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On a Very Special Arthur	By : 8inchCaliper Category: +1 through F > Arthur Views: 6509 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Arthur, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
part 6

Its dark outside in a quiet little neighborhood as Nigel Ratburn wakes with a start. The television is variations of gray snow as he wipes his eyes and sits up. This is the third night in a row that he’s fallen asleep on the couch and he’s mentally chastising himself for it.

His head feels foggy as he sits up and slowly gets to his feet. Some tea would be nice… or maybe an energy drink. He feels like Hell, groggy and disoriented.

In his socks and sweats, he pads into the bathroom to have a look at himself in the mirror. His eyes are shadowed with darkness, his mouth is dry and he has a new crease in his forehead. His hair is mussed and he doesn’t look like himself – even while he convinces himself that he’s doing fine.

Pulling a white t-shirt on over his slender frame, he decides to go out for a brisk walk. Stepping into sneakers, he shuts the door behind him and jogs out into the night. It seems peaceful out here tonight. The dark jogging pants shield his legs against the cool night air, but he enjoys the feel of it on his bare arms. In no time at all, however, he has slowed down to a trot, and then a walk. He’s run down from worrying and finds himself circling back down the block, heading in the opposite direction.

He wonders, errantly, if the substitute teacher has been giving enough homework to his students. God knows he doesn’t want them slacking off in his absence. Then, with a heavy heart, he wonders if he’ll even bother returning this year. It might be better if he returns after the kids have already passed onto middle school, so he can start afresh with a new group and hopefully not have to encounter any of these same problems.

The thought enters his mind that maybe Brain has already gotten past this. Maybe the encounter they had in the car has woken the boy from his trance, broken the spell perhaps. Ratburn hadn’t meant to hit the boy, but it seemed the only way. Any other contact might’ve been counterproductive. Nigel might’ve found himself wrapping his arms around the student, maneuvering him onto his back, slipping hands where they ought not to be. Nigel’s head spins with every deviant thought and he picks up the pace again, forcing himself into a sprint.

The weather gets cooler as Ratburn jogs to the end of the block, stops and turns, unsure of himself. When he catches sight of the white Victorian, his breath catches in his throat. Jake’s house. Jake. The boy just happens to be standing on the porch and Nigel feels his legs carrying him that way.

The boy finally catches his eye and smiles as Nigel stands several yards away.

“Hi.” He calls to him.

“Hello, Jake.” Nigel feels his hands sweating as he looks up at the star-filled sky. “Nice night.”

“Yeah. Its cool out here.” He studies the man standing on the walk and grins. “Wanna see something?”

Ratburn shrugs, shocked by his own response. “Alright.”

He mindlessly follows the boy behind the house, through overgrown brush and weeds until he shows him the tree house in the back yard.

“Its up there.” Jake says, looking expectantly at Nigel. “What I want you to see.”

For the first time, the teacher has doubts. “I don’t know if I should. Couldn’t you…bring it down?”

Jake shakes his head. “It’ll only take a second.”

Nigel watches the boy climb the rope ladder, hesitating briefly before following. In his mind, he feels as if he’s giving in to his private desires, even climbing the rope – as though he’s climbing towards damnation. But the boys is so inviting. It’s like having Brain, in a sense. Having him with no strings attached. He doesn’t care for Jake like he cares for Alan. It’s simply not the same.

Inside the dark wooden room, Jake lights a candle and Nigel stands as far away as possible. He doesn’t know what to expect.

“Its in here.” Jake kneels before a little treasure chest and unlocks it slowly, turning his bright eyes towards the man. “I wanted to show you – but I haven’t ever shown anyone else. My mom wouldn’t understand – and my dad would think its gay.”

Nigel flinches at his use of the word. “What is it?”

The boy exhales deeply before pulling out a crude, homemade marionette. It’s long and lopsided and wearing tattered doll clothing with ink drawn facial features and glued on hair. A complete novice has sewed on its limbs and there are bits of string hanging off of it.

“Don’t laugh.” Jake says, his adolescent voice breaking. “I made it.”

Nigel comes closer, taking the horrid looking thing into his arms as though it were the holiest artifact he has ever held. “It’s… beautiful…”

“Don’t make fun.” Jake says, blushing. “It took me forever to make.”

