Chapter Twenty-Five #2
Barnaby’s eyes opened. His grey gaze was glassy and dark, his pupils blown wide, and the look he gave Lex was pure outrage at being made to do this while Lex was still fully dressed and sitting at the end of the bed like a spectator at a sporting event.
But he did it. He reached down, and his slick fingers found his hole, and Lex watched him press one inside, the tight ring of muscle stretching around his knuckle, his stomach clenching as he pushed past the resistance.
His breathing went ragged. He worked himself open with slow, deliberate strokes, his middle finger sinking deeper, his hips tilting up to meet his own hand. After a minute he added a second finger, and the sound he made, a low, punched-out grunt, barely voiced, hit Lex square in the gut.
Lex stroked the inside of Barnaby’s thigh. “That’s it. Take your time.”
Barnaby scissored his fingers, stretching himself wider, and the wet sounds of it were obscene in the quiet room. His cock lay hard against his stomach, untouched, the head flushed dark and leaking a steady thread of precome that pooled in the hollow of his navel.
When Barnaby withdrew his fingers, Lex pressed the tip of the dildo against him. Barnaby’s hand came down and covered Lex’s on the glass, and together they eased it in, the tapered head breaching the tight muscle, Barnaby’s body opening around the smooth, unyielding surface.
Barnaby’s back arched off the mattress. His hand flew up and gripped the headboard rail, his knuckles white, and the sound that came out of him was long and shaking and completely unguarded.
Lex kept the pressure steady, feeding the dildo deeper in slow increments, watching inch after inch of blue-green glass disappear into Barnaby’s body.
He leaned in close. The angle let him see everything, the slick stretch of Barnaby’s rim around the shaft, the involuntary clench and release of his muscles as the ridges caught and slid, the flush spreading from his chest up his neck to his jaw.
Barnaby’s hole was pink and shining with lube, gripping the glass with each shallow thrust, and Lex could see the exact moment the widest swell hit, because Barnaby stopped breathing entirely.
“Breathe, Barns.”
Barnaby breathed. The dildo slid home, and his whole body went slack against the mattress, his chest heaving, his grip on the headboard loosening.
Lex passed the dildo to Barnaby’s hand. Their fingers tangled on the base, slippery with lube, and Barnaby took over, working the glass in and out in slow, grinding strokes that made his thighs tremble.
His other hand found his cock again, and he stroked himself in time with the thrusts, his rhythm building, his hips lifting off the bed with each stroke.
Lex sat back. He watched.
It wasn’t even the look of Barnaby stretched around the glass, though that was filthy and gorgeous and Lex’s cock was straining against his jeans so hard he could feel his pulse in it.
It was that Barnaby was letting him see this.
That the man who’d seized up in Tokyo, who’d endured rather than participated, who’d said I have self-control like it was a shield he could hold between his body and his want, was lying on his back with his knees spread and a glass cock buried inside him, his face open and wrecked and not hiding any of it.
Barnaby’s eyes found his. Wet and bright and fierce, holding Lex’s gaze while his hand moved faster, while his mouth fell open, while his body arched and clenched around the glass.
Lex pressed his palm flat against the front of his jeans and exhaled hard through his nose. He was so hard it hurt. Not from the visual, but from the trust of it.
Barnaby’s rhythm stuttered. His hand slowed on his cock, his thighs trembling, and he eased the dildo out in careful increments, his body clenching around each ridge as it slid free. The glass emerged slick and glistening, and Barnaby set it on the duvet beside his hip.
He looked at Lex. His eyes were heavy-lidded, his lips bitten dark pink, and his chest rose and fell in uneven pulls.
Still hard, still wet, his cock lay against his stomach, twitching against the fine trail of blond hair.
His hole was flushed and open, the rim pink and shining, and Lex could see the small involuntary clench of the muscle as it adjusted to the emptiness.
“Lex.” Barnaby’s voice was wrecked. Low and rough, stripped of every layer of cut-glass composure. “I want you. Please.” His throat worked. “Want you.”
Lex’s breath caught. His hands stilled on the front of his jeans, and his whole body went taut with the effort of not moving too fast. He didn’t want to be that clumsy oaf who undid all of Barnaby’s progress with one careless word or action.
He pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it.
His jeans and boxers came off in one graceless shove, and he was hard enough that the air on his cock made him hiss through his teeth.
He knelt between Barnaby’s legs, the mattress dipping under his weight, and ran his thumb along the slick, swollen rim of Barnaby’s arse.
Barnaby’s hips jerked. His breath punched out of him, and his hand flew to Lex’s wrist, not pulling away, just holding on.
“You sure?” Lex kept his thumb there, light, circling the softened muscle. “We don’t have to.”
“I’m sure.” Barnaby’s grip tightened on his wrist. His grey eyes were fierce and wet and unwavering. “I’ve been sure since you wrapped my hands in your locker room, Lex. My body just needed time to agree with the rest of me.”
Lex exhaled. He reached for the lube, slicked himself in long strokes, and the cold gel against his overheated skin made his jaw clench.
He wiped the excess across Barnaby’s hole, pressing two fingers inside just to check.
Barnaby opened for them, easy and warm, his body pulling Lex’s fingers deeper instead of locking them out.
That was new. That was everything he’d been wanting.
Lex leaned forward. He braced one hand beside Barnaby’s head, and with the other he guided himself to Barnaby’s entrance, the blunt head of his cock pressing against the slick, yielding muscle.
He pushed, slow, watching Barnaby’s face, watching for the jaw-lock, the rigid panic, the white-knuckled grip on the sheets that had defined every attempt in Tokyo.
It didn’t come.
