At Swim, Two Boys
by Dolores

Sometimes Mark felt like being on tour was like being on a submarine. Five lads crowded onto one bus like sailors under the sea. Constantly on the move but with nowhere to go.

You technically weren't a prisoner, but life was regimented: a merry-go-round of bus, gym, hotel and show, though not necessarily always in that order. There certainly wasn't a lot of free time.

You never got to explore the cities and towns you went to, and soon they all merged into one great big foreign metropolis, as vast and as murky as the ocean. Contact with the outside world was limited to the occasional phone call to family or the odd old friend, both part of a life that was both geographically and metaphorically distant.

It wasn't even as if they could pull some groupies for a laugh. Even had Nigel not expressly forbidden them from doing so for fear they'd end up in the News of the World, none of them, whatever their other sexual proclivities, wanted to have sex with 14-year-old girls.

There were certainly no drugs either, and precious little alcohol: they had to stay in tip-top condition for the gigs apart from anything else. Jason was far too abstemious, moaning incessantly at the rest of them for ages if they even tried.

There was the crew and the band to chat to of course, but they were never as close to them as they were to each other and they probably couldn't be. Sometimes it seemed like there was just the five of them, and Mark thought that he'd never had relationships as intense as this. Like lumps of coal crushed into diamonds.

But not all the relationships were equal.

The popular perception (at least according to the friends he talked to in the real world) was that they all hated Gary and that was about it. Not true; but it was true that he and Robbie were much closer to each other than the other three.

At first it was just his maternal streak. Rob was the youngest by a couple of years and the most immature by several more. It was just in Mark's nature to look out for someone like that, even though his short stature and slight build made it seem as if everyone else should be looking after him.

Robbie liked it though. He missed his mother - they all did, but Rob more - and so Mark was the next best thing. He was the one who would remind Rob to actually pack his clothes before they left the hotel, and who would coddle him when he felt down. Little Mark, who would make him milky tea and laugh at his terrible jokes.

Marky, who also didn't mind when Robbie decided that he couldn't sleep alone in a strange place and that the best idea was wander into Mark's room at two in the morning and get into bed with him.

It started off being just the odd night, here and there. Then it got to be most nights in the week, then more or less every night. But Mark got quite used to it. And if the others even noticed they didn't mention it.

This arrangement was in despite of the fact Robbie didn't own any pyjamas. Not that it was a big shock to seem him in the buff. They'd all seen each other naked; there was no time for modesty backstage. Anyway, Rob could barely keep his clothes whatever the time of day. He slept naked, and Mark just wore his underpants -- and of course you moved about in bed, so half the time you were going to wake up with lots of his skin touching lots of yours. It was just one of those things.

It was comfortable. Even if Robbie usually awoke, well, somewhat frustrated. They all did. Hardly surprising, given that they were young lads with thousands of people lusting after them but not a single one they could touch. So it was quite normal for Robbie to wake up quite excited and have to dash off to the bathroom to sort himself out. But it was just Rob. Nothing to get bothered about.

Though you didn't get much closer to a friend than that.

At least, that what Mark had thought before Rob stopped bothering to go to the bathroom. Perhaps that was when most others would have drawn the line. Mark just made sure there was a box of tissues on the bedside table and left Rob to his own devices, so to speak.

The first time he noticed Rob staring at him whilst he was going at it, Mark had blushed and giggled. The second time he'd blushed again and realised he was hard, then looked away and fussed about his luggage. The third time he didn't blush but did get hard, and went for a shower, not really bring sure what else to do.

It was a posh hotel and the shower was enormous. He'd been in it for a minute or so, hot water sluicing down on to him as he contemplated having a wank himself, when he heard Robbie get in with him. They didn't say anything, but just began to wash themselves as if sharing a shower was what they did every morning. The jet of water wasn't quite broad enough to catch them both so they alternated back and forth, covered in suds and water, both still sporting their hard-ons.

Once they were both clean and flushed pink from the heat of the water, Robbie fisted his cock and started to wank again. After a second or two Mark did the same and they watched each other masturbate with some degree of amazement, like they were thirteen again and had just discovered they could do this to themselves.

It was odd getting to stare at Robbie, examine him. He was getting hairier: his chest had been quite smooth when he'd first been in the band, and then Nigel had made him shave it after that, but now he was letting the hair grow unimpeded and it was sprinkled across his upper torso and around the dark nipples. He was leaner than he used to be too -- one of the few things Rob shared with Gary was a tendency to put on weight if they weren't careful with what they ate, and they both stressed about it. But Rob had made a major effort the last year or so to keep trim and even if he wasn't as thin as Mark -- though who was? -- then he wasn't that far off.

At that moment he couldn't really see Robbie's dick all that clearly, hidden as it was by the blurring fist. Rob stressed about his size almost as much as his weight. He wasn't vain but he was quite body conscious, and you could always tell what made Robbie unhappy about his looks because he would make jokes about it. And judging from the amount of jokes he'd made about his dick, it suggested he was really quite paranoid he was too small. He seemed perfectly alright from what Mark had seen -- not that he had much experience right enough.

Mark was still thinking about Robbie's cock when he came, making little whooping noises and splashing on the tiles and Rob's thighs. Rob followed a few seconds later, quieter, biting his bottom lip, knees trembling.

That then became their new routine. Sleep together, shower together, wank together. But they never crossed the line they'd drawn. Neither seemed able to make a further move, in case whatever this was carried over into something more difficult, less easy to control. Despite the fact that, whenever he wanked, he thought of Robbie.

