Clothes and skin were equally abraded and torn as they rolled around. Tree roots and stones dug into Arthur’s back as Robin ploughed joyfully into more intimate parts. Ashamed at first by the incoherent, animal sounds he was making, Arthur soon gave up trying to contain them and began to revel in his own wanton behaviour. He had never known such abandon, such sensation. He was filled, and yet he felt rather as though he were being consumed by the man above him, as though morning would find him nothing but a withered husk discarded upon the forest floor.
Mama would be so cross, he thought incongruously, and laughed aloud at the absurdity of it all, his laughter turning without his acquiescence to sobs as the searing pleasure inside him reached its peak.
For one terrible, wonderful moment
