by Alison McGinty

FEEDBACK to Alison

INTRODUCTION: This story is based on characters from the BBCTV comedy-drama COMMON AS MUCK, whose first series ran for 6 weeks between September & October 1994. For the uninitiated, CAM dealt with the lives, loves, work & escapades of a Manchester bin-lorry crew. Their dodgy-dealing boss often referred to them through clenched teeth & with whitened knuckles as "urban terrorists", which perhaps gives an even *clearer* picture! The 6 main characters were a motley group of working-class men & a student with a temporary bin job for the duration of the long British university vacation. This might not sound like a fool-proof recipe for quality entertainment; certainly the series garnered complaints about male & female nudity, explicit sex scenes & strong language, whilst some viewers wrote letters protesting that *their* dustmen were all very *nice* men who didn't swear or behave like the ones in the series! But with finely-written imaginative scripts, a superb cast comprised largely of the cream of British character actors plus relative unknowns, engaging characters & dramatic, bizarre, comic & often moving situations, this was highly entertaining drama. Besides -- who *couldn't* love a series where the final scene of the final episode featured every single extant character in a near as damn it Shakespearian tableau whilst Edward Woodward delivered a rousing summing-up speech, life-affirming for the good guys but damning to the bad? *Delicious*.

NEVILLE SINGLETON (Edward Woodward giving perhaps the most exquisite & affecting performance of his career since Sgt Neil Howie in THE WICKER MAN) is the senior member of "Supercrew", as he & his "posse" of bin-men call themselves. A man of hidden depths & the soul of a poet, Nev is the crew's elder statesman, respected & (usually) deferred to by the others. Nev's a gentleman of the old school & leads by general consent. Kind-hearted & considerate, he's a father figure to the younger bin-men, & keeps a special eye on Bernard, a slow-witted giant who lives for his work. Paunchy, middle-aged & balding, Nev's no pin-up; but his humour, warmth & vulnerability make him undeniably attractive & appealing.

SUNIL PRABAKER (Anthony Barclay) is a handsome young student from a rich Indian family, working as a bin-man during his Summer holidays. This is partly so that he can get some "hands-on" work experience before he eventually takes his place in the family business, & his family's affluence contrasts ironically with the circumstances of his fellow workers. Initially the victim of teasing, he quickly settles in & becomes one of the lads; by S2, Sunil has decided to team up with his work-mates on a more permanent basis, & his father takes Supercrew on in a venture of his own. Sunil's studying English Literature at Birmingham University; this has interesting repercussions in the series & explains certain aspects of this story.

Why write a *slash* story? I shall refrain from retorting "Why *not*?" for the simple reason that I felt the characters were crying out to be slashed. :-D I saw a faint, yet strong, unspoken bond between Neville & Sunil throughout S1; certainly Neville took Sunil under his wing & helped him find his feet in the world of rubbish-collection, but Neville admires Sunil's intelligence, & there seemed to be a shared recognition of like-minded souls whose similarities transcended matters of race & age to touch on common humanity. Both are outsiders in their different ways, set apart by age, race, class, wealth, upbringing, mind-set & experience. Both are men who have acquaintances, but few real friends, & seem to be loners; neither have partners, & they clearly enjoy each other's company & seek it deliberately. Even when Neville acquires a lady-friend (Irene) in S2, his relationship with Sunil is still warm, intimate & touching. An act of kindness & conversation with her has Irene confiding that -- like her fiance -- she likes him, adding that Neville's already told her a lot about him -- which is really odd in the circumstances; or at least *I* think it is. Maybe Sunil just *has* this effect on people? :-) Neville's S2 relationship with Sunil is almost paternal -- & yet then again... It's Sunil who does his best to comfort Neville after Irene's death the night before they were to have been married -- it just seems to fall naturally to him, & the closeness of their relationship never fails to intrigue me.

This story was inspired by watching an episode prior to its events, when a couple of scenes started throwing up "warning" signs; for example, Neville admits to liking Sunil, whom he's known for a matter of months; the others, with whom he's worked for years, he says he can take or leave -- & Sunil's the one Neville turns to in his hour of need. (Indeed, it's amazing how quickly Supercrew come to trust Sunil with their secrets.) There's also a definite question-mark over Sunil's sexuality. Small, but perfectly formed (like a fine-featured pony -- or a skinnier Lenny Kravitz/a petite Adrian Paul), Sunil is sweet, charming, appealing, & IMHO devastatingly sexy. Yet for reasons which are never made clear, he's also unattached. The only time he's *ever* shown with a girl is in fact during this particular episode. She seems to be a casual acquaintance with more than a passing interest in seducing Sunil, but he makes it clear that he's not interested because what he's learned from his experiences with Supercrew make him sickened by her ignorance & shallow, selfish approach to the world. She gets the message &, stung by this obviously uncommon rejection, comments on how distant he is: the *reason* he's distant is because at the time his mind's on Neville & his problems...

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

At the time it had seemed like a Good Idea; but now, standing naked and soaking wet in the middle of a river on a dark and not especially balmy North of England Saturday night, what had originally appeared to be a wonderful notion now seemed rather less so. After all, the impetus behind this moonlit madness had passed now; the spiritual meaning behind this dip into chilly waters remained, but it was getting late and there was always the chance that any passing copper crossing the bridge who idly glanced a little *too* closely might not look all that favourably on the sight that met his eyes.

And besides -- he wasn't a young man any more and there was a strong chance that if he stayed in the water much longer the cold would freeze his bollocks off.

He suddenly became aware of a quiet humming and rhythmic splashing to his left and, turning his head, he saw his younger companion idly scything his hands back and forth in the water, apparently impervious to their surroundings as he sang softly under his breath and gazed up at the cheese paring of moon.

The older man felt a sudden twinge of guilt mingled with shyness and warm affection. So often these days it seemed to be all too easy to criticize the young -- and yet if it hadn't been for Sunil and his imagination and common sense...well, this night would've been far less bearable, considering all that had happened.

He coughed gently and touched the younger man's arm. "Sunil," he said, as the youth turned to look at him, "shall we go now?"

Sunil shrugged his shoulders and grinned affably. "If you like, Nev. If you're ready, that is."

Neville sighed. "Oh, I'm ready, Sunil, I'm ready. If I stay in 'ere much longer bits of me are goin' t'start droppin' off -- my balls are wrinkled enough as it is, an' I bet my arse is now as blue as a baboon's bum."

"No, I think it's red."

"What -- my arse?"

"*No*!"

"Well *what*, then?"

"A baboon's bum. I think it's red."

Neville began to clamber up the river bank, shivering as he went. "To be honest, Sunil, I'm not sure as I care very much *what* colour a baboon's arse is. Not at this precise moment, any road. Good God," he continued dryly. "What is the world coming to when all they're teaching our young people these days is how to identify primates by the colour of their arses?"

Sunil chuckled. "The wonders of a university education. Can you manage all right, Nev?"

Nev puffed a little and rubbed at his right leg. "Slight twinge in the hip, but I'm okay."

"Well hurry up and get your clothes on, then -- you're shivering. You'll catch your death."

Neville turned and fixed Sunil with an attempt at a stony glare. "Don't your folks 'ave any sayin's along the lines of not teachin' your grandmother to suck eggs, Sunil?" he retorted.

Sunil's eyes widened and he looked more than a little hurt. "Sorry," he said. "I was only concerned for your well-being, Nev."

Neville's heart swelled yet again. "I -- know you were," he said gruffly. "I didn't mean..."

"I know," smiled Sunil, good-humour apparently restored. "It's been quite an emotional evening."

"Yes," sighed Neville. "It has, too." <In more ways than one,> the thought suddenly came to him as he pulled on his clothes and watched Sunil wade towards the bank. Now that he had time to reflect on it, it wasn't just the memory of Vernon's death and the "rite" in Connie's memory that Jonno had suggested which were making him feel slightly unsettled and uncomfortable.

No, the problem was Sunil himself -- and this was the part that hurt. Although Sunil wasn't very tall, he was fit and athletic; wiry and well-built with muscles finely-honed by time spent on gym equipment. As Neville remembered him singing up at the moon, his long, cork-screw tangle hair tumbling over his shoulders and a black, curling patch of it on his smooth-muscled chest, Sunil had looked like some dark, beautiful, pagan river god.

Neville suddenly swallowed hard, remembering what he'd said to Sunil earlier that day. "I like you, Sunil," he'd said. "The others -- " he'd shrugged, dismissive of his long-time work-mates. "The others -- I can take 'em or leave 'em. But you -- *you* I like very much." *Liked*, yes -- but did this mean that he actually *fancied* him, too? Why else, after all, would it suddenly occur to him to note the physical beauty of another man? Well -- *youth*, really. Sunil must've been a good forty years younger than he was. Which only made it worse; he couldn't bear to think that after a life-time of heterosexuality -- and this memorial to Connie was proof of that -- he was suddenly attracted towards a lad one-third his age.

"Oi, Nev!" Sunil's voice slammed the brake quickly on this particular train of thought. "Give us a hand, will you?"

After pulling on his cap, Neville took a few steps down the bank, then dutifully stretched out his hand and helped Sunil up out of the water. "You young people," Neville complained gruffly. "You look as though you've done some weight-training in your time; *you* should be able to get up this bank like a bloody whippet."

"Come on, Nev, have a heart," scolded Sunil, as he scrambled up the bank towards him. "My legs've gone numb."

Once Sunil was back on level ground, Neville prodded the younger man's clothes with his shoe. "Have to put them on whiles they're still wet, I'm afraid."

Sunil looked rueful. "Right..."

Neville scowled. "This will play merry 'ell with my rheumatics, you know. Ooch!" He clutched at his hip and winced pitifully. "See, I told you -- my 'ip's playin' up already."

"A good long soak in a hot bath will soon cure that," Sunil assured him, as he pulled on his t-shirt -- and then pulled a face. "Ugh. I *hate* puttin' on dry clothes when I'm still wet. I remember when I was a kid an' they used to take us to the baths from school. There was always such a rush to get back on the coach that you'd never get properly dry -- and so you 'ad to sit there feeling damp and 'orrible for the rest of the day. *Ugh*!"

Neville chuckled and shook his head. "When you were a kid," he said wistfully. "You're not exactly much more than that now, are you. You're *still* just a kid. Oh yes, you're away at University now -- but you're barely out of your teens. You're still nobbut a lad."

Sunil finished fastening his shoes and brushed himself down. "*I* don't think so."

"I bet your parents do, though. How do they feel about you living away? Do they think it's safe, you fending for yourself in Birmingham?"

Sunil laughed and shook his head, the dark curls trembling. "Civilization doesn't end at Chesterfield, you know," he teased. "But yeah, my parents worry."

"Well, they would. They're like that, parents. No matter 'ow old you get, they still see you as that little baby they bathed and fed and changed the nappy for all them years ago."

"Leave it out, Nev," Sunil said, grinning and looking slightly embarrassed. "Hadn't we ought to be getting back now?"

