuff," demanded Cef. "What do you think you're doing?"
"Sorry," Fox giggled. "Thought it was a berry." Looks like a cherry, he added, to himself. All dark red and tight and shiny. He was truly embarrassed, had said the first thing that came to his mind. "You really have that problem that all the boys say you do."
Cef looked appalled, and a little angry, his cheeks growing as red as that other part of himself. "Yeah, I guess I do. Maybe it's the robe brushing against me all day. It never seems to go down. And sometimes it hurts so bad I think it might split itself wide open."
Fox was ashamed that he'd asked, made Cef go there. He wanted to change the subject, not hurt Cef, as he might be doing. But his aroused curiosity pressed him on. Or maybe he was just aroused. "Don't you take advantage of yourself sometimes? Perform, you know, 'impure acts alone', like Father Prefect warns us about all the time? Might help, you know."
Cef was scandalized. "No, of course not! That's nasty!! I'm good, I study hard and attend to my chores. I even wash, you know, THERE, three or four times a day - it's nice: relaxing - and Father Prefect says it helps. But it becomes such a temptation, you see. And the washing, too..." The boy giggled shyly. "He talks to me about my 'problem' all the time, the Father." Cef drifted off for a bit. "I wish he wouldn't take such an interest in it, though."
"He should leave you alone. It'll work out by itself, even if you don't abuse yourself. Which you should, I think. It's just like all your washing, but someplace quiet and private." Fox wondered if Cef was thinking about this very place as he listened. All quiet and private, it fit the bill perfectly.
"You don't actually DO IT, do you?"
Fox realized he was more than a little red. himself. "Well, I guess there's no point in lying. So yes, I do. And it's great."
"Really?" Cef's eyes were wide with amazement.
"Yes. Every night in my bed. I even have a bit of rag, and old winter sock, to deal with the mess after. Very scientific." They laughed together. Fox was startled, realized. "Don't tell me you've NEVER done IT?"
"No, never," swore the younger boy a little sadly. "The Prefect says I mustn't. He comes to my room at bedtime, to make sure I don't. He sits on my bed and talks to me. It ought to be nice, having a visitor at bedtime. But it makes me anxious. I wish he wouldn't put his hands under my blankets."
Fox was a boy with broader experience, and a lifetime of strength and self-reliance. He suddenly knew what had been going on in this little friend's room after night prayers. "Cef, you don't have to tell me. I won't be upset. But does he, you know... touch you... at times like that?" The tickly excitement of their impure conversation had all but evaporated, and Fox truly didn't want to hear the answer.
"Well," Cef began uncertainly. "Not what you mean, I don't think. He couldn't. I'm real... close," he paused on the whisper, "...then. And I don't have a sock handy like you. I'd defile my bedsheets!" They laughed at that. "But no, I don't want him there. Feels trapped, cornered. He DOES touch me, on the chest and belly. Says it's a special blessing so I won't be tempted during sleep."
When Fox looked up, his friend was nearly crying.
"I don't think it is," Cef choked. "I want him to go away." And the tears began.
Fox took the weeping child in his arms, sunk them both down in the water. He was almost crying himself, from sympathy and a kind of joy he didn't understand. They ended up with Fox seated on the floor of the pool, and Cef sitting back on his heels between Fox's outstretched legs. The smaller boy clung weeping to Fox, and he stroked the wet blond ringlets against his shoulder.
Fox knew he must do something. Words weren't going to be enough. He had to do something, help somehow. Fox was never afraid of anything (or so he told himself). But this challenge might be all he could bear.
"Listen, Cef," he said. "You don't have to sit still for that anymore. I know what to do."
"Really?" Cef drew his head from the warm, comforting shoulder. Stared at Fox, eyes wet and wide with new-found wonder and respect.
Fox didn't know. "Well, I'm thinking on it. A plan, maybe. I'll come to your room after dinner, during study time. Tell you about it then." He hoped he would have something to tell. "Can you hang on for just a little while, 'till then?"
"Yeah, I think so," came the gravely sincere reply. "Would you really do that for ME?"
"Of course," Fox laughed. "You're my friend, ain'tcha?"
Cef chuckled a little, too. "OK, so we're friends."
Fox took his friend by the shoulders. "And you can come talk to me, or cry with me anytime you want to. I'm good for that, too, you know. Hey, you're all tense. Turn around and I'll rub your shoulders."
So Cef turned away, and wound up seated on Fox's lap underwater. His mouth barely cleared the surface, and he felt so warm and calm and safe after crying, that he thought he might cry some more. Fox caressed and stroked him, the boy's undeveloped tendons and muscles offering only token resistance. Fox massaged deep, bring little cries and moans from his friend. And Cef did start again crying after a while, shaking sobs that seemed to go on and on, as Fox worked up and down the tense, shuddering spine.
Fox felt sad, yes, for the pain of his friend. But excited, too. He let himself feel the excitement as he touched Cef, and acknowledged its source. "I want this," he said to himself. "Oh God, I want this!" He felt an arousal begin, was torn between encouraging it and shaming himself. He eased Cef forward from his lap, letting his hands move lower to caress firmly the round, creamy cheeks of his deeply cleft behind.
Cef laughed. "You're tickling!"
"Want me to stop?" He took his hands reluctantly from the boy's body.
"No, silly. Not your hands. This!" And with that Cef reached between back his thighs to snatch at Fox's boyhood, now jutting proudly, arrogantly, from the dark of the youth's groin. Fox's body stiffened, too, as the boy's hand closed around him for an instant. A low moan escaped his lips.
Fox scooted away, accidentally shoving Cef face-down into the water. Cef came up sputtering and laughing. "See, how do YOU like it?" he taunted, cheerily.
"I did," Fox whispered, with shocking simplicity.
Cef's eyes were wide. "Really?" He couldn't take it in, couldn't understand for a moment. "You mean you're..."
"Damnit, I don't know WHAT I mean!" Fox yelled, turning away. "Just.. just leave me alone!"
Cef's eyes went wider, with hurt this time. "But, don't yell. I'm sorry. I just want to be friends, that's all. It won't happen again - never again - I promise!" Tears were rising, threatening.
Fox moaned again. Didn't want to hurt Cef. And "Never Again" wasn't what he really wanted, he admitted. "Look, I'm sorry. Just upset me a little, that's all. I still want to be friends and all. Just be CAREFUL, will you?"
Cef smiled back, sweet as the blackberries and heartbreaking as sunset. "Yeah, I will. Let's be friends forever, huh?" He moved to kneel close, took Fox in his own small arms. Cef's head was against his chest, and he tried honestly to ignore the feather press of Cef's belly against his own persistent little sex.
Fox put his back to the door of Cef's room, listening through wood. When his hand went deep into the other baggy sleeve of his robe, and withdrew the Solingen hunting knife, Cef's eyes got huge.
"So are you sure we can do this?" Cef was having second thoughts, it seemed.