The Athlete and the Aristocrat

by Louisa Masters

  “What’s up, then, if it’s not my body you want?” The lighter, breezier tone made Si feel a lot better. Even if bringing Tim into the program didn’t happen, he had to make sure he called his mate more often. No way in hell was he going to lose Tim to depression.

  “Well, you remember I used to talk about a nonprofit for—”

  “Funding low-income kids to play football,” Tim finished. “Holy fuck, mate, the rumors are true? You’ve got it up and running?” His excitement was clear.

  “The official announcement goes out day after tomorrow. We’re just waiting for the website to go live, and then On the Ball will be open for applications,” Si confirmed, and just saying it aloud made him want to get up and do a victory dance.

  “That’s fucking brilliant, mate! Congratulations. I know you’ve wanted this for a long time.” There was nothing but pleasure and pride in Tim’s voice, no jealousy or despondency at all, which only reinforced for Si that he’d be a great choice for the program.

  “Right? I’ve been working toward this for ages. I finally got my backers lined up, and the Morel Corporation loaned me an executive consultant—”

  “Morel? Isn’t that the name of the guy—ohhhhhhh. So the guy you’re supposedly in a three-way with is actually a business contact?”

  “Yes,” Si said, and it was the truth, but his voice still cracked. Damn it.

  Tim cackled. “Something you want to share, Si?”

  “No,” he replied firmly. “So anyway, Lucien Morel is the executive consultant for the program. Today, he and I were discussing staff hires, and I mentioned that you’d be perfect for screening and interviewing applicants. He’d like to meet with you.”

  Silence.

  “Tim?” Had this been a mistake?

  “I’m here,” Tim said, and cleared his throat.

  Oh. He was emotional.

  “Is, ah, is that something you’d be interested in doing?” Si heard the hesitation in his own voice and wanted to kick himself.

  Tim cleared his throat again. “Uh, yeah, mate. Yeah, I’d be interested. When can I meet with him? In Monaco?”

  “Paris,” Si said. “Oh, by the way, I’m moving to Paris. Our office is here and I’ll need to be based here for most of the week too.”

  The snort of laughter was reassuring. “You don’t speak French!”

  “Believe me, I know. I’ve gotta get on that. Oh, hey, I forgot—you do!” Tim’s uncle had married a Frenchwoman and moved to the French countryside—Si always forgot exactly where—so Tim had spent summers in France all through his childhood. He was pretty much bilingual.

  “I do,” Tim affirmed. “Would I need to move to France for this job?”

  Si shrugged, then felt stupid because Tim couldn’t see him. “Nah, probably not. You’d need to check in at the office every now and then, but most of your job would be remote. You’re okay with traveling, though, right?”

  “Absolutely. Though moving to France might not be a bad thing. Bit of a change, you know?” Already Tim sounded brighter, more interested in life. Si vowed to himself that his friend would get this job, no matter what he had to do to make it happen.

  “Well, can you manage a flight to Paris tomorrow? I’m here for another couple of days while we get the office set up and put together the press release, so it would be a good time for you to meet with Lucien.”

  “Easy. I’ll get online and book the flights now. And, Si? Thanks, mate.”

  Si pushed away the emotion that choked his throat. “Don’t thank me yet. I plan to work you like a draft horse.”

  They ended the call laughing, and Si felt energized as he bounded out of his chair and got his things together. He’d ask Paul on his way out to clear time tomorrow for Lucien to meet with Tim, then he’d hit the supermarket and get something for dinner—steak, maybe. It felt like a steak day. He’d still likely beat Lucien home—

  Bugger.

  When had he started thinking of Lucien’s apartment, that he’d only spent one night in, as home? It’s a reflex. End of the work day, going home. Never mind that it’s not actually my home, that’s just what I called it.

  Ignoring the little voice that whispered it wasn’t so much the apartment that was home as Lucien was, Si slung the strap of his laptop bag over his shoulder and marched determinedly out of the meeting room and toward Paul’s office. When he poked his head around the doorframe, Paul was on the phone, but gestured for him to come in. Si waited patiently while he wrapped up the call.

  “My apologies for the delay,” Paul said finally as he pressed a button to disconnect the call.