"Of course. Umm..." Now it was Neville's turn to look shy. "I'd just like to say thank you for tonight."

"How'd you mean?"

"For agreein' that we should do this. Buildin' on what Jonno said. So that now what I felt for Connie an' Connie's memory won't die when I do. You 'ave some bloody good ideas, you do, Sunil."

"'S all right, Nev; just one of the benefits of a university education..."

"No, I mean it. I don't care what anyone else might say about students -- you're all right, you are." Sunil dipped his head in shy acknowledgement of this praise, and Neville feigned rheumatic discomfort and rubbed at his leg awkwardly. "I'm -- er -- you know -- sorry that I had to get you out of bed, like, but -- "

Sunil shook his head. "It doesn't matter -- I couldn't get to sleep anyway... And then when you came into the pub earlier an' you said you wanted to talk and I just blew you out... I didn't mean to, but -- "

"Well, you're 'ere now, that's all as matters."

"But you wanted to talk about sommat as was important to you -- I should've *known* -- I shouldn't've been so bloody *rude* -- "

"You weren't to know it then," Neville admonished him mildly. "There's no need to get all worked up about it now. And like you said, you wanted to be with your mates."

"But *you're* my mate too, Nev."

"Well, yes, but -- "

"'But' nothin'. You're my mate -- an' mates stick together. *Supercrew* stick together -- 'all for one an' one for all', an' all that -- us against the rest of the depot an' -- "

"I say," Neville chuckled dryly. "You're really takin' this to 'eart, aren't you..."

"Well why not?"

"Well, I don't see that it's worth getting so passionate about."

The younger man gaped at him. "Friendship and loyalty aren't worth getting passionate about?"

Neville sighed. "But does it really *matter*, Sunil? *Does* it? You're the student, you're the one with the brains, you tell me. Does what goes on at some crummy little bin depot in the North of England really matter when set against the swell of the universe? When we're no more than specks on the face of the Infinite?"

Aghast, Sunil's dark eyes widened. "Bloody 'ell, Nev..."

Neville smiled wanly. "Well, I suppose it *is* rather too late at night for such -- deep, dark thoughts..."

Sunil studied the older man for a moment and then shrugged. "Well...maybe not," he replied softly. "Not in the circumstances..."

They fell silent for several more thoughtful minutes, and then Neville coughed, briskly dusted off his jacket, and adjusted his cap. "But I just wanted to say as I do appreciate it, Sunil. I really appreciate what you did for me tonight. You put into words what I was feelin' -- you knew at once what it was I ought to do. I won't forget that, you know," he added, wagging an index finger at the younger man. "I won't."

Sunil smiled and folded his arms across his chest. "At least I understand now why you were in such a bloody foul mood all morning, what with Vernon dying and you losing that last link with the woman you loved. But now as you've declared your love for 'er to the universe -- well, now 'er memory an' the memory of everythin' as 'appened won't die when *you* do."

"Exactly," Neville smiled. Then he lapsed into a thoughtful silence. "The Bible says as you shouldn't covet another man's wife, Sunil," he said at last, softly. "And yet some'ow, I don't *feel* as though I've been committin' a sin all these years."

"Yeah, well..." Sunil put his hand on Neville's arm. "Maybe that's because there are *worse* sins than bein' in love with another man's wife."

"Aye, maybe there are. Anyway, I think it's time we were off. I think you'd better come back to my place an' get cleaned up. I can lend you some dry clothes of mine to go home in an' then I'll dry yours out."

"There's no need, Nev."

"I want to," Neville said firmly. "After what you've done for me, it's the very least I can do to say thank you."

Sunil shrugged and grinned. "Okay then," he said. "If you're sure you don't mind..."

"Course not. But first I'd -- just like to be alone for a few moments, if you don't mind..."

Sunil shook his head and Nev walked to the edge of the bank. He doffed his cap and stood in silence for a while, remembering Vernon -- whom Connie had loved -- and Connie -- who hadn't loved him, even though he had worshipped her. And then, as he let the rest of the memories go, he turned and walked back towards Sunil.

"Okay, lad," he said. "I'm ready. Let's go home..."

* * * * * * * * *

The closer to home that he and Sunil got, the more nervous Neville became. The two of them chattered away affably enough, but Neville was suddenly shy of Sunil seeing where and how he lived and was almost beginning to regret his invitation. Sunil's family were rich and lived at the more salubrious end of town, Neville lived in comfortable but spartan accommodation in a slightly rougher location. What on earth could the two of them possibly have in common? He knew that there was no reason for him to feel ashamed of living where he did, but he couldn't help it. God knew it shouldn't have mattered; Sunil was only a work-mate and it wasn't as though he were taking home some woman he'd met and was hoping to impress. Yet the more he thought about it, the more Neville realized that impressing Sunil was *exactly* what he wanted to do: he didn't want the younger man to see how he lived and feel sorry for him. Sympathy and empathy he could bear -- but not pity.

Or was there more to it than that? It terrified him to contemplate it, but the feelings he had as he and Sunil stopped outside the front door were exactly those he might have had if he'd brought a woman home with him. <Oh God,> he thought, <what if someone sees me? What if someone sees me an' Sunil an' puts two an' two together an' makes bloody seventeen? What if they think I'm some kind of bloody pervert? What if someone thinks as I've got a thing about pretty boys?>

<But maybe that's exactly what you are,> another voice suggested. <When was the last time as you 'ad a woman, Nev? Maybe you *'ave* got a thing about pretty boys -- an' Sunil *is* pretty, isn't 'e... *Very* pretty. Maybe that's what you *like*... You know 'ow you were starin' at 'im earlier on...>

At that he panicked and fumbled with his keys before dropping them onto the tiled foyer floor.

"Here, let me," Sunil said, stooping to pick them up. "Which key?"

"Umm?"

"To the door. Which key?"

"I -- oh -- " Neville gestured vaguely. "That one."

Sunil tried the indicated key in the lock, but nothing happened. He tried again with another key before being successful at the third attempt. "Are you all right, Nev?" he asked, as he turned the key in the lock and opened the door. "You've gone ever so pale."

Neville put his left-hand fingertips to his forehead and then began a circular rubbing motion between his eyes. Then he massaged his leg. "Just -- tired, I expect," he replied. "It's all just hit me."

"I expect it has," Sunil nodded, smiling sympathetically as he pushed his way into the room beyond the foyer, fumbling for the light-switch. Neville followed him in and once the two were inside, pushed the door to behind them. When he turned back, Sunil was staring around the room. "Umm...*nice*," he said politely. "Very -- er -- *nice*. Very homely. Very lived in. Er -- *comfy*."

Neville tutted, feeling himself on safer ground once more. "Don't give me any of that bull-shit, lad. It's a dump. I know it's a dump, you know it's a dump, the council knows it's a dump." Then he softened. "But, I grant you, it's home."

"Right. Where the heart is..."

"I'll -- er -- go and put the water-heater on, shall I? There'll be enough hot water for one, but not both of us. Sit down and make yourself comfortable. Fancy a cup of tea while we're waiting for the water to heat up?"

"Fine."

"Milk? Sugar?"

"Mmmn -- no thanks."

<Oh God,> thought Neville as he switched on the water-heater in the airing-cupboard and then went into the kitchen. <Now 'e's wishin' 'e 'adn't come. That's why 'e's gone all monosyllabic,> he fretted as he put the kettle on to boil and got out cups, saucers and teaspoons. <I bet 'e's regrettin' this. I bet 'e wishes 'e 'adn't agreed to come back with me. 'E's only tryin' to be polite...> He took a bottle of milk from the fridge and sugar from the cupboard for himself. <I bet even student digs aren't as much of a dump as this. He must think I'm a right slob.> The kettle boiled and then switched itself off. Neville poured a little of the boiled water into the teapot, swirled it round to warm the crock and then poured it down the sink before spooning in enough tea-leaves for Sunil and himself. <Christ,> he mused, <I don't blame 'im -- this place *is* a tip.>

But when the tea had brewed and he took the tea-things into the living-room, he found Sunil settled comfortably on the settee, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, and his folded hands resting on his stomach.

"Well! You look contented enough," Neville commented wryly.

Sunil yawned and scratched his cheek. "It's been a bloody long day," he grinned. "Blimey, Nev, this is posh," he added, as Neville set the tray down on the coffee table and then settled himself into an easy chair. "Best china, is it? A *mug* would've done."

"It's not often that I entertain guests 'ere in my -- 'umble abode, Sunil," Neville replied, mock-pompous. "And you *are* a guest, Sunil. I can hardly offer you my best Lapsang Suchong in a cracked Manchester United mug, now can I."

"I didn't know you drank Lapsang Suchong," said Sunil, impressed.

"Actually I don't," admitted Neville. "This is your best Tetley, this is. As made by funny little tea-folk who wear flat 'ats an' gather exotic teas from the great plantations of the world an' then blend 'em together to make sommat as is drunk in council estates all over the country that look more like down-town Beirut than England's green an' pleasant land." He lifted the tea-pot. "Shall I be mother?"

"Go on, then," replied Sunil, looking at Neville a little uncertainly.

"Oh, don't mind me, lad," Neville reassured him with a chuckle as he poured the strong brown liquid into Sunil's cup. "I can be a cynical old bugger sometimes. Now drink your tea before it gets cold. Biscuit?" He held up a plate. "Lucky I got in some chocolate digestives the other day, wasn't it..."

They drank their tea and munched their biscuits in a companionable silence in front of the gas fire that popped and hissed like an unheeded guest. This was nice, Neville mused, a quiet end to a fraught day. Drinking tea and eating chocolate biscuits with a friend.

His mood was chipped a little when Sunil drained his cup and put it carefully back down on the tray. "Nev," he began, "can I ask a favour?"

"Of course you can. More tea?"

"Not just now, thanks."

"Oh, right. I'll put the cozy on the pot, then. Now. What can I do for you?"

"Can I use your phone?"

"The phone?" he repeated stupidly.

"So that I can phone home and tell me mum and dad where I am."

"Phone home? Who do you think *you* are -- bloody E.T.?"

"If my mum has to get up in the night she sometimes comes in to see if I'm all right," the younger man admitted, looking awkward. "If she sees I'm not there..."

"Of *course* you can use the phone, you daft 'ayporth." He took a small note-pad and pencil out of his top pocket. "Tell you what, give me your number and I'll dial it for you while you go an' start runnin' a bath."

"You're spoiling me," laughed Sunil, taking the pad and pencil and writing quickly. He handed the pad and pencil back to Neville and the older man squinted at it dubiously.

"Well I can read the number all right, but what the 'ell's this at the end?"

"My surname," the younger man explained. "Prabakar. Ask for Mr or Mrs Prabakar and then give me a shout. Okay?"

"Oh all right, then." He looked at the name, squinted again and shook his head. "Right. Well, off you go, then. You'll find clean towels in the airing cupboard by the bathroom door. There's soap an' a sponge on the bath tidy an' some bath salts in the bathroom cabinet. And you'll find a shower attachment draped round the taps in case you need it. And be careful of that 'ot tap -- the washer's knackered an' the water can spurt out at you a bit smartish if you don't watch out."

