Catching Kit

by Kay Berrisford

  The elf lifted his brow, then smiled, clearly puzzled. When Denny dropped his hand, he sat down on the stairs, resting his chin in his palm.

  Denny turned to the phone.

  After nearly a dozen rings, Henry answered. Denny was grateful the conversation stayed brief and businesslike. His great-uncle evidently sensed the stress in his voice and understood this “work-related problem” must be discussed in person. He promised he’d come straight over in a taxicab.

  “He’s on his way,” said Denny, hanging up.

  “Do you honestly think he can help?”

  Denny slid his hands into the smooth pockets of his dressing gown. “He worked for the government for a long time. MI5. A while back he let slip he was some sort of spy during the Second World War and that he’d encountered elves, but he’s not supposed to tell us much about it, even now.”

  “Oh.” Kit’s expression was inscrutable. Could that be the elf’s memories again, veiling his eyes? Denny’s desire to believe in Kit’s past felt so powerful it shook him. “They’re not all bad, those government chaps,” murmured Kit. “I remember once, a man who was good to me.”

  “We can trust my uncle. He wrote just the other day to tell me he believed the government EB policies were all wrong. Let’s just hope there’s something he can do.” Glancing into the lounge, he noted time sped on toward nine thirty. “It might take an hour for him to get over from Bromley at this time of day.”

  “An hour, you say?” Kit’s smile was as beguiling as an intimate caress. “There’s plenty we can do in an hour.”

  Denny hissed between his teeth. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

  “Look at it practically,” said Kit. “Sex will make me stronger if I have to run.”

  Seconds later, they stood toe-to-toe. Drawn as if on autopilot, Denny lifted his hands from his pockets to gently clasp Kit’s hips, and Kit slid his arms about Denny’s shoulders. At the contact, a little of the tension clamping his neck ebbed away, and he enfolded Kit’s slim body tighter. Kit stared at him steadily, stoking his glow of desire and the hardening in his crotch.

  “Fine,” growled Denny. “If you insist.”

  “I’ve thought of something different I’d like to try.” The elf’s throaty voice undid him. “Something it’s pretty damn unlikely I’d have learned in the basement of a department store or busking on the underground.”

  He breathed the sweet tea on Kit’s breath. “What do you mean?”

  “You’ve been wondering all this time whether I’m really experienced, haven’t you? Whether I’ve leeched everything I know from you?” He rubbed his stiffening loins against Denny’s thigh. “Let me put your mind at rest.”

  Chapter Seven

  Denny stood in front of his closed bedroom door and grasped Kit’s legs from behind. Kit had pushed into a handstand, his back to Denny’s thighs, his weight supported between his palms and in Denny’s firm hold. Kit pressed his arse toward him so Denny’s cock slid along the elf’s crack.

  “Now…get in me,” said Kit. “It’ll work. It’ll feel good.”

  Nearly as bewildered as aroused, Denny conceded Kit had been right—with their height difference, sex in this mad position could work. He’d never have imagined it.

  He brushed his lubed prick over Kit’s entrance, kindling a friction that set his balls tightening. The elf squirmed, the merest twitch of a movement, and Denny unleashed. He breached Kit’s slicked ring with his cockhead. Kit pushed up, drawing Denny deeper into his channel, his clenching akin to suction.

  “Fuck,” groaned Denny. “Fuck.”

  From this angle, Kit’s slightest shift seemed to milk him, setting the build of his climax on slow burn before the real fucking even started.

  “Good?” Kit gasped.

  Denny grunted his reply. This felt great, the view glimpsed in a mirror on the back of his wardrobe scorching. Denny wore only his black dressing gown, silky cords swaying toward the carpet. Still dressed in his shirt, Kit ground his buttocks against Denny’s groin, impaling his arse with small but insistent movements. He’d rolled his sleeves up, displaying sinews on his arms as taut as iron cables. His cheeks flushed. His hair looked longer and blonder from this angle, cascading toward the floor, his face impossibly young for his supposed years.

  “M-move your hands lower,” stuttered Kit. “If you support me a little better, I…I can take more.”