  Si grinned. “You don’t need to apologize to me because you’re doing your job,” he said. “If anything, I should be apologizing to you for adding so much to your workload.” He winced, and Paul chuckled.

  “And you’re about to add more?” he asked.

  “Yeah, I didn’t actually realize how bad it was going to sound until I finished saying it. ‘Sorry for adding to your workload, here’s something else I need you to do.’” He shook his head, feeling like a dick, but Paul was grinning. The effect was a little disconcerting.

  “Simon, this has been one of the most enjoyable months of my time here,” he assured him. “Tell me what you need.”

  Si still hesitated, because really, what was enjoyable about rescheduling Lucien’s appointments, but he really did need some time for Lucien to meet with Tim.

  “Um, could you clear some time tomorrow for Lucien to meet with a prospective hire?”

  Paul turned to his computer and tapped a few keys. He studied the screen intently. “How about at eleven thirty? I can organize lunch here if your meeting goes long. His next appointment isn’t until one o’clock.”

  Relief settled Si’s nerves. “Perfect. Thank you, Paul.” He started to turn away, but was struck by a thought. “You don’t happen to know a real estate agent for residen—” He stopped, because Paul had already turned to the table behind him and grabbed a manila folder from a file rack.

  “I called an agent yesterday, and he sent over these listings this morning. If you don’t like any of them, we can try someone else. His card is stapled to the folder if you have questions, or you can let me know, and I will act as intermediary.”

  Si opened the folder and flipped through the apartment listings, all of which looked great. He looked back up at Paul.

  “One more question,” he said.

  Paul smiled. “Yes?”

  “Is there any chance you would dump Lucien and come work for me at On the Ball? I doubt I can pay as much, and there’s nowhere near as much prestige, but I can guarantee that you would be worshipped.”

  “Are you trying to seduce my assistant away?” Lucien’s voice demanded, and Si jumped, then swung around to see him lounging in the doorway, a grin on his face.

  “Bloody right,” he retorted, and Lucien shook his head and looked over Si’s shoulder at Paul.

  “How many is that now this year?” he asked.

  “Four,” Paul said, with a touch of smugness.

  Lucien raised an eyebrow at Si. “Paul and I have an agreement. He spurns all offers that would take him from me, and in addition to his usual annual bonus and benefits, I give him ten thousand euros per job offer he receives.”

  Si’s jaw dropped. Ten thousand euros? And he’d already gotten four job offers this year? It was only the end of June!

  “I know exactly what Paul is worth,” Lucien said cockily. “I could not run my office—and probably my life—without him.”

  Turning back to Paul, Si sighed. “It seems I can’t afford you,” he said, and his mournfulness was only partly put on.

  Paul winked. “I would say I am disappointed, but you just paid for my trip to Argentina next year,” he replied, and Si laughed.

  Lucien came into the office and dropped a file on Paul’s desk. “Have you spoken with Tim?” he asked.

  Si nodded. “Yes, and Paul has just cleared some time for you to meet with him tomor
row. I’m off to the supermarket now. Steak okay for dinner?” As the words left his mouth, he realized how very domestic they sounded, and shot a worried look at Paul. Lucien’s assistant was focused on his computer screen, and when Si looked back at Lucien, he smiled and shook his head slightly.

  Oh, right. Paul deals with sensitive shit all the time. As much as Lucien is paying him, he must be like a vault. Still, he had to be more careful, especially with the press release about to go out. There could be no insinuations that he’d gotten the funding for On the Ball by sleeping with the Morel heir.

  SI was still thinking about discretion and how it applied to him and Lucien when Lucien got home nearly two hours later. In that time, Si had gone to the supermarket, decided to do chips with their steak, as well as veg—nothing was ever as good as fried potato—and spent some time peeling and cutting potatoes ready for frying. He’d also made sure to open a bottle of the red wine Lucien liked best with steak, and that had gotten him thinking about whether it was odd for him to know such a random detail. After all, he and Lucien hadn’t know each other that long, and a lot of their time together had been virtual and not physical. Wasn’t knowing which wine a man liked with his steak the kind of fact reserved for family, longtime friends, and partners?