"Okay, Nev," Sunil's voice floated back, magnified by the bathroom echo. There was some clattering, the squeak of taps being turned, and then the loud gush of running water. "Nev," the voice came again over the roar, "where shall I put my clothes?"

"Sling 'em out here -- I'll put them on the airer and then I'll get you some fresh out of the airing cupboard."

Almost at once a bundle of linen landed with a "flump" just outside the open bathroom door, closely followed by Sunil. "I can put 'em out for you if you like," he offered. "Save you the trouble, like."

"Well you could pick 'em up for me," Neville replied. "Me an' my 'ip..."

The younger man grinned and did as Neville asked. "I forgot," he said.

"I've spent all bloody day slingin' bloody bin bags into the back of a bloody wagon," Neville continued, wearing an air of martyrdom that suited him rather well. "I don't want to start again when I get 'ome."

Sunil pushed the damp clothes at him. "I seem to remember that it was me an' Bernard that did all the slingin'," he retorted.

"Aye, well, I would've 'elped you more, like -- only me leg..." He rubbed at his hip again and looked winsome.

Sunil grinned and shook his head. "What's the point of arguin' with you, eh Nev? You win every time."

"It's called experience, lad. When you've lived as long as I 'ave, you find that age does 'ave its benefits." <As does youth,> he found himself thinking, again surprised at how beautiful he found the younger man's well-muscled body, and suddenly all too aware of how pale, flabby and old his own was -- and horrified too at the flaring of something in his loins that he didn't wish to either acknowledge or put a name to.

"I won't be too long," Sunil said, heading back to the bathroom.

Neville shook himself out of his reverie and nodded. "I'll just put these to dry an' then I'll get on the phone to your mum an' dad." He set up the wooden airer in front of the gas fire and arranged Sunil's clothes on it, then went to the airing-cupboard, opened it, reached in blindly for the first garments he could lay his hands on and then slammed the door closed again. He laid out his trophies -- a pair of boxer shorts, a t-shirt, a pair of pyjamas -- along the back of the settee, then took out the note-pad again and went to the phone. He squinted at the number as he lifted the receiver, muttered something about his eyes being buggered, then began to dial.

While he was waiting for a reply he heard the bath-taps being turned off and then a sneeze. "Bless you, Sunil," he called automatically. "If that's a cold, don't get spreadin' it round the rest of the wagon, there's a good lad; certain members of Supercrew are enough trouble as it is without them showerin' the back of my neck with snot an' phlegm as well. Ah -- hello?" he went on, as a cultured and sleepy Asian voice greeted him on the other end of the line. "Is that Mr -- " he peered at the note-pad again -- Prabakar? That's Mr Prabakar? Ah. I see. Well, you don't know me, Mr Prabakar, but I work with your boy Sunil. At the bin-depot. Could you hold on a minute, please, I've got 'im on the phone for you now."

He put his hand over the mouthpiece and then called to his work-mate. "I've got your dad on the phone," he said. "Don't be too long comin' to talk to 'im, there's a good lad -- your dad says 'e can't wait all night." He took his hand away from the mouthpiece and spoke into it again as he heard the soft padding of bare feet on lino and carpet behind him. "'E's just comin', Mr Prabakar." There was more padding and then Neville felt Sunil come and stand beside him. "Ah yes, 'e's 'ere now. Yes, you're quite right, 'e should've told you 'e was goin' out again, but you know what these young people are like nowadays, Mr Prabakar. Well, I'll put him on now, then -- goodnight, Mr Prabakar, very nice talkin' to you." Neville made to hand the phone to Sunil, who went to take it -- only to be thwarted as Neville thought of something else to say. "'E's a good lad, your Sunil. 'E's a credit to you, Mr Prabakar. Works 'ard, 'e does. Yes, we're all very pleased with 'im down at the depot, me an' my colleagues, like. Yes, 'ope to speak to you again, Mr Prabaker. Yes, an' give my kind regards to your good lady wife, too. Good night." Then he put his hand over the mouthpiece again and glared at Sunil. "Don't keep 'im on long," he said, "it's not polite. An' besides -- this is all *your* fault, anyway..."

Sunil's eyes widened. "*My* fault?" he exclaimed indignantly, pointing at his chest. "This was all *my* fault?"

"Aye -- an' good of you to admit it."

"*What*?"

"Well if you weren't such a clever dick...," Neville admonished him, trying not to let his lips quirk into a grin at the younger man's outraged expression. Then he smiled and handed the receiver to him. "Go on," he said. "'Ave a quick word. But don't be too long, else your bath'll get cold -- an' your dad wants to get back to bed."

Sunil shook his head, sighed, and then took the phone from Neville. "Hello? Dad?" he said.

Neville went and sat in his chair again and poured himself another cup of tea. By now the tea was stewed, but he didn't mind; the stronger taste was really quite pleasant in its own way. As he sipped it he glanced idly at Sunil as he sighed and rolled his eyes and tried to reason with an understandably irritated father. Neville had liked the sound of Sunil's dad, and it was nice to think that his son was thoughtful enough to want to let his parents know his whereabouts. That was one of the things he liked about Sunil, he realized, that eagerness to be kind. There was a lot in his nature that reminded Neville of himself -- particularly as he'd been before he'd had his dreams and hopes pummelled out of him by life and its underhanded way of dropping you in the shit when you least expected it.

<Rather like now,> he suddenly thought. He took another sip of tea, winced, and added a spoonful of sugar. Yes, the problem was, it occurred to him now, that Sunil's looks were *another* thing that he liked about the younger man -- but he couldn't understand *why*: Neville had never been even remotely interested in other men in "that" way until now, so why should everything have suddenly changed? He could almost hear the disbelief of the other members of Supercrew at the very idea of it -- "What, our Nev a turd-burglar?" the Geordie Foxy would say, his little gnome's face full of amusement beneath the ever-present flying helmet. "Nah, never in a million years, man."

All the same, it couldn't be denied that the youth's body was superb, with nary an extraneous inch of fat -- and yet it was oddly voluptuous at the same time; athletic, and yet without the taut, over-development and corded veins that a lot of body-building fanatics seemed to go in for: instead, the muscles were smooth and well-defined and invited admiration, not a faint feeling of disgust. A thin line of black hair from the little clump on Sunil's chest trailed down his belly and then disappeared into the white towel that stood out in stark contrast against his dark skin, whilst long, tousled black hair fell in a mass of waves around his neck and shoulders and framed an open, expressive face with large black eyes and a broad, ready smile. With Sunil being rather "petite", Neville thought wryly, he was what might be called a "pocket Venus" -- <Or should that be a pocket Adonis?> he wondered with dry humour. <I've never seen a Venus as looked like *that*!>

Yes, Neville thought with a sigh, there was no other way of putting it: the younger man was indeed beautiful. And the knowledge that he thought and felt this way about his colleague both thrilled and terrified him. Now the terror he could understand -- but the strange exhilaration was *beyond* his comprehension.

"It's all sorted out now."

"Ummm?" He looked up and across and saw Sunil standing with one hand planted on his hip and the other rubbing nervously at the back of his head. "What's all sorted out?"

"With me dad. I've explained...well I've explained, anyway. An' I told 'im that I'll be staying over with you tonight. He wasn't very pleased," he added.

"I'm not surprised," Neville snorted, feigning laconic disapproval. "It's past midnight, an' just when they think as their dutiful offspring is fast asleep in beddy-byes, 'e suddenly rings 'is parents up to tell 'em as 'e'd popped out for a moonlit stroll an' that 'e's phonin' from a strange bloke's flat where 'e's goin' to be spendin' the night -- 'asn't 'e every right to be just a *little* annoyed, your dad?"

Sunil folded his arms, looked at the floor and fidgeted. "Well..."

Neville smiled and jerked his head in the direction of the bathroom. "Go on," he said. "Before the bath-water gets cold. Oh -- before you go," he added quickly as Sunil got as far as the settee, "I've -- put some clothes out there for you. What do you think?"

Sunil looked. "Well, the t-shirt's okay, and the pyjamas are okay, but -- " He held the boxer shorts up against himself. Though they fitted Neville, on Sunil they would only stay up with will power and would look more like Bermuda shorts -- and their original bottle green had faded to a dirty pale olive colour, making them look like Army-issue battle fatigues. Sunil looked down at himself and shook his head. "No, Nev," he said, looking over at Neville and frowning. "No way."

Neville looked pained. "What's wrong with 'em?"

"For one thing, they'll not stay up," Sunil exclaimed. "For another, I'll look like Lofty from IT AIN'T 'ALF 'OT, MUM in these things."

"Aye, well, you do have a look of Don Estelle about you," remarked Neville, managing to keep a straight face until Sunil realized that he was being teased and then pulled a face at him. "Only you've got better legs, of course," Neville continued, as Sunil's smile broadened.

Sunil looked down at the shorts again, and then apologetically at Neville. "Sorry, Nev, I just don't see me wearing these, some'ow."

"It's only until the mornin'," Neville pointed out. "I don't see what all the fuss is about. Look, just find yourself somethin' you can sleep in an' then go an' get into that bath; I'm still wearin' *my* damp clothes, remember."

Sunil scanned the back of the settee. "Oh all right then," he said, "seein' as it's only for tonight. I'll take the shorts and the t-shirt."

"I'll put them on the airer to warm through then," Neville said primly.

"They don't *need* warming!" protested Sunil. "They've just come out of the airing cupboard. Besides, it's summer!"

"Ah." Neville held up one finger. "Correction. It is summer in *Manchester* -- and therefore slightly colder than it is in the balmy south. Remember -- Birmingham is a temperate zone: the north-west is not."

"You're impossible, Nev," chuckled Sunil, shaking his head. "Right -- well, I won't be too long."

"You'd better not be," came the reply. "I'd like a bath too, remember. An' we 'aven't got all night, you know -- even if it *is* Sunday tomorrow...or is it today?"

* * * * * * * * *

Sunil finally emerged from the bathroom a quarter of an hour later, skin still covered in a sheen of moisture and with clouds of Pine Radox-scented air billowing out above his wet hair.

"Finished now, 'ave you?" commented Neville unnecessarily, and aware of the fact. "I 'ope you've remembered to clean the ring from around the bath."

"'*Course* I have! I wasn't *dragged* up, you know."

"Well, I just thought that after 'ow ever many years it is you've spent studyin' in Birmingham your standards might've slipped a bit."

"Look, I've told you -- Birmingham's hardly the back of beyond, Nev."

"Ah yes, you see, but it's a different world down there, Sunil. They eat different things to us northern folk. They laugh at different things. The whole topography of the land is different -- they literally have a different outlook on things to us. Also, the *climate's* different. That's why all Brummies have that strangled adenoidal whine -- they just seem to get one cold or bout of flu after another an' so their sinuses are never really empty. That's why they all talk as though they're all 'buhnged oop'. It's the same with Liverpudlians, you know."

