This is the second part of the story of Dan Reed and Milo de Beer -- D'n'M. As before, it includes scenes of sex between teenage boys. However, sex is not the main driver of this story and often there is none at all.
All the characters and events in the story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real people, either living or dead, is entirely unintentional.
The story is copyrighted and may not be reproduced in any way without the express permission of the author who can be contacted at pjalexander1753@gmail.com
D'n'M Part2
From Chapter 18:
Dan was still asleep, but it was obviously not the peaceful and restorative rest that he so desperately needed. The bed covers were on the floor and Dan himself was flailing about, twisting from side to side and muttering incoherently. His skin of his face was almost grey and drenched with sweat. Milo almost ran across the room, calling out for Tom as he moved. He sat down on the edge of the bed and took hold of Dan's shoulders, pinning him down and murmuring words of reassurance. By the time Tom arrived in the room, fully dressed, Dan was beginning to calm down as his breathing returned to a normal rhythm and his arms subsided by his sides. Slowly his eyes opened and looked directly at Milo. With a trembling voice he said, "I just want to go to sleep and never wake up. Why is that so hard?"
Milo lifted Dan's upper body into a sitting position and wrapped his arms around the shell of his best friend.
"Don't give up D," he pleaded. "We'll sort this, I promise. Won't we Tom? It's gonna be okay. Truly it will. You've gotta believe me."
If only, he thought, he was as confident as he sounded.
Chapter 19:
All three boys sat on the bed with Milo's arms wrapped around D's still-trembling body, the waves of his completely unrestful sleep gradually washing away.
Tom felt that, as the eldest and the big brother and one with most life experience -- albeit pretty limited, it was his job to take charge of the situation. As he racked his brains for some sort of inspiration, the memory of a recent psychology class dropped into his mind. (Why now?) Psychology wasn't really his thing but he had chosen it as one of his first year electives on the advice of his dad. "You can never know too much about how the human brain functions," he could remember his father saying. "Whatever you go on to do with your life it'll always involve other people, so it's worth learning how they tick."
One specific nugget of information from this particular lecture bubbled to the surface of his memory. The professor had explained that, if someone was reluctant to talk about an issue that was troubling them, expecting that person to directly confront the issue by being forced into talking about it was pretty much guaranteed not to work. In fact, she said, it would, most likely, drive them even further into silence. Instead, she had continued, much better to get the troubled person to engage with a shared and neutral activity. That way the tension and the expectation would be reduced and the spotlight taken away from both the person and the issue. In many instances the result would be the lowering of barriers and the opening of doors to a relaxed and unguarded conversation. In this improved atmosphere it was more likely, the professor had argued, that the person's mind would give its permission for the underlying and problematic issue to be tackled. At the time the whole lecture had been way out of Tom's experience or understanding but now, well, it had to be worth a try, he thought.
For the first time since his arrival home the night before he took a proper look around at Dan's room and realised just what an effective job D had done of wrecking it. It was as if his kid brother had wanted to rip up and sweep away the first fourteen years of his life. The room was a total screw-up. Hey, maybe that was it, maybe clearing up and getting rid of all this devastation could be the distraction activity that the professor had been talking about. Maybe getting involved with clearing up the mess would give D's mind the permission it needed to relax and open up. It had to be worth a shot, especially as nothing else was jumping up and volunteering for the job. D couldn't be allowed to sink ever deeper into the hole he was in. What was it he had just said to M? That he wanted to fall asleep and never wake up. Well, that wasn't ever gonna happen and somehow he and Milo had to get D to accept it. Clearing up the mess could just be the first, maybe a really important, step on the road. He got up from the bed and started rummaging around in the wardrobe that was built into the corner of the room.
"What are you doing?" Dan enquired, weakly.
"Looking for something to put all these trophies in. A cardboard box or something," Tom replied.
"Just leave them. I don't care about them any more."
"I get that, D, but they can't just lie around your room like this. If I can find a box to put them in then they can be got rid of, up in the attic or somewhere."
"Whatever," came the disinterested response. Perhaps this wasn't such a good idea after all.