  The monotonous task of preparing the potatoes gave him plenty of time to think about that. Was he getting too close to Lucien, emotionally? The guy made a great mate, and the sex was brilliant, but they’d agreed upfront that they didn’t want anything else. Si was, technically, still in the closet about his bisexuality, although that was really just about the lack of an official announcement more than anything else. Was now really the time to come out? There was so much going on, so much riding on his reputation—the world had become a lot more accepting over the years, but was he willing to risk On the Ball without knowing for sure which way the wind of opinion would blow? Discretion still seemed the best option, and since he could never ask a boyfriend to live in the closet with him, that meant keeping things the way they were. Even if Lucien was kind of fantastic and would make a great boyfriend.

  The sound of the front door closing dragged him out of his thoughts. “Simon?” Lucien called.

  “In the kitchen!” Si turned on the burner under the frypan of oil he had on the stove, and then the one under the pot of water for the veg. Lucien came in, smiling.

  “Oh, what’s this?” he asked, sounding intrigued.

  “Steak and chips,” Si told him, putting a heavy duh tone in his voice. “And steamed vegetables, because we’re not animals.”

  “Good choice.”

  Was it dumb that the note of approval made Si’s insides warm? Not dumb. Dangerous.

  Lucien poured himself a glass of wine, got Si a beer—which he’d just been about to do himself, damn it—and wandered off to change out of his suit. When he came back, Si was just putting the chips in the hot oil.

  “What can I do?” Lucien asked, and Si tossed him a smile. Fancy that, the Morel heir helping in the kitchen. Si knew Lucien could cook, of course, had watched him do so several times, but it still tickled his funny bone to see it—especially when it came time for the washing up.

  “In a couple minutes, you can put the veggies in the steamer,” he said, indicating the small pile of chopped veg on a cutting board. “And then watch the chips while I do the steak.”

  Lucien huffed. “I don’t think so. I have seen how you English cook steak, and I would prefer not to eat shoe leather this evening. You watch the chips, and I will cook the steak.”

  A sharp pang of annoyance hit Si. He knew how to cook a bloody steak, thank you very much. Sure, the English as a rule didn’t have a great track record with steak—his mum was a great example of that—but that didn’t mean all Brits were incapable of cooking it properly.

  Lucien kissed him on the cheek. “You can cook the steak. I know you are a good cook.”

  Shit, was he being that obvious? Worse, was he actually upset about who cooked a couple of steaks? How utterly ridiculous.

  Si laughed, mostly at himself. “Nah, you do the steak. I started the potatoes, I may as well finish them.”

  Lucien smiled at him, blue eyes warm, and something settled in Si. They pottered around the kitchen together, cooking dinner, chatting idly about silly things like the oil Si was using for the potatoes, and how he hadn’t liked the selection of steak at the first supermarket he’d gone to, so he’d tried another. In truth, he would have preferred to go to a butcher, but hadn’t been sure where to find a good one nearby. That started a friendly game of one-upmanship over who had the better local butcher, which continued throughout their meal. Si eventually conceded defeat, both because his butcher in London didn’t make organic maple-flavored sausages, and because he’d soon be moving to Paris and Lucien’s butcher would likely become his butcher anyway, so it seemed silly to keep arguing.

  After they’d cleaned up, which was pretty easy with the top-of-the-line dishwasher and cookware Lucien had, they settled in front of the TV, Lucien in his favorite chair—only because Si hadn’t managed to beat him to it—and Si on the couch. First they watched the last half of a documentary on climate change, and then a sitcom that Si found deadly boring. He had to force his eyes open several times, until finally he just gave up and let himself drift off into dreams.

  And what amazing dreams! He was lying on the beach on a tropical island, the hot sun beating down on him while the swoosh of the waves acted as nature’s white noise machine. He was warm, comfortable, and relaxed… and someone was sucking his dick.

  Someone with a very talented mouth, who knew exactly what he liked.

  Si tried to lift his head to see who it was, but for some reason he couldn’t, and really, who cared? He was so hard, throbbing, and he instinctually knew that whoever this person was, he knew them, trusted them—and they were incredibly good.

  The hot mouth left him for a moment, and a wet tongue licked across his balls. Si moaned, and the sound of his own voice broke through the dream and woke him.