“I like it.” Nigel inspects it. “Do you…put on shows?”

“Not yet.” Jake says, running a hand through his mussed dark hair. “But I’ve been practicing. I thought maybe you could… I dunno…show me.”

Nigel nods, emphatically. “I’d be delighted.”

“Good.” The boy says, and Nigel feels somewhat foolish for having expected anything else. Even though, deep down he knows he never would have done anything, the thought still had crossed his mind. He’d been sort of hoping for an opportunity and that realization makes him feel guilty and dirty.

“I should go.” Nigel says softly, starting down the rope ladder. “Its late.”

“You don’t have to leave.” Jake says, his long lashes seemingly fluttering in the moonlight. “I…want you to stay.”

“I can’t.” Nigel says, lowering himself down to the ground. “Your parents wouldn’t approve of me being here, I’m sure.”

“My parents don’t care.” Jake says once he has lowered himself down as well. He is standing facing the man. “My parents don’t give a damn what I do.”

Nigel looks squarely at the boy. “Are things really that bad?”

Jake shrugs. “What difference does it make?” He reaches out slowly to touch the man’s shirt, as if making sure he’s still here. “You’re right. I’m fifteen.”

“Don’t do that.” Nigel says in a voice barely above a whisper.

“I know what you want. I can see it in your eyes.” Jake sighs, feeling Nigel’s heat through his cotton t-shirt. “I’ve seen that look before. You’re not the first man who wanted me.”

“I’m not like them.” Nigel steps away from the boy, feeling quite certain that he is, in fact, like all those other men – just better at restraining himself – but for how long? “I have to go now, have to go…home…”

“You don’t have to go.” Jake says, licking his lips. “Of all the men who’ve wanted me, you’re the only one I ever really wanted back.”

“I appreciate your…candor…Jake, but…” Ratburn pauses, needing an escape route. “I’m not like that. Not like this.”

Jake smiles. “You might like it.”

Nigel imagines this is precisely what he’s afraid of and backs away from the youth, before turning his footfalls into a sprint and dashing back down the block towards his own house.

It has started to rain, lightly, but Nigel doesn’t care. He feels as though something profound is happening to him, something beyond his control. He doesn’t know how long he can fight it and this scares the hell out of him. Why couldn’t it stay deep down inside, dormant forever? Why did it have to surface in this manner? How did it come to this and where will it lead? Stuff like this always starts out so innocent – like an adolescent crush or mere fleeting thoughts. Next thing you know, you’re being fired and splattered all over the media for having committed unthinkable crimes. Nigel never wanted that. He never wanted to be one of those people, but here he is battling his thoughts for peace inside his own head.

He imagines God is looking down on him with angry eyes and he goes to stand beneath a tree, pressed flat against the rough bark, feeling the wind chill him to his core as rain washes down his face and he starts to shudder. Where did the tears come from?

His body is suddenly wracked with uncontrollable sobs as he curses himself for being like this – and all the while, through his misty blurring eyes, he can make out the small figure approaching. The boy he wishes had never existed – if only it would mean serenity for them both.

He jogs up, face streaming with rain and reaches out a hand to the man before him, his teacher, his mentor, his friend, a broken unstable shell of the man he thought he knew.

Silently, Nigel takes the boy’s hand and lets him lead him to his house. His chest is heaving with ragged breathing as he struggles for breath through the tears and the rain, but Alan seems so sure of himself, so intent upon his goal.

They reach the house and Nigel pauses on the step as Alan opens the door for him and tugs him inside by his shirt. He closes the door behind them and pulls the man inside, leading him to the couch. Nigel’s eyes are red and he’s soaked through to the bone. His chest is rising and falling unsteadily as the boy lowers him down gently.

Nigel shuts his eyes as he rests his head back against the cushion and Alan goes through Ratburn’s house, in search of a dry towel. When he comes back, he perches on the edge and starts to run the towel along the man’s brow, down his face and up to his hair. His hands are so gentle and Nigel is reluctant to look at him, ashamed and afraid.

“It’s all my fault.” Alan finally says softly. “I shouldn’t have… said anything…”

Nigel doesn’t respond, not trusting his voice, so Alan continues.