  Denny slid his grip as commanded and thrust his cock forward, just as Kit, afforded better purchase, pushed upward and back. The elf repeated the motion, jerking with his hips and probably his arms too, although Denny’s awareness of everything beyond the sheathing of his shaft grew scant.

  Denny struck Kit deeper, and the elf screamed hoarsely. Denny guessed that, from this angle, the contact against his prostate must be intense.

  He pulled back, then pushed forward, fucking Kit harder and setting both their bodies quaking with the power of their coupling. His legs trembled, his thighs taking much of their combined weight.

  Each plunge set the elf whimpering. “Yes…more…more…more… Don’t let it end. That’s the spot. Oh God.”

  The movement and tightness about his shaft proved sublime. Denny threw his head back and clonked his skull painlessly against the door. Fabric light as air caressed his buttocks, and he stared at the bed, which the elf had previously smoothed and straightened. He liked fucking in this position as much as Kit seemed to. He couldn’t deny the carnal pleasures, yet they did not eclipse his many uncertainties. Even the reflection in the mirror seemed too distant. Briefly he hankered for Kit to skewer him up close with his blue gaze so Denny could read his pleasure and experience that connection he’d felt last night, confirming he’d not imagined it all. Then Kit rocked back and gasped for more. Denny’s wits splintered, and he fucked him hard.

  Kit’s cock bobbed stiff as an iron bar. Surely he needed some contact there if he was going to come.

  He gripped Kit with one hand and reached for his prick.

  “No.” Kit swayed slightly but held fast. “It’s…it’s okay. I don’t need it. Just keep going…a little longer.”

  Too far gone to argue, Denny clamped Kit’s hips. He sped up, straining to hold back his climax.

  The elf seemed to savor every iota of contact and let forth a stream of gasps and moans. “Y-yes.” He caught his breath. “Oh…oh yes.”

  Denny slowed again, pulled almost completely out, and then glided his cock forward. His senses spun, and he knew he couldn’t hold on for more than a heartbeat. Then Kit clenched around him with a power that would turn coal to diamonds; any greater, and he would have ejected Denny. He screamed so loudly Denny’s ears stung.

  Denny’s orgasm swept through him, a volcano sending hot lava rushing from the base of his cock. He dug his fingers into Kit’s hips, and pale flesh reddened and bruised. Riding the wave, he willed his pleasure to last forever, although after the first great rush passed, the crush of Kit’s arse about him grew a little too intense.

  And showed no sign of abating.

  Denny looked to the mirror. Kit flushed an even brighter pink than before, and tears streamed from the corners of his eyes.

  “Kit?”

  “Still…so good…so good…agh.” The elf’s voice faded into a guttural moan. He remained caught in throes of ecstasy, and his pressure about Denny’s softening prick grew painful. Carefully Denny eased himself out. Swiftly dropping to his knees, Denny supported the elf as he crumpled to the floor, and then gathered him in his arms. He carried Kit to the bed. Under the weight of two heavy, sweating bodies, the duvet rumpled up once more.

  “You okay?”

  Denny brushed Kit’s hair back from his brow, beaded with perspiration. Kit appeared incapable of speech. He trembled, yet Denny perceived pleasure, not pain, commanded him. He stroked Kit’s cheek. Kit shot his hand up to clasp Denny’s, wringing it hard.

  “God…yes. Still coming…still good. Agh!” He screamed again, flexing, then relaxing as if a su
dden pinprick had burst the balloon of his bittersweet tension. He laughed.

  “Agh…Denny…I…I…” He drew a deep breath and then exhaled with a shudder. Denny remained befuddled, although now that he held Kit face-to-face and cock-to-cock, warmth flooded his chest.

  Several moments later, Kit regained the power of speech. “I’ve tried that a few times,” he said. “But…I’ve never managed to come so hard without any friction on my prick. I thought it would work well with you, because your dick points the right direction. But you…you’re bloody amazing.”

  Denny smoothed Kit’s hair again; he’d had a similar experience with a prostate massager that had stimulated the most amazing big O. Of course, he hadn’t been doing a handstand at the time.

  “You’re the amazing one. That must have taken a hell of a lot of practice. Where did you learn it?”

