Anna Martin's British Boys Box Set: My Prince - The Impossible Boy - Cricket

by Anna Martin

  George’s hand didn’t leave his side.

  Two pints later, and George’s hand was under the T-shirt, gently stroking over Alex’s ribs and waist. Alex felt like he was fighting his arousal as he maintained a conversation with Jason, one of George’s rugby mates. Doug was deep in conversation with one of the other boys, and Alex wondered if the poor kid had any idea that he was being chatted up.

  “Right, I’ve got to ask,” Jason said, loud enough to catch the attention of a few of the other boys. Jason was a more typical rugby player than George, in Alex’s opinion. His ears were mangled, his nose crooked from likely more than one break. He had heavy eyebrows and a sweet smile and smelled like cheap cologne.

  “Oh God,” Alex murmured against George’s neck, making him laugh.

  “Is it true gay men have more sex than straight ones?”

  Alex blinked. “Uh…,” he stuttered. Doug turned, apparently willing to let up on his poaching on Dave to listen to this. “I’ve never had a girlfriend, so I can’t answer that,” he said, finally finding his words.

  Eyes swivelled to George.

  George had apparently had enough to drink to consider the question very carefully.

  “Are you including blow jobs in your definition of ‘sex’?” he asked.

  Jason turned to his left and frowned at the others. “I don’t know. Do we?”

  “If you get off by anything other than your own hand, it’s sex,” Dave said with the sort of confidence that three or four pints gave a guy.

  “Yes,” Jason said. “Include blow jobs.”

  George looked at Alex and grinned wickedly, squeezing him again. “I reckon we have sex, I dunno, three or four times a week?”

  “Yeah. Maybe more than that.”

  George seemed to consider it. “Yeah. Maybe more.”

  When they turned back to Jason, his eyes were bugged out. “Are you serious?”

  Alex nodded. “We’re not at it like rabbits. But a few times on the weekend, and a couple of times during the week….”

  “You’ve answered your own question there, mate,” Darren laughed, pushing at Jason’s shoulder.

  “Jesus,” Jason breathed. “I’m lucky if I get it once a week from Andrea.”

  “Maybe you need to swap her for Andrew,” someone Alex didn’t know crowed across the table.

  Jason frowned at George and Alex again. “So, out of the two of you, who’s—”

  “Nuh-uh,” Alex said, holding up a finger. “Nope. We have a very healthy and satisfying sex life, thank you. I’m not giving you any more details than that.”

  George moved his arm from around Alex’s waist to around his shoulder and kissed the side of his head. It wasn’t their first display of affection in public, but probably the first with so many people paying attention to them.

  “Cute,” Darren said and rolled his eyes.

  “This is why we don’t let girlfriends come out,” Jason whined. “Because someone always gets sloppy drunk and starts pawing at them.”

  “Well, you shouldn’t remind me how lucky I am to have a boyfriend instead of your Andrea, then,” George said.

  People laughed. Doug sighed and drained his G&T.

  “How did last weekend go, George?” Doug asked, and Alex shot him his best evil eye. “I know what Alex thought, but I want to know what you think.”

  “What happened last weekend?” Jason demanded.

  “I met Alex’s parents,” George said.

  Jason oooh’d. “The king and queen?”

  “Fuck off,” Alex said with a laugh. “My parents aren’t the king and queen. My uncle is.”

  “Oh,” Jason said. He sounded disappointed.

  “It was good,” George said. “They weren’t nearly as scary as I expected.”

  Alex grinned at him. “I told you. They’re just normal people.”

  “I never said they were normal,” George said, teasing. “They made you, after all.”

  “Fuck off,” Alex told him and elbowed him in the ribs.

  They stayed for another half hour, watching Doug try, and fail, to chat up several different members of the team. George’s arm mostly stayed securely around Alex’s shoulders, and he tried not to preen, to show off that he was with this man. This sweet, gorgeous, wonderful man who wanted him.

  “You wanna go?” George asked, murmuring the words low in Alex’s ear as Alex stifled a yawn.

  “No, I’m okay.”

  “Well, I want to go.”

  “Oh. Okay. You sure?”

  “Mhmm. Do we need to get Doug somewhere?”

  “Hell no. He can find his own way home.”

  George snorted. “Okay. We should go down to Prince’s Street. Can probably pick up a taxi from there.”

  “Unless you want to walk home?”

  George groaned. “No thanks. I took a few hits earlier. Will probably ache like fuck tomorrow as it is.”

  “Okay,” Alex said again and resisted the urge to press a kiss to George’s cheek.

  They gathered up coats and waved or kissed good-byes, depending on the recipients, then stepped back out into the night that had grown cold.

  “Thanks for coming out,” George said as they turned together, heading back down to the main street.

  “I thought you might be annoyed with me.”

  “Really? Why would I be annoyed?”

  “For interrupting your boy time?”

  George snorted. “They don’t care. I like having you around.”

  “Even during your male-bonding activity? With all the beer and testosterone and cheap aftershave?”

  “Oh God,” George groaned. “We keep telling Jason that that shit will repel women, not attract them. But he doesn’t listen.”

