Life's Pageant
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Casts RPF › Monty Python
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Adult ++
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Category:
Casts RPF › Monty Python
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
9
Views:
1,706
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of Monty Python. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Chapter '71
***
"Terry? What's the matter?"
"Nothing," answered Terry untruthfully. His voice, he hoped, was calm and unruffled. He was anything but.
He felt it again, even stronger this time, the biting cold sensation of a ruthless blade into his heart. It was Michael telling him that Helen was expecting their first child. It had hurt enough to send a sting into his eyes, twisting and wringing silent tears from him. It was never enough for Michael, never enough.
As if it wasn't enough to take in, Michael sleeping with the girl, now they were fucking. Fucking their little troubles away. To be ignorant and untroubled, in your soft bed and in your tender arms, in your happy house with your happy children, happy family, fucking away. It was a whole new level of treachery. Terry wasn't sure he could look up at Michael again, now his tears had started to fall in earnest, clutching his face and standing there silent in his misery.
"Are you sure?" said Michael in a voice that cracked with worry. Terry felt Michael's hand touch his wrist gently, rubbing a little in a concerned gesture. Something that did very little to lift Terry's spirits.
"Yeah." Terry cleared his throat loudly and shoved his palms hard into his eyes before lifting his head and meeting Michael's eyes.
"Allergies."
Understanding swept over Michael's face and his smile came back. "Yeah... so what do you think?"
"I think it's wonderful."
Michael laughed a little. "Me too." Terry twisted his tear-stained face into a burning smile.
"You'll be wonderful parents."
Python was well underway and to Terry, it seemed full of dark surprises.
Before the first show went out Graham had told Terry that their affair had to end. He was very gentle and seemed sincerely worried that Terry would take the news badly; Terry, however, let him go without shedding a single tear or giving away any other emotions. He didn't love Graham, but Graham was better company in these days than his wife. Now he was alone. With only Alison to ease his troubles.
Terry's thoughts inevitably came back to Michael. His wife was beginning to wonder why he wouldn't make love with her, why he wouldn't even touch her in bed, so he ignored her and started sleeping on the sofa. In his desperation he started writing a book on Chaucer, spending more time at the library, letting his wife spend her time in whatever way she pleased as he poured his thoughts into his manuscript instead.
A surprise call from his dad jogged him out of his brief and blissful ignorance of love. The old man had his usual anxious expression, moustache trembling slightly. But there was fear in his eyes now.
Terry didn't want to listen to his dad telling him his mum had become seriously ill. He had no other option. This man in front of him, trembling and cowardly, the same man that had shouted and cursed at Terry all his life. Never showed an ounce of love or concern for his youngest son. He was crying.
It was the realisation that his mother was going to die that shook all of Terry's happy world to pieces.
Meanwhile, in a much more pleasant room in London, Michael was fucking his wife.
It was difficult not to notice the enormous rift between Terry and Terry's wife. Or Terry's frequent nights away from their home. Terry never talked about Alison, she never talked to Terry, Michael didn't ask any questions. But he wondered if Terry was having an affair. Who was the girl... Terry must really care about her if she distracted him this much... why did he keep getting that heavy feeling in his stomach? Something heavy sinking in his stomach. Michael wasn't sure it had nothing to do with the thought of Terry sleeping with somebody else.
Lust! The persistent little tug at his loins. Would it ever leave him alone? Would he always be tossing off in the shower and fantasising about Terry while he was in bed with Helen? Why was he getting so upset with Terry? He stood in front of the mirror in a relentless storm of questions. Questions and doubts. He took in his reflection.