  “I learned about it when I was in India, over a century ago, and I perfected it with a guy in San Francisco in 1969.” Kit’s smile grew wistful. “I wonder where I’ll try it next.”

  I want it to be here with me.

  Denny swallowed hard. Had Kit insisted on outrageous sex just to convince him his time-flitting existence was real and make him feel better when he faded?

  When Kit met his gaze, Denny shied away. He needed to believe more than even Kit’s memories blazed there. He wanted to see if Kit felt the same ridiculous affection that was gathering in his heart.

  I don’t want to let you go. Damn you.

  Kit’s eyes remained glazed with diminishing lust, and he still shuddered now and then with the aftershocks. Denny braced himself. This couldn’t be. He’d had sex with Kit to help him, and they’d both enjoyed it. And while he’d do all he could to make Kit safe and happy, he had no place in his complicated life for an EB boyfriend.

  The doorbell rang.

  “Shit.” Though he’d ensured no one would send a van from Croydon for a good while yet, Denny’s worst nightmare flashed into his mind. If he’d wasted time he could have spent hiding Kit by shagging him, he’d never forgive himself.

  He rushed to the window and nudged back the net curtain. A tall, stooped figure with a walking cane waited below, regarding Denny’s scraggy rose bed and wonky wooden fence with an air of disapproval. In the street, a black cab drove away.

  “It’s my great-uncle.”

  Thank God.

  “You stay here for now,” he told Kit. “Don’t come downstairs till I say. I need to speak to him alone.”

  Still panting, Kit nodded. “Okay.”

  Denny peeled off his ladies’ dressing gown. Not the best item of clothing for a bloke to wear when answering the door to an elderly relative. “Make yourself respectable, Kit.”

  “I will.” The elf’s expression reverted to an inscrutable blank. Denny pulled on a pair of jeans, grabbed a sweater from a drawer, and ran downstairs. Still tugging his top down, he threw open the door.

  * * * * *

  Denny used his newfound teapot to make a brew for his great-uncle and retold his story—at least the details he deemed suitable for a man of ninety-four.

  Uncle Henry sat at the kitchen table, resting his hand on the curving top of his metal-tipped walking cane. Dressed in a navy three-piece suit, he remained remarkably poised for a man of his years, especially given his recent illness. As Denny’s news reached its conclusion, Henry’s back grew ramrod straight. Only his neatly trimmed moustache quivered.

  “The fact is,” explained Denny, pouring the tea, “there’s no way I can hand him over. I don’t know what’s brainwashed me most—the government training or this EB I’ve got upstairs.”

  “The answer to that question is clear. Neither.” Henry’s pronunciation was cultured and clipped, the enduring sharpness of his mind shining through. Only the occasional breaking of his voice betrayed his age. “If you’d been brainwashed by your training, you’d have taken this lad straight to the depot. And I very much doubt he is lying. There is every chance he’s been around as long as he claims.”

  A shudder passed through Denny, his tentative relief deluged by nerves. “He said he was about in Shakespeare’s time and spent some years in India. He’s been in America in the sixties and a ton of other places since the Crusades.”

  “Makes every sense. EBs initially materialize as young adults, and they’re bloody quick learners.” Uncle Henry shook his head. “It’s a good thing elves are never helpless children, because few humans possess the compassion to look after them for long. Ah, after all the years I’ve been trying, you’d have thought I’d made a difference for these poor creatures. Not that all of them should be pitied, mind. I’ve known some quite magnificent elves in my time, heroic as the greatest of men.”

  “So you’ve known a lot of EBs personally?”

  “Listen.” Henry dropped his voice to an undertone. “I’ve sworn oaths of silence that have prevented me telling you as much about them as I wanted to, but I’m an old man, and now I realize I’ve let myself down by giving up on my fight when I retired. Damn it, and because of that silly bout of illness, I’ve let you down.”

  “Being ill was hardly your fault.”

