by Lily Morton
“You’re really turned on,” he says wonderingly, a smile dawning on his face. It’s sly and wicked and fucking amazing on those handsome features, and I love that I’m the only person who sees it. Just like I love that I see him grumpy and irritable occasionally. It’s a privilege to see beneath the shiny exterior he shows to the rest of the world.
“How about I wear some tonight?” he whispers in my ear, making me shudder and arch against him. “I can wear them and all night you’ll be the only person to know what’s under my clothes.”
“I’ve created a monster,” I say wonderingly.
He takes me down onto the bed and then straddles me, his dick hard and rubbing against my own. “Your monster,” he says, his gaze lowered to watch our dicks slide together.
“Only mine?” I say suddenly, an awful thought occurring to me. I twist my hand gently in his hair and raise his face. “Nobody else for you. I want you to be mine.”
The flush deepens on his cheeks. “Only yours and you’re only mine,” he vows and then he bends to kiss me.
Promises made in the no-man’s-land between arguing and sex. I like the us we’re creating, I have time to think, and then it’s a haze of fucking.
A few hours later, and I’d kiss a complete stranger’s feet for the chance to be back in bed. I don’t think Shakespeare is for me any more now than when I was at school. He uses four thousand words to say something that probably only needed four.
Admittedly, the Globe is beautiful. Founded by the actor Sam Wanamaker, it’s a reconstruction of the Elizabethan playhouse where Shakespeare’s plays were performed. Even I can sense that its atmosphere is special. A huge stage with a wooden floor draws the eye, and in front of it, open to the elements, is the standing area for the audience. Those poor sods not only run the risk of getting rained on, but the actors seem to use them as props, maneuvering around them before their entrances or standing amongst them. Charlie seemed to think it would be wonderful to watch from there, but I vetoed it. Shakespeare is bad enough at a distance, let alone having it bawled down your ear while your legs go to sleep.
We’re sitting at the front in the covered tiers of seating. It’s a chilly night, but the way we’re crowded into the seats means we’re sharing body warmth, so it’s not a huge problem. I shift position on the wooden bench and then shift again.
Charlie’s practically hanging over the railing looking at the crowd below. It’s intermission and noisy. He shoots me a glance. “You alright there? You look like you’ve got ants in your pants.”
“Where does that saying even come from? Who exactly was walking around in history with ants in their boxers?”
He settles back on the bench and whispers in my ear, “Well, think how you’d feel if you’d had your arse rammed just before we came out?”
“Rammed? Oh, Charlie, I do love it so when you use your big librarian words. Talk to me about the Dewey Decimal System next. You know how that gets me going.”
He laughs. “You’re not worthy of my library speak. It brings all the boys to my yard.” I chuckle quietly and he shakes his head. “I don’t know why you’re so uncomfortable anyway. We’ve got cushions.”
“Which I can’t believe we had to rent. Who gives you a seat and then makes you pay for the upholstery?”
“Stop complaining. You bankers are all the same. Money, money, money.”
I smile at him. “You enjoying yourself?”
His face brightens. “So much. Thank you, Misha.”
“You’re welcome.”
He turns back to the stage as the actors return, and I settle back on my rented cushion. I still don’t understand one fucking bit of what’s going on. During the first few scenes, I’d thought about work to make the evening pass quicker, but the atmosphere of the place has worked its magic on me. That, and the pleasure of watching Charlie’s face—his expression is lit up, completely absorbed with the performance . I would sit on hard benches for an eternity for that alone.
Twilight fades to night above the thatched roof of the theatre and the multicolored paper streamers strung above us rustle in the breeze. Shakespeare’s words float out into the night air, and slowly I relax even more.
Charlie leans forward for a moment, and as his jacket rides up, I catch a glimpse of black lace above his chinos. I’ve seen little flashes of the lace throughout the night, and its inspired a constant state of low-simmering arousal. Now the sight of that dark band against his sleek olive skin has my cock stiffening fully. I reach out and run one finger down his back and he shudders imperceptibly before looking back at me. His eyes have darkened, and as I watch he bites his lip.