Both hands came up and shoved his golden brown hair away from his face; it was getting quite long now, growing down over his neatly trimmed sideburns. He kept his hands there clutching his head. His pale green eyes were glowing out of their narrowed slits. His sharp jaws were clenched, his full lips pressed tightly together in a frown. His muscles strained in his shoulders and in his upper arms, quite formidable under his freckled skin. His chest was solid and dusted with golden hair, his nipples like tiny rose-coloured beads. His stomach was taut and bulging slightly with each breath. And there it was; his cock, standing erect a full five inches in a nest of soft brown hair, the product of his lustful mind. He glared at it for several minutes then decided that he'd go back in the bedroom. Maybe they'd have children. He wanted children. He turned away from the mirror and marched out of the bathroom.
There wasn't much pleasure in sex but at least it took his mind off the battling questions, the fear in his mind. When he learned his wife was pregnant he immediately gave Terry the good news. Terry seemed to take it rather well, which he wasn't expecting; Terry had never really been that fond of Helen, but he did seem genuinely happy for them. Defiant though his smile was.
Michael looked him over with a smile. Terry didn't look much different than when Michael had first met him, only his hair was a bit longer, more shaggy now. His hair was darkest brown although it could've been black if the sun didn't give it a lighter shade. He liked Terry's hair, all the thick dark locks. Would it feel soft under his fingers? It fell over his forehead in playful curls. His black eyes were set deep under sultry eyelids and long eyelashes, a little bloodshot from the assault of tears. His face was round yet oddly striking, long nose prominent and strong jaw pronounced. Hidden under his black coat his body managed to look powerful and delicate all the same. His chest and shoulders were small yet sturdy, his stomach a bit pudgy from too many beers, his hips narrow and his legs muscled. If he didn't slouch he'd probably be the same height as Michael but his body seemed to be sinking even lower to the ground lately. The hollow, haunted gaze he received from Terry told him that it would not be wise to ask why so Michael held his tongue.
Terry seemed to notice Michael's roving eyes and caught them with a roguish smile. Michael quickly averted his eyes and changed the subject on a nervous impulse.
The year of '71 was to culminate with yet more Python adventures, the latest bringing them to Bavaria for the filming of two German Python shows. Terry was very reluctant indeed to leave England and his mother behind but he agreed, and off they went to Bavaria. And a week later Terry received the worst telephone call he had or ever would receive. It was his dad again.
***
"Terry? What's the matter?"
"Nothing," answered Terry untruthfully. His voice, he hoped, was calm and unruffled. He was anything but.
He felt it again, even stronger this time, the biting cold sensation of a ruthless blade into his heart. It was Michael telling him that Helen was expecting their first child. It had hurt enough to send a sting into his eyes, twisting and wringing silent tears from him. It was never enough for Michael, never enough.
As if it wasn't enough to take in, Michael sleeping with the girl, now they were fucking. Fucking their little troubles away. To be ignorant and untroubled, in your soft bed and in your tender arms, in your happy house with your happy children, happy family, fucking away. It was a whole new level of treachery. Terry wasn't sure he could look up at Michael again, now his tears had started to fall in earnest, clutching his face and standing there silent in his misery.
"Are you sure?" said Michael in a voice that cracked with worry. Terry felt Michael's hand touch his wrist gently, rubbing a little in a concerned gesture. Something that did very little to lift Terry's spirits.
"Yeah." Terry cleared his throat loudly and shoved his palms hard into his eyes before lifting his head and meeting Michael's eyes.
"Allergies."
Understanding swept over Michael's face and his smile came back. "Yeah... so what do you think?"
"I think it's wonderful."
Michael laughed a little. "Me too." Terry twisted his tear-stained face into a burning smile.
"You'll be wonderful parents."
Python was well underway and to Terry, it seemed full of dark surprises.
Before the first show went out Graham had told Terry that their affair had to end. He was very gentle and seemed sincerely worried that Terry would take the news badly; Terry, however, let him go without shedding a single tear or giving away any other emotions. He didn't love Graham, but Graham was better company in these days than his wife. Now he was alone. With only Alison to ease his troubles.
