by Feliz Faber
“Well, for all I know, the Flag’s international readership isn’t that big, and your target audience hasn’t that many points of contact with the world of horseracing in general. Even so, it’s most likely to awaken a positive interest in racehorse owners who happen to be part of the gay community. Who knows? My friends’ business might even benefit from your article,” LeBon said lightly, his lips twitching in polite amusement. “And Mr. Haussman you can leave to me. Right now, I’m asking you, Mr. Yeats. Are you interested?”
Was he interested? For the first time since LeBon had taken him on this emotional roller-coaster ride, Will sat back to consider, looking past the offerer’s fascinating person at the actual facts of the offer.
LeBon’s arguments sounded perfectly reasonable, and yet Will couldn’t help feeling baited. As if Meerow and Pithiviers were cutting their losses by going for the lesser of two evils here. Will couldn’t help wondering how LeBon expected him to swallow this, hook, line, and sinker.
The answer was still yes, though. He’d put a lot of effort into this story already and taken a lot of shit for it. And besides, wasn’t that exactly what Trevor wanted from him in the first place? An honest-to-God, live gay jockey, active and even successful in his field of work, obviously in a committed relationship with another horse-racing professional.
The trip to France was just the cherry on top. With a bait this sweet, who was Will to resist it?
He took a deep breath.
“Yes, Mr. LeBon. I’d be definitely interested.”
The lawyer beamed at him and waved to summon Antoinette. “Let’s drink to it.”
A bottle of champagne and two flutes appeared miraculously fast on their table, and they clinked glasses. The prickly goodness cooled Will’s tongue, going straight to his head. After draining his glass, he eyed the bottle longingly, considering a refill. Still, in the face of a one-hour drive home, reason took over, and he held up his hand when LeBon lifted the bottle from the cooler.
“No, thank you. It’ll be time for me to leave soon, if we’re finished here.”
LeBon put the bottle back, giving Will an unfathomable look.
“We are, aren’t we? I’ll make sure to have the terms of our agreement written up for your and Mr. Haussman’s approval as soon as possible. Afterward we’ll set a date for the signing, which I’d like to take place in my office so my assistant can be present. She’s a civil law notary.” He produced another one of those small white business cards from the inside pocket of his jacket, together with a pen, and wrote something down on it. “Here, I’ll give you my private cell number. If you need anything more, call me at your convenience.” He held out the card for Will to take. “It was my pleasure doing business with you.”
“Likewise.” Will reached for the small cardboard square, unable to fend off his disappointment at how abruptly the evening was about to end. And here I thought….
A small tug stopped him short. LeBon hadn’t let go of his end of the card.
“This doesn’t have to be over yet, if you don’t want it to be,” LeBon said, still with this hypnotic intensity in his gaze that had Will transfixed like the proverbial deer in the headlights. “I must admit I’d rather you stayed with me for a while longer.”
Will let go of the card and dropped his hand. “What for?” he asked warily.
LeBon chuckled. “Seems I’m losing my touch, if you’re asking me that.” He took Will’s wrist, placed the card flat on Will’s palm and closed his fingers over it, keeping Will’s hand in both of his own. His grip was easy but firm, a question rather than a demand, yet no less insistent for that.
“To have another glass of champagne with me? To let me show you a good time? Let’s forget about contracts and clauses and writing for now and only think about us, you and me, and the sparks we had flying between us from the get-go. What do you say?”
“I… um….” Will couldn’t help it; he was lost, utterly lost in a whirl of contending emotions, the most prevalent of which LeBon had guessed correctly. Attraction. Lust, held at bay for this entire roller coaster of an evening. Bubbling joy at seeing his dreamy wish come true—but also indignation at being taken for easy meat and a minuscule, irritating sliver of reason that tugged at Will’s imaginary sleeve, squealing at him about unprofessional behavior.
LeBon cocked his head. “Well?”
The indignation part won. “I’d say that’s not an appropriate conclusion to a business meeting,” Will said, finally pocketing LeBon’s card. He had to pull his hand free of the lawyer’s grip for that.