  Alex laughed and reached for George’s hand automatically. He had every intention of just touching it, then pulling away, but George seemed to have other ideas. He linked their fingers together and pulled Alex closer to him.

  “You sure?” Alex asked softly.

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay.”

  Plenty of taxis were waiting when they got to the main road. They’d managed to escape during the sweet spot, between people calling for a ride out to when the pubs kicked out and the rush to get home. There were plenty of people around too. Alex wondered if anyone would notice them. If anyone would recognise them. If anyone would care.

  He squeezed George’s hand.

  Fuck them.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “You’re sure about this?” Alex asked when he turned up at George’s place. He handed over the second Starbucks takeout cup and leaned against the low brick wall outside the house, curling in on himself against the early morning chill in the air.

  George laughed, white puffs drifting from the warmth of his mouth. “I’m all packed, Alex.”

  “Yeah, but still.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Okay.”

  George tipped his head to the side, gesturing to the front door, and Alex followed him inside. The house was quiet; apparently all the horrible roommates were still asleep.

  This was the first time Alex had been in George’s room. When he stepped over the threshold he understood why George preferred to spend time at Alex’s place. The room was small, not that that was necessarily a problem. With some care and thought, small spaces could be homey, welcoming.

  George’s room was neither. None of the furniture matched. The bed was a single and looked rickety, like it would be incredibly uncomfortable for someone with George’s bulk. A desk sat crammed under the window, a huge wardrobe took up far too much space, and a ratty rug covered the floor.

  George had borrowed one of Alex’s suitcases and that was on the bed, which had been stripped of its sheets. His duffle bag was on the floor next to the door, overflowing with rugby gear. There were three cardboard boxes of stuff, and George’s big TV.

  “Is this it?”

  “I travel light,” George said with a shrug. “None of the furniture
is mine, so we don’t need to worry about that.”

  “Okay,” Alex said, trying not to let his despair show. This was everything. George’s whole life. And it fit into this horrible, dank, damp box room in a smelly former student house in Leith. “I’ll put the TV in the back seat of my car so I can strap in in. Do you want to put the boxes in your car? We should be able to fit the rest of it in and around.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” George said. He took another pull on his coffee then set the cup down on the desk. Alex watched as he hoisted one of the boxes up onto his shoulder and stomped off down the hallway.

  It took maybe twenty minutes to load up the two cars with George’s things. Alex went back inside first, to do a final check of the space for stray socks or misplaced charger cables. Those were a bitch to lose.

  That’s how George found him: on his hands and knees, head under the bed.

  “I already checked under there,” George said, sounding amused.

  “Doesn’t hurt to double-check.” He stood up and brushed his hands on his knees. “You ready to say good-bye?”

  “God, yes. Since the day after I moved in.”

  The sun was out now, streaming in through the grimy window and falling on George’s profile. Alex couldn’t be sure how much could be attributed to his influence, but George’s fashion sense had definitely got better over the past few months. He wore ripped jeans this morning and a light knit jumper that stretched over his broad chest. The cherry red colour was perfect for his skin tone, making his light eyes look even more ethereal.

  Alex stepped in close, put his hand on George’s cheek, and kissed him. George’s arms wrapped around his waist, bringing him closer still. Alex tilted his head and flicked his tongue out softly, drawing their kiss deeper, sweeter, communicating something he wasn’t sure how to speak aloud. Alex folded his arms around George’s neck and swayed from side to side, enjoying this easy kissing that wouldn’t—couldn’t—go any further.

  George broke away first, rubbing their noses together.

  “Ready,” he said with a smile.

  Alex walked out of the bathroom naked, his body still glisteningly damp from the shower. His hair was wet too, but in the June heat they’d been experiencing, it was cool against his neck. When he got to the bedroom, George was sitting on the bed with one of Alex’s dildos.

  Oops.

  They’d been living together for two whole weeks now. For a few days they’d tiptoed around each other, careful of habits and routines that developed when you lived alone. They often cooked together after work, and Alex had quickly decided this was one of his favourite times of day. It gave them time to talk to each other with no pressure to communicate. The whole activity was domestic, without feeling like they were trying too hard to make it work.

  They had to eat, they might as well do it together.

  The sex was good too. It mostly happened on the weekend, since this was when they had the chance to stay in bed together and spend time on each other’s bodies. There was something incredibly hot about being woken up on a dull Tuesday with a blow job, though. Or reciprocating later that night—something slow and easy to send George off to sleep.

  The topic of sex toys was yet to be discussed.

  Alex guessed that conversation was about to happen. Especially because George didn’t look best pleased.

  “So you found Mr. Happy?” Alex said, aiming for easy lightness at first.

  George scowled. “Is that what you call it?”

  “That one, yeah.”

  “Oh, I already found his friends. Let me guess… Mr. Buzzy, Mr. Butt Plug, Mr. Oh Holy Shit, How The Fuck Does That Thing Fit In Your Ass?”

  Alex rolled his eyes and went to the chest of drawers to grab a pair of boxers. He pulled them on, then went back to the bed and sat facing George, cross-legged.

  “I guess we need to talk about this, huh?”