Terry's thoughts inevitably came back to Michael. His wife was beginning to wonder why he wouldn't make love with her, why he wouldn't even touch her in bed, so he ignored her and started sleeping on the sofa. In his desperation he started writing a book on Chaucer, spending more time at the library, letting his wife spend her time in whatever way she pleased as he poured his thoughts into his manuscript instead.
A surprise call from his dad jogged him out of his brief and blissful ignorance of love. The old man had his usual anxious expression, moustache trembling slightly. But there was fear in his eyes now.
Terry didn't want to listen to his dad telling him his mum had become seriously ill. He had no other option. This man in front of him, trembling and cowardly, the same man that had shouted and cursed at Terry all his life. Never showed an ounce of love or concern for his youngest son. He was crying.
It was the realisation that his mother was going to die that shook all of Terry's happy world to pieces.
Meanwhile, in a much more pleasant room in London, Michael was fucking his wife.
It was difficult not to notice the enormous rift between Terry and Terry's wife. Or Terry's frequent nights away from their home. Terry never talked about Alison, she never talked to Terry, Michael didn't ask any questions. But he wondered if Terry was having an affair. Who was the girl... Terry must really care about her if she distracted him this much... why did he keep getting that heavy feeling in his stomach? Something heavy sinking in his stomach. Michael wasn't sure it had nothing to do with the thought of Terry sleeping with somebody else.
Lust! The persistent little tug at his loins. Would it ever leave him alone? Would he always be tossing off in the shower and fantasising about Terry while he was in bed with Helen? Why was he getting so upset with Terry? He stood in front of the mirror in a relentless storm of questions. Questions and doubts. He took in his reflection.
Both hands came up and shoved his golden brown hair away from his face; it was getting quite long now, growing down over his neatly trimmed sideburns. He kept his hands there clutching his head. His pale green eyes were glowing out of their narrowed slits. His sharp jaws were clenched, his full lips pressed tightly together in a frown. His muscles strained in his shoulders and in his upper arms, quite formidable under his freckled skin. His chest was solid and dusted with golden hair, his nipples like tiny rose-coloured beads. His stomach was taut and bulging slightly with each breath. And there it was; his cock, standing erect a full five inches in a nest of soft brown hair, the product of his lustful mind. He glared at it for several minutes then decided that he'd go back in the bedroom. Maybe they'd have children. He wanted children. He turned away from the mirror and marched out of the bathroom.
There wasn't much pleasure in sex but at least it took his mind off the battling questions, the fear in his mind. When he learned his wife was pregnant he immediately gave Terry the good news. Terry seemed to take it rather well, which he wasn't expecting; Terry had never really been that fond of Helen, but he did seem genuinely happy for them. Defiant though his smile was.
Michael looked him over with a smile. Terry didn't look much different than when Michael had first met him, only his hair was a bit longer, more shaggy now. His hair was darkest brown although it could've been black if the sun didn't give it a lighter shade. He liked Terry's hair, all the thick dark locks. Would it feel soft under his fingers? It fell over his forehead in playful curls. His black eyes were set deep under sultry eyelids and long eyelashes, a little bloodshot from the assault of tears. His face was round yet oddly striking, long nose prominent and strong jaw pronounced. Hidden under his black coat his body managed to look powerful and delicate all the same. His chest and shoulders were small yet sturdy, his stomach a bit pudgy from too many beers, his hips narrow and his legs muscled. If he didn't slouch he'd probably be the same height as Michael but his body seemed to be sinking even lower to the ground lately. The hollow, haunted gaze he received from Terry told him that it would not be wise to ask why so Michael held his tongue.
Terry seemed to notice Michael's roving eyes and caught them with a roguish smile. Michael quickly averted his eyes and changed the subject on a nervous impulse.
The year of '71 was to culminate with yet more Python adventures, the latest bringing them to Bavaria for the filming of two German Python shows. Terry was very reluctant indeed to leave England and his mother behind but he agreed, and off they went to Bavaria. And a week later Terry received the worst telephone call he had or ever would receive. It was his dad again.
***