Sunil patted him on the arm. "Of course it is, Nev," he said, pretending to humour him. "Where on earth do you *get* all this bloody rubbish?" he added, brow furrowed with a suspicious grin.

"Oh," replied Neville, quite unfazed. "I read it in some book."

"Go and have your bath, Nev," Sunil sighed. "I want to get dry..."

Neville chuckled. "Want another cup of tea? There's still some in the pot -- albeit it a little stewed. Or shall I make some fresh?"

"*I'll* do it; I can dry myself off at the same time."

"Well you be careful," Neville grinned. "I don't want you scalding anythin', so I should stand well back from the kettle if I were you..."

"Ach," snorted Sunil, waving him away with a grin. "Just get on with it, Nev!"

Chortling, Neville went into the bathroom and then closed and bolted the door behind him. As he took off his clothes and dropped them into the washing basket, over the sound of rattling crockery and cutlery he heard Sunil alternately humming and singing some snatch of song that Neville didn't recognize, but which sounded fairly pleasant. It was, Neville decided, an old song and not some current chart hit, since the tune was bright and melodic; most of what constituted "popular music" these days was inclined to make his back teeth ache.

He turned on the taps and held his hand in the water coming from the hot tap to test the temperature; once satisfied that there was still enough hot water for a good long soak, Neville picked up the box of pine-scented bath salts from where Sunil had left it on the toilet cistern, and began sprinkling them up and down the length of the white enamel bath. He was about to put the packet back in the cabinet where it belonged when he took a quick squint inside the box, shook it again -- and then, with a shrug, muttered -- "Why not..." -- and emptied what was left in the box into the water, turning it an even darker shade of green, a white milky froth coiling lazily on the surface. He put his glasses on the bathroom shelf, stepped into the bath -- wincing as he lifted his right leg -- and then lay full length in it, letting out a low groan of pleasure as the hot, aromatic water soothed and comforted his aching hip.

As he luxuriated in the silk-soft water, Neville found his mind drifting yet again to the events of the past few days, and found with relief that the memories didn't hurt so much any more. It was funny, he thought, how fate -- chance -- God -- call it what you will -- had engineered the whole business. There were so many "ifs" attached to it all. He began to count them off on his fingers.

If that rat hadn't jumped out from the dustbins down the back of that takeaway... If Sunil hadn't been so bloody squeamish about dispatching the damn thing with one of the spades from the back of the wagon... If the rat hadn't run into the High Street... If Jonno hadn't seen it go into that supermarket... If Bernard hadn't been with Foxy when he'd been "taken badly" and collapsed... If he hadn't visited Foxy in hospital that night and he hadn't chanced to catch sight of Vernon Smith in the ward opposite...

Certainly Vernon had been pleased and surprised to see him, and had been happy to talk of the old days. But -- and these were the only memories that still had power enough to insert a knife and twist it in an old wound -- Vernon had accused Neville of wanting to rekindle their old friendship merely as a way of getting close to Vernon's dead wife, Connie, whom Neville had loved for years. Despite Neville's assurances to the contrary and his insistence that he just wanted to revive their old friendship, Vernon's hostility had made him aware of just how impossible a dream this had been -- and Vernon's revelation that Connie had despised Neville and had been scathing of his devotion to her had come as a blow that had sent him reeling. To hear that she had hated the sight of him and laughed at him behind his back had been an excruciating moment -- and yet it hadn't altered his feelings for her substantially. He still loved her. Always would. That was why it had been important to him to go and speak to Vernon again that morning -- Saturday morning it had been now -- only to find that he had died during the night. Now there was no-one else of their group who remembered Connie but himself -- and he couldn't bear the thought of her being lost forever when he had gone. So when, after a bad-tempered day when he'd snapped and snarled and hidden his broken heart in bluster and bullying and Sunil, back at the depot, had stood his ground and demanded to know what the hell was wrong, it had been like some blessing from above when, instead of mocking and dismissing him, Sunil had embroidered on Jonno's throwaway remark about doing something in Connie's memory and suggested that Neville make some healing, symbolic gesture...

...Which was how he had ended up on the bank of the river where Foxy and Jonno went poaching, stark bollock naked as the day he was born, and had declared that he, Neville Singleton, loved Connie Smith and that he wanted -- well, to be honest he couldn't really remember *what* he'd said, now; all he knew was that after this declaration and the "ritual" plunge into the river -- as a symbol of rebirth, or something, Sunil had said -- he felt at peace and no longer felt as desolate as he had done.

All along he'd wanted to tell *someone* how he felt, but he'd not known *who* -- although he'd had an inkling that Sunil would listen and not laugh. Neville had been so desperate to talk to him that he'd sought him out at the student pub Sunil drank at when he was home from college. Sunil, he'd soon discovered, had plans of his own -- having arranged with friends to go clubbing after a few more drinks. Neville had persuaded him to stay a little longer, bought him a pint, tried to put into words what it was he wanted to say. Sunil, although he wanted to make his excuses and leave, had stayed, listening politely whilst trying to hide his frustration and urge to be off, and clearly embarrassed, torn between wanting to go with his friends and wanting to be kind to Neville for a while. And then he'd gone home -- only to be roused from his futile attempts at going to sleep by Neville shying handfuls of gravel from the drive up at his window and inviting him to join him on this crazy escapade.

And Sunil had agreed to come. Not altogether with a good grace, it had to be admitted. Not at first. But once he'd understood what was going on...

Of course, when Neville'd started taking off his clothes prior to taking the plunge -- well, jump -- into the dark waters of the river he hadn't expected Sunil to start doing the same. But the younger man had been fired up with enthusiasm for the whole thing, an enthusiasm which had shone brightly in his dark eyes; he had entered fully into the spirit of the moment and had insisted on sharing it with him. That had touched Neville, who now knew that he'd been right to trust Sunil with his secret.

After all, who else could he have approached? Not slow, simple, gentle Bernard, the child's mind in a man's body who was still tended by his mother and who lived only for his work on the dustcarts; not Ken, brawling, boozing, obstreperous Ken, who had suddenly become a stranger to all of them; not to young Jonno, who was still so innocent in the ways of the world, and who'd been too wrapped up in the prospect of the hot date he'd won for that night with "Miss Municipal Parks and Gardens"; and his father, the irrepressible but still hospitalized Foxy... Well, somehow he didn't think this would be something he could discuss with the Geordie, who after all had a fairly basic approach when it came to affairs of the heart.

Neville sat up and added more hot water to the bath, then lay back again. He looked down at his naked body in the water and sighed, saddened by the depredations and damage done to it by the passing years. Old, white, pasty, flabby...all he could do at that moment was compare his aged physique to Sunil's youthful beauty and hate himself for letting time do this to him. It was no good reminding himself that one day Sunil too would be old; that was something which lay ahead in the future. Now, here and now in the immediate present, Sunil had the body of a virile young godling while he, Neville, could only compare himself to some bloated, repulsive, doughy -- *thing*. It seemed to him to be ridiculous now even to *think* that this sad old man could ever have known love or the white-heat of all-consuming passion.

And yet, he reminded himself, Sunil hadn't thought so. Sunil hadn't sniggered at the very idea of it, as one of the others might have done. Nor had Sunil made any jokes or disparaging comments about his appearance. Neville smiled wryly and attributed this politeness to the reverence awarded to the old in Sunil's culture.

He heard the sound of Sunil making tea in the kitchen next door, and thought again of the young man's comeliness. "Comeliness..." Neville ran the word around his mouth a few times, testing the vowel sounds with his tongue. It was a strange, old-fashioned sort of word, but it was a nice one. A hybrid almost of "comfortable" and "loveliness", it occurred to him to note. A thing of beauty. A work of art. Bonny. Now there was another nice word. Mind you, it sounded like the kind of thing Foxy might say; "Aye, Nev man, 'e's a bonny lad all right..." Suddenly he heard Sunil coming out of the kitchen and back into the living-room to collect his night-clothes. All at once Neville felt disgusted with himself for thinking such filthy things about a gentle young man who just happened to work alongside him and who'd shown him a little kindness. He should feel *ashamed* of himself for such vile thoughts.

And yet, Neville mused, these thoughts weren't really so vile or perverted or disgusting. His thoughts, if these idle musings could be called anything, were full of admiration, wonder, and -- yes -- *longing*. Now when he thought of Sunil he thought of him as he'd looked standing in the river, or when he'd been studying Neville's selection of night attire. He thought of the handsome face that could've been described as sulky or bad-tempered had it not been for Sunil's ready grin and thoughtful, affable nature. He thought of the finely-proportioned, athletic body and limbs, the sturdy thighs, the -- Good God -- the gentle curve of his buttocks, the firm jutting of his long, broad cock from the black tangle of his pubic hair, and the heavy swell of his balls beneath it.

The sudden pulsing in his own groin took Neville by surprise and the sight of his own partially erect cock just beneath the surface of the bath-water startled him so much that it quickly detumesced, leaving him wide-eyed and -- what -- amazed? Scared? Relieved? Delighted? He looked down at his penis and shook his head. "You little bastard," he scolded it hoarsely. "You sodding little *bastard*. I've not seen much sign of life in you in bloody *years*. I thought you were bloody *dead*. Why suddenly pick *now* as your moment to decide to play bloody Lazarus?" <Why *now*, when what excites you isn't a pretty woman but a good-looking young man?>

When he heard Sunil's voice outside the door Neville nearly cried out -- but he was able to steel himself and keep his response to a loud, choked gasp. "You all right, Nev?" he heard Sunil call again. "Only I thought you were talking to me."

"N-no, no," Neville managed to squeeze out from between nerveless lips. "I-I was just talking to myself. I -- often do it. Well, it's something you do tend to do when you live on your own, like." Silence. "It's comforting. No. Really, I'm all right, Sunil, honest."

"You sure?" The younger man's voice was wary. "Everything is all right?"

"Well of *course* it is," Neville snapped, panic lending a sharp edge to his voice. "Look -- I'll be out of 'ere in a minute; is that tea brewed yet?"

"It's on the table in the living-room." Another pause. Then: "Are you *sure* you're all right, Nev?"

"Of course I'm sure. Just give me another few minutes."

"Well can I do anything else?"

Neville suddenly realized that he didn't want to shame himself by exposing his tired old body again. He thought quickly and then shouted back: "If you look on my bed, under the pillow, you'll find my pyjamas. Just bring 'em over 'ere and chuck 'em on the floor outside the bathroom door, all right?"

"Okay," shouted back Sunil, his voice fading as he headed for the bed. A little later Neville heard a soft noise and Sunil informed him that his pyjamas were ready for him. "And don't let your tea go cold," Sunil added. "Or let it stew. I tried some of that last lot before I poured it down the sink -- it was *disgusting*!"

Neville chuckled to himself at the indignation in the younger man's voice, and then went back to his ablutions.

