The Need In Me
by
Sophie Duncan
Smashwords Edition
This publication is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organisations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.
Wittegen Press
http://www.wittegenpress.com/
Copyright © 2011 by Sophie Duncan
http://www.wittegenpress.com/sophieduncan
Cover art by Natasha Duncan-Drake
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favourite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
ISBN: 978-1-908333-24-7
Dedication
Thanks to Tasha.
~*~
Contents
The Need In Me
Afterword
~*~
The Need In Me
Rob dropped the last box in the middle of his brand new living room and, with a satisfied grin on his face, looked around him. It wasn't huge, but then struggling, undiscovered artists on fixed incomes couldn't expect the Ritz. However, the place was big enough so the ratty old three and sometimes four-seater sofa he'd brought with him from his college days fitted comfortably against one wall and the kitchenette that looked over the room from behind its breakfast bar was clean and he'd checked it functioned before signing the lease.
He looked up at the light streaming through the two velux windows in the gabled roof and his grin deepened: the place was perfect. He could paint in full natural light and he wasn't so tall that the sloping ceiling made a problem for him in the bathroom and bedroom.
If he was honest with himself, Rob had fallen in love the place as soon as he'd seen the living room, and the other rooms were just living space.
"Oh Darling, it's lovely," the one person he could guarantee would agree with him gushed from the flat's front door and he turned and smiled.
His grandmother, petite, but always elegant in her habitual long, swishy dress and carefully applied bohemian headscarf, was beaming back at him and she swept into the room as he remembered her doing all his life.
"You really do take after me," she observed, giving him a hug, even though it had only been a minute since he'd last seen her.
She had been guarding the van for him downstairs while he carried its contents up to the flat.
"Hardly surprising," Rob laughed. "You taught me how to draw, you gave me my first paint brush ... and my first spliff, come to think of it, and now you know exactly why I rented the place, don't you?"
The woman's dark eyes went heavenward as she stepped back from him and she gave an almost imperceptible nod when she looked back down on him. Then she surprised him, she turned away and her hand went to her face. It took him a moment to realise that the sound that followed was a muffled sob and then he wrapped her in his arms from behind once more.
"Don't cry Nana, it's not as if I haven't moved out before," he comforted, a little wistful himself for the big Edwardian house where he had grown up.
His had been an irregular childhood, but not one he had suffered for. A house full of dozens of artists and musicians who had dropped in on his guardian at all hours of the day and night had been an amazing place to be.
"But this is it, two hundred miles away and no more college holidays, no more coming back," the woman wailed (there was nothing subtle about any of his grandmother's emotions).
"Don't be silly," Rob hugged tighter and kissed the scarf on the crown of her head. "I'll never stop coming home, but London is where I need to be."
His grandmother sighed slowly and heavily, but then she patted his arm, and Rob knew it was safe to release her. There had been real emotion behind the dramatics, but her shows never lasted long and she stepped away again and turned, dabbing the corner of one eye.
"Are you alright, Nana?" Rob checked, looking through the flair that his beloved grandmother applied to everything.
"I will be, Darling, I will be," she smiled back at him and patted his arm. "It's just that it's been you and I against the world for so long that it is going to be strange without you."
"Ask Aunt Emily over for a while, she'll distract you," Rob suggested and then stepped rapidly out of range as a swipe came at him: Emily was not his aunt, she was his grandmother's best friend, but they had a tempestuous relationship at the best of times. The pair went from lovers to enemies and everything in between and they were on an enemies' stage at the moment due to something he hadn't bothered to work out.
"Don't tease me, Boy," he was warned, but not too seriously and Rob was glad he could see a possible thaw in hostilities in his grandmother's eyes.
He returned his best apologetic flash of his grey-blue eyes and he was forgiven. In fact, his grandmother's expression changed completely and, reaching into the voluminous bag she always carried with her, she told him, "I have something for you."
"We said no housewarming gifts, you already helped me with the deposit," Rob said; he wasn't the only one on a fixed income.
"This isn't a housewarming gift," came the reply and his grandmother waved a dismissive hand at him. "This is something your grandfather left me."
At that, Rob took notice: his grandfather was a shadowy figure who was rarely mentioned, a fleeting few months in his grandmother's life, and if this was something of his, this moment was important. When a small parcel of tissue paper was held out to him, Rob took it reverently and, with a murmured thank you, pulled open the crumpled protection.
He blinked as something caught the light and flashed it back right into his eyes and, when he could see again, he was looking down on a small, silver box about four inches by two inches and the depth of a cigarette case. It wasn't for cigarette's though, he didn't smoke (well, not regularly) and so Rob looked to his grandmother for an explanation.
"It's a calling card case, Darling," he was told with a smile. "You may have all this email and Face-whatsit now, but nothing epitomises presence like leaving your calling card with an agent, especially if he's a nice young man. Go on, open it."
Rob ran his fingers over the exquisite little object, feeling the raised pattern of swirls that a silversmith had spent many hours creating. He traced the edge of a monogram, J S H and coat of arms that was on one side before gently flipping open one end that was hinged to the rest. Inside, Rob found a dozen or so crisp white cards, each hand painted, if he judged right, with his name and contact details in flowing calligraphy.
"Thank you, Nana," he said quietly, a little overwhelmed by the gesture.
Closing his hand firmly round the beautiful gift, he wrapped his grandmother in another hug.
~*~
Rob blew over his mug of tea, took a sip, decided it was too hot and put it down on the breakfast bar instead. He stretched his aching back and surveyed the mess of half-open boxes. At least he had found the kettle and the teabags and the fridge was now on, but there was a long way to go even after hours of unpacking.
As if to remind him he hadn't eaten since breakfast, his stomach grumbled and he turned to look at the unopened box of 'kitchen essentials' his grandmother had left him with. Reaching into his back pocket for the Stanley knife he had there, he found instead he'd reached into the wrong one, and his fingers closed around the card case he had put there for safe keeping. He couldn't help it,
he smiled to himself again and just the touch of it made him feel warm and loved.
His stomach rumbled again and so Rob went for his other pocket and the Stanley knife. However, it wasn't there either and, confused, Rob turned and scanned his immediate vicinity for the tool he had been using all afternoon. What he didn't expect to see was the knife upended in his mug of tea. Somewhat perturbed that he was tired enough to have used his knife as a spoon without realising it, Rob retrieved it, went and ran it under the tap and decided that a shower and his half-built bed was maybe a better option than food.
~*~
The shower was hot and wet and the warmth eased Rob's tired muscles as it soaked into them. He rubbed himself with soap and mulled over the mixture of excitement and trepidation he felt about his move. The drive from Boscastle to London had been a long one and not just in miles. He was a well-respected artist in the local area around the Cornish village where he had grown up, pretty well known in the whole of Cornwall in fact, but London was another matter. Here he was a small fish in a big pond and to make his mark, he had about six months' worth of money, the trust fund his mother had set up for him before she had died.
He had finally made the move and London was a daunting place for a country boy.
Rob listened to the traffic rumbling past outside; it was going to take some getting used to after the odd tractor being the loudest thing around for miles, but Rob was determined and he concentrated on the hubbub that was three storeys below his window.
If he hadn't been listening so hard, Rob probably wouldn't have noticed the creak of the bathroom door, nor the shuffle of a footstep that followed it. Alarmed, Rob swept back the shower curtain and raised his fist to whoever thought they could invade his new home. Yet, he came to a stuttering halt halfway through the defensive movement, because the room was empty and the open door that looked out into the dim bedroom showed there wasn't a soul in the immediate vicinity.
Rob's alarm turned into an almighty shiver as an eerie sensation of being watched ran up and down his spine, and, unnerved, he swiftly pulled back the curtain and sunk back under the shower. The warmth didn't really make any impact any more, but Rob stayed there, trembling for reasons only known to his spooked psyche.
~*~
His lover stroked slowly up the side of Rob's naked torso and he flexed against the body that had him half pinned to the bed. Fully erect from what seemed like hours of titillating play, he knew he was ready and he begged, "Now, please, now."
Rob had never begged for anything in his life, but the love and trust he felt in the arms of the guide to his developing sexuality made him need more than he had ever needed before.
"You are impatient, My Lord," the deep voice whispered directly into his ear, and when he shivered closer to it, lips danced over his earlobe and then down his neck.
"Don't call me that," he dismissed the title, rejecting it and all that went with it. "Please, I love you."
"And I would not be risking this if I did not love you."
"Then take me," Rob offered everything to this man, the one that fate had chosen for him, and he pushed away from the mattress, rutting against the strong body that had first attracted him what seemed like a lifetime ago.
Hands snaked down his sides then and Rob lifted his lower body as palms ran under him and cupped his arse. He let his legs fall apart as a body moved between them and, closing his eyes, he surrendered to the erotic want in his belly as he was positioned for penetration.
Rob groaned and woke as he found himself half pushed off the bed, throbbing erection pressed uncomfortably against the duvet. He relaxed rapidly away from the pressure that had aroused him awake and the dream danced to the back of his mind with frustrating abandon. He was left feeling disoriented, but with a hard-on that was not going to go away quickly.
He could have rolled over and tried to let the arousal go away by itself, but his body was tingling with the leftovers of the most intense dream he had had in a very long time and so he chose to meet that need. He kicked off the duvet and pushed his shorts down off his hips. His erection bobbed free, and, in no mood to take his time, Rob took firm hold and fisted his cock.