Astonishing how acutely he felt the loss of LeBon’s warm skin on his own.
“You know as well as I do that this stopped being a business meeting a long time ago,” LeBon said softly.
Stymied, Will nodded. “True.”
LeBon laid a hand on the table, palm up. “So why the hell not, William?”
Why the hell not, indeed. As he scrutinized the surprisingly pale inside of LeBon’s hand, Will couldn’t come up with a single solid reason why he shouldn’t get it on with this confident, irritating, utterly fascinating man.
Will extended his hand to meet LeBon’s, watching those slender, dark fingers close around his plumper, fairer ones, returning their squeeze. “Francis,” he said tentatively, tasting the name on his tongue.
The other man gave a soft laugh. He let go of Will’s hand and refilled their glasses, then raised his for a toast. “To inappropriate conclusions.”
With more nerve than he’d known he had, Will returned the salute. “I’d rather drink to appropriately close solutions,” he said. Winking at LeBon’s—Francis’s—once again raised eyebrow, he downed the liquid courage from his flute in one go.
“Drink up, Mr. LeBon. Didn’t you say you lived nearby? I’d like to see what I got myself into.”
This time, Francis’s laugh was belly-deep and uninhibited, a surprised, happy sound that washed over Will and engulfed him like a warm blanket.
“I’ve created a monster,” Francis said.
Three
WILL didn’t want to talk about last night, he really didn’t. It had been just too special, too precious, too… too everything; so much so that, even if he did want to talk about it, he wasn’t sure he could put what had happened into words.
Which was funny, come to think about it, since words were what he made a living from. Best he could do, then, was to avoid thinking about it at all. And at first that went fine, even though he was late for work for the very first time, and Gary started throwing him curious looks about two minutes after Will had parked his butt. Still, he got to put the finishing touches on his last article in relative peace.
It was only after he refilled his coffee cup for the second time that the razzing started.
“You’re sucking down coffee like they’d stop making it tomorrow,” Gary said. “Late night on a workday? And coming to work looking like this? My, my, if there isn’t something cooking.” Gary Wheeler, website admin, was the longest-serving Flag employee. If Trevor was the Flag’s father figure, Gary was something like its mama. It was your birthday? Gary made sure there was cake and had the others sing “Happy Birthday.” A fight with your significant other? Gary offered chamomile tea and a sympathetic ear. On the downside, Gary couldn’t keep anything to himself to save his life. If you wanted something announced, the surest and fastest way was to tell it to Gary under the pledge of secrecy.
Will scowled at him. “What do you mean? What am I looking like?”
“As if someone fucked your brains out last night and let you suck them back in through his dick. Looks good on you.” With a conspiratorial wink, Gary leaned closer. “Spill, ice princess. Who’s the lucky guy that melted you?”
He’d tried to get into Will’s pants from day one, unsuccessfully so far. Will might be out and proud, but Gary was out, proud, and loud. Too much noise for Will’s taste.
So unlike Francis.
LAST night, once they stepped out of the restaurant, Will h
ad hesitated when Francis suggested they walk the few blocks to his building. The Toyota truck Will drove wasn’t much to write home about, sure, but this was not the very best of neighborhoods, especially after dark, even though it was just a few blocks off Wilshire Boulevard.
Francis wrapped an arm around Will’s waist. “Don’t worry about your car, it’s safe here. I talked to Antoinette earlier. She’ll make sure of that.”
“Awfully sure of yourself, are you?” Will asked, leaning into Francis.
“I know I can be,” Francis said. It came out as something of a low growl, and then he put a hand to Will’s cheek and angled their heads together for a kiss.
It was always special, the first kiss from a stranger: the timeless, unfathomable moment when lips Will had only looked at before, a tongue he’d only listened to so far, became taste and texture and temperature; when anticipation turned into closeness turned into intimacy, when the stranger ceased being a stranger, when he turned into a combination of breath pattern and smell and feel that Will could recognize with his eyes closed. He always felt this communion, even if one kiss was all he shared with another man, even if he never saw the other again. This was the very reason why Will usually didn’t kiss men he casually hooked up with.