For a long second we stare at each other and then he leans back. “I’m going to the bathroom,” he whispers.
I shudder at the feel of his warm breath on my ear. “Oh yes,” I say, trying for cool. “Thanks for telling me.”
He draws back, his face full of amusement. “No, I mean I’m going to the bathroom.”
Realisation dawns. “Oh God, yes,” I say, and a few people shush me. I grimace apologetically and give him a few minutes before making haste to follow him out.
I hold the door open to the Gents for a bloke and then slide in. The bathroom is empty and filled with the strains of some sort of supermarket music.
Charlie is loitering by the sinks. He grins when he sees me. “You took your time.”
“I thought I’d be discreet.”
“You?”
“Apparently I can do discretion now. It’s a surprise to even me.” I grin at him. “Do I get a prize?”
He winks, and before I can say anything, he drags me into one of the bathroom stalls, shutting and locking the door behind me. It’s a bit cramped, but the door goes down to the floor, which is invaluable if you’re fucking in public in a place that doesn’t happen to be a gay bar.
“Nice,” I say, grinning at him. “I treat you to first-row tickets and give you the night of your life, and how do you repay me? You bring me to a public toilet. It’s not exactly smooth, Charlie.”
He winks and removes his jacket, hanging it on the hook on the door. “I don’t want smooth,” he mutters. I swallow hard as I watch him slowly undo his belt and lower the zipper on his chinos. The skin of his lower abdomen is taut and golden. I know now that the sexy trail of hair there will flare out to a tidy bush around his cock.
His zipper falls open, and there’s a flash of black lace. “Oh shit,” I groan quietly. “Show me.”
He bites his lip, his face full of mischief, and I know I’m in for a scorching-hot sexual encounter. His naughtiness stuns me every time, and I love how free and open he is to doing anything. It makes me wonder at the idiots who came before me. How did they let him get away?
Then my thoughts spin away as he lowers his chinos, and I finally get a full glimpse of his knickers. They’re sheer black mesh with some sort of pattern on the delicate fabric, and they’re piped with hot pink roses and ribbon. His cock is hard, and every lovely inch is on view, debauched beneath the delicate fabric, its ruddy head creating a spot of moisture and his balls distending the fabric below.
“That’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen,” I say hoarsely. I glance at his face and I’m happy to see his previous hesitation about wearing the knickers is gone. He’s glowing, his face alight with warm sensuality. “You’ve been teasing me all night, Charlie.”
He smiles slowly. “Maybe a little bit.”
“More than a little bit. Flashes here and there. Letting me see but never enough.”
He licks his lip and pivots slowly. A groan erupts from the back of my throat when I see his arse. A black mesh thong is burrowing into the crack of his arse, leaving the taut golden globes of his bum bare.
“God,” I say reverently. I fall to my knees.
“Misha,” he whispers.
I look up at him as I palm his arse cheeks. “We have to be very quiet,” I warn him. “I don’t want to end up being barred from the theatre.”
“I
should hope not,” he whispers back. “They’re showing The Taming of the Shrew next month.”
I snort helplessly and rest my head against his arse. “Charlie,” I say helplessly. “Reciting the theatre timetable and making me laugh won’t get you fucked.”
He laughs softly, but I’m gratified when it turns into a stifled moan as I lick up the crack of his arse, bathing the delicate fabric in moisture. “Oh shit,” he says. “Ungh.”
I spread his cheeks apart and groan at the sight of his little hole playing peekaboo with the fabric. Unable to resist, I lap delicately at it, feeling the material get soggy and pulling back to breathe hotly over it.
“For future reference, I really like these knickers,” I say.
“They’re actually men’s panties,” he gasps. “I get them from a specialist shop.”
“Get more,” I command and go back to what I was doing.
He starts to pant quietly, and I stay there licking and sucking at his hole. When his panting breaths become whimpers, I push the material to one side and lick his bare hole. It’s soft and wrinkled and a pretty pink colour that echoes the shade of his nipples. He gives a low cry, and I slap his arse softly to warn him, watching as he raises his arm up to his face and pushes his mouth into it to muffle his noises.
I lick and suck at the furled hole, feeling it open under my tongue slightly, and I instantly push the tip of my tongue in. The taste of him inside makes my mouth water and my eyes close in pleasure. He’s delicious. Pulling back, I lick a broad swathe down his crack and snuggle my tongue into the delicate and sensitive stretch of his skin behind his balls. I breathe on it, and he jerks, lowering one hand to grab the back of my head and push me further into him.
I pull back and spin him around, and he gives a smothered sound of shock as I instantly pull his cock out of the knickers and take it down the back of my throat. I suck strong and hard and his cock jerks, sending a gush of precome down my throat.
“Oh shit,” he mutters, flailing about, and there’s a loud bang as he knocks his elbow on the toilet roll holder. “Ow, fuck,” he protests.
“Can you not be quiet at all?” I hiss, raising up and fumbling in my pocket for the condom and lube. I tear the square packet open and quickly push my jeans and briefs down.
“Got my funny bone,” he whispers as I unfurl the condom down my dick.
“Don’t worry about it,” I mutter, spinning him around. I open the other packet and lube my dick until it shines slickly in the overhead light. I push his thong to one side and tap my cock against his hole. “I’ve got a funny bone right here for you.”
“Misha!” He snorts, starting to shudder with laughter.
I shake my head, unable to stop my own laughter from escaping. I’ve never felt this good with anyone, never laughed so much during sex. I’ve had good sex, but it’s never felt so amazing as with Charlie. It’s almost transcendental with him. So potent it feels like I’m a bottle of champagne fizzing and ready to explode.
I rub the rest of the lube into his hole. His laughter is gone now, and he pants lightly as I stretch his tight opening with my fingers. “Is it too quick?” I whisper.
He shakes his head fervently. “Need it,” he says in a low voice. “Always need it from you. Give it to me.”
I grab his hip, and he leans against the wall, pushing his backside towards me as I position my cock. It’s a long, slow slide, gentle to make allowances for the hasty prep. But it’s still tight and hot, and I can’t help the low grunt I give when I bottom out.
“Oh God,” he mutters. “So good, Mish.”
“Alright?” I ask breathlessly, and he nods, his hair falling out of its ponytail and cascading down onto his shoulders.
“Move,” he whispers, reaching down and grabbing my hip. “Come on, Misha.”
His whine sends a huge shiver running over my body. “God,” I say fervently and start to thrust. The cubicle fills with the sound of pants and muffled groans and the slap of skin, and I really don’t think we’re being quiet enough.
I can’t bring myself to care though. I pull out and ram back into him, and he arches his back, the muscles taut beneath his rucked-up T-shirt. There’s something unbearably hot about this quickie in a bathroom stall with both of us half-naked and on the verge of discovery with every passing second.
As if on cue, the bathroom door bangs open, and footsteps sound on the floor. We both freeze with me balls deep in Charlie’s arse. He shudders, and I immediately put my hand over his mouth. He licks it and I want to laugh, but I brush his ear with my lips and tut very softly.
The sound of liquid hitting the urinal makes Charlie judder with silent laughter, and I throw my head back, looking up at the ceiling sightlessly as my dick is squeezed in a tight, warm vise.
He looks back, his eyes wide and his laughter dying. He begins to move in a soft, slow undulation. He does something that squeezes my cock, and I bite my lip hard against the urge to cry out. I lower my face to his shoulder, opening my mouth against the silky skin in a silent shout.
We stay there locked together, making tiny movements until water turns on and off, and the stranger walks out of the bathroom whistling. The door bangs shut, and I give a loud groan. “Shit, I can’t hold it much longer.” I lower my hand and fist his cock inside the mesh fabric. “Come in this,” I whisper into his ear, biting and licking the sensitive lobe and hearing him moan. “Fill these knickers, Charlie. I want to see them wet with come.”
I slam into him rough and hard, and he braces himself against the wall, pushing back into my cock and forwards into my hand. Within a couple of thrusts, he throws his head back and gives a shuddering sigh, and I feel his cock pulse liquid warmth into the lace of his knickers. I give a few more thrusts before ramming deep and coming into the condom, grinding out my orgasm.
Silence falls between us and I kiss his shoulder delicately. He turns his head, seeking my kiss, and I give it to him instantly, marvelling at this new version of me. I’ve got off in public bathrooms before, and it’s always been quick and impersonal. As soon as we’ve both come, it’s been a few polite words, and I was out the door. Not with Charlie. With him, I’m balls deep still and fighting the urge to just stay there.
How could I ever walk away from him? The question inspires no panic, no fear about what the hell we’re doing. All I get is a warm feeling in my chest and an affectionate smile from Charlie as we disengage reluctantly.
He has to strip off his clothes in order to wriggle out of the knickers. “Ugh, clammy,” he says happily as he cleans up. “I’ll have to go commando.”
I bend down and pick up the soaked scrap of fabric and grin at him as I slide the knickers into my pocket.
“Misha?” he says, sounding one part scandalized to two parts intrigued.
“They’re mine now,” I whisper. I’m going to keep them like I’m going to keep you. The latter words are silent, but they won’t be for long.
We leave the theatre when the play finishes and come out into the cool London night, and Charlie immediately draws his biker jacket close and slots his arm through mine as we begin to walk. I eye him and repress a smile. I bought him that jacket and he protested over the price so much that I had to pretend I’d got it second hand. Even then he grumbled and fussed with it until the leather began to crease and soften with age and then he loved it.
We walk along in a comfortable silence before stopping to lean against the railings looking down on the river. London is lit up and glowing in its nighttime colours, and the river ripples and flows, distorting the reflection of the lights and making them fracture into infinite pieces. Nearby, a busker plays a mellow, lazy-sounding version of “Golden Brown” by the Stranglers and before I can stop and think, I grab Charlie and ease him into a quick and easy two-step. He laughs and there’s something pleased and shocked in his eyes that makes me happy.
The music fades away and I step back, smiling at him. “Well, I’ve given you culture.”
He looks around before
grabbing my face and kissing me quickly, the warmth of his lips there and gone. “Shakespeare and a blowjob followed by a fuck in the toilets.”
“Well, you know what Shakespeare said.” I put my hand to my forehead in a dramatic pose and proclaim, “It’s an ill wind which blows no man to good.”
He stares at me. “I’m pretty sure that no character in a Shakespeare play ever blew their boyfriends in a toilet stall, so I’m also certain that you’ve misused that quote. I’d just love to know how you came up with it.”
I shake my head. “Really, Charlie? I did go to school, you know. We bankers are inscrutable people with many hidden talents. I happen to like Shakespeare.”
He looks impressed, and I hope I never have to confess that in reality I googled Shakespeare and blowjobs. I’d had to wade through a lot of very startling results before I’d struck gold, and I hope my workplace never has a reason to search my internet history.
“That it, Charlie?” I ask, keeping my hands on his hips. “Any more culture that you need to imbibe? I’m sure we could fit in a few more museums, or maybe we could go and read a copy of War and Peace by the banks of the river while we paint mud in artistic patterns on each other’s bodies and proclaim poetry.”
He blinks, amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes. “I was thinking of going for a nice juicy steak, but if you’re really set on mud body painting I’ll go along with you. As long as we buy some wet wipes first.”
I shake my head and whirl around, tugging him after me, the sound of his laughter loud in the night. “Why didn’t you mention steak? We’re wasting time.”
“I’ve had the best time tonight, Misha,” he says quietly.
“Me too. The very best.”
“To be fair, you haven’t been on that many dates.”
“If I’d been on a hundred dates, Charlie, I know this would have been the best. Do you know why?” He shakes his head and I lean closer and kiss his ear before saying, “Because it’s with you. You make everything better.” He swallows hard and I wink at him. “Told you I was good at this shit. I’m a natural.”