Then Milo piped up. "I bet there's a box down in the basement somewhere. Your dad keeps all sorts of useful stuff down there. I'll go take a look." As he was leaving the room he checked that D was looking away and then whispered to Tom that while he was out of the room he'd take the opportunity to update Helen and Roger Reed and, hopefully, set their minds at rest a little. Frankly he was amazed that they hadn't been banging on the door to be let in to take care of their son but had been willing to leave it up to a couple of teenage boys to work some sort of miracle transformation. As if they had some sort of magic wand. As an afterthought he added that he'd get some rubbish sacks to bag up all the rest of the devastation. He, too, thought the act of clearing up might get the ball of D's recovery rolling.
Downstairs M was intercepted on his way back from the basement, cardboard box and rubbish sacks in hand, by a very anxious-looking Helen Reed. She was desperate to know, a). what had been going on for the past several hours? b) when would she be able to see her younger son? and c) why did M need the box and bags? Milo did his best to assure her that things were progressing, that Dan had eaten a little and had also slept for a while. Keen to get back upstairs as quickly as possible, he bent the truth somewhat by explaining that D had decided to have a clear out of his room, getting rid of stuff he no longer needed, hence the reason for the box and bags. It didn't look as if Dan's mum was entirely happy with this account and was on the verge of demanding that she should go up to check on D for herself. Milo knew that D would pretty much totally freak and clam up completely if his parents got involved now. He needed to find a way of distracting her -- he had no idea that Tom was trying to do exactly the same thing with D -- and suggested that, as it had been a while since breakfast, some more food would be welcome. How about soup and sandwiches? The ruse worked like a charm. Helen Reed felt that here was something practical and useful she could do, leaving Milo free to make his way back up to D's room.
As he was about to put his foot on the first tread of the stairs, Helen Reed's voice rang out clearly behind him. "Milo, D's father and I can't take much more of this waiting and not knowing what's going on. We expect some answers. And soon." The unspoken ultimatum was not lost on Milo. If there wasn't some sign of definite progress in the very near future, D's parents would take control of the situation. Well, he thought, we all want exactly the same thing, but no-one really had any idea when, or even if, progress would be made. It was magic wand time. Milo continued on his way up the stairs.
The bedroom door was ajar and, just as Milo was about to push it open, he was surprised to hear two voices. He paused for a few seconds, listening to the brothers as they talked. When he pushed his way in he saw the two of them on opposite sides of the room, D still on the bed, Tom sitting on the floor near the corner desk. Tom was holding a small silver figure of a soccer player in the act of kicking a ball, one of D's formerly much-treasured trophies. He was reading out the inscription on the base.
"Daniel Reed. Most improved player. June 2016."
"Yeah, I remember that one," said Dan. "I was so surprised to win. Everyone was sure Warren was gonna get it. He was really mad." There was almost a smile on D's face.
"What about this one?" asked Tom, holding up a circular medal on a purple ribbon.
Milo certainly knew the answer to that question. D had gone on and on about it for weeks after it had been presented. He had been so happy. It seemed like only yesterday, yet look how things were today.
"That was from last year when we won the district league. We got the highest points total of any team since back in 1998." The smile, now, was unmistakable. "Mr. Roberts was so proud of us." Suddenly the smile faded like ice in the Sahara and Dan's shoulders slumped. Silent tears appeared on his cheeks.
Milo was immediately across the room and holding Dan tight. "Don't think about him, D. Don't think about how bad you feel right now. Just remember how good you felt playing soccer and winning all that stuff. That's what's important. Please don't cry."
Tom's voice came from across the room. "M's right, D. Remember the good times. Even if you never kick a ball again, that bastard Roberts can never take them away from you."
"Too late," mumbled Dan through his tears, "they've already gone. They went that day in his office. I hate soccer. I hate him. I hate myself."
"That's right, you hate him. He deserves it. He abused you and he has to be stopped from doing it ever again." Tom was barely in control of his anger.
Dan's head snapped up. "You don't understand." He sounded almost defiant. "He didn't abuse me and I'm a disgusting pervert."
"He blackmailed you into stripping naked and jerking off in front of him while he rubbed one out himself, and you say he didn't abuse you? Of course it was abuse, D. Of course it was."
"He's right," interjected Milo. "He's absolutely right. Roberts is the pervert, not you."
"You don't understand, either of you. I enjoyed it, I fucking enjoyed it. My dick got hard and I had a huge cum all over his office floor. I enjoyed it. Don't you get it? That's why I'm a pervert. How can you be abused if you enjoy it?" Dan's voice faded away. Re-living in his head the events of earlier in the week had completely crushed him once more. He pushed his way out of Milo's arms and slumped back onto the bed.
Tom continued, "Jeez, D. You're fourteen and horny as fuck, twenty four seven. I bet you get a hard-on just fastening the zipper on your jeans. I know I did when I was your age. Sometimes I still do! Of course you got hard. Your hormones don't care what's going on, they just think: hard-on, jerk-off, cum-shoot, Whoopee! And Roberts knew that `cos he'd done the same thing to so many other boys before you. He's a serial abuser and you're not a pervert. You've gotta believe me."
"Is that true?" There was a glimmer of hope in Dan's voice. "True that I couldn't help getting hard? That I'm not a perv?" He raised himself up onto his elbows. The pleading look in his eyes was almost painful for the other two boys to see.
"Yes, Tom's right. The other guys I spoke to told me the same stuff happened to them. They cummed too. They couldn't help themselves either. They're no more perverts than you are. He abused you all, and who knows how many others." Milo made himself sound more positive than he actually felt. He knew they were dealing with a really huge issue here, but who were they? Just three kids, that's who. Could they, seriously, stand up against Mr. Roberts and the whole school set up?
"That's why he's gotta be stopped from doing it again to some other poor sod. That's what we're here to help you do," said Tom.
"I can't. It'd just be his word against mine. No-one would believe one teenage kid against someone like Mr. Roberts whose been at the school forever and coaching winning soccer teams for years. He's a legend round here. Who'd take my word against his? Why can't I just transfer to another school? That way, in a while, I might be able to start over and forget about it." Dan sounded so, so weary, as if he was having to drag every word out of himself.
Tom was on his feet. "And leave that scum to carry on doing it, over and over again? You're better than that, D. You know you are. And I know you wouldn't be able to live with yourself." It was hard to tell what was making him angrier, the idea of the teacher being left free to carry on abusing yet more adolescent boys or the thought that his own brother could stand back and let that happen. Suddenly the room was alive with tension.
"Oh yeah, that's great. Mr. Moral High Ground." Dan was almost shouting. "Easy for you to talk about standing up for other kids, but it's not you who it happened to, not you who'd have to stand up in front of everyone and talk about getting hard and jerking-off and cumming on the floor. No, not you." Dan subsided back onto his bed once more. Again there were tears.
Several minutes passed with nothing else being said. Dan turned over and buried his face in the pillow, only the movement of his shoulders as evidence of his sobbing. Tom turned away and began to fill the cardboard box with the scattered soccer memorabilia. Milo looked helplessly from one to the other then turned towards Dan's slumped body on the bed. Gently he lay his hands on his friend's shoulders and began to rub.
"I can only imagine what you've been through, D, but I know it must have been the worst thing ever." Milo kept his voice calm and low. He didn't want what he had to say to cause any more upset. "And I know the thought of having to tell anyone else about what happened must be scaring the crap out of you right now. But you won't be alone. You'll have me and Tom, won't he Tom?"
"One hundred percent."
"And you'll have your mum and dad, and I for one wouldn't back anyone in a fight against your mum -- not Roberts, not school, not anyone."
Dan raised his head slightly and spoke haltingly through his sobs, "But it'd still just be his word against mine. Not even mum can do anything about that."
"No she can't, but I can," said Milo. "The other guys I spoke to - who it had also happened to -- they didn't say they wouldn't speak out, just that I couldn't give their names without their permission."
"Do you honestly think they'd be prepared to back D up?" asked Tom, his voice sounding almost hopeful. "If they did, then it wouldn't be one against one. And who knows how many others might be prepared to come forward." He sounded as if he was trying to convince himself almost as much as he was his brother.
"Well, I can only ask them," said Milo as he took his phone from his pocket and began to tap in a number.
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