Welcome to Wednesday Briefs! It's flash fiction, so this story will be presented in 1000(ish)-word chapters. I hope you enjoy it, and check out the many other flashers, whose links are below. You can also check out the Wednesday Briefs Blog for more info and to sign up for email notifications.
Thanks for reading!
Thanks for reading!
THE BOYS OF BELSMEADE
Chapter Two
Parked across the street from the Belsmeade gate, I shook with anticipation. Did I really want to do this? Did I really want to breach those gates and take on such an enormous challenge? Before I could change my mind, I put the car in gear and turned into the maple-lined drive.
"Holy shit," I mumbled as I made my way slowly toward this new horizon. A glimpse around made me thankful of my father's offer for me to take the BMW that morning. My own car, a fairly new Volvo was also really nice, but I thought it was great that dad was so excited and wanted me—in his words—to look like a Meade.
I parked the car and climbed out, taking my portfolio. Not wanting to look like a complete idiot, I had checked the school map to figure out where I was going. Unfortunately, I couldn't help but gawk at my surroundings. Everything was so old and massive. And intimidating. I felt the sweat bead on my forehead and subtly wiped it away.
"Can I help you?"
The voice came from behind me, and I turned to find a group of four students heading in my direction. They were all in gym shorts and sweat-soaked shirts, and my forehead was suddenly the last thing on my mind. The tallest of the boys had a halo of artfully-messy, blond hair and the facial features of a Roman god. Sculpted pecs strained against the damp cotton shirt.
I stared until I realized the god was speaking to me. "Are you looking for someone?" he asked.
"What? Oh sorry. Yes."
After I didn't offer any other information, he grinned. "Good. Now that we've established that you are indeed looking for someone, I'll have to ask the person's name."
Mentally slapping myself, I replied, "Mr. Rampura?"
"Oh sure. I can show you over there. Hey guys, I'll meet you at lunch." They all nodded their assent and walked on ahead. My guide thrust out a hand and said, "Aramis."
"Pardon?" I asked.
"It's my name: Aramis Ambrogi."
"Wow. That's quite… Italian."
The boy smirked. "Really old family name. And you are?"
"Right. I'm idiot, and I swear I'm not usually such an Eliot. Wait. That wasn't—"
The blond god laughed heartily put his hands up to stop my worrying. "So, what brings you here, Eliot? Are you transferring?"
"No. I'm… a Clack," I said with a shrug.
Aramis bowed mockingly. "And I'm an Assmeade."
I stumbled and stuttered. "I never—I mean, I don't call—"
"No sweat. But we're not all complete assholes, you know." His smirk made my blood boil. Then he oontinued, "Are you friends with Mr. Rampura?"
"Actually," Eliot began, "I'm applying for the semester to study Italian here."
Aramis jerked his head back. "Really? Without transferring completely?"
"I guess the teacher talked to the dean about me and they said I could apply."
"Wow. Wonders never cease. Here's McMahan Hall. Mr. Rampura's office is the first door on the left. Good luck, Eliot. I hope I see you around soon."
I watched Aramis' retreating backside for a little longer than I should have, and then turned to face the powers that be.
"Holy shit," I mumbled as I made my way slowly toward this new horizon. A glimpse around made me thankful of my father's offer for me to take the BMW that morning. My own car, a fairly new Volvo was also really nice, but I thought it was great that dad was so excited and wanted me—in his words—to look like a Meade.
I parked the car and climbed out, taking my portfolio. Not wanting to look like a complete idiot, I had checked the school map to figure out where I was going. Unfortunately, I couldn't help but gawk at my surroundings. Everything was so old and massive. And intimidating. I felt the sweat bead on my forehead and subtly wiped it away.
"Can I help you?"
The voice came from behind me, and I turned to find a group of four students heading in my direction. They were all in gym shorts and sweat-soaked shirts, and my forehead was suddenly the last thing on my mind. The tallest of the boys had a halo of artfully-messy, blond hair and the facial features of a Roman god. Sculpted pecs strained against the damp cotton shirt.
I stared until I realized the god was speaking to me. "Are you looking for someone?" he asked.
"What? Oh sorry. Yes."
After I didn't offer any other information, he grinned. "Good. Now that we've established that you are indeed looking for someone, I'll have to ask the person's name."
Mentally slapping myself, I replied, "Mr. Rampura?"
"Oh sure. I can show you over there. Hey guys, I'll meet you at lunch." They all nodded their assent and walked on ahead. My guide thrust out a hand and said, "Aramis."
"Pardon?" I asked.
"It's my name: Aramis Ambrogi."
"Wow. That's quite… Italian."
The boy smirked. "Really old family name. And you are?"
"Right. I'm idiot, and I swear I'm not usually such an Eliot. Wait. That wasn't—"
The blond god laughed heartily put his hands up to stop my worrying. "So, what brings you here, Eliot? Are you transferring?"
"No. I'm… a Clack," I said with a shrug.
Aramis bowed mockingly. "And I'm an Assmeade."
I stumbled and stuttered. "I never—I mean, I don't call—"
"No sweat. But we're not all complete assholes, you know." His smirk made my blood boil. Then he oontinued, "Are you friends with Mr. Rampura?"
