by KJ Charles
“Goodness, that was heartfelt. How was church?”
“Much as ever.”
“And Miss Frisby?”
“Also that. Philip?”
“Mmm?”
“Would people usually pull other people’s hair as a—a sign of affection?”
“Well, I’m told small boys do it to pigtailed girls,” Philip said. “I hope the pigtailed girls kick them. Oh, no, I think I grasp your meaning. Have you by any chance encountered Corvin recently?”
“I wanted to know where you were, and he and Mr. Raven were in the upstairs parlour. I did knock.”
“I’m very sure you did. Problem?”
“No. Only, Mr. Raven pulled his hair and...” Guy wasn’t even sure what he wanted to ask.
“In front of you. Of course he did.”
“I didn’t know if you’d mind,” Guy blurted. “That he, they—”
“Not remotely. Are you shocked?”
“Well, I am, rather. That is, I suppose if you’re spending time with me there’s no reason Lord Corvin shouldn’t spend time with someone else.”
“Dear heart, Corvin spends time with everyone else. He loves widely and generously, and the only lovers he disappoints are those who want sole possession. That’s a polite way of calling him a shameless trollop,” Philip added. “And John is not ‘someone else’. Corvin loves him deeply. As do I.”
“Oh,” Guy said cautiously. “You mean... Oh.”
“The three of us share tastes, and a long history, and each other’s beds when we choose. I fell in love with Corvin, as I told you, and that ended poorly; John was once married, and that worked even less well. I’m not sure Corvin’s ever been in love in his life, unless he’s in love with everyone: it’s hard to tell. In any case, fidelity and betrayal and such don’t come into the matter. Think of it as a particular friendship with extra trappings. Or a love affair without the obligations.”
“It seems complicated to me,” Guy said. “And I still don’t see why Mr. Raven would pull his hair.”
“That’s another matter entirely,” Philip said, with the sort of gravity that Guy knew hid a laugh. “John reacts when provoked. Therefore Corvin provokes him.”
“I don’t think I understand.”
“They have a complicated relationship. Suffice to say, there is a push and pull, and talking of such things, I can think of far better ways to spend the afternoon than discussing Corvin.”
Guy’s throat closed. Philip grinned at him. His fair, narrow features were entirely dissimilar to the Viscount’s, but the smile made them look blood brothers. “Care to come upstairs?”
THEY WENT TO PHILIP’S bedroom. Guy hadn’t been in there before. It had lead-paned windows, old paintings, and a four-poster, a lovely thing of carved wood with red hangings. Philip walked him backwards, and pushed him gently onto the bed, on his back.
Philip knelt beside him. His fingers skimmed down, between Guy’s thighs, then slid upward. “Push...” He cupped Guy’s balls in a deliberate grip, and stroked up over the length of his stand, which strained against his breeches in response. “...And pull.”
“What are you going to do?”
Philip’s palm was flat against the front of Guy’s breeches, the pressure delicious. “What a good question. I would very much enjoy having you in my mouth. Would you like that?” His lips curved at whatever he saw in Guy’s face. “You find that rather shocking, don’t you?”
“Well. Yes.”
“What is it, particularly? The act itself? The fact that I like to do it? Or just talking about it?”
Guy was ridiculously aroused already, to the point where it was difficult to think. “All of those.”
“Odd,” Philip said. “Because your mouth tells me you’re shocked, and your face is a picture of maidenly blushes...” His hands were at Guy’s waist, unbuttoning, easing the springing member free. He wiped his thumb over the silky wetness at its damp tip, spreading the moisture over the head. “But this pretty plaything can’t restrain its enthusiasm. Mouthwatering.” He ran his tongue deliberately over his lips. “I don’t think you answered me, you know.”
“Uh—what was the question?”
“Would you like me to suck you?”
“Please,” Guy said hoarsely, and Philip dipped his head and took him in his mouth.
Guy thought he might spend on the spot. Philip was doing it differently this time, mouth tighter, the lightest scrape of teeth along his shaft. He had one hand between Guy’s legs, palm pressing against his balls, fingers just nudging at the base and cleft of Guy’s backside. That was frighteningly intimate, and Guy almost wanted to pull back, but only almost, because he was on the brink of climax already and he didn’t want anything to stop at all.