When he was out of the bath and dry again he put on his glasses, then unbolted the door and opened it, to find his pyjamas lying neatly folded just outside the door. <That was sweet,> he thought. <I'd just hoyed them under the pillow as I took 'em off!> Beneath the pyjamas he also found his slippers. He snatched them up and quickly put them on before emerging from the bathroom. "Somebody's got *you* well-trained, Sunil," he remarked as he finished buttoning his pyjama jacket, amusement and pleasure in his voice.

At once Sunil got up and came round the sofa, looking pleased. "Well, you know," he grinned, clasping his hands in front of him. "My parents were always very keen on me pulling my weight. Want some tea?"

"Oh, yes, please," Neville said, smoothing down his jacket collar. He told Sunil how much milk and sugar to add, then waited until Sunil had finished filling his cup with tea and, trying to keep a straight face added: "You look rather fetching in that get-up."

"You think so?" Sunil asked, with an amused look down at his new garb of the t-shirt and the boiled-cabbage boxer shorts, now attached to each other by way of several safety-pins.

"It could start a whole new fashion craze down at the depot, that. You still look a little like Don Estelle, though," Neville added after a slight pause.

Sunil's face fell. "I don't, do I?" he asked anxiously.

"Whyee doo yoo wheesperr greeen grass, whyee tell the treees whad ain't sohhh..." sang Neville mischievously. "No," he admitted after a while, when he decided that Sunil had suffered enough, "you *don't* look like Don Estelle." He smiled at the look of intense relief on Sunil's face. "You're too tall, you're too young, you're the wrong colour, you've got an earring, and your hair's too long. Mind you, I was right about you having nice legs."

Sunil looked down awkwardly, tugging at the black cord he wore around his left wrist. "Leave it out, Nev," he said. "I wish you wouldn't say things like that."

"Why not? I'm only paying you a compliment, after all."

"You're just taking the piss," Sunil retorted -- albeit with a smile.

Neville adopted a hurt expression. "I am not!" he exclaimed. "I was under the impression that in this modern age of New Men an' all that it was quite in order for one man to pay a compliment to another."

"Yeah, well I'm still not sure whether you're taking the piss or not."

Neville chuckled and shook his head. "Oh," he teased, "I'm not 'avin' you on. Got *very* nice legs, you 'ave."

He had, too. All in all, Neville concluded, those bloody awful baggy clothes Sunil insisted on wearing -- this must be the latest trend in modern fashion, he decided -- gave few clues to the appearance of the body beneath. The only hint was the noble, upright way in which the younger man carried himself; there was no arrogance or narcissism in it, just a quiet, almost unconscious acceptance of the improved posture demanded by his trained body: after all, you never saw someone like Schwarzeneggar or Stallone slouching, did you?

"Perhaps," Sunil began, choosing quickly to change the subject, "you should tell me where I'm going to sleep tonight. The sofa, I presume?"

It was then that it became clear to Neville that actually, when it came to the matter of where Sunil was going to sleep, it was something to which he had given little thought. "Er -- well -- *yes*, er -- if that's all right with you," he blustered. "I'd -- er -- offer you the bed, but you see with *my* back, sleepin' on the settee -- well, I'd not be able to bend again for hours..."

Sunil held up placating hands. "Yes, fine, okay. That's all right with me, Nev -- I just wanted to get things straight. Where will I find pillows and blankets and things?"

"I'll show you," Neville replied, leading him towards the blanket chest. "I'd fetch them myself, but with my 'ip..."

So Sunil gathered up a couple of pillows and a sheet and a thin blanket, and between them he and Neville made up a bed on the settee which was serviceable, if not particularly comfortable.

It was as they were engaged in this task that Neville gradually became aware of something in Sunil's expression which puzzled him. There was the usual affection and comradeship, but Sunil also seemed to be *studying* him. He might almost say that the younger man was weighing him up. That wasn't the only thing Neville saw, either; there seemed to be something else in those dark, watchful eyes, even though he couldn't have put a name to it if his life had depended on it. Still, *whatever* he was seeing didn't concern him over-much, and so he paid it no particular attention.

And yet...

But then the job was finished, and then they drank a last cup of tea, talked for a little while longer, and then both decided that it was time for bed. With one thing and another it had been a fiendishly long day -- although an ultimately satisfying one -- and their weariness had suddenly caught up with them.

After switching off the gas fire and locking up, Neville and Sunil exchanged "Goodnight"s -- and then all was silent except for the sound of their breathing and faint noises from outside the house, as they closed their eyes and settled down for the night.

<Goodnight, Connie,> Neville thought to himself as he finished organizing the blankets and sheets over him to his satisfaction and then lay still. <Goodnight and God bless, old girl. I bet you an' Vernon'll be 'avin' a good old laugh about me, now. But I don't care. The universe knows as I love you, an' I'm not ashamed of that. You may not 'ave cared for me, but I 'ope as you won't think *too* badly of me...>

And then gradually his breathing slowed, became deep and regular, and then Neville was fast asleep.

* * * * * * * * *

Somewhere in the early morning, still during the hours of darkness, Neville became aware of movement somewhere in the room. Perhaps it was a reflex, something in the change of the air around him alerting some part of his internal early warning system -- but whatever it was, it registered somewhere within his sleeping senses, and part of him began to soar up through the levels of consciousness like a swimmer striking for the surface from the bottom of a swimming pool.

The swimmer suddenly found himself rocketted to the surface like a sea-to-air missile when Neville felt the slight chill of the summer night air as his bed-covers were lifted and thrown back and a hand settled, warm and firm and oddly comforting, on his left shoulder.

"No. Don't get up. Don't be scared. It's only me."

Lost without his glasses, Neville peered mole-like up at the dark figure standing over him, back-lit by the faint sodium light coming in through the curtains from the street beyond. "S-Sunil?" he gulped. "What the bloody 'ell's goin' on? Is there summat the matter?"

Even in the darkness Neville could see the younger man's smile, before the pale glow from the window was briefly shattered by the movement of long, black curls as Sunil shook his head. "Nothing's wrong," he said softly, kindly. "There's nothing the matter. I'm just cold, that's all."

"But it's *summer*!" Neville protested.

"Don't give me that," chuckled Sunil. "You reminded me yourself that summers here aren't as balmy as they are further south. Can I not get in with you, Nev?" he continued, coaxingly.

"No you bloody can't. What's wrong with the settee?"

Sunil gave a quiet laugh. "That sofa's okay, but it's too lumpy. And like I said, I'm cold."

There was something in the low, measured, gentle tone of Sunil's voice that sent Neville back at once to the perplexing look he'd seen in his eyes when the two of them had been making up the bed on the settee. Still he couldn't place it -- and yet something told him that he ought to be able to. "It's summer," Neville repeated instead. "You *can't* be cold."

"But I *am*! You can feel how cold I am for yourself if you don't believe me."

"Oh all right then," sighed Neville. "Anything to please. Then piss off and go back to bed when you've had your little grumble."

He reached out to touch Sunil's arm, but the limb was snatched away at once. "*Don't* play silly buggers for God's sake," Neville muttered. "Not at this God-forsaken hour." He stretched out his arm again, and this time he touched flesh -- but the skin beneath his fingers wasn't cold; on the contrary it was, if anything, slightly heated. At first Neville was confused; then the younger man turned slightly -- and Neville let out a choked gasp as his fingers and palm brushed first against coarse, curling hair and then the unmistakable shape and texture of a warm, firm, slightly erect cock.

"What in the name of *God* -- " He snatched his hand away immediately and buried it under the bed-covers as though he'd been burned. "*Christ*, Sunil," he stammered, gulping back shock, disbelief -- and something small, wondering and unexpected that he didn't at that moment care to examine very closely. Sunil merely stood his ground, as though nothing had happened. "What the *hell* do you think you're playin' at? If you're goin' to wander around 'ere bloody stark bollock naked, I'm not *surprised* you're cold. What happened to the clothes I lent you?"

Sunil shrugged. "I'm sorry, Nev, but I just didn't feel right in them. It felt strange wearing someone else's clothes. So I thought it would be better to share someone else's bed, instead. Now shift over, will you? Personally I prefer sleeping on the left..."

"*I* don't bloody care if you prefer sleeping across it widthways with your 'ead under the soddin' pillow -- you are *not* gettin' into bed with me. Is that understood?"

"Perfectly. But you know you don't mean it."

"I bloody well do, you know."

Sunil cocked his head on one side and then shook his head again. "No you don't."

Now that his eyes had adjusted to the gloom, Neville could see the mischievous grin on Sunil's face. He knew he was being teased, but something in the *way* he was being teased reminded him of what he'd seen in Sunil's studious, contemplative appraisal of him when they'd been making up the settee bed and the unidentifiable expression that he'd seen in the younger man's eyes at the time. That and the -- dear God, was it *tenderness*? -- that he heard in the young man's voice.

"You don't mean it," Sunil repeated.

"I bloody well do," Neville replied fervently. "You are not getting into bed with me and that's final!"

"Oh yes I am."

"Oh no you're not. Don't be so bloody cocky."

Sunil chuckled. "Well you should know," he said coyly. "Now shift over and let me get in."

With that, and before Neville could protest any further, Sunil pulled the bed-clothes fully back and then slid over to the left-hand side of the bed where the wall stopped him falling out on the other side. After much wriggling, pillow-pummelling and squirming, Sunil sighed and went still.

"Comfy now?" enquired Neville dryly. There was no reply. "I really should kick you out, you know," he continued. "There really isn't enough room for both of us -- and where am I going to put my left arm, now?"

"You could put it round my shoulders," Sunil suggested drowsily.

"Not a bloody chance," the reply came back at once.

"Well I'll do it *for* you, then."

"You bloody well will not," Neville retorted.

"*And* I can make more room at the same time."

"Oh God," moaned Neville. "I don't believe this is happening to me. I can't believe that I've actually agreed to have you in bed with me."

"You *didn't* agree," Sunil reminded him. "But I notice that you haven't kicked me out yet."

"I doubt if I could," Neville observed miserably.

"Aye, because of your 'ip," Sunil teased.

"Cheeky young bugger..."

"You still haven't tried to get me out of your bed, though."

"I'm too much of a bloody gentleman."

Sunil leaned across and briefly touched his face. "Yes," he said gently, suddenly serious. "You are." Then he turned onto his right side, slid his right arm up under Neville's neck, draped Neville's left arm around his shoulders and, his left hand and arm resting across the top of Neville's chest, Sunil snuggled closer, before closing his eyes. "There," he whispered. "There's bags of room now. Go to sleep, Nev. Good night. Sweet dreams."

Sunil soon fell asleep, but Neville, a little bemused and a little touched, stayed awake a while longer, wondering just what it was that had happened to him. Two novel experiences in one night were more than he'd expected to have in the quiet back-waters of middle-age. As Sunil shifted in his sleep and then settled again, Neville stroked the back of the younger man's neck with his thumb and then, smiling down at the dark head, began to massage his finger-ends very gently in Sunil's dark hair, regarding him as fondly as he might have done a child. It had been longer than he could remember since he'd shared a bed with *anyone*; in an odd way it felt rather comforting to have someone to keep him company, regardless of the fact that it was a naked young man who nestled so trustingly against him.