Barnaby’s mouth fell open. His eyes went wide, then half-shut, and the sound he made was a low, shaking exhale that carried his whole body with it. His hands came up to Lex’s shoulders, fingers digging into the hard swell of his deltoids, and his legs fell wider apart.
Lex sank into him. Inch by inch, the tight heat of Barnaby’s body gripping him, clenching and releasing in slow waves as it adjusted to the stretch.
He was tight, but not rigid. Not braced against the sensation of being entered.
The muscle gave around him in increments, and Barnaby’s hips tilted up to meet him, pulling him deeper.
Lex stopped when he was fully seated. His hips pressed flush against Barnaby’s arse, and the heat of him was extraordinary, a close, slick grip that pulsed with Barnaby’s heartbeat. He dropped his forehead to Barnaby’s collarbone and breathed, his arms shaking with the effort of holding still.
Barnaby’s hand found the back of his neck. His fingers curled into the short hair at Lex’s nape, and he pulled Lex’s head up so their eyes met.
“Move.”
Lex moved. He drew back slowly, the drag of Barnaby’s body along his shaft sending a jolt through his gut, and pushed back in.
Barnaby’s breath hitched, and his fingers tightened on Lex’s neck.
Lex did it again, pulling out until just the head of his cock stretched Barnaby’s rim, then sliding home in one smooth thrust. Barnaby’s back arched off the mattress, and his cock jerked against his stomach, leaking a fresh thread of precome that ran sideways into the crease of his hip.
Lex reached between them. He wrapped his hand around Barnaby’s cock and stroked, his grip firm, his thumb sweeping over the wet head on each pass. The double sensation hit Barnaby like a current. His whole body clenched, his thighs locking around Lex’s waist.
“There you go.” Lex kept his hand moving, matching the rhythm of his hips, his strokes slow and deliberate. “That’s it, Barns. Stay with me.”
Barnaby’s hips rolled up to meet each thrust, finding the angle, adjusting. When Lex shifted his weight and drove deeper, Barnaby’s hand shot to the headboard rail. His whole body went rigid, not with panic, but with pleasure so sudden it looked like it had frightened him.
“There?” Lex angled the same way and thrust again.
“Fuck.” The word came out of Barnaby’s mouth like it had been punched free. His head pressed back into the pillow, his throat long and pale, and his cock swelled in Lex’s fist. “There. Yes. Please.”
Lex gave it to him again. And again. Short, targeted thrusts that hit the same spot, and each one drew a sound from Barnaby that was louder than the last. His composure was gone. His hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, and his body moved with Lex’s in a rhythm that was instinctive and greedy.
Lex looked down at where they were joined.
His dark hands against Barnaby’s pale thighs, his fingers spread wide enough to span the lean muscle from his hip to his inner thigh, the size of them obscene against Barnaby’s narrow frame.
His cock disappearing into Barnaby’s body on each stroke, the rim stretched pink and tight around his shaft, and Barnaby’s hips lifting to take him deeper every time.
He wrapped his hand tighter around Barnaby’s cock and stroked faster. Barnaby’s hand flew from the headboard to Lex’s forearm, his fingers clamping down, and the noise he made was raw and unguarded.
“Lex…I can’t…I’m going to—”
“Yeah, you are.” Lex lowered himself onto his elbows, their chests pressing together, Barnaby’s cock trapped between their stomachs, and drove into him with his full weight.
Barnaby came with a shout. His body locked around Lex, his legs clamping tight, his arse clenching in hard, rhythmic pulses that gripped Lex’s cock and pulled the orgasm out of him before he was ready for it.
Lex buried himself deep and came inside him, the release crashing through his gut and his thighs.
He pressed his face into Barnaby’s neck and groaned against his skin.
They lay still. Lex’s full weight was on Barnaby, his arms trembling, his cock still inside him, and Barnaby’s legs slowly loosened from around his waist. Their breathing was ragged and overlapping.
He pressed his mouth to Barnaby’s jaw. Then his cheek. Then the corner of his eye, where the skin was damp. Barnaby turned his head and caught his mouth in a slow, clumsy kiss.
After a long moment, Lex shifted. He pulled out carefully, and Barnaby hissed at the loss, his hand grabbing Lex’s hip.
Lex looked down. Come was smeared across Barnaby’s stomach, and a thin trail of it ran from his swollen hole down to the sheet below.
Barnaby’s cock lay soft and spent against his thigh, still flushed, still twitching with aftershocks.
Lex sat back on his heels and looked at him. Barnaby Fitznorman-Bicester, Marquess of Ashworth, heir to the Duke of Chatham, was lying in his childhood bedroom covered in come, his legs still open, his hair wrecked.
Lex leaned down and kissed his stomach, just above the navel. Then he swung his legs off the bed. A hand clamped around his wrist.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m grabbing a towel, Barns. You’ve got come on your—”
“I don’t need to be clean.” Barnaby’s voice was hoarse and irritable, which was his default register when he’d been emotionally levelled and hadn’t yet rebuilt the scaffolding.
Lex didn’t comment. He lay back down. He pulled Barnaby against his chest, mess and all, and Barnaby came without resistance, tucking his face into the curve of Lex’s neck.
Their legs tangled. Come smeared between their stomachs, and Barnaby pressed closer instead of flinching away from it, his arm heavy across Lex’s ribs, his fingers curling into the hair on Lex’s chest.
Florence whined from her basket by the radiator. A single, hopeful note.
“No,” Barnaby said, into Lex’s neck.
Florence settled.
Lex’s hand found Barnaby’s hair. He stroked it back from his damp forehead, and felt the last of the tension drain from Barnaby’s body in a long, shuddering exhale that warmed the skin beneath Lex’s jaw. He kissed the top of Barnaby’s head, and Barnaby’s arm tightened across his ribs.
They slept.