Philip raised his head. Guy moaned protest.
“Eager?” Philip’s mouth looked wet. He brought his free hand up, stroking Guy’s lips with his dampened thumb, pushing them open. “Why don’t you show me how you want to be sucked?”
Guy closed his lips on Philip’s fingers. The feeling of intrusion in his mouth matched that between his legs, disturbing, delicious. He wondered if it might feel like that to take Philip’s stand in his mouth, if he could learn to bring Philip to this state of glorious sensation, and then he didn’t think about anything except the building, exquisite, tormenting need.
He spent, almost unexpectedly, feeling Philip’s fingers curve in his mouth and over his balls, jerking and spasming helplessly, Philip sucking hard as if to drain him dry, until the sensation was too much, and he cried out. Philip loosened the suction but didn’t move his mouth away at once, licking lightly, until Guy was a mass of shudders.
Philip crawled up the bed, bracing himself with an arm each side of Guy’s head, looking down. “My God. You are glorious.”
Guy tugged him down, wanting his weight and his kiss. Philip’s mouth met his, wet and astringent, tongue stroking as commandingly as his fingers had. “Mmm. Was that good?”
“Wonderful. I don’t know how you do it.”
“I don’t fear my pleasures,” Philip said. “Once you know what you want, everything becomes a great deal easier. On which topic, you could tell me what you like too, and you don’t have to wait to be asked. Name your desire, put it in words, claim it as your own.”
“I—I don’t think I can.”
“I think you could. You don’t have to, but I think you might find it educational. And—may I be honest?”
Guy almost laughed. “I think we’re a bit beyond polite exchanges.”
“Honesty’s more than that,” Philip said. “Honesty strips you bare. I want to hear you. That beautiful mouth of yours, which seemed at first so terribly prim, asking for my spend, or begging for despoiling—you have no idea what that does to me. If you speak your pleasures, beloved, you will undo me entirely.”
Their faces were so close. Philip’s eyes were intent, pupils huge. Guy had to swallow the constriction in his throat to speak. “I, uh, I’m not sure how. I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry.”
Philip ran his fingers over Guy’s cheek. “Don’t be sorry. Rome wasn’t built in a day, as I’m sure you already knew.”
“No, but if you want me to talk as you do—”
“I want you to enjoy yourself. I’m not asking for your discomfort.”
“I could learn,” Guy tried. “If you could just...well, tell me what to say.”
“Dear boy, that’s exactly what I can’t do. You need to voice your own pleasures—which means that you need to feel safe doing so. Time enough when you feel ready to do that, though I do give you my word to treat your trust as it deserves.”
“I know you will,” Guy said wretchedly. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s just, I’ve spent my whole life not saying anything to anyone, barely to myself in my own head, and now you want me to say it all out loud, and I can’t.”
Philip cocked his head. Guy had a sudden fear he would reveal irritation or impatience when he spoke, but he soun
ded as calm as ever. “Actually, dear heart, you just have. I asked you for something, and you’ve told me you don’t want to do it. That’s every bit as important as what you do want to do.”
“But it’s not that I don’t want to, honestly.” That wasn’t exactly true, but he wished it were. “I’m just...not very brave. Not good at trying new things.”
“I dispute both of those assertions,” Philip said. “We’ve done a number of new things, my virgin, to which you’ve taken like a duck to water. You seem to me to be made for gamahuching, for a start.”
“For what?”
Philip grinned. “Sucking pricks.”
“Gamahuching?” Guy repeated incredulously. “Where on earth does that come from? Etymologically, I mean.”
“Good God, I have no idea. The Greek, I expect.”
“It does not.”
“French, then, probably. I know it’s not Latin because obscenity was the sole aspect of my classical studies to which I paid attention. I believe the word there is irrumare,” Philip added, somewhat smugly.
“Fellare,” Guy corrected without thinking.
“I’m sure Catullus has irrumare.”
“He does, but it doesn’t mean quite the same thing.”
Philip’s grin was an evil joy. “You really will have to explain the distinction.”
Guy gulped. “In this context, fellare is to suck, but irrumare is to, um. You know.”
“Clearly I don’t.”
“Well, to, uh to put your—in someone’s mouth—to do it to someone. Forcefully.”