And then, as he relaxed and felt his eyelids droop, he simply pulled Sunil closer and then drifted off to sleep.

* * * * * * * * *

It seemed as though he'd closed his eyes for barely five minutes -- but the bedside clock told him otherwise.. For a moment he couldn't think what had woken him -- and then when the dog howled again he was reminded all too well.

"Oh bloody 'ell," he muttered aloud. "If I ever get my 'ands on that bloody idiot from next door I'll *kill* 'im. He's left that poor dog to its own devices again. Oh bloody SHURRUP!" he bellowed, as the unfortunate dog howled even more loudly and then began scratching at the back-door of the neighbouring house.

"Some people," said a soft voice beside him, "shouldn't be allowed to keep animals."

"You're dead right there," said Neville fiercely. And then he looked round with a start. "Wha -- ?"

Sunil was awake and looking at him, head propped up and chin resting in his right palm. "Poor bastard's been on like that for the past hour or so now," he informed Neville with a drowsy, sympathetic smile. "When his owner lets him in, I hope that dog bites his bollocks off. It's what he deserves!"

"Too bloody right it is. And this is supposed to be a nation of animal lovers," snorted Neville, scratching his chin.

"Yeah," said Sunil. There was an unmistakable glint of mischief in his eyes that put Neville on his guard.

"Do -- er -- do you have any pets at all, Sunil? Just as a matter of interest?"

"We've got a cat, and I like animals. Yeah," he added, a heavy-lidded, oddly rakish light in his sloe-eyes. "I'm an animal lover."

"Really?"

"So I'm told..."

"Hmmn..." Then Neville understood, and chuckled. "I do believe," he said, turning back to Sunil, "that that was a double entendre, was it not?"

Sunil smiled and rubbed his fingers thoughtfully over the new stubble on his chin. "A good question. I think it was too subtle to be anything else..."

"What -- you mean they have *single* entendres as well?"

The young man nodded. "Some comedians have built entire careers around it," he observed with a wry grin.

Neville chuckled, closed his eyes, and settled down to go to sleep again. "So in other words they're in the same business as we are, then."

"How'd you make that out?"

"Well, it all boils down to crap in the end," he said. "The only difference is that *we* chuck it in the back of a dust-cart and *they* make money out of chucking it at audiences who ought to know better."

"Or don't *want* to know any better."

"Aye, aye, that's a moot point, that."

They fell into a friendly silence for a while, then Neville said: "Sunil, I've been meaning to ask you since I saw it earlier on. What's -- what's that tattoo you have on your arm?"

"This one?" Sunil turned his head and brushed the swirling marks on his upper left bicep with his thumb. "It's the *OM* syllable."

"The *OM* syllable?"

"You know -- *Om mane padme hum* -- the 'jewel in the lotus' manta. You *must've* heard it."

"I have."

"Well that's it. It's part of a Hindu chant -- a prayer for oneness between a man and his soul."

"You're a Hindu?" It was odd, but while Neville had been aware of Sunil's skin colour, it hadn't really been something he'd given much thought to.

"Yes."

"Oh." Then another thought struck him. "You know," he said, "I don't mean you to take this the wrong way, but... All these different religions an' things. I don't understand the differences, really. I mean, there's your Muslims an' your Sikhs an' your Hindus an' -- Sunil, what's a Hindu?"

For a moment there was silence -- and then Sunil gave a gleeful laugh. "It lays eggs," he answered, giving the time-honoured reply to a *very* old joke.

Neville laughed too, then said, "No, seriously, Sunil. What do you believe in?"

Sunil sighed. "Oh Nev, it's not the right time or place to talk about that," he replied softly, cuddling back against the older man. "But we believe in reincarnation, and we worship many different gods and goddesses, although basically they're all the same cosmic entity. We worship Shiva and Vishnu and Krishna and -- "

"Oh, so the Hare Krishna people belong to your lot, then?"

"Sort of. Some people say they're Hinduism's answer to Born Again Christians."

"Now *there's* a thought to conjure with. I wonder what the *question* was?" Sunil chuckled, and Neville hugged him closer, pleased that he hadn't offended him. "So -- er -- are you very devout yourself?"

"I've told you, I don't want to talk about it now."

"Oh, all right. But tell me -- do you have a god or a goddess of rivers?"

"Mmmnn... Yes, a god -- Varuna. We call him the Lord of the Waters. Why d'you ask?"

Neville gave a shy, private smile. "Oh, nothing really. Just something that occurred to me."

"Oh, right."

They fell quiet again, and for a while the two of them lay together, listening to the occasional howls of the dog next door until it finally went silent, and the room was still once more. And then Neville broke the peace with another question -- but this time Sunil quickly placed his hand over Neville's mouth.

"No," he said firmly. "No more. There's nothing more to say."

"Why-umffle-ever-ffnffle-not?" demanded Neville from behind Sunil's hand.

Sunil sighed. "Because it's neither the time nor the place," he answered softly.

"But -- "

"No. Stop it." Sunil took his hand away and began to stroke the side of Neville's face.

"No -- *you* stop it!" exclaimed Neville, pushing Sunil's hand away. "What the bloody 'ell do you think you're playin' at?"

The young man sighed. "This time of day is not a good one for theological discussion. I'm knackered and, quite frankly, not interested. Just -- leave it for now, eh? Until the morning, maybe?"

"Well, if you like..."

"Besides," Sunil added, his smile warm and his tone gentle, "Now that we're both awake, I've got other things in mind."

"What kind of other things?"

The younger man paused and looked down at the hand that Neville had pushed away. "Things that I've been thinking of all this evenin'," he said quietly. "Things that perhaps I've been thinking for longer than I even realized."

"Such as?"

Sunil only shook his head, his eyes shining. "I may be studying literature at college," he chuckled, "and I may be learning all about the power of language -- but there are times when actions most *definitely* speak louder than words..."

"Eh?"

Sunil brushed Neville's cheek with his finger. "Trust me Nev," he whispered. "Just trust me." And then Sunil pushed himself closer against Neville before gripping his shoulders and pressing his mouth firmly but lovingly against his.

* * * * * * * * *

For a moment, shocked, disbelieving, stunned, Neville simply could not take in the fact that Sunil was kissing him -- and kissing him as a lover would.

It seemed like an eternity -- but in reality could not have been more than a few seconds -- as a whole range of emotions and memories raced through Neville's mind. How Sunil had looked standing wet and naked in the river; how he'd become so aware of the younger man's dark beauty and how anxious this -- combined with Sunil's youth -- had made him; how shy he'd been of Sunil seeing his home and how it had shocked him to realize that he wanted to impress him as he might a woman he'd brought home; how he'd been scared of someone seeing them and assuming that he had a taste for pretty young men -- and how it had frightened him to consider that maybe this was exactly what he *did* have. Neville thought of how surprised he'd been to find himself admiring Sunil's body -- and of how he'd despaired when he'd compared his own body to Sunil's athletic, sinewy frame. How there'd been a response to his thoughts in his loins and how he'd preferred not to dwell on that response for fear of what it might tell him. Above all, he thought of how he found everything about Sunil so appealing -- it wasn't just his looks; it was his kindness and eagerness to help, and his willingness to learn and to fit in.

And as Sunil briefly lifted his mouth and then lowered it again, Neville found his barriers lowering and any resistance that he, supposedly macho and masculine through and through as he was, might have had to being kissed with a gentle passion by such a handsome and lusty young man vanishing. In fact, as Sunil's hand gently caressed the side of his neck, Neville found his penis beginning to stir and swell; it wasn't long before he was returning the younger man's kisses, accepting the tongue that timidly dipped into his mouth, his left hand buried in a glossy tangle of silken, jet-black hair as Sunil's actions began to break down the high wall of longing and loneliness that had been built inside Neville's heart long ago.

All the same...

"W-we shouldn't be doing this, you know," Neville whispered, his voice cracking, when Sunil's mouth moved from his lips and began to work along the line of his jaw. "We really shouldn't. It isn't -- isn't -- "

" -- Right?" Sunil supplied for him, biting his chin and then licking the faint teeth- marks. "Is that the word you were looking for?"

"Aye, that's it. It isn't right." Suddenly Sunil's left index finger and thumb found Neville's nipple beneath his pyjama jacket and began manipulating it firmly. "Dear *God*, Sunil -- *stop* that for Christ's sake."

"Why should I?" Sunil demanded as he unbuttoned the jacket and began to suck and lap at the stiffened nipple, occasionally grazing it with his teeth.

"Because it isn't right, this. It isn't on. For God's sake Sunil, be reasonable. Look at us. *Look* at us. Look at *you*, for a start. You're young, good-looking, virile, an' you've got a body that many a bloke would give 'is eye teeth for."

"Oh Nev," Sunil sighed, stirring uneasily. "Don't!"

Neville ignored his protest. "An' if that weren't enough, even though you *are* still a bit wet be'ind the ears, just to rub it in even more you're intelligent, bright, kind, trust-worthy, responsible an' very charmin'. You get on with people -- *all* the lads like you. An' I bet you 'ave to fight the birds off when you're in Brum." He sighed, and then ruffled Sunil's hair, which felt like heavy silk against his hand. "But look at *me*, Sunil. Just look at me. It's a bloody *joke*. Old Father Time 'as really got out 'is scythe and 'ad a bloody good go at me, Sunil. If you could see under these pyjamas you'd see that I'm old, an' pasty, an' that everything's gone south. Feel my gut, Sunil -- I'm just one mound of flab an' lard. Comparisons between the two of us would be odious. Without my clothes on I look like Mr Blobby's fatter brother. I'm disgusting -- repulsive -- an' just too bloody *old*. I'm knackered, Sunil -- my body's had it. I'm not a pretty sight at all with nothing on," he finished sadly.

Sunil sighed and smiled. "Don't put yourself down like that, Nev. I don't *care* what you look like. Looks don't *matter*."

"Oh yes. That's all very easy for *you* to say," Neville retorted. "But me -- I'd be too bloody *ashamed* to let you see my body. I've no idea what it is you've got in mind, but whatever it is I think you'd better just forget about it."

"But Nev -- "

"Just *forget* it, Sunil, forget it," Neville snapped, unable to hide the sound of longing in his voice.

"But I've *already* seen you naked," Sunil reminded him quietly. "And you didn't see me throwing up then, did you?"

"*Forget* it, Sunil." The anger in Neville's voice was really a combination of need, embarrassment and dismay. His emotions and responses were in chaos, but now he really *wanted* to say "yes" to whatever it might be that Sunil was going to suggest -- but at that moment his self-loathing wouldn't allow him the luxury of accepting the love he could now see Sunil was offering.

Sunil, however, had other ideas. "No, I *won't* forget it," he replied smartly. "Look, Neville, I don't think you understand me. Don't feel ashamed -- don't put yourself down. Just trust me and let me give you something to enjoy."

"Such as?"

Sunil kissed his cheek. "*Will* you trust me?"

