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St. Andrews' Saints	By : limonize Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Savage Garden Views: 1156 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of Savage Garden. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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ST. ANDREWS' SAINTS 4

Master Jones:

It became difficult for me after that day, to be around Darren. After the most intense auctioning bid in the history of St. Andrews, to Caldicott's dismay, Butters outbid him. Butters had gone the distance and bartered a case of the finest French wines which would go to the losers of the bidding war. French wines meant an invaluable toadying gift to the Form Masters at holidaytime – never to be underestimated in the figuring of a student's life within the halls. He meant to get it all back and more, with Darren's help and his imaginary gold stash.

One might wonder what was in for the fags to remain silent. To not turn in the older boys.

For well for starters, a lot of the older boys' fathers were councilmen who opposed any taxation upon the Academy, the elders, and the businessmen who donated extras to ensure that their sons received more than the rations apportioned by the government of the day. And most importantly many of the lads had grown to know the secrets of the men who governed almost all their every waking moves.

Take Butters for instance...he liked to take all manner of things into his mouth, and at least one of the headmasters had found a use for it, other than to gobble extra portions at mealtime. While a student like Butters was hardly likely to be believed, if repeating such scandalous behaviour, it did not really pay to anger the boy, since his oral favours were most appreciated by a few, from time to time.

And Caldicott's father who hated the very sight of his own son, was only too glad to pay the school huge sums to keep him out of sight even on holidays, in the form of an "academic bonus" for extra services rendered. Tuition also went up during sixth form, to ensure extra tutelage for "O" level achievements for the older boys.

With sixth-formers as powerful and knowledgeable as this, the only safe route to "O" levels was to fag until one too developed an edge, even if only to aspire to a higher tuition bracket and then remind the Headmaster than one's father had invested considerable sums for his education after six years, and expected "O" level success.

In short, the sixth formers "had it made".

~ ~ ~

These nuances became more apparent to young Darren as he fagged doggedly, to ensure Butters' continued status among the sixth formers. It was one thing to have an in with the headmasters. It was another to maintain the respect of your peers when your English was poor and your belly jiggled when rooting on the Rugby field. Unless of course, poor Darren hung on you like an admiring doe, wearing his sharpest of grades and reports in the way he carried himself upright.

"You're the best of influence upon our Butters here!" Form Master Messer remarked to him one day, "Good tidings and good day to you, Master Hayes..."

"Sod him!" whispered Butters. "He stinks terrible when his willy is all a stiffened..."

"His willy?" asked Darren, rather shocked. "You've been to the Form Masters' water closet?"

"Nay, laddie – been to his sleepin' quarters. He fancies a tart now and then, and I'se knows his passions better than his wife..." whispered Butters conspiratorially. He trusted Darren implicitly.

"And what is it you do to stir his passions?" Darren asked, blushing hard. He knew nothing of such things, although he knew the pleasure of his own stiffness in the privacy of his bed under the sheets from time to time.

"I'se gives it a lickin' like a lolly!"

"That's not...he allows...he..." Darren stammered in horror, nonetheless intrigued at the sheer dirtiness of it all.

"Aye, forget "allow" – he demands, and I'se gives it and he grades me high, and me dad is as happy as a lark!"

"It's not right!" replied Darren.

"Forget `right'. Who knows about `right' around here? Caldicott?

Darren fell momentarily silent. "You know I won't say anything, Butters'."

"Not even to your sweetheart?"

"I don't have a sweetheart!" Darren immediateley refuted.

"Sure ya does – he's living in yer room and he's got soft eyes every time he looks at ya…"

"We'd never do such a thing!" Darren said angrily.

"Never say never..." Butters advised.

"It's not right to imply it," cautioned Darren gloomily.

"Aright, I'se say nothing more. Let's watch the lads in their silly game here, then.

~ ~ ~

Darren went back to his dorm to set about his studies. But as he opened his books to the Battle of the Spurs during the time of King Henry VIII, his mind began to wander. His bunkmate, Daniel was
already in bed, and he could not remember the last time they'd spoken. Yet, he sensed that Daniel was not deeply asleep.

"Daniel?" he whispered.

"Do your studying, Master Darren, I'm trying to sleep..." growled Jones quietly.

"Why are you trying to sleep when it's only nine?" Darren asked impudently. "Did you bet on the rugby?"

"No, I had no tokens left from my last loss."

"I can give you two of mine…" his young bunkmate offered.

"Leave me be, I don't want the company of a young lad like yourself, and not your tokens either," replied Jones.