“I am absolutely delighted by your Latin vocabulary, even if your English is sadly lacking. What is that line of Catullus again?”
Guy knew exactly which line Philip meant. “Pedicabo ego vos et irrumabo.”
“Translate for me, my sweet.”
“Uh. He says—it’s a threat, of a sort—he says, ‘I will sodomise you and defile your mouth’,” Guy managed, wondering vaguely how hard one could blush before passing out.
“I’m sure that’s not precisely the spirit of the original.”
“I dare say you could come up with a more colloquial translation. It’s your area of expertise, after all.”
Philip gave a crack of laughter. “Very true. How about ‘I will ram your arse and fuck your face’?”
“Well, that certainly sounds right,” Guy said. “Philip, will you teach me?”
Philip blinked. “Teach you what?”
“To, um. Fellare.” Guy plucked up his courage. He absolutely was going to say this. “I was thinking, before, about kneeling down and doing that. What you did.” He couldn’t use that ridiculous word. “Sucking your prick.”
He was rewarded a hundredfold by Philip’s expression. “Were you indeed. And that pleased you?”
Guy licked his lips. “I was thinking about it when I spent.”
“Oh Jesus,” Philip said. His voice sounded constricted. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I shall definitely do it again.”
“Good, but, can I—?”
“Yes. God, yes. Do you want me standing?”
Guy nodded. Philip clambered off the bed with some awkwardness, and leaned against one of the posts. His lips were parted, he was watching Guy with an almost inebriated look, and the bulge in his buckskins was impossible to ignore. I did that, Guy thought. I did that, to him. Oh heaven. Now what?
He climbed off the bed, tucking himself away but not doing up the buttons of his breeches. Philip’s breathing was the only sound in the room, harsh and a little fast.
I’m going to kneel down, actually kneel—
It felt deeply wrong and, even worse, right. He’d said he’d do it and Philip was waiting with that hungry look. Guy took a deep breath and lowered himself, one shaky hand on the bed.
Down to one knee. The other.
And now he was kneeling, but not where he needed to be, in front of Philip. Idiot. He shuffled awkwardly over, his face ablaze, and dared to look up.
Philip seemed extraordinarily tall from here, and his arousal seemed very prominent. He was looking down, and their eyes met.
“You’re beautiful,” Philip said. “You cannot imagine how beautiful. Shall I guide you, or would you rather find your path yourself?”
“I’d like to try. You’ll tell me if I get it wrong?”
“You can’t get it wrong. Unless you bite, or similar,” Philip added hastily. “Watch your teeth. Otherwise, make yourself free of me as you choose. Take your time. And if you don’t like it, stop.”
That seemed fair. Guy sat back on his heels and reached for the fastenings of Philip’s buckskins. His fingers felt thick and clumsy, but Philip didn’t brush his hands out of the way or tut impatiently. He simply stood, and when Guy looked up, he saw Philip had his eyes closed, head back.
He managed the front fall, and gently eased Philip’s stand free of his drawers. It was slimmer than his own, with a slight curve, and somehow it didn’t look quite so much like an undignified animal thing. Physical, yes, the flesh and blood evidence of Philip’s desire, with the faint smell of male body to it, and he’d said, he’d asked to put it in his mouth.
Right.
He knelt up again, leaned in, and licked. Philip twitched.
That was heartening. He licked again, accustoming himself to the taste, the feel of firm, ridged flesh, running his tongue over the head. Philip swore almost under his breath, and Guy felt a hand run through his hair, a gentle caress.
He could do this. He opened his mouth and tentatively closed his lips around Philip’s shaft.
“Christ,” Philip said. “Yes.”
This wasn’t hard at all. Guy moved his mouth, sliding up and down, a little further each time, taking his time as instructed, Philip’s hand moving spasmodically on his scalp. And he’d thought he might feel helpless or humiliated on his knees, but this was the opposite of helplessness, with Philip whispering endearments, responding to everything Guy did, and the taste of his arousal strong in Guy’s mouth. Philip wanted this, and Guy was giving it to him, and he felt as though he were clinging to the top of a tree, watching the world sway.
Philip had used his hand. Guy removed his own hand from where he was gripping Philip’s hips, slid his fingers between the tense legs, just to see, and was rewarded with a rasp of breath.