"I want to, but..."

Sunil's fingers began toying with the older man's nipple once more. "Trust me, Nev. Please."

"I'm -- I'm not a poofter, you know, Sunil," Neville said plaintively, as his nipple stiffened and he felt his penis begin to harden again.

"No, I don't think you *are* -- but you're responding to me all the same. And that's all right, Nev. That's okay. Just relax and go with it."

"I -- I didn't know *you* were -- "

Sunil put his hand over Neville's mouth. "Shut up, Neville," he said with a grin. "Give it a rest for a while, eh? You don't know the *half* of it -- you really don't!" He kissed the older man's forehead. "Don't be scared or feel you have to go along with everything I suggest," he added, like tutor to pupil. "Will you trust me?"

Neville thought of all that the two of them had already gone through, remembered that warm, accepting look in Sunil's eyes, and felt a rush of hungry pleasure sweep through him. And nodded. "Aye, I'll trust you. I -- *trust* you, Sunil," he whispered. And responded eagerly when Sunil lowered his head and kissed him again.

"I won't hurt you," Sunil assured him between sucking kisses and deft sweeps of his tongue. "I promise."

"I believe you," Neville replied, hardly daring to breathe as he savoured the kisses and felt Sunil's hair brush against his skin, each touch of a black-silk strand like a caress itself.

Sunil unbuttoned the jacket further and began lapping at each of the older man's nipples in turn, eliciting whimpers of delight as his tongue and lips teased at the stiff peaks. He slid his hand lovingly down over the mound of Neville's belly, and then moved his hand in circular, massaging movements down towards his groin, keeping the palm of his hand flat. Neville squirmed beneath him and wound his fingers into the youth's hair, whispering that he was bloody scared -- terrified -- but that he didn't want Sunil to stop what he was doing.

And then the older man let out a yell stifled by burying his face in Sunil's hair as the younger man's hand slipped down and captured the older man's swelling penis and began to slide up and down the lengthening shaft.

Neville was far more aroused than Sunil had anticipated, but it didn't worry him: they had plenty of time yet. His mouth still moving from nipple to nipple, Sunil stroked and teased Neville's penis, his hand already slippery from the fluid glistening at its tip and from his own sweat. Suddenly he felt the cock in his hand begin to pulse -- and after a couple of further strokes he heard Neville cry out, a hoarse mixture of wonder and disbelief, and then his hand was covered in thick, sticky semen. Immediately he gave Neville's penis one last caress, and then reached up to capture his lover's mouth with a kiss; Neville, gasping and panting, returned Sunil's kiss gratefully.

"Was that okay?" Sunil whispered into his mouth, his own breath ragged and heavy. "Did you enjoy it? I didn't expect you to come so soon, but it doesn't matter. Did it feel good?"

"Oh -- oh *yes*..." sighed Neville, limbs heavy and his body feeling as if it was buoyed up on a cloud of sheer pleasure. "*Yes*..."

Sunil took a handful of tissues from the box on the bedside table and wiped his hand clean, then licked up the last remaining dribbles of semen from the bases of his fingers with a quick flick of his tongue, before wadding the tissues and hurling them into a nearby waste-bin. "Has no-one ever done that to you before, Nev?"

"Not -- not a man, no. A lot used to go on behind the bike-sheds when I were a lad, but..."

"But you've never been frigged by a man before?"

Neville winced. "What an awful word that is, Sunil..."

"Not really. Comes from the Norse goddess Frigga, so it's meant to mean something *good*." Sunil studied him thoughtfully. "You've never been wanked by a man before, then?"

"That's almost as bad," Neville replied after a sharp intake of breath. "And no, I haven't. That sort of thing never seemed to happen at Inkerman Street School." Then he opened his eyes and looked at Sunil. God, but he looked beautiful -- his eyes darker than ever and the smile on his face a mixture of relief, pleasure and -- *love*? "How -- how was it for you? I -- er -- can't see that *you* got much out of it, but -- "

"Oh, I did." Sunil kissed Neville's shoulder and then smoothed down his grey hair, winding strands of it around his fingers. "You really *did* enjoy me masturbating you, didn't you?" he asked gently.

"Yes." It seemed pointless now to say otherwise.

Sunil smiled even more broadly. "Good. That's all I need to know. Besides, wanking someone -- watching them as you make love to them and seeing how what you're doing to them makes them feel -- feels really good, Nev. As you'll find out..."

An alarm-bell suddenly rang at the back of Neville's orgasm-fuddled brain. "What do you mean, as I'll find out..."

Sunil slid over on top of him and bit and licked at Neville's lips as he rubbed his sinewy body sensuously against his older lover. "What I say. Because you're going to do the same to me next. It's *your* turn, now."

Neville had been about to put his arm around Sunil's shoulders, but now he stopped. "No." Neville tried to push Sunil away and roll out from underneath him, but the pleasurable lassitude that had taken hold of him would not let him do what he wanted. "No," he said again, realizing that he was powerless to fight against the laziness he felt, but knowing that he had to stop this madness going any further. "*No*."

"No? 'No' -- what?"

"'No', I am *not* goin' to do to you what you've just done to me."

His eyes bright, Sunil gave a low, throaty chuckle and began to play with Neville's hair. "Oh yes you are."

"I am *not*. And stop doin' that with my 'air -- I've precious little of it as it is without you pullin' more of it out..."

Sunil gave him another lazy smile. "Neville, I've just brought you off an' you clearly enjoyed it. It's only right that you should do the same for me, now. Look -- " He took Neville's hand and drew it down beneath the bedclothes. "You're hardly being fair. Feel *that* -- don't you think that *I* deserve something too?"

At first Neville couldn't believe the evidence of his sense of touch as Sunil, now breathing more heavily and raggedly, wrapped his fingers around a hot, thick, pulsing cock. "What in the name of God..."

"Please..." Sunil whispered. "I can't bear it any longer. Wank me off, Nev. Please. *Please*..."

Neville felt his own groin pulse as Sunil squirmed against him, his slick cock sliding a little way back and forth in Neville's unresisting hand. He wanted to let go of the swollen organ -- had not *wanted* to touch it -- and yet to hold in his hand this hard, virile shaft that seemed imbued with a life of its own, so eagerly did it jerk and twitch and respond to his touch, only made him want to close his fingers and grip it more tightly. And yet...

And yet he couldn't. He couldn't bring himself to do what Sunil asked of him. God knew, he wanted to try -- he actually wanted to do his best and give Sunil the same delicious, unbelievable delight that Sunil had given to him. But he couldn't. It was foolish and, in the circumstances, selfish; after all, all that Sunil wanted was a share of that same glorious pleasure, and it ill-behoved Neville not to repay the favour that he'd earlier received. But Neville knew, with a sinking heart and a sense of despondency, that he couldn't shake off the little core of insecurity and shyness that told him <No. You can't do this. This isn't for you. What if you get it all wrong? What if you can't please him? What if he thinks you're stupid or gets angry with you? What if you disappoint him?> He wanted so much to please Sunil; but he didn't feel confident enough to translate his feelings into a sexual caress.

"Please, Nev," Sunil whispered again. "Please..."

Neville shook his head. "I -- I can't, Sunil, I'm sorry." He gave Sunil's cock a gentle squeeze -- and almost relented as Sunil let out a soft moan that sent shivers down Neville's spine. "It's -- not that I don't want to, Sunil. It's -- not that."

"Then what is it? My cock's not getting any softer, Nev. You'd better do *something* soon."

Neville sighed. "Look," he said. "I can't believe as I'm actually sayin' this, but holdin' your -- your -- *thingy* -- "

"My cock," replied Sunil. "Say it."

"Oh all right. Holdin' your cock feels -- feels really -- I *like* touchin' it. I *like* holdin' it -- an' I never thought as I'd ever say that to another bloke, like. But -- but Sunil, I -- I just can't." Absently he ran his thumb over the soft, rolled-back fore-skin and the hot, exposed glans, and musingly massaged the seeping pre-seminal fluid into the tip of the younger man's penis. And stopped immediately when Sunil suddenly threw back his head and groaned and the cock in Neville's hand leaped alarmingly.

"Don't -- do that if -- you don't want me to come here and now, Nev..." Sunil murmured. "For someone 'oo says 'e doesn't want to frig me..."

"Sorry. I -- wasn't thinking."

Sunil began to suck at Neville's closest nipple. "If it means you'll frig me, I won't be sorry if you stop thinking altogether..."

Neville sighed, trying to ignore the effect of Sunil's lips and tongue against his nipple and the way in which Sunil was moving his body against his. "I -- can't do this, Sunil. I just can't. I'm -- it's just not in my nature. I -- I mean, what would -- what would -- " He shook his head. "What would the lads say? What would -- " He couldn't stop himself from saying it -- "What would *Connie* say?"

Sunil lay still, hand on Neville's shoulder. "Connie?"

"Aye. What would *she* say if she could see me now?"

For a few, endless moments, Sunil considered this, teeth chewing thoughtfully on his lower lip. "The lads," he said at last, "worry you less than Connie, it seems to me. What do *you* think she'd say?"

Neville paused as the pang of bitter memories ran through his mind, memories of what Vernon Smith had told him as he lay in his hospital bed. He still worshipped Connie, but now he could see both her and Vernon, their noses curled in disgust, pointing at him and Sunil and leering. <I allus knew as there were sommat queer about you, Neville Singleton. This just proves it, you old pervert,> they jeered. <You're just a dirty old man.> "I don't think she'd say anything very nice," he said at last. "This'd all be a bloody good joke to 'er -- 'er an' Vernon. Oh yes, I loved 'er, Sunil. I loved 'er, I love 'er, an' I always *will* love 'er; but I can't pretend as she loved me, or thought anything of me, or that she wouldn't find the idea of the two of -- *us* -- " -- he gestured at Sunil and himself with his shoulder -- " -- in bed together a bloody good joke. She'd say as she'd always thought I were queer, or sommat. An' I can't get that thought out of my 'ead."

"Is that what's stopping you playing with me?"

"Oooughh!" Neville exclaimed, pained. "For a student of language and literature, sometimes you 'ave a bloody *terrible* way with words, Sunil."

Sunil shook his head and giggled cheerfully. "Sorry," he said, hugging Neville. "Sometimes I'm *not* much of an advert for further education am I! But go on," he said more seriously, "tell me more."

"Well, there's nowt much to say, really. I can just see Connie an' 'er old man laughin' at me, that's all. I'm glad I honoured 'er memory tonight, Sunil, but Vernon told me some things that -- well, things as make me think as she wouldn't like what we're doin'."

Sunil leaned over and kissed Neville on the mouth. "Maybe what we did at the river will make 'er feel a little bit guilty then," he suggested. There was no malice in his voice, merely that kind thoughtfulness of which Neville had grown so fond. "That no matter what *she* thought of you, you still cared for 'er. And as for *this* -- " Sunil swept his arm grandly over the two of them. " -- Maybe this would make her feel jealous. Maybe she'd see what she'd been missing!"