  “Maybe not, but I wish I could have made those mollycoddling doctors realize I was perfectly capable of looking after myself weeks ago. Then things might not have come to this pass. That therapist woman wanted me to show I could brew a cup of bloody tea before they let me go. I damn well whipped her up an omelet! Such a waste of time, but maybe that’s the story of my life.” As Denny opened his mouth to protest, Henry clacked the base of his cane against the floor, and he shut it again. His uncle’s expression darkened, wispy brows knitting. “Nearly fifty years I worked for the government, and most of that time, I waged a war from within. I demanded better understanding and equality for EBs.”

  “And you still believe government policy is unsound?”

  “Unsound and downright barbaric. It has been ever since detainment measures were first introduced during the Second World War. Even now, EB policy is little better than the witch hunts of history. The powers that be are scared, you see? They’re terrified of elves and how the population might react, because they simply cannot explain them, so they try to cover the whole thing up. It’s just the same with the corn circles in Wiltshire. Oh, and Roswell, of course, and all the other little secrets our American friends have got stashed away in Area 51.”

  Denny daren’t ask what Henry knew about all that. He didn’t think he could deal with aliens on top of everything else.

  “Since I retired,” continued Henry, “my failure to bring about any real change has dogged me like an old war wound. When you summoned me this morning, lad, I realized it was my call back to the fight.”

  “Or something,” murmured Denny. He drew his hand across his brow, a man sucked into a whirlpool, his life spinning from his control. What hellish crimes had he committed over the past few months? He’d taken a dozen elves—beings just like Kit—to imprisonment and likely death. But he’d dwell on his conscience later. He sipped his tea and steeled his nerve. “Tell me everything.”

  Henry snorted. “How long you got, eh? No, it’s your troubles we need to think about. All you need to understand is my colleagues used to call me the elf rights loon. For a while, in the sixties, I truly believed change was possible. I had dreams of marches for peace, race and sex equality, gay rights…and elf rights. But while progress was made in some of those areas, there were always too few of us fighting for the EBs, and it was easy to shut us down.”

  “So elves are much more than emotional leeches, and what this one has been telling me about his past is all true?” His uncle’s withering look confirmed the answer he’d known in his heart from the moment he laid eyes on Kit.

  “Of course,” snapped Henry. “Anybody with half a brain can tell they’re sentient, if you just make the effort to get to know one of them. True, elves think differently from us. They struggle to get their heads around the notion of property, which is why, over the years, so man
y have been done for thieving. And while they’re rarely violent, they can indeed be highly manipulative of human emotions. Then again, they do need contact to flourish, as you’ve no doubt learned. Hell, who could blame them for trying hard to get attention, what with the fight they’ve had to survive? I first encountered elves when I was working in London during the Blitz. That’s when this whole cock-and-bull story about EBs being mind readers first reared its nasty head. I was informed EBs were Nazi spies, to detain them or shoot on sight. But it’s hard to take a potshot at a fellow when he’s dragging a child from a burning building, eh?”

  Denny swallowed a mouthful of hot tea. “The elf upstairs. He was here in the Blitz.”

  “Indeed?” Uncle Henry tightened his grip about his cane. “Well, he wasn’t a damned Nazi; I can tell you that for sure. There were quite a few EBs operating in the capital around that time, and each one I met was a trouper. In the line of duty, I encountered some amazing fellows. Good Lord, amazing!” He smacked his stick against the floor again. The tea set shook.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, I’m fine, lad.” Henry set his features stiffly but could not conceal the emotions he kept restrained. When he spoke, the quaver in his voice proved treacherous. “I need to ask you two things, Denny. And you need to be absolutely honest, because it will make things much easier on me. I’m an old man. I can’t let the upper lip wobble, eh?”

  “Of course,” answered Denny. “Anything.”

  “Have you had carnal knowledge of this elf upstairs?” Henry’s moustache quivered, and he softened his gaze a little. “Eh, lad?”

  His uncle regarded him evenly, till Denny felt like a mouse caught beneath the beady glare of a hawk. Discussing his sex life with an elderly relative was more than enough to make his face burn.

  “I…I fancied him from the start.” He winced. “I…I’m…gay, uncle. Well, kind of bisexual.”

  Henry flapped his hand. “Never mind all those pointless appellations. You are what you are, lad, and love is what love is.”