Gabrien and Bran: Laying the Foundation
Now that the topic had been broached, Gabrien seemed reticent, but Bran, seated beside his friend on the couch, did not want to scare Gabrien off by making the first move. However, he squeezed the hand he grasped and looked into Gabrien’s grey eyes.
“It’s all right, Gabe,” he said.
“Can you please kiss me?” Gabrien whispered back. “I’m out of practice.”
“Not good, for a cellist. Daily practice is important,” Bran joked.
Bran’s remark broke the ice, for Gabrien grinned and punched his arm. Seizing the moment, Bran kissed his friend.
At first, their lips touched, then repeating the kiss, Gabrien opened his mouth to receive his friend’s tongue, and Bran kissed him back thoroughly. After some moments, they broke apart, with Gabrien breathing deeply.
“That wasn’t so bad, for a harpist,” Gabe quipped.
“We harp players know how to touch the right note,” said Bran.
“So do we cellists,” replied Gabrien, stroking Bran’s dark, trimmed beard. “Do you think we can build your ‘Ty ûnnos,’ your Welsh house-in-one-night?”
“We will surely try. Gabe, kiss me again.”
Gabe complied, and soon they were lost in their own world. Outside the picture windows that overlooked the dark forest, the falling snow blew in white swirls, as if the ice elementals danced, but the two men did not notice.
Bran Lloyd had visited his friend, Gabrien Wayland’s house, located in the woods outside of a community near the city. The two musicians had finished a recital rehearsal with their friends. Bran, taking note of Gabrien’s loneliness, had told him the Welsh tale of the Night House, referring to building a functional home in one night. Gave had appreciated the metaphor.
“Would you like a shower first?” Gabrien eventually asked.
“I suppose we should take care of the housekeeping,” said Bran. “Do you have the means for a light clean-out?”
Gabrien blushed and replied, I have a flexible hose. I haven’t had to use it for over a year.”
“Too long,” agreed the harpist. “I have a friend I occasionally meet with, and we both take Prep. It’s an effective medication, but I’m hardly promiscuous. One has to be careful. And my last blood test was clean.”
Gabrien laughed nervously. “This sounds so clinical. But necessary, I guess.”
Bran slid a hand through Gabrien’s thick, dark blond hair. “Think of it as clearing the ground for building our house,” he said.
They undressed in Gabrien’s spacious bedroom. Like the rest of the large, timber-framed house, exposed ceiling beams lent a rustic but well-crafted touch. Bran also noticed Gabrien’s king-sized brass bed with high corner posts. He grinned.
The cellist interrupted his observations. “Your body is really cut and muscular, Bran. And here I thought harpists were soft, gentle creatures.”
Bran smiled. “You know me better than that, Gabe. I keep in shape with gymnastic training. The rings are my favourite to work out on.”
“It must take strength and a fine degree of control,” said Gabrien, and Bran did not miss the hunger in his friends eyes.
“You’re in pretty good shape too, for an old guy of thirty,” Bran teased.
They afforded each other privacy for their bathroom ablutions, then Gabrien invited Bran to shower with him.
Bran could tell Gabrien felt shy, but he quickly put him at ease, soaping his friend’s back with a white spruce-scented shower gel. He ran his hands down the lean form, and said, “Turn around, Gabe.”
Bran immediately noticed Gabrien’s erection. He thought it a thing of beauty, firm and straight, larger than average without being too big. Bran’s own stiff phallus matched it in size but was slightly thicker.
But first, he washed Gabe’s front, pausing to tease his nipples in their light dusting of light gold hair. Gabe, in turn, traced Bran’s body hair, which sported dark swirls around each breast and ran over his abdomen in a line to his cock. When he reached the root, Gabrien stroked the length of it lightly, and Bran felt a pulse of desire.
Impulsively, he gripped Gabrien’s hips, pulling his body close so that their two hard phalluses rubbed together. Hot water sluiced over them both, adding to the sensual appeal of flesh on flesh.
“This is wonderful,” Gabrien murmured. “I can’t remember the last time I felt so good!”
“Wait, Gabe, it gets better.”
Bran slid to his knees before his friend. Gripping his hips, he looked up into Gabrien’s eyes.
The cellist nodded affirmatively. “Yes, please, Bran, suck me!”
Bran kissed his friend’s cock, tracing his lips down its length. When he reached the glans, he licked it, tasting water and pre-cum. Gabrien groaned and twisted his hands into the harpist’s long, dark brown hair, now freed from its binding.
Bran took the phallus into his mouth and began to suck in long, slow pulls. His hand gently gripped Gabrien’s ball sack and he felt it tightening.
“I’m going to come very soon if you keep doing that,” Gabrien said between gasping breaths.
Bran merely said, “Mmm…” and increased his pace.
Gabe gasped, “Don’t, I can’t help myself. Aah! It’s too late!”
He could not hold back and Bran’s mouth filled with creamy ejaculate. The harpist swallowed it all, and, mindful of his friend’s sensitivity, slowed to gently lick the last remaining drops.
After some moments, Gabe said, “Let’s get to the bed. My legs are weak. I need to recover, then it will be your turn, my friend!
Bran said, “First, I need a glass of water. I seemed to have worked up a thirst.”
“I thought you just quenched it. Hurry back! I’ll get you thirsting for more,” Gabrien laughed.
Bran left the room, appreciating Gabe’s growing confidence of what was developing between them. He visited the bathroom, then the kitchen, where he filled a large glass with water.
Looking around as he drank, he saw his harp case propped beside a chair and inspiration woke within him. He took the harp – a thirty-string instrument of Celtic design, and placed it on the floor. After briefly adjusting the tuning pegs, he sounded the beginning notes of a winter piece, “The Sheep under the Snow.”
“I missed you in bed, now your harp music draws me out here,” Gabrien said, leaning lazily in the living room entrance.
Bran smiled, but did not cease his music. “I didn’t desert you: this is foreplay. I‘m enticing you deeper into my web.”
Gabriel laughed. “In that case…”
He disappeared momentarily, only to return carrying his cello and bow.
“Two can play at this,” he remarked.
“Indeed!” said Bran, laying his hand upon the harp strings to still them. “What shall it be?”
“Something hopelessly romantic, I think,” said Gabrien, with a devilish smile.
“How about Saint-Saëns, “The Swan?” Is that hopeless enough?
“Lead on..” replied Gabrien, positioning himself.
“I think you like it when I take the lead.” Bran smiled as he started to play.
But their banter soon turned to contemplative silence as the music held them in it’s sway. Their eyes met frequently as they took cues from one another for the phrasing and tempo, each instrument blending into a new creation. The plangent tones touched their hearts, binding them one to the other.
When the piece ended, Gabrien mused, “I wonder if we can make love with each other as well as we accompany each other in music?”
“Let’s find out,” said Bran, standing up and extending a hand to Gabrien.
To be continued…