  “Yes, please. Because I’m not going to lie—these things are fairly terrifying, Alex.”

  He took Mr. Happy out of George’s hands and set it down on the bedside table. It wasn’t that big. At least, he didn’t think so. But he’d been playing with dildos for about five years, and he did prefer them on the larger side.

  “I’d been single for a while,” he started, hoping another joke might break some of this tension.

  “Alex….”

  “Okay, why don’t you tell me what you’re thinking right now? Because I’m usually pretty good at reading people, but I can’t decide if you’re insanely pissed off with me or upset.”

  George did the jaw-twitching, not-making-eye-contact thing that usually meant he was thinking. Alex tried to be patient and to not fidget. He was almost annoying himself.

  “These things are… really big, Alex.”

  “Well—okay. Yeah.”

  “They’re bigger than me,” he mumbled.

  Ah. Lightbulb moment.

  “George,” Alex said, reaching out and squeezing his knee. “I’m guessing less than half a percent of the world’s population have cocks of that dimension. I don’t use them instead of being with you. It’s a… a kink, if you like.”

  “You have a big-dick kink?”

  “No,” Alex said confidently. “I have a big dildo kink.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “Tell me about how you get yourself off,” Alex said.

  “What?”

  Alex watched George’s cheeks flush with colour.

  “When you have a wank. I know you have a routine, every guy does.”

  George cleared his throat. “Well, you know I sometimes have to do it in the mornings. When I wake up with a massive hard-on.”

  “Mhmm.”

  “If I do it at night it was usually after everyone else had gone to bed.”

  “Headphones and Internet porn?”

  “Yeah,” George mumbled.

  “Dark room, sometimes a bit of lube if you’re feeling fancy?”

  That made him laugh—at last.

  “Yeah.”

  “See, for me it’s different,” Alex said and shuffled forward again. He was practically sitting in George’s lap now, and neither of them seemed to mind. “Yeah, I turn the lights off, load up something sexy to watch. But sometimes I don’t want it to be all about my dick. I sit on one of those things and let it poke at my prostate until I scream. And it got to a point where the more of a challenge it was to take that monster cock, the more turned-on I got. So, yeah, I like those things. But compared to when I’m with you….

  “When we have sex, I want all of you. Your cock is only part of the equation. It’s about the way you kiss me and touch me.” He leaned in and kissed George’s neck. “It’s about the way you taste and smell, and those little noises you make that drive me fucking insane. I don’t get that with a plastic imitation cock.”

  “Oh,” George said.

  “It’s different, but I know what I prefer.”

  “So if I asked you to throw them away, would you?”

  “No,” Alex told him, smiling widely as he bumped their noses together.

  “Really?”

  “I don’t want to throw them away. Some of them were expensive. And, unless you’re planning on never masturbating again, then I think I’m entitled to enjoy the things that get me off just as much as you are.”

  Alex waited while George processed this. At least these days George could multitask, so while he thought he skimmed his hands up and down Alex’s back. Alex hooked his wrists over George’s shoulders and looked at him: his big, strong, handsome man.

  “Okay,” George said eventually, just like Alex knew he would.

  “Great.”

  “I do have one question, though.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Can I watch you use one?”

  Alex’s smirk grew wicked. “Absolutely.”

  By the time George stumbled in from work, he was exhausted.

  It had been one of those weeks, the ones that were characterised by late nights and ea
rly mornings, taking his laptop home and staying up long after Alex had fallen asleep next to him, working by the little reading light until his eyeballs itched with tiredness.

  But his design had been submitted to the prototype team by midday, beating his deadline by two precious hours, and all of his paperwork had been done and filed in time to get him home by six in the evening, which felt extraordinarily early.

  Alex was on the sofa, stretched out on his back with his head on a cushion, turned to watch the evening news.

  “Hi,” he said softly.

  For the past week, Alex had been everything George needed in a partner. He was quiet and supportive and had made George’s packed lunches because he knew George wasn’t going to get the opportunity to leave his desk, not even for ten minutes to run out and get a sandwich. Alex had made sure there was clean underwear in the drawer they shared and had cleaned and done all of the chores George had vowed to split between them when he’d moved in.

  George said nothing, just toed off his shoes and crawled on top of Alex. He found the little nook between Alex’s neck and shoulder and buried his face in there, sighing in bone-deep contentment. Alex’s arms circled his torso and all through the rest of the news and weather, they lay together like that—quiet, contemplative, complete.

  Alex had to reach for the remote to change the channel when the news finished and the familiar opening strain of EastEnders started—they were united in their distaste for soap operas. He flicked the channel over, then started a soothing, rhythmical stroking over George’s head.

  “Are you growing your hair out?”

  George made some unintelligible noise.

  “Try that again?”

  “I look stupid with long hair. But I don’t want to look like a thug if someone takes pictures of us again, so I’m going to try and let it get a bit longer on top.”

  “You don’t look like a thug.”

  “I do. That was the point, for a while.”

  Alex humphed. “I’ll order something in for dinner. From that Italian place around the corner?”

  “Okay.”

  “It’s all over and done with now?”

  “Yep. Until the next time.”