Darren felt hurt at this. "I know you don't want to mother me, but we share the same room. Can we not talk as lads? Do you dislike me so much for my softness?"

"No, Master Hayes," he answered a bit more softly. Somewhat contritely. "But we must stop the chatter now and be done. There are a fourth formers on the floor that you can chatter with if Butters
does not keep you entertained."

"Entertained? That's hardly fair – you know I am in his servitude and for no other reason seek his company..." Darren protested.

"He's not entertaining you with his stories or his tongue now?"

"And who should suggest such a thing?" Darren asked sharply.

"Are you not doting on him night and day. I would think he would keep you amused now at your leisure, with all the gold you plan to feed him..." Jones laughed harshly.

"It's not a laughing matter!" Darren became angry that Jones was laughing at his expense. "He's a – " Darren suddenly became silent and did not continue.

But Jones was suddenly all ears. "Go on – say what you were going to!"

"I'll not say it. You might tell him and that would be my end."

"And why would I say anything to him?" challenged Jones.

"Because you don't like me! You never did. You never want to have anything to do with me. Butters intimated that you and I were sweethearts and I – " Darren began to babble, scarcely able to control himself.

"He said WHAT?" Jones bellowed, giving Darren a jolt.

"And I told him he was daft more or less, and wrong to imply such a thing!" Darren said defensively.

"I'll have a word with Butters myself!" threatened Jones.

"No, do no such thing!" Darren quickly reprised.

"And why not? He's a dirty liar!"

"I know you hate me, Jones, but don't do this..."

"Is he right then? Have you been lusting after me?"

"What??" Darren was purely shocked at the accusation. No matter if there was any foundation to it or not.

He sat up in bed and his eyes took a frightening glow as he stared at Darren. "Have you been lusting after me?"

Darren began to stutter, feeling like a cornered animal. "N-n-no! Why would you accuse me of such a thing?"

"Then *who* do you lust after, Master Darren?"

"Don't call me `Master Darren'. I am only `Darren' to you. You mock me," Darren tried to reassert his dignity through his resentment.

"I repeat myself, Darren – who is it you lust after?" Jones demanded, determined to discover where Darren's affections lay.

"What makes you think I do any such thing?" Darren grasped at the innocence of his behavior for proof.

"Then you could sleep in my bed and keep your hands to yourself?"

"Of course! Why not?" Darren asked mystified at the intent of such a question.

"Prove it! Lay upon my bed and do not touch me. And if you do, I will talk to Butters and tell him to train you appropriately...

"Train me? What? You know of his favours??"

"Did you want Caldicott instead?"

"Please Master Jones!" he swore frantically, scared of what Jones might say or do next. "I truly *don't* understand!"

"You will soon enough! Lay upon my bed naked. I will tempt you, but you must not touch me, is it understood?" The words spilled from Jones as his testicles ached at the thought. driving him into nonsensical madness and past.

Darren looked at me in fright. "I don't know what you mean to prove..."

"I mean to prove that you are a liar and lust for me and that even your stiffness will seek me," he said, his eyes glinting wolflike as Darren's eyes too, seemed alit with energy.

"Please don't talk this way!" blushed Darren. "It embarasses me. I talk to no one of my stiffnesses. How do you know of such things?"

"And who do you think of in the darkness, tell me...I promise I won't tell..."

Darren stared at Jones, frightened and fascinated, unable to bring himself to say the word.

"Is it him? - Your form master?"

"N-no..."

"Lay upon my bed and prove your innocence..."

"And what about yours?" Darren asked boldly.

A resounding slap landed upon his cheek, causing it to instantly burn and throb.

"I have no innocence to prove...I'm a fifth former," replied Jones coldly, unaffected by Darren's wounded look. "You'd best remember it! Remove your clothes and turn on your stomach now..."

Darren obeyed as he had been taught. Jones' slap had brought back his feelings of awareness of his low status and vulnerability instantly into focus. He no longer felt in control anymore in any measure and would do what Jones asked to avoid further pain and humiliation. Because he feared the unknown. Yet he felt curiously relieved. The wall between he and Jones was dissolving in this harsh intimacy of their most private conversation. Jones obviously still knew a lot more than he about how to survive at the Academy. He could expose Darren's gold story and make his life a living hell. But Darren somehow trusted that if he went along with Jones...

He began to remove his clothing, unsuspecting of the web Jones was going to weave to trap him in.

He could imagine no hell like the sweet one he was about to be subjected to.

~ ~ ~

TBC
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St. Andrews' Saints