"Oh, I hardly think so," replied Neville, blushing and feeling very pleased at Sunil's suggestion.

"She might though, Nev," Sunil said, brushing his hand across Neville's chest. "Now. Won't you try again? I *want* you to wank me, Nev. I'm feeling really horny."

"But I can't *do* it," exclaimed Neville despairingly. "I just can't."

"Why not?"

Neville sighed. "I just -- *can't*."

Sunil rolled off Neville's body and then lay on his side, head propped up in his hand, and studied the older man thoughtfully; Neville had felt oddly saddened as Sunil's now slightly softer cock had slipped from his cradling fingers in the process. "I know what *your* trouble is," Sunil said at last.

Neville snorted, almost afraid of what Sunil might say next. "You do? Well what *is* it, then?"

Sunil merely smiled and began to stroke Neville's belly. "You're shy, aren't you..."

"What -- *me*? *Shy*?" blustered Neville. "I'm no such bloody *thing*!"

Unperturbed, Sunil shook his head and continued to smile. "In ordinary life, maybe not; but when it comes to sex -- to making *love* -- you're shy."

"Am not," Neville muttered. "Am bloody *not*..."

"Is *that* why you won't wank me, Nev?" Sunil asked gently. "Because you're shy and the idea makes you feel embarrassed?"

<Oh bloody hell -- what was the point in denying it?>

Neville sighed and nodded. "Yes," he admitted quietly. "I -- I feel that after you did it for me, it's only fair as I do it for you. But the idea makes me scared, Sunil. It frightens the *shit* out of me, in fact. An' yes, the idea *does* embarrass me."

"Why?"

He shook his head. "I don't really know. I just know as no matter 'ow much I really *do* want to be unselfish an' do to you what you did to me, I just -- can't bring myself to do it."

Sunil kissed his cheek. "At least you're brave enough to admit it, love."

<Don't call me that,> Neville wanted to say -- but instead let the idea slip away. He let out a breath and wrapped his arms around Sunil, and settled back against his pillows as Sunil snuggled up against him. "Sunil," he began thoughtfully, "I've never really thought of myself as bein' -- *brave*, as you call it. This whole -- affair -- you an' me -- I really do like you Sunil, but I'm not -- you know, queer -- "

"*Gay*," corrected Sunil gently, burrowing closer. "I prefer that to 'queer'. So don't call it that. But like I said, you don't know the half of it. Not with me, anyway..."

The older man looked at him curiously. "Well *tell* me the other half, then."

Sunil grinned and shook his head, his hair brushing sensuously against Neville's skin. "All I mean is that I'm happy to sleep with women *and* men. It all depends on if they fancy me, and I fancy them."

Neville grinned. "Do your *parents* know about this? I mean, is it the sort of behaviour one expects from a good Hindu lad like yourself?"

"It's none of their business!" replied Sunil. "Besides, many of our gods represent sexuality, an' I'm over both ages of consent, so I don't see as it matters. So long as I don't hurt anyone and only make them happy," he added tenderly.

Neville smiled and stroked Sunil's hair. "Well all right, *gay*, then. Whatever. You see, the thing is, it just -- seems strange, you know, actually havin' sex with another bloke, like."

"I can understand that," nodded Sunil.

Encouraged, Neville cuddled the younger man closer. "I suppose it's also that at my age -- well, it just doesn't seem *right*. You know 'ow it is, 'ow everyone seems to think as it's only *attractive* people 'oo should 'ave sex -- men 'oo are still considered 'andsome -- people like your Mel Gibsons or your whoevers. An' God knows, blokes like me 'oo are well past the first flush of youth an' comin' up on the Grim Reaper pretty bloody quickly aren't supposed to 'ave sex at *all*, let alone with -- with -- " He faltered and blushed and looked shyly at Sunil. " -- With beautiful young men 'oo are young enough to be their grandsons."

Sunil snorted. "Not unless it was in a film and it was Sean Connery with Keanu Reeves or somebody," he said bitterly.

"Aye," nodded Neville, "that's right."

Sunil suddenly smiled. "So you think I'm beautiful, then?"

"Very," admitted Neville. "I don't mean in a sissy way, just that you're -- beautiful. Like -- a cat, or somethin'."

"Thank you!" chuckled Sunil. "That's very sweet."

"Aye..." Neville's face lit up as he warmed to his theme. "Like a big cat. A lion or somethin'."

Sunil laughed. "Because I have a long black mane an' I'm big, sleek, an' brown, you mean?"

Neville felt embarrassed. "I wasn't meanin' to sound -- *racist*," he assured his companion.

Sunil only laughed again. "I didn't think you did. Suits me, anyway. Mind you, the only place I'm really *big* is here -- " And he kissed Neville and drew his hand back down to his penis, which stirred immediately in the older man's hand.

"I mean it, though," Neville said, suddenly feeling his emotions beginning to surge. "But -- where do we go from here?"

"Wherever you like," Sunil replied throatily, pressing Neville's fingers tighter around his prick. Neville grasped Sunil's penis firmly and the younger man slid over on top of his companion. He pushed his fingers into Neville's hair and cradled his head, before his mouth locked with the older man's for a series of hungry, open-mouthed kisses.

As Sunil kissed and caressed him and this hard young body moved against his flesh, Neville felt his own penis begin to stir; he let his fingers explore Sunil's cock, marvelling at its length and size, and wondered if -- by some miracle -- he *could* masturbate the younger man.

Sunil seemed to read his mind. "Having second thoughts, Nev?" he asked seductively.

"No, but -- I was thinkin' what a fine specimen you've got..."

"Sunil smiled, his eyes heavy-lidded. "If you were amenable, I could wank myself off and you could watch..."

Neville stared at him, unable to believe his ears. "Sunil -- I *couldn't*!"

"Couldn't you?" Sunil replied, eyes now innocent and wide. "I beg to differ. I think you *could*."

His mouth suddenly very dry, Neville swallowed hard. "Would you -- *mind*?"

"I wouldn't've suggested it if I did," Sunil said sweetly. "So shall I begin?"

<Why do I want to watch?> Neville found himself thinking. <What the hell is *wrong* with me?>

"There's nothing to be ashamed of," Sunil was saying gently when Neville's attention was drawn back to him. "Nothing wrong at all in you wanting to watch me. I've had lovers tell me before that I can be a terrible show-off. Neville, are you *listening* to me?"

"I'm -- sorry. I can hardly take all this in."

"Then don't think about it any more. Just watch me. And enjoy it..."

* * * * * * * * *

As Neville watched, fascinated, Sunil got out of bed and then knelt down on the covers, his half-erect penis jutting out enticingly in front of him. Dear Christ, but he resembled nothing so much as an exquisite, erotic sculpture.

"M-must just pop to the bathroom," mumbled Neville, hardly able to take his eyes from Sunil's superb body. "Shan't be long..."

Once in the safety of the bathroom, Neville put on the light, pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the bathroom mirror and wondered what the hell he was doing. He'd allowed Sunil to masturbate him, and now he was about to watch as Sunil made love to himself. What was *wrong* with him? Why *was* the idea so appealing?

Wearily he filled the glass on the basin with water, and freshened his dry mouth. He poured the remainder of the water into the sink and watched it sluice down the plughole before placing the glass back in its place, then briefly looked at himself in the mirror. He was surprised to see how much more relaxed than normal he looked; how at peace with the world. There were fewer lines around his eyes and his forehead seemed smoother. For a moment he smiled; he was no longer the sad, tired, lonely old man who normally looked out at him from mirrors -- perhaps it was all due to the power of love, or something, he mused wryly.

When he returned, the younger man smiled up at him with seductive eyes. There was a tightness in Neville's throat as he got onto the bed and sat up against the head-board, and his mouth was dry.

Sunil smiled at him. "Are you comfortable, Nev? I'm ready if you are..."

Sunil licked his hand and then slowly began to stroke his hardening shaft, the friction on the thick, dark organ making soft obscene and unexpectedly stimulating sounds as his hand began to move more briskly. As Neville stared, fascinated, the younger man's cock swelled and lengthened and reared up like something with independent life; Sunil closed his eyes and his head went back slightly as he cupped his balls in his free hand and the other continued to move back and forth, back and forth.

Very soon the first drops of pre-seminal fluid began to glisten at the tip of Sunil's penis. As Neville watched, unable to tear his eyes away, it seemed as though nothing else in the world existed except for this bed, himself, and the god-like creature who knelt before him. Now Sunil's hips were thrusting upwards, taut buttocks clenching, in order to increase the sensations as he pumped eagerly at his cock; his head rolled from side to side and his breathing became a series of gasps, sighs and drawn-out groans. Neville, fascinated, almost felt he wanted to reach out and touch, to join in -- but couldn't bring himself to break the spell he seemed to be under and move towards the younger man.

Suddenly Sunil's head came up and he opened his eyes and looked directly at Neville. "Come here, Nev," he said huskily. "Come and touch me. *Feel* me." Panting slowly, Sunil looked at him and held out his free hand, as he continued to fondle his penis -- although now the movements of his hand on his engorged cock were slower, as he sought to prolong the moment without it losing its momentum. "I want you to come over here and touch me -- I want to feel your hands on me."

"Sunil, I can't -- "

But Sunil merely smiled at him, a gleam of triumph and pride in his eyes. "You *can*, Nev. You're not *really* so scared. Come on. *Please*..."

And almost as though he were being guided by someone else, Neville got off the bed and walked unsteadily towards Sunil, who turned his head to him when he was at his shoulder, and lifted his dark head for a kiss that Neville returned willingly. "Sit down beside me, love..." Neville obeyed. "Now feel my cock," Sunil whispered into his open mouth. "Go on, touch it -- feel how hot it is..."

Sunil put his free hand on Neville's and guided it down, as they continued to exchange soft, sucking kisses. When his hand touched Sunil's slick penis, hot and throbbing with life, he gasped. His hand touched Sunil's. "Show me," he whispered. "Tell me what to do..."

Sunil's dark eyes stared wonderingly into his. "You're sure?"

"Oh, I'm sure."

Without another word, Sunil placed his hand over Neville's, and began to guide him in the rhythm he needed. Gradually he released his hold on Neville's hand as the older man found the right measure, and put a hand up to the back of Neville's head to bring his face down closer for deeper, longer kisses.

Neville couldn't quite believe what he was doing. Here he was, somewhere in the late early hours of the morning -- and at *his* age -- and he was...

No. He couldn't *quite* believe what was happening. There he was, sitting on his bed. Kneeling beside him was Sunil, his friend of a month or so. Who was naked. Who'd kissed him. Who'd masturbated him. Who, when he wasn't encouraging Neville to suck and toy with his nipples or caress his buttocks and probe delicately between its firm globes, was kissing him, his tongue exploring his mouth. Whose heavy balls he'd been encouraged to fondle. Whose hot, thick penis he was now pumping vigorously with his hand. Whose firm, muscular torso, thighs, chest and stomach he had caressed with wondering, eager fingers. Whos