Weddings

Chapter 01

He shuffled his feet over the pebbled ground outside the large, rented barn. Today was two days before the wedding of an old friend, which meant a big celebration with friends and family acting overjoyed and giving generic gifts.

For Paul it was just awkward; he'd definitely fucked her. A lot. He couldn't quite remember every instance, after all he did tend to be drunk, but it had happened when they were in their 30's for sure, and he was 90% certain there'd been a fair few times since then too. Maybe 8?

The night was crisp, the party was in full swing, his bandmates were scattered in various directions. Paul looked out over the fields with a soft sigh. Glittering in the distance, he saw the black outline of a lake. Good. He moved towards it through the fields, enjoying the swishing noise of the grass around him.

The lake was surrounded by reeds and wild flowers, cricket song caressing the cloudless night sky and joining the gentle lapping sounds of the water to form a sweet symphony. The barn music was reduced to a distant, unimportant hum. Paul stripped, his body shivering in the cold night air, hairs raising as if he were an angry dog.

Another soft sigh, then he steadily waded into the dark water. It was cold, of course, but once his shoulders were under it didn't feel so bad at all, just refreshing.

He began to swim, twisting and twirling in the black water, feeling the old leaves and other debris move out of his way, stroking his arms as he swam past. The moonlight bounced along the ripples on the lake's surface, creating an ethereal glow as the water whirled round his arms.

Paul spun his onto his back and looked up at the clear night sky, the stars reminding him of the camera lenses of fans at Rammstein gigs. Seriously, when did everyone stop enjoying gigs and start recording them? Paul felt a little knot of stress between his heart and lungs, and decided it was perhaps better not to look at the stars.

He moved through the water again, noticing what appeared to be an old barn on the edge of the cool lake. He pondered, momentarily, the likelihood of other party guests being in there, having a mad romp in the hay. Probably empty, he decided.

Strong, even strokes pulled him through the water to the shore where he clambered out, gasping as the frosty air nipped at his soaked skin. The soft ground shifted around his feet, leaving little tracks as he headed towards the dark building, opening the door just a little at first, to make sure he wouldn't be interrupting anything.

The barn was quiet, the only sound being the wood of the door shuddering as he pushed his way in. It was a hay barn, the moon light entering through small slats in the ceiling and revealing the large golden stacks. The silence in the barn was a pure relief to Paul, but a thought nagged at the back of his mind; time to go back.

He turned to leave, but stopped in his tracks, heart thumping in his throat. He wasn't alone in here. There, blocking the door, was the dark silhouette of a man. Paul looked at the figure, encased in shadows. Perhaps he knew them?

"H-hey?" He tried, hands moving southwards to protect his modesty from the shadow.

It didn't answer, moving towards him instead. Paul found himself unable to move, his mind racing as he tried to process what was happening and how to get out of this situation. It moved forwards again, and in the darkness he saw his clothes in its hand. "Oh... my clothes, could I..?" Another step forward. Paul fell silent, his throat dry, his pupils dilated.

Suddenly the shadow was there, right in front of him, their chests almost touching. Paul felt the heat of the other man even from here, and smelt a familiar aftershave. "R-Ri-mmf." A hand smothered the name on the tip of Paul's tongue. The gap being closed as soft lips pushed against the tender skin of his neck, teeth nipping him there. Paul gasped, pushing his arms between himself and the other. He struggled, but quickly realised he was bound in a vice like grip, the hand covering his mouth moving to the back of his head, tilting it upwards as them sweet, devilish lips found his own.

Paul struggled again, making a desperate mewl of protest, but then an image hit him. He thought how this would look if the lights were on; him clinging weakly to Richard as the younger man gripped him there, forcing his tongue into Paul's mouth. The smaller man could not suppress a moan at this thought, surprising even himself as the aggressive kiss was steadily reciprocated, passion mounting between them as the two men gasped into the darkness.
Suddenly he was on his back, Richard discarding his clothes in a pile beside the haystack and beginning to tear off his own. Paul wasn't sure what the hell this was, and for a moment he considered bolting, his gaze flickering towards the door. Since when did he fuck guys? Or get fucked? Paul felt a jolt of nervousness as he realised he would be the one getting fucked here.
Then Richard was on top of him, already hard, Paul noticed. More hot kisses erased the doubt from Paul's mind, and he moaned as Richard ravished his body, biting and kissing him like he was a god, one surprisingly slick finger pushing into him. Oh Gott, dirty fucker had planned this! Paul didn't like this new sensation, he didn't like it, he didn't like it, he didn't like it, he di- "Fuck!" His head snapped back as pleasure swarmed his thoughts, do it again!

While he was distracted a second finger slipped into him, the two scissoring and stretching him, then plunging in and touching him in such a way that all he could do was toss his head and whimper, hoping for more.

A third finger, and oh such gentle kisses to his throat and his erect nipples, Paul groaned up at the rafters, feeling a little disappointed when the interesting new sensation stopped; the fingers being withdrawn.

Then there was something new pushing into him, something Paul wasn't sure he liked. Too big! "I... I don't th-think I can!" He gasped.

No response, just gentle strokes of Paul's hardening member. Slowly, slowly, he felt himself relax, his bandmate burying himself up to the hilt. Paul moaned at the thought, enjoying the almost immediate pleasure as Richard's cock pushed where his fingers had been earlier in steady, repetitive strokes. Paul found himself emitting a desperate, high-pitched whimper as his friend did things to him he had never even considered before.

"D'ye like it?" Richard spoke for the first time, his voice gruff with arousal.

"Y-yes!" Paul gasped, moaning as yet another wave of pleasure overcame him, his friend sucking playfully at his earlobe.

"Tell me what I'm doing to you." Richard pushed in harder and faster, making Paul's whole body judder.

"You're ah... You're fucking me." Paul felt his cock throb as he said the words. Why did that feel so good? "Ooh Richard, you're fucking me so hard!" He moaned, enjoying the grunts and gasps of his friend as he said this, desperate little noises being emitted into Paul's ear. "You're so big, I want more."

"Little whore!" Richard pushed harder and faster, biting Paul's shoulder and raising up a little on his arms to give himself a better angle, "Scream for me, like a f-filthy groupie."

Paul couldn't help but oblige as Richard hammered his prostate, head tossing from side to side, back arching. Paul didn't know what to do with this pleasure he felt, Richard's name feeling like the dirtiest word of all as he moaned it loudly into the night. "Ah-ahh, harder!" He cried, eyes rolling back as he drowned in what was being done to him, all these new feelings. It felt like that very first time he'd had sex; every sensation heightened by the overwhelming knowledge of what was happening here.

Paul felt his dick throbbing as Richard rubbed it, "I'm gonna... I'm c-coming! Risch Ich komme!"

"Come for me Paul." Richard growled, his thrusts becoming jerky and uneven.

Paul felt his seed splatter over his own chest, followed by that of Richard, deep inside him. He felt like a groupie; covered in the semen of two members of Rammstein, never mind the fact he was one of them.

Richard rolled off of him, wiping himself on what seemed to be an old tea towel he'd brought down, and slipping the small bottle of lube into his pocket as he got dressed again, leaving without a word.

Suddenly the coldness and darkness of the barn closed in, and Paul was left with the confusion of what had just happened. There was only one thing he knew for certain; he was going to be sore for quite a while, physically and emotionally.

After a while Paul wiped himself off, scrabbling around to pick up his clothes, and headed back towards the party. He decided just to go home, he didn't want to face anyone else, he felt like one look at him would let them all know what he'd done.

What had he done? Better not to dwell on it, perhaps, but Paul couldn't help it. What had he done? What the fuck had he just done?