Chapter 11
Rory had admitted the reason why he was in town and so far, the world hadn’t collapsed. Now that it’d been said he wasn’t even sure why he’d been so reluctant to speak about it, like the whole thing had built up in his mind into something huge and impossible until he couldn’t start and now it was out there it seemed much smaller and easier to overcome.
The rest of dinner passed with light conversation, reminiscing of the good days when The Colossