Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1632917.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Fandom:
      Ogre_Downstairs_-_Diana_Wynne_Jones
  Relationship:
      Caspar_Brent/Malcolm_McIntyre
  Character:
      Caspar_Brent, Malcolm_McIntyre, Gwinny_Brent, Johnny_Brent, various_OCs
  Additional Tags:
      less_explicit_version_available_(see_Notes), they_are_around_ages_16-17,
      and_are_stepbrothers, Yuletide, Yuletide_2007, Hijinks_&_Shenanigans,
      Animal_Transformation, Kissing, Masturbation, Frottage
  Collections:
      Yuletide_2007
  Stats:
      Published: 2007-12-22 Words: 4780
****** There's Something Out There and It's Laughing at Us ******
by athenejen
Summary
     One morning at breakfast, Malcolm McIntyre gets turned into a cat.
     Hijinks, as they say, ensue.
Notes
     Many thanks go to farwing, maidm, and toasty_fresh for their
     wonderful beta work! I must also thank elsane and eowyns for
     audiencing and for providing much-needed encouragement. Title based
     on one of Aaron Tyler's lines in Wonderfalls (longer explanation
     here).
     There is a PG version (kissing only!) available here.
"Caspar!" Gwinny screamed from the kitchen, sounding thoroughly panicked. "Oh,
Caspar, Caspar, come quick!"
Caspar leapt out of bed and barrelled past the turntable in the bedroom without
stopping to lift the needle. The new Indigo Rubber EP kept playing at full
volume as he thundered down the stairs, still in his pyjamas.
He skidded into the kitchen to find Gwinny on her feet with her chair knocked
to the floor, pointing frantically at a tiny figure in a pink gingham hoop
skirt and neat blond braids sitting demurely on top of his mother's new cow
creamer.
"She turned Malcolm into a cat!" shrieked Gwinny, flailing her other hand
wildly at what looked to be an empty chair at the end of the kitchen table.
Caspar walked around the table to look down at the chair. A sleek grey cat
gazed up at him placidly.
"Meow," said the cat.
Johnny ran into the kitchen while still diligently brushing his teeth. He'd had
his first cavity filled last month and had been obsessed with cleaning every
inch of his mouth ever since. He stopped abruptly upon seeing the cat. "Whoa,"
he mumbled around his toothbrush. "Wha' happ'n'd?"
"She turned Malcolm into a cat!" wailed Gwinny, again. "She asked me what I
wished for and I said I wanted a kitty-cat to take care of and love and cuddle
and she smiled at me and said 'Easy-peasy' and waved her hand and now Malcolm's
a cat!" She turned back to the miniature girl, who was perched on the cow
creamer with an amused expression on her face, all smug smile and peaches-and-
cream complexion. "That's not what I meant!"
The milkmaid yawned, elaborately. "That's not really my problem, my dear."
"I'm not your dear!" retorted Gwinny, fists on her hips and elbows out in
fighting position. "How could you do that to Malcolm? He was just sitting
there, eating oatmeal!" A shadow passed over her face. "Do cats even like
oatmeal?" She too walked over to peer down at Malcolm-the-cat, quizzically.
"Meow," said the cat, and disdainfully started washing its shoulder with
delicate flicks of tongue and a deliberate disregard of everyone in the room.
When Gwinny reached out to stroke behind its ears, the cat stopped washing and
shied away from her hand, jumping gracefully off the chair to head toward the
refrigerator.
"Malcolm, is that really you?" Caspar asked.
The cat turned to look at him. "Meow," it said, and Caspar could hear the "duh"
in its tone.
"You have to change him back!" growled Caspar, rounding on the little milkmaid.
Her round periwinkle-blue eyes met his, calmly. "What I have to do is get back
to my beauty sleep. You lot wake up far too early on school days." And with
that, she seemed to somehow melt away, leaving the cheery black-and-white cow
creamer sitting alone on the table.
"Wait, no!" cried Gwinny.
"Come back, you!" demanded Caspar.
"Hey!" protested Johnny, around a mouthful of toothpaste foam.
But the cow creamer took no notice whatsoever.
"Meow," said the cat, pawing at the refrigerator door.
Caspar, Johnny, and Gwinny all exchanged glances. Then Gwinny went over to try
to scoop the cat up into her arms, exclaiming, "Don't worry, Malcolm, we'll
figure out how to fix you!" But Malcolm, if it really was him, swung wide
around her reaching hands to come twine around Caspar's ankles.
"Meow," it repeated, nudging at his shins in the direction of the refrigerator
door.
Caspar stared down at it for a moment, and then said, "Gwinny, why don't you
make some tunafish sandwiches for lunch. I'm going to go finish getting ready
for school. You should hurry too, Johnny. There's no one to drive us to school
if we're too late to walk." The Ogre and Sally were in Wales on their
anniversary vacation, and Douglas had left for uni nearly three weeks ago.
Caspar said to the cat, "We're going to have to get you changed back before Mum
and your Dad get back on Sunday. They'll go spare if they see you like this."
Two days would be enough, surely. He gave the cow creamer one last glare before
stomping up the stairs to his room, Malcolm-the-cat trailing after him.
"Stay here," he said to it, and ducked into his room to get dressed. Caspar
threw his clothes on haphazardly, grabbed his backpack, turned off the record
player, and swung open the door. The cat staggered a bit, having clearly been
lounging against the door, but quickly collected itself and told Caspar,
"Meow," before trotting back downstairs, glancing back occasionally to make
sure Caspar was following along. It vaulted up onto the kitchen counter and
nibbled a bit at the tunafish Gwinny was using for sandwiches. Gwinny
tentatively reached out to pet its flank, and looked pleased when it let her.
"Go get ready, I'll put this stuff away," Caspar said to Gwinny. She nodded,
and tried to sweep the cat into her arms again. It somehow managed to avoid her
hands while continuing to eat tunafish. Gwinny made an exasperated noise before
sighing and running upstairs to her attic room.
Caspar put the sandwiches and packets of crisps into their lunch bags and
cleared away the remains of breakfast and Gwinny's sandwich-making.
"Time to go!" he called up the stairs. He eyed the cat, which was sitting next
to his backpack on the counter, washing its paw serenely.
"You'll be all right here, won't you?" he asked.
The cat just looked at him, and then pawed at the backpack.
"Oh no. No way."
"Meow," it said, insistently.
"Go with Gwinny? Or Johnny?"
It gave him that blank stare again, a perfect imitation of Malcolm's cool,
precise poise.
After a few moments, Caspar threw up his hands. "Fine! But if you cause me
problems at school, you'll be sorry! Bad enough starting at a new school
without getting caught carrying around a cat, of all things." Ashton Sixth Form
College was only a few blocks from the secondary school that Malcolm, Johnny,
and Gwinny all went to and that Caspar had gone to last year, but it felt
strange to not be there, looking out for them. He knew that Johnny would have
Malcolm's back if anyone hassled him, and that both Johnny and Malcolm would do
their utmost to make sure Gwinny's first year went well, but he worried just
the same.
He dropped them off at the secondary school and trudged alone the last few
minutes to Ashton's wrought-iron gates, Malcolm-the-cat a small warm weight
between his shoulder blades, curled up on top of the books in his backpack. If
he were better at being honest with himself, he would admit that he couldn't
help feeling obscurely pleased that Malcolm insisted on coming with him.
~
To state that Caspar's morning had been rather desperately horrible was as if
to say the Queen of England had rather a lot of money.
He couldn't concentrate at all on his classes, as he found himself focusing one
eye on his backpack at all times, in case it moved. He very likely failed his
French test because he kept getting distracted by little rustling noises that
sounded suspiciously like sandwich paper being unwrapped, and when he got out
into the hallway and looked inside his backpack, the waft of tunafish was
unmistakable. "You have to be quiet!" he hissed at the big dark eyes glowing up
at him. When he lifted his head he caught glances from students walking past
him, some amused and some curious. He quickly closed the bag and sped off to
maths.
Lunch was a relief. He found a hidden corner at the back of the school near the
archery shed and sat down amongst the shrubbery to let Malcolm-the-cat out to
wander a bit. He set the sandwich with the corner already gnawed off on the
ground, and was just biting into the other when Cynthia Huxley poked her head
between two bushes.
"Oh," he said weakly. "Hey, Cyn."
"Hi, Caspar!" she replied. "What are you doing back here?"
Then she noticed Malcolm, batting the top piece of bread off of his sandwich.
"Oh, how adorable! Aren't you adorable, yes you are, yes you are," she cooed.
Malcolm glanced at her once, and then went back to his tunafish. When she
reached out to pet him he scooted behind Caspar to watch her, warily.
"Oh, aren't you the shy one!" she said with that slightly daft look girls get
around babies and cute furry animals. Then she turned to Caspar and put her
hand on his arm. "Can I stay? I won't tell, I promise."
Caspar opened his mouth to say "Sure, if you want," but before he could Malcolm
hissed and launched himself at her hand.
Cynthia yelped, and then looked wryly down at the faint red scratches, just
barely welling with blood. "Maybe not, I take it. No, no, it's all right, I'll
just go get a sticking plaster from the nurse. And your secret's safe with me!
See you on Monday!"
She retreated with a bright smile, waving off Caspar's apologies and winking at
him before turning away.
Caspar glared down at Malcolm. "What did you do that for? She was just being
nice!" But Malcolm ignored him, choosing instead to continue daintily eating
tunafish with an air of satisfaction. After finishing, he stepped carefully
into Caspar's lap and plopped himself down to wash.
"You shouldn't get used to this, you know," Caspar told him, and let his mind
wander for the rest of lunch, considering and then discarding possible ways of
changing Malcolm back.
When the warning bell startled him out of his reverie, he found himself with a
warm purring cat in his lap, his fingers gently carding through fur practically
of their own volition.
"Time to go," he said, and held open his backpack.
After a deliberate moment or two Malcolm uncurled to stretch luxuriously, paws
hanging halfway off of Caspar's legs. Then, just as carefully as he had stepped
in, he padded out of Caspar's lap and into the backpack.
The afternoon passed uneventfully. Every time Caspar peeked in to check on him,
Malcolm was peacefully napping, though he would lean into Caspar's fingertips
and purr even in his sleep.
~
By the time they all arrived back at the house, Caspar's shoulders and lower
back were aching from the extra weight. Malcolm hopped out eagerly onto the
sofa. Caspar informed him, "You don't look that big. How is it possible you're
so heavy? And don't get fur on the sofa! We'd never be able to explain it to
Mum."
Malcolm lashed his tail once, twice, and then trotted into the kitchen after
Gwinny to beg for more tunafish. Caspar went upstairs to at least try to sort
out the homework he vaguely remembered being assigned for Monday. After a half-
hour or so, Malcolm came and curled up on his desk as he worked, fur suede-soft
against his arm.
Later, as they ate toasted cheese sandwiches for dinner—Gwinny was really quite
good in the kitchen—Malcolm jumped up onto the table and started nosing at the
cow creamer hopefully. Johnny and Gwinny had already worn themselves out
shouting at and knocking on it right when they'd got home from school, to no
avail. But seeing Malcolm's interest seemed to spark something in Gwinny.
"I know! If the creamer is magic, maybe the milk is too!" And she immediately
grabbed the cow creamer and dumped its contents over Malcolm's back.
Malcolm screeched, deafeningly, and tore around the kitchen with milk flying
everywhere. Johnny ran for towels while Gwinny rushed around trying to catch
Malcolm, but each time she almost got him he would squirm away, leaving the
front of her shirt damp and smelling faintly of dairy.
Caspar, finally, stood up and commanded, "Stop!"
All three of them halted in place and turned to stare at him.
"Malcolm! Calm down and let us get you cleaned up. Gwinny, go run the bath.
Johnny, bring the towels." And with that, Caspar scooped up the quivering cat,
carried him up the stairs, and dumped him unceremoniously into the slowly
filling bathtub.
Malcolm yowled at the water, but seemed to understand that it was better than
stinking of milk and stayed in the tub. He wasn't nearly so okay with the soap,
however, and it took all three of them several long minutes of dodging and
wrestling to get him subdued enough to let them lather and rinse. By the time
they were done, it was long past all their bedtimes and they collectively
sported dozens of scrapes and bites and claw marks to show for their efforts.
But they had a clean, if somewhat bedraggled, Malcolm-cat. They towel-dried him
as much as possible, but he was still rather damp and pathetic and shivering.
Caspar carried him into Malcolm's room, set him on Malcolm's bed, and tucked
the comforter around him. Then, exhausted, he went to bed himself.
A few minutes later, just as the jumbled thoughts of the day had begun to
smooth out into a soothing stream, Caspar heard a whine at the door. Another.
Then a few small thuds and scratches.
When he opened the door, Malcolm-the-cat was standing there staring up at him,
still shivering.
Caspar swept his hand out toward the room. "Want to come in?"
"Mrr," said Malcolm, not moving.
"Really, it's all right," Caspar assured him, and bent over to pick him up.
"Mrr," said Malcolm, again, skittering just out of reach down the hallway and
in the direction of his own room.
Caspar straightened up. "You want me to follow you?"
"Meow," said Malcolm, and turned and led the way into his room. When Caspar got
to the doorway he found Malcolm sitting regally in the centre of his bed,
looking at him expectantly.
"What?"
"Meow!" said Malcolm. He nudged the pillow with his nose.
"You're not going to leave me alone unless I do this, are you?" muttered
Caspar, almost more to himself than to the cat. "Okay, fine. Mum will be upset
if I let you catch cold, anyway."
Malcolm sat on the pillow as Caspar crawled into the bed and burrowed under the
sheets. Once he seemed to feel satisfied that Caspar was comfortable, he too
burrowed under and curled up along Caspar's side, slightly damp still, but
radiating a surprisingly comforting heat.
Caspar drifted off to sleep thinking that maybe when this was all over, they
really should ask Mum and the Ogre for a cat.
~
Caspar woke to a hazy feeling of bone-deep warmth and utter contentment.
He snuggled into the feeling, cheek sliding against soft cotton and nose tucked
next to warm skin, and felt the feeling shift with him, heat rubbing gently
along his ribcage, breath ghosting lightly across his temple.
"Mmm," he sighed, eyes still closed, unconsciously leaning toward the movement.
"Mmm," he heard in return, and the breath became the press of lips to his skin.
Without thinking—barely even moving, really—he tilted his chin up. Then those
lips were on his, and he was suddenly very, very aware of how close his hips
were to someone else's.
Caspar's eyes flew open, just in time to watch eyelids sliding up to reveal
shocked grey eyes surrounded by dark eyelashes and pale, exhaustion-bruised
skin.
Malcolm.
Malcolm was no longer a cat.
All of a sudden, a scream: "Caspar!" Gwinny again, sounding even more desperate
than she had yesterday.
Shaking off the distinct sense of déjà vu, Caspar rushed down the stairs and
into the kitchen, Malcolm hot on his heels.
When Gwinny turned to greet them she was holding a big orange tabby in her
arms, and the milkmaid was leaning casually against the cow creamer, smirking.
She cast a mocking eye over their somewhat dishevelled appearance.
"You made a very pretty cat," the fairy-sized woman told Malcolm, "but you were
admittedly rather aloof." Tilting her head, she darted a glance at Caspar.
"Well, to most people, anyway."
She turned back to contemplate the cat in Gwinny's arms for a moment, nodded
once, flashed them all a brilliant smile, and then disappeared. Again.
"Don't tell me," Caspar said, dropping heavily into one of the kitchen chairs
and staring at the tabby. "Johnny."
Gwinny just nodded, burying her face in Johnny's fur before setting him down on
the table to lap at the milk in his half-eaten cereal.
~
Johnny-the-cat was both more and less work than Malcolm-the-cat had been. On
one hand, he had a wholly unsurprising tendency to tear around the house,
knocking things over and just generally making a mess in brief fits of
whirlwind chaos. On the other hand, he was much more open-minded and
affectionate, letting all three of them pick him up and pet him and feed him
pretty much indiscriminately.
At one point, while Caspar was frying up some eggs for lunch and Malcolm was
sitting at the kitchen table alternating between catching up on schoolwork and
seething at the cow creamer, Gwinny scooped Johnny up and started off toward
the stairs, telling him, "I'm so glad you let me cuddle you."
She glanced back at Malcolm. "You really only let Caspar touch you, you know."
And then she turned and bounced up the stairs, singing "The Cat Came Back" to
Johnny as she went, leaving Malcolm and Caspar in the kitchen to both slowly
turn beet red and studiously avoid looking at each other.
~
Later that day, Caspar just couldn't stop himself from asking.
"How much do you remember? About being a cat, I mean."
Malcolm looked up from his homework and blinked. "Some," he replied finally.
"The shouting. Tunafish. The smell of those bushes where we had lunch. The
horrible bath." He paused. "Feeling safe in your backpack."
"Oh," was all Caspar could think of to say in return.
~
After a dinner of baked beans and toast—they were all getting tired of
cooking—Caspar headed straight upstairs to play Indigo Rubber at top volume. He
needed it to calm his nerves. He had less than twenty-four hours to fix Johnny
and get everything back to normal, and he had no ideas whatsoever for how he
was going to do that.
A song or two later he discerned a banging noise not in time with the music,
and realised it must be someone pounding on the front door. When he got
downstairs, he found Gwinny in front of the opened door with Johnny clutched to
her chest, Mrs Teagarden from next-door looming over them.
"Oh, what a nice kitty!" she was saying. "I didn't know you had a pet!"
"Er," said Caspar. "It's our Auntie Marion's. Mum's dad's older sister. Our
great-aunt really. Who lives in Bristol. We're watching it for her while she's
on holiday in France. His name is Snookums."
He heard Malcolm snort from the kitchen, and Gwinny buried her face in Johnny's
fur again to hide her giggles.
Luckily, Mrs Teagarden was too busy cooing, "Snookums!" at Johnny to notice. By
the time she stopped, Caspar had gotten his own face back under control as
well.
"You didn't come to talk about our cat," he said to her.
"Oh, yes. That music! It's much too loud. Mr Teagarden is having trouble
listening to tonight's cricket match."
"Sorry, Mrs Teagarden. We'll turn it down right away," Caspar assured her.
Normally, he would be annoyed at her request, but at that point he really just
wanted to get her to go away as soon as humanly possible.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Malcolm dash up the stairs, and a few
moments later the music stopped.
"There, you see. Very sorry. It's Gwinny's bedtime anyway," Caspar told her,
ignoring the face Gwinny made at that excuse.
"Yes, of course it is," said Mrs Teagarden. "I suppose I had better be getting
back, then."
"Yes, I'm sure you should. Goodnight, Mrs Teagarden."
"Goodnight. Give my best to your mother. Goodnight, Snookums!" she called to
Johnny, still cradled in Gwinny's arms, as the door swung shut in her face.
Caspar met Gwinny's eyes, and they both dissolved into giggles, Johnny
squirming out of Gwinny's arms and pelting up the stairs. "Snookums!" gasped
Gwinny. "He's never going to forgive you for that."
"I just. . . couldn't. . . stop. . . talking," managed Caspar, in between
breaths and laughter.
After a few minutes, they calmed down.
"It really is time for bed," said Caspar.
"I know," she said, but hesitated as she turned to go. "It's nice having
Malcolm back, isn't it?"
"Yes. Yes, it is."
~
Caspar headed up to his room. Johnny-the-cat was sitting amidst the mess of
papers on his desk when he got there, but upon seeing Caspar he jumped off and
ran down the stairs to curl up on the sofa. Malcolm was still standing next to
the turntable, having placed the record back in its sleeve.
"Um. Goodnight," said Malcolm to Caspar, turning towards the door.
"Goodnight," said Caspar.
Neither of them moved.
"Er. You're. . . could you move over a bit, please?" Malcolm asked.
"Oh. Yes." Caspar stepped further into the room and to the side away from the
record player. He had been standing between Malcolm and the door. Apparently.
"Thanks," said Malcolm.
"Sure," said Caspar.
Malcolm looked rather worse for the wear, Caspar thought. The circles under his
eyes were visible even in the dim light of the bedside lamp, and if he focused
on him hard, he could still sort of see the post-bath Malcolm-cat, thin and
trembling and cold.
Malcolm cleared his throat, startling Caspar back into the room. "Right. So.
Goodnight," he repeated.
"Yes, goodnight." Caspar managed to look away, slanting his eyes toward the
wardrobe.
And finally, finally, Malcolm left.
Caspar went over to the wardrobe, changed into his pyjamas, turned off the
lamp, and lay back in his own bed with a sigh of relief.
And couldn't sleep.
And still couldn't sleep.
He tried counting sheep.
He tried humming his favourite Indigo Rubber song under his breath.
He thought about trying to match his breathing to Johnny's, because Johnny
never had trouble falling asleep, but then remembered that Johnny was on the
sofa downstairs, shedding.
Eventually, he had to acknowledge what he had possibly known all day.
He needed to relieve some tension.
Slowly, silently, he slipped a hand under the elastic of his pyjama pants,
trailing his fingers over his abdomen and down across his inner thigh.
He stared up at the dark ceiling for a moment, then squeezed his eyes shut and
concentrated on the vision of Diana Rigg in his mind. He dragged the gaze of
his inner eye up her long, long legs and caressed her high, firm breasts with
his thoughts, imagining what they would feel like in his hand, all silk and
weight and nipple poking into the crease of his palm.
He reached down to cup his balls, rolling them in his fingers as all the blood
in his body travelled gradually south. As he stroked himself slowly, taking his
time, various images of Diana Rigg flashed by like a slideshow. With his other
hand, he pinched his left nipple, and then gently scraped his nails across his
chest and sighed into the sensation.
He came with a choked-off moan to the memory of Malcolm's lips against his.
Bloody hell, he thought, as his brain shut down into sleep. I am so fucked.
~
Caspar arrived in the kitchen the next morning to find Gwinny and Malcolm
already done with breakfast and sitting at the table, mournfully watching
Johnny lap milk from the cow creamer.
He sank into a chair and joined them without saying a word.
Suddenly, he heard Gwinny shout, joyously for once. "Johnny!"
Caspar saw her throw herself at a newly re-humanized Johnny for a hug. Or, at
least, he saw the beginnings of the hug before the edge of the table
inexplicably blocked his view.
Hey, he tried to say. It came out, "Meow."
He looked up to see Malcolm, Gwinny, and Johnny all staring down at him, panic
filling their eyes.
He leapt into Malcolm's arms (calm, safe, warm), and watched from there as
Johnny's eyes darkened from anxiety into something else.
Johnny snatched up the cow creamer from the table and shook it violently. "You!