“I can make it go away. We can pretend it never happened. Then you won’t have to hate me…”

“On the contrary…” Nigel’s voice cracks as he starts to protest. “…I…adore you, Alan.”

Alan’s eyes are wide and child-like as they light up with joy. “Really?”

“Yes.” Nigel says. “Yes, a thousand times.”

“Then why did you leave?” Alan asks softly.

Ratburn shakes his head. “I had to. Don’t you understand that I had to?”

Alan looks down at the floor, unsure. “Maybe you didn’t have to. Maybe we could have worked it out.”

“No.” Ratburn says quietly. “There’s nothing to work out, Alan. Anything I do will be wrong – and anything you do will be forgiven because… because you’re a child.”

“Why does it have to be that way?” Alan looks angry. “It’s not black and white!”

“But it is.” Nigel says, resisting the urge to touch the boy who sits so close, the boy whose thigh is right against his, warming him.

“But I love you.” Alan says in a strong voice. “I love you, Nigel.”

The rat rests his head back against the cushions and shuts his eyes. Those three little words, passed from such innocent lips can so easily undo him. He covers his face with his hands, but smaller hands come up to remove them, to push them away.

“Look at me.” He whispers in such a grown-up voice that Nigel has no choice but to comply.

The boy then bends over him, so slowly, so cautiously, as though Ratburn were a frightened deer that might flee at any moment. And he’s partially correct because Nigel isn’t sure how to react, where to go as soft lips meet his, tentatively. He feels a jolt of electricity up his spine as he tastes the boy, for the first time really, lets himself taste. God, its so good, so real and so pure.

He shifts a bit, but Alan’s arms are on either side of him, imprisoning him where he is as those lips come down for another taste, this time a tongue taste, gently probing Nigel’s mouth. What can the rat do but comply? Their tongues touch and Alan whimpers, a high pitched noise in the back of his throat as Nigel moans softly, knowing with every fiber of his being that he should stop this and stop it at once, but powerless. The boy has him under his spell.

“Stop…” He whispers, hands clutching the couch cushions as Alan kisses him again, licks his lips, licks his tongue. “…stop it, Alan…” He groans, knowing that if it doesn’t end soon, it will never end.

Small hands caress Nigel’s face and hair, brushing digits along the bridge of his nose, down his cheek, along his chin and up to his lips, before leaning in to kiss him again. The boy is so skilled at this, so masterful. Ratburn feels dizzy, as if he’s falling – and not just from grace. From the edge of the world. Alan’s hands rest on the man’s belly feeling the twitching muscles there, the nervousness threatening to consume him if the arousal doesn’t get him first. Alan has never been this far with anyone and isn’t even sure what all it entails. He knows what he wants, to touch and be touched, to feel that warm release that comes from stroking until there’s nothing left but to come damn near to dying.

He wonders errantly if Nigel is warm for him as he is for Nigel, if that heavy feeling is inside him too.

Experimentally, he reaches down to rest his hand in his teacher’s lap, to feel his crotch, to caress it, but Nigel’s hand comes up, finally, to grasp his wrist in a strong grip.

“No…enough…this is enough…” His eyes are unfocused and his face is red. His words sound slurred but somehow firm and Alan knows not to pursue it any farther.

“I just thought…” Alan’s voice is a breath. “…I just thought you might…like it.”

“You don’t need to touch me there to have that answer.” Nigel says softly, still holding firm to the boy’s wrist. “It would be easier – for both of us – if you just asked me.”

Alan blushes deeply and grins devilishly. “Do you like it?”

Nigel hesitates, knowing what the answer will mean, knowing it will be a final admission of guilt. Raising his eyes and nodding slowly, he smiles sadly.

“Yes, Alan. Yes, I like it.” He pauses, letting out a soft mirthless laugh. “I like it a lot.”

Alan feels satisfied as he leans over to wrap his arms around the man’s neck, burying his face against his shoulder. “Then you love me too…”

Nigel doesn’t answer, but there is some truth to the boy’s words. There is some truth, indeed…

Tbc
- 5
- 6
- 7
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On a Very Special Arthur