  But someone was still nuzzling his sac. He looked blearily down at Lucien, who had a wicked smile on his face, and felt sleep clear rapidly.

  “Hello, Sleeping Beauty,” Lucien murmured, dropping a kiss on the tip of Si’s cock, and Si sputtered a laugh.

  “You’re supposed to kiss my mouth, idiot,” he chided. “Anyway, fancy yourself a prince, do you?”

  Lucien shrugged as he got to his feet. “I had to wake you somehow, and why not with an adults-only fairy tale?” He held out a hand. “Let’s go to bed. I have plans for you.”

  Si glanced around the room. The TV was off, and the place was tidy. He’d noticed that about Lucien—despite having a daily housekeeper, the man never went to bed without tidying up after himself. He’d be a dream to live with.

  Shaking that thought out of his head, Si tucked himself somewhat painfully back into his pants, then took Lucien’s hand and got up. They strolled hand in hand through the apartment to Lucien’s bedroom. Si was hard as a pike, but the leisurely pace was a delicious tease, if somewhat uncomfortable.

  When they (finally) reached their destination, Si raised an eyebrow. The bedside lamps were on, casting a soft glow over the room. The bed was turned down, and a bottle of lube and a condom were ready on the nightstand. “Look at all this effort you’ve gone to,” he teased, and pulled off his shirt. Lucien grinned and just stood, watching him as he stripped off his pants next. After spending so many years of his life in locker rooms, Si was used to being part- or fully naked in front of other people, but he still felt that having Lucien watch him strip should probably make him self-conscious. It didn’t.

  “Come on, catch up,” he coaxed, leaping onto the bed. It was a great bed, firm enough to give proper lumbar support, but with a pillow top that felt like sleeping on a cloud. Si had already decided that when he moved to Paris, he was getting a bed just like this.

  Moments later, Lucien slid naked into bed beside him, and their mouths met halfway,
just a moment before their bodies. Si couldn’t help it, he moaned, and in his arms Lucien shivered. For long moments they just lay there, kissing, luxuriating in the delicious sensations of warm, hard flesh and hot, wet mouths, until finally Lucien broke the kiss.

  “You’re topping tonight,” he murmured. Si smiled and kissed the sensitive skin behind Lucien’s ear, that place that always got a reaction.

  “Okay.”

  They were both vers, and had had a great time over the past weeks switching things up and discovering each other’s preferences. For example, Si now knew that Lucien particularly liked to bottom when he’d been dealing with a stressful work situation and wanted to give over control.

  Which meant tonight, Si was in charge.

  He kissed Lucien again, then one more time, just because his lips were so irresistible, and then pulled away. It was tempting to go back for yet another kiss, to indulge in the sensation of Lucien’s skin against his and the puffs of their mingled, panting breaths, but it was time for him to take control. “Hands and knees,” he ordered, and a thrill went through him when Lucien complied. He spent a moment just admiring the long, smoothly muscled line of that back, the curve of his ass. And all that golden skin. Really, Lucien should just stay naked all the time.

  Grinning at the thought, he ran a finger lightly down Lucien’s spine, loving the shudder of reaction. Lucien was so sensitive to touch—he loved being stroked and petted, even in a nonsexual way. Si fitted his hand over the very tempting globe in front of him and squeezed gently, skimmed a finger oh-so-lightly around his pucker, then glided his palm back up toward Lucien’s neck.

  Lucien looked over his shoulder at Si. “Really? You’re going to tease me?”

  “I love teasing you,” Si told him solemnly, but he dropped a kiss on Lucien’s asscheek and reached for the lube.

  The whole time he was prepping Lucien, he stroked him with his other hand. It was a deliberate combination of gentle, soothing touches along his back and wicked, twisting fingers in his ass—first one, then two, and finally three. Lucien’s breathing grew more and more ragged, until finally he was moaning with every touch, gasping Si’s name with every movement of Si’s hands. Si himself was so hard he could barely focus. Every twitch of Lucien’s muscles shot through him like fire, yet he felt almost like he could have predicted every tiny reaction; he’d never in his life been so attuned to a partner—and more, wanted to be. Wanted to know exactly what he could do to bring forth each gasp, each moan. Every sound from Lucien made Si feel like a superhero.