"Actually," Eliot began, "I'm applying for the semester to study Italian here."
Aramis jerked his head back. "Really? Without transferring completely?"
"I guess the teacher talked to the dean about me and they said I could apply."
"Wow. Wonders never cease. Here's McMahan Hall. Mr. Rampura's office is the first door on the left. Good luck, Eliot. I hope I see you around soon."
I watched Aramis' retreating backside for a little longer than I should have, and then turned to face the powers that be.
********************
Aramis Ambrogi sat in his European History class thinking about the dark-haired, light-eyed boy that had rocked his world earlier that morning. When he'd seen Eliot—Damn! He didn't get a last name!—walking across the parking lot, Aramis had literally tripped over his own two feet.
His friends laughed and his dormmate Robbie said, "Uh oh. I think someone's gaydar just sighted booty ahead. Oh yeah, booty! Boo-tay!" He planted his feet and attempted twerking, and the rest of the group cracked up.
"Will you shut up?" Aramis hissed. He studied the newcomer and could only hope that the face would match the body. The boy was shorter than what Aramis usually went for, but his fingers itched to feel that perfectly-rounded, tight ass.
"Go ahead," Robbie said with a sigh.
"No. You guys come too."
Matt raised his eyebrows. "That's kinky Air, but I don't really do the whole threesome thing. Especially when one third of the equation doesn’t have two holes."
Aramis came to a sudden stop and glared at Matt. "First of all, I don't ever want to even think of doing that with you. Second, I don't do… that."
"Say it," Matt dared. "And not the clinical term either."
With a grumble, Aramis muttered, "Pussy."
His friends all howled with laughter and Robbie took out his phone to text someone. It was always amusing to them: Aramis' aversion to the female anatomy. He rolled his eyes and snapped, "Get over here and back me up."
"Whatever, Air," Robbie said. "We'll be good."
They hurried up behind the boy and Aramis called out, "Can I help you?"
Eliot was adorably tongue-tied, and his eyes drifted down Aramis' body before slowly settling on his face. Oh yes, Aramis thought. This could happen. Once he got a name out of the boy and found out he was looking for the Italian instructor, he got rid of his friends and started toward the language building—the long way around. He needed time to get to know Eliot.
"So, what brings you here? Are you transferring?"
"No. I'm… a Clack," he said with a shrug.
Aramis had to focus so he didn't trip again. Damn. The cute, boy-next-door face made the whole package absolutely perfect, but a Clack? It just wasn't done. Some of the Meade guys had hooked up with girls from town, but no one had ever dated one of them. What to do? Play the joker.
He recovered his composure and bowed slightly. "And I'm an Assmeade."
Eliot looked aghast at Aramis. "I never—I mean, I don't call—"
It was irresistible, teasing the newcomer. The innocence and lack of pretense was refreshing. And there was an attraction there. Interesting. After dropping Eliot off at the McMahan Hall, Aramis hurried to his dorm to consult the Book of the Covens.
His friends laughed and his dormmate Robbie said, "Uh oh. I think someone's gaydar just sighted booty ahead. Oh yeah, booty! Boo-tay!" He planted his feet and attempted twerking, and the rest of the group cracked up.
"Will you shut up?" Aramis hissed. He studied the newcomer and could only hope that the face would match the body. The boy was shorter than what Aramis usually went for, but his fingers itched to feel that perfectly-rounded, tight ass.
"Go ahead," Robbie said with a sigh.
"No. You guys come too."
Matt raised his eyebrows. "That's kinky Air, but I don't really do the whole threesome thing. Especially when one third of the equation doesn’t have two holes."
Aramis came to a sudden stop and glared at Matt. "First of all, I don't ever want to even think of doing that with you. Second, I don't do… that."
"Say it," Matt dared. "And not the clinical term either."
With a grumble, Aramis muttered, "Pussy."
His friends all howled with laughter and Robbie took out his phone to text someone. It was always amusing to them: Aramis' aversion to the female anatomy. He rolled his eyes and snapped, "Get over here and back me up."
"Whatever, Air," Robbie said. "We'll be good."
They hurried up behind the boy and Aramis called out, "Can I help you?"
Eliot was adorably tongue-tied, and his eyes drifted down Aramis' body before slowly settling on his face. Oh yes, Aramis thought. This could happen. Once he got a name out of the boy and found out he was looking for the Italian instructor, he got rid of his friends and started toward the language building—the long way around. He needed time to get to know Eliot.
"So, what brings you here? Are you transferring?"
"No. I'm… a Clack," he said with a shrug.
Aramis had to focus so he didn't trip again. Damn. The cute, boy-next-door face made the whole package absolutely perfect, but a Clack? It just wasn't done. Some of the Meade guys had hooked up with girls from town, but no one had ever dated one of them. What to do? Play the joker.
He recovered his composure and bowed slightly. "And I'm an Assmeade."
Eliot looked aghast at Aramis. "I never—I mean, I don't call—"
It was irresistible, teasing the newcomer. The innocence and lack of pretense was refreshing. And there was an attraction there. Interesting. After dropping Eliot off at the McMahan Hall, Aramis hurried to his dorm to consult the Book of the Covens.
****************************************
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