“Christ Jesus. Beloved. I’m going to spend very soon. Move your head if you don’t want it in your mouth. Guy.”
Guy held on, moving his mouth and hand faster, tingling with the thrill of power. Philip groaned deeply, fingers tightening in Guy’s hair with just a little tug, and then there was a rush of thick, salty, bitter-sweetness in his mouth, and Guy’s attention was all on trying not to gag as Philip spent, hips jerking forward. It was two thrusts, a couple of seconds where Guy’s mouth was alarmingly full, and his position suddenly seemed terribly vulnerable, and then Philip sagged back gasping, leaving Guy with a dawning realisation of what irrumare might mean in practice, and a mouth full of a lot of viscous stuff that he wasn’t sure what to do with. Philip had swallowed, but it had the consistency of an oyster, and Guy didn’t like oysters.
“Spit,” Philip said, holding out some probably valuable porcelain bowl. Guy spat and sat back; Philip slid down to the floor next to him. “Jesus wept, my lovely no-longer-innocent. Thank you.”
“That was right?” Guy was fishing for compliments and didn’t care. He felt he’d earned them.
“That was utterly magnificent. Debauchery suits you. Come here.” Philip extended an arm. Guy shuffled over, and they ended up in an awkward, sprawled embrace against the bed. “Was that comfortable?”
“I wouldn’t say that precisely. I liked doing it to you.” Guy examined his face. “You’re thinking about something. Is it very terrible?”
“Actually, I was thinking that I want to see you bring yourself off at the same time. Your mouth on me and your hand on yourself, pleasuring us both at once.”
“Oh, good heavens. Um, yes. I could do t
hat.”
“I’m sure you could.” Philip kissed his brow. “And you? What do you wish for that I can give you?”
That was the devil’s own question. Guy looked at him, at Sir Philip Rookwood of the Murder, who would be returning to London and his modern, sophisticated, wealthy existence, and his lifelong lover, or lovers, while Guy stayed in Yarlcote and watched the seasons pass, and he wished for so much it hurt.
What I can give you. Philip could give him memories, and experiences that Guy believed in his bones would never be bad ones because Philip was shielding him, and the courage to speak, if only Guy seized those things.
He plucked up his courage. “Well, I don’t know about ‘wish for’, exactly—I hadn’t precisely thought of it before—but I was wondering what it would feel like if you—I mean, I’d like you to—” He couldn’t say it. “Me irruma?”
Philip blinked. “You cannot possibly expect me to remember my Latin conjugations now. No, give me a moment, I can do this. Irrumare, irruma...damn it. Future conditional?”
“Second person singular, active imperative.”
Philip visibly worked that out, lips moving slightly, then his eyes widened. “Is that ‘Shove your prick in my mouth’?”
“I don’t mean hard,” Guy said hastily. “Just...to have you doing it like that.”
“Emphatically?” Philip suggested. “As though I were quite sure you could take it, and that you liked it?”
“With, uh, with you setting the pace. Yes.” The words came out a little high, but they were out. He’d said it. He hadn’t choked, Philip hadn’t laughed, the world hadn’t ended.
Philip was nodding slowly. “I said your honesty would undo me. I may have understated the matter considerably. Thank you, Guy. I don’t think I have ever been so trusted. I’ll try to be worthy of it.”
“You are,” Guy told him, and pressed his face into Philip’s warm shoulder because his eyes were wet.
CHAPTER TEN
The next week or so felt like holiday. It was a perfect English summer, with a few showers of rain keeping the warm ground watered, bees and birds and flowers bringing the green land into vibrant life. Amanda was transferred with great care to a bath chair, which allowed her to be wheeled outside, her splinted leg out straight. She and Sheridan struck up a strong friendship and chatted for hours; she insisted on being introduced to Corvin despite Guy’s reservations, which resulted in quite a lot of delighted shrieking on both their parts, and no signs at all of her succumbing to his charm. A working party was promptly formed with the addition of John to discuss new and ever more outrageous ideas for Gothic novels that would attract the right kinds of attention while avoiding tiresome matters of libel. Philip rather thought that Isabella Crawford would like her, and that, if the Frisbys lived in London, he would invite them to meetings of the Murder.