He was so sensitised already that he could not stifle another long moan and he had to pause a moment before he repeated the move. Then there was no stopping him, and very quickly his balls grew heavy. When he came, shooting his seed up his stomach, it was more a relief than a high and Rob collapsed onto the bed, gasping and dissatisfied.
His muscles reluctantly shivered away the remnants of the orgasm as he relaxed and he stared up at the ceiling, oddly melancholic. It was in the quiet that he heard it, a very faint sigh, and it took him a moment to realise it was not his own.
The same chill alarm of earlier that evening ran through him from his head to his feet and he sat up and glanced around. The two doors in the bedroom, one to the bathroom and one to the living room, were both open and the living room at least was lit by moonlight. However, there was no movement, no sign of anything and Rob was left lonely and shivering.
~*~
Smiling to himself with satisfaction, Rob placed the last flattened box onto the pile and tied it with string. Everything was now ready for the recycling lorry that would be along the next day according to the collection timetable his landlady had left with him. He was a worker, he didn't like to leave things to get done later, but two days to get everything out of boxes and more or less arranged was impressive even for him.
The TV was in the corner, the computer on the small dining table he'd purloined from Mr Lawson's garden shed (although it would be another week before he got the broadband installed). He even had cushions on the sofa, two red and one blue, all sewn for him by Aunt Emily when she'd first seen the state of the sofa that no-one else from his student digs had wanted when they'd all said their goodbyes.
Rob had a soft spot for the sofa though: he'd had his first boy on boy action on it and many more memories besides. Red-blue-red, he'd placed the cushions with almost OCD accuracy at intervals along the seat, and he liked how it looked. Now all that remained was to get his art supplies out and start his inaugural London work.
Rob grabbed the easel that was lying down against the breakfast bar and swung it up into the centre of the room where anyone else would have had a coffee table. The crisp Autumn light was cascading down on just the right spot and, following the easel with a canvas, Rob tweaked until the streams of sun fell on the setup in just the way he wanted it.
Rob then stood back and took a look from against the breakfast bar, just to make sure. That was when he saw it: blue-red-red, and he froze. For a second he doubted himself, but then his heart sped up and the chill down his spine was back. The cushions had been moved.
~*~
Rob dashed into the café, slammed his computer down on the table and sat down. He'd seen the sign for free wi-fi the previous day and, frankly, he needed to be surrounded by people right then. He'd tried to ignore the cushions, even when they'd changed again, but then there had been the male sigh in the bathroom when he'd taken a whizz, and the shadow in the bedroom that could have been the curtain moving, but the window wasn't open. Rob had then had enough and he'd run for a bolt hole and some time to think.
"Hi," a voice distracted him and he glanced anxiously up at a tall, lanky guy with a scruffy mop of dark, curly hair and an order pad.
Rob was given a semi-professional smile when he acknowledged his waiter and he was told, "My name is Buki, welcome to Orlando's. You're new here, aren't you? Saw you move in a couple of days ago, right? What can I get for you?"
"Hi Buki," Rob replied, but more as a way of giving himself time to think than to answer any of the waiter's questions.
"Are you okay?" Buki asked and Rob realised he must have been showing rather more of his disquiet than he had realised.
"Yes, thanks," he returned automatically and then grabbed his choice of order out of the air with, "Tea please."
"Would you like one pot, or automa
tic refills, they're only 10p extra?" Buki continued to smile and ask his questions.
Rob was not planning on going back to the flat anytime soon, so he decided, "Refills, please."
"You got it. Be with you in three," Buki finished with a flourish of his pen and then thankfully headed away.
Rob watched the waiter, whose hips wiggled in an almost feminine way, walk away and then he turned to his laptop. Taking a breath and trying to calm down, he opened the lid and flicked it on. He didn't really have much idea what he was looking for, but there had to be something on the internet to explain why strange things were happening in his flat.
~*~
Several dozen searches and a few hundred website later and Rob wasn't sure he was any closer to finding a source for his disquiet. He'd started just looking for information about the local area and he'd even found references to his building, but as a normal Edwardian family home, nothing more. Then he'd bitten the bullet of his suspicions and gone onto searching for ghost stories about the locality, and he'd found quite a few: headless horsemen; ghostly monks; white ladies, but nothing that was within half a mile of his flat.
Finally he'd decided to be rational and look for other people's explanations of what was happening, but none of the descriptions of creaking water pipes and tricks of the light made him feel much better. Uncomfortable still, he decided to try one last return to the history of the area.
When a fresh cup of tea was slid over next to his computer, Rob followed the hand that was holding it, up the arm to Buki's now familiar concerned face. He'd swapped the occasional pleasantry with the young man as the tea had kept coming and each time, Buki had looked just on the other side of curious about him. Rob had been more interested in his work and had not given away much more than his name, but this time, Buki was sitting in the seat on the other side of the table. The gaze he was sending Rob was much more direct. Rob wasn't sure how to handle the forward stranger and so he remained silent.
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