With Francis, though….
He could tell the precise moment when the magic happened. The kiss went on and on, became messy and brutal and then gentle and tender again, neither man willing or able to stop, no matter that they stood in the middle of a deserted parking lot in a shady neighborhood, right under a streetlamp for all the world to see.
However, once they were in Francis’s apartment, Will suddenly became afraid of his own courage, and he started a frantic scrabbling for buttons and clasps lest second thoughts stop him. But Francis took hold of his wrists, stilling him, and pulled him close until Will calmed under the touch, much like a skittish animal would under a confident hand.
Naked, they lay on white sheets, a cool, smooth joy against Will’s back. But he soon stopped noticing them, with his legs pushed apart, his dick swallowed down into blissful, damp heat. He watched, unable to tear his eyes away, as his blood-red dick slid between those full lips and out again. Kept his eyes riveted on Francis’s dark head framed by pale thighs, a chiaroscuro of raw sensuality. He didn’t know how long it lasted, an eternity or several. Francis kept him on the brink, never let him tip over. His lips and tongue drove Will mad.
When Francis pulled back, Will arched up, blindly chasing after him. Francis’s fingers dug into his hips, and Will struggled against the hands holding him down. So close, he’d been so close….
“Patience,” Francis rasped, crawling over him. They lay chest to chest, groin to groin, Francis’s erection sliding deliciously against Will’s. Will writhed, seeking more pressure, more friction, and Francis grabbed Will’s wrists, pressed them into the mattress next to his head. He kissed Will deeply, rocked slowly against him. Will tasted Francis and himself on the tongue that invaded his mouth, a heady mix. He moaned into Francis’s mouth, spread his knees wide. He was languid and open, ripe for the picking—wouldn’t Francis see that? But the sweet torture continued, just the slow rocking, Francis’s whole body weight holding him down.
Eventually, Francis broke the kiss. Only a thread’s worth of air was between their mouths, their panting breaths mingled. Francis brought Will’s wrists together above his head, pressed them down. “Keep them there for me. Can you do that?”—and Will stared up into those bottomless eyes and nodded once.
Their eye contact never broke as Francis knelt up, rolled a condom on, slathered himself with lube. Wide-eyed, Will watched him and licked his lips.
Francis splayed his other hand on Will’s chest. “Look at you, William, all flushed for me….” He pushed fingers into Will’s body; both men moaned in unison. Will sucked in a breath to yell, No fucking virgin here—he was ready to burst. Right then Francis’s fingers hit true, and the words turned into another moan. No became now! And for once, Francis complied and entered him in one long, relentless thrust. It hurt despite the preparation, but oh so good, yes.
Stretched wide, filled at last, Will clutched at his own hair in an effort to keep his hands where he had to as Francis fucked him in slow, languorous strokes. It got to be too much fast, and Will gave up, seized Francis by the neck with both hands, pulled him down. He buried his face in the crook of Francis’s shoulder, licked salt and the sharp remains of cologne off sweaty skin.
Francis growled, pushed up on his fists, and then hooked his arms behind Will’s legs, almost bending him in half. He moved faster now. Will felt him deeper with each thrust. He clung to Francis’s upper arms, threw his head back. Lust washed through him in powerful waves, carried him away. He squeezed his eyes shut.
“Look at me!”
The hoarse command made his eyes snap open. Francis towered above him. He dripped with sweat; the cords on his neck stood out with exertion. His face was a mask of lust and passion.
Will came with a choked yell, spilled between their bodies as he shook with the force of his climax. Francis’s thrusts lost rhythm, faltered, a deep, rumbling noise growing in his chest. He froze, and then Will felt the pulses of Francis’s release deep inside his own body. He groaned with the intoxicating surge of pleasure.
Afterward Francis collapsed on top of him and they just lay there, a limp, tangled heap of heavy breathing.
Caught under the unmoving weight of flesh and bone, Will felt it bubble up inside him, inexplicable hilarity that defied suppression. Arms and legs still curled around Francis, Will shook with laughter. A bemused frown on his face, Francis pushed up. Will’s limbs flowed off him as if they were so much water.