Come out of there!"
No response.
"If you don't turn Caspar back and cancel the wish right this second, I'm going
to smash this cow creamer, just see if I don't!"
"You wouldn't!" came a high-pitched cry from inside the creamer.
"Oh, I really would," he snarled.
"He would, too, you know he would!" added Gwinny, hands clasped in front of her
earnestly.
"Fine," they heard. She materialized on top of the creamer, balancing
perfectly, and languidly waved a hand at Caspar.
Who found himself staring straight into Malcolm's eyes, still held tight in his
arms.
For several moments, no one moved.
Caspar thought about dropping his arms, leaning back, stepping away, but as
soon as he so much as twitched in that direction, Malcolm's hands tangled even
more decisively into the material of his pyjama top and tugged him into a kiss.
Malcolm's lips tasted of shredded wheat and relief, sweet and hot.
"Oh my god." Johnny was gaping at them, eyes practically boggling out of their
sockets.
Gwinny, meanwhile, beamed at them and clasped her hands again, this time with
delight.
"Clearly, my work here is done," announced the milkmaid. She grinned at Caspar
and Malcolm, arms still wrapped around each other. "You're welcome." And then
she was gone.
Gwinny plucked the cow creamer from Johnny's unresisting hands and herded him
out of the kitchen, smiling at Caspar and Malcolm and hastily explaining,
"We'll just go tidy our rooms before Mum gets back."
Once footsteps indicated that Gwinny and Johnny had definitely made it
upstairs, Caspar and Malcolm went back to staring at each other.
Eventually, Malcolm opened his mouth, as if to say something.
Caspar, on impulse, leaned in and sealed their mouths together before he could.
At first they simply stood, trembling but immobile, until the litany of hands-
lips-waist-lips-hands cycling through Caspar's head started to make him dizzy
with need.
Then Malcolm made this noise in his throat, tilted his head, and drew Caspar's
tongue into his mouth.
The next coherent moment in Caspar's mind came when he realised that the only
way he and Malcolm could get closer was if they climbed into each other's
clothes. He broke the kiss just long enough to say, "Upstairs. Your room." He
felt rather than heard Malcolm's assent, and then they were stumbling across
the kitchen and up the stairs, still snogging and clutching at clothing like
their lives depended on it.
As soon as they got into Malcolm's room, Caspar shoved Malcolm against the door
and held him there with one hand while the other stripped his shirt off over
his head in what was supposed to be one efficient motion. Unfortunately,
Malcolm's left arm had other ideas, and Caspar spent a few precious seconds
wresting it free before stepping back and divesting himself of his own pyjama
top.
When they came back together, the feel of Malcolm's naked chest against his own
almost overwhelmed him, and this time it was Malcolm who lifted his head to
gulp air and say, "Bed. Now."
By some sort of miraculous mutual acquiescence, they tumbled onto the bed, legs
tangled and hands roaming all over deliciously bare skin.
The first time they shifted such that their cocks rubbed together just so,
Caspar very nearly blacked out at the sensation.
Then he moved his hips to see if it would happen again.
It did, but this time he retained enough faculties to observe Malcolm's eyes
almost roll back into his head at the same time, and when he surged up to nip
at the long line of pale, gorgeous neck so exposed, the ragged, low groan that
got him made him smile triumphantly against Malcolm's throat.
Then, then, Malcolm shoved Caspar's pyjama bottoms down his thighs, wrapped a
hand around his dick, and squeezed.
When Caspar stopped shaking apart and came back to himself, he opened his eyes
to see Malcolm removing his own pyjama bottoms and wiping himself clean with
them, then swiping gently at Caspar's abdomen as well.
"We should probably add laundry to the list of things to do before Sally and
Dad get back." His tone was a bit rueful, but when he looked back at Caspar,
his eyes held nothing but happiness.
"Yes," Caspar agreed, and then pulled him back into another kiss.
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