That was until the night in Copenhagen.

It was a strange feeling, being woken up by someone licking your neck. Not unpleasant, especially when you suddenly realise who must be doing the licking and that they are currently pressed in behind you, warm and hard and naked.

"Whoh izzit, Rob?" Mark was still half asleep.

The licking stopped. "You taste nice. I can't be arsed phoning down for room service."

Mark rolled over onto his other side so he could face Rob. "You're a silly bugger."

Robbie's face was very close and his breath felt hot and moist. He had lovely eyes did Rob, and they were staring straight at Mark.

"I think I love you, Marky."

Mark giggled. "You been drinking again?"


"Well, I love you too. Now go to sleep."

Mark shut his eyes and as soon as he did Robbie kissed him hard, one hand reaching up to grip Mark's shoulder so tight there'd probably be bruising. Mark let out a sound that was half-gasp, half-moan and felt himself flush hard as blood seemed to race to every outer extremity. He pushed back into the kiss with force and he heard their teeth click together.

They dissolved into giggles and Robbie muttered, "ow."

When Mark opened his eyes Robbie's face was so close he couldn’t focus on it. "It's really late. We've got to get up early tomorrow, you know."

Robbie grunted. "Don't we always?"

Mark felt Robbie's hand slide down his shoulder onto his flank and then to his cotton-clad bum, squeezing gently. He could feel Rob's hard-on press against his. He realised he was trembling.

"What -- what if the others find out?"

"What if they do? They'll just be fucking jealous two of us are actually getting a shag."

"What if Nigel finds out?"

"He'll probably want to join in. D'you think we should let him?"

"No bloody way!"

"Just stop worrying, eh? I want to do this, Marky. I want to do you."

"Very romantic, Rob."

"Shut up."

Before Mark could defy that order, Robbie snogged him again, and began to tug at the waistband of Mark's boxers, trying to pull them down. He wasn't really succeeding, but Mark didn't try to stop him.

When Robbie and he finally stopped kissing, Mark felt quite guilty. Not because he thought kissing a bloke, or Robbie in particular, was wrong -- it was more that Robbie now seemed to be doing all the work. He'd spent several extremely pleasurable moments kissing down Mark's torso and now seemed quite obsessed with the dolphin tattoo on Mark's hip that was just above where the boxer waistband still gripped Mark's flesh, askew and revealing a wedge of black hair at the groin.

Between licking and kissing and nibbling at the flesh there, Rob managed to whisper, "I've wanted to do this since you got it. You've fucking given me a tattoo fetish."

Mark writhed a little on the bed and deliberately didn't apologise.

Eventually, Rob pulled Mark's boxers down and off, then came back to Mark's groin and tried to swallow his dick all in one go. He didn't quite succeed and ended up choking and spluttering as his gag reflex kicked in.

"Hey, mate. Slow down." Until that moment it hadn't occurred to Mark that Rob might never have done this before.

Rob stopped for a moment and looked up at Mark's face, spit shining on his lips. "I want you to fuck me, Marky." There was a note of pleading in Rob's voice that was oddly disconcerting.

"We don't have anything," Mark said, uncertain.

"We don't need johnnies, surely."

"Yeah, we do. And even if we didn't, we'd need lube an' all. 'Sides, Rob, we should be taking this a bit slower. We don't need to go through the whole Karma Sutra on the first night."

"I've just been waiting for this for ages, man. It's like when we went to that Chinese buffet place last week and I wanted to try everything at once. Came back with sweet and sour pork and ice cream on the same plate."

"Yeah right. Very deep. Rob, you only did that 'cause you wanted to make Jason go spare."

Robbie ignored him. "I just don't want to miss out on doing anything. I might not get another chance."

Mark felt himself go a little red. "Rob, honest, I'm not going anywhere. Promise."

Robbie grinned like a loon, then grabbed Mark's cock in one hand and swiped his tongue over the shiny head. "You better fucking not. I like the taste of this too much."

He took Mark in his mouth again, slower this time. And despite his initial difficulties with technique, Rob proved to be a quick learner, working out that he could get Mark to say really filthy things if he just grazed the underside with his teeth, and that if he pressed his thumb into the little patch of skin between Mark's balls and his arsehole at the same time he could bring Mark almost to the point of ejaculation.

In the end, he finished a sweat-coated Mark off by hand, preferring, he said, to be in a position to watch Mark's expression as he came.

Resisting Mark's overtures, Robbie also finished himself off by hand, saying he got a kick out of Mark watching him when wanked and that besides, it was late and they needed to sleep. Mark was too tired to argue.

They woke the next morning to the beeping of Mark's travel alarm clock with the picture of the Tasmanian Devil on it. They were spooned together and still damp with sweat. Mark's arm was trapped and tingled with the onset of pins and needles. He shifted and realised they were stuck together by their own fluids, not having bothered to wipe anything up before they went to sleep.

"We're going to need to shower," Mark said.

Robbie planted a wet kiss on Mark's shoulder, proclaimed, "how fucking excellent," delicately detached himself from Mark and then bounced off into the bathroom.

"You owe me a blow job, by the way," he shouted back, and Mark heard the sound of running water hitting the side of the bath.

Mark followed him in, and, as he stepped into the bath in which Robbie was already wet and soapy, he wondered if he should be feeling less happy about the fact that he was not only having sex with someone in the band, but he was about to give him a blow job in the shower.

Maybe he should, but then strange things really did happen at sea.


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