“What’s so funny?”
“You.” Will struggled to speak, the laughter ending on a hiccup, but his voice still trembled with amusement. “We. Fuck! I think you just put me off topping for good. You’re a force of nature, big guy.”
A slow grin spreading across his face, Francis rolled off. He stretched lazily like a sated lion, then propped up on one elbow, facing Will. Glistening with sweat, with the condom still on the flaccid cock that rested on a muscled thigh, Francis was the picture of delightful debauchery.
“That’s nice to hear, since you have, in fact, the most delectable ass, darling.” He leaned in purposefully. Still buzzing with bliss and joy, Will closed his eyes in anticipation of a kiss. But instead he felt the soft touch of Francis’s lips on the tip of his nose. “The rest of you isn’t bad either, though. Not bad at all,” Francis whispered. His fingertips ghosted across Will’s cheek.
The unexpected tenderness felt out of place, somehow much more intimate than what they’d just done, and Will’s eyes flew open. But the moment, whatever it had been, had already passed. Francis looked back at him with a playful spark dancing in those dark eyes. “You’re quite the mess, sweets. Want to share a shower?”
Will peered down his body, then lifted a hand only to have it flop back to the mattress. “I think I’ll never move again.” A thought occurred to him, made him tense up. “Unless you’re kicking me out?” He kept his tone easy, despite the sinking feeling in his stomach. Ridiculous how relieved he was to hear Francis laugh him off.
“No way! Just so you know, I’m a cuddler. Nothing’s better than sleeping with an armful of well-fucked man.”
“Well then.” Will spread his arms and legs wide. His smile threatened to split his cheeks. “Clean me up.”
“Spoiled brat.” Francis chuckled, but he still got up and left, swaggering.
Already half-asleep by the time when Francis came back, Will hissed at a cool, damp touch on his belly.
“Hush,” Francis murmured. He bent to kiss where the cloth had been. “You’ve got freckles on your cock. How—”
“Don’t say cute,” Will groaned. “Got them on my ass, too. Skinny dipping as a kid.”
Francis gazed up, eyes sparkling. “Don’t tempt me. I’m an old man, I need my beauty rest.” He tossed the c
loth aside and got back into the bed, holding out his arms to Will. “C’mere.”
“Old man, no shit,” Will grumbled, shifting over until he had his head on Francis’s chest, one leg thrown across Francis’s lap, one hand on the other man’s shoulder. He fell asleep like that, with the steady ta-thump of Francis’s heart the bass line to his dreams.
The room was dim with gray morning light when Will woke to the beep of an alarm clock. Next to him, Francis stirred, groped blindly for the device, and shut it off. Only then did he blink his eyes open. They shared a smile that turned into a wince on Francis’s part as soon as Will lifted his head from Francis’s shoulder.
“Ow! My arm’s still asleep, damn it.”
“Good morning to you too,” Will answered dryly. “Your own fault. You were the one who wanted me for a teddy bear in the first place.”
Sitting up in bed, Francis rotated and kneaded his shoulder, opened and closed his fist. “Well, yes,” he said, grinning down at Will. “And you played the part just fine too. Anyhow”—he shook his arm—“I need a hot shower. Back in a minute.”
While Francis was in the bathroom, Will went hunting for his clothes. As he followed the trail of underwear, socks, slacks and jacket out of the bedroom, he contemplated on the fact that his entire apartment would easily fit into Francis’s sitting room. And to top it all off, the sitting room’s picture window looked out on Wilshire Boulevard. Not a peep was heard up here in the penthouse from the already building early morning traffic jam. Yep, this man was so way out of his league it wasn’t funny anymore.
A sound from behind him made him turn. Francis stepped out of the bedroom in all his naked glory, rubbing at his hair with a white towel. The sight sent a bout of renewed arousal through Will’s gut, while at the same time realization made him grin ear to ear. Out of his league or not, he’d slept in this man’s bed, in this man’s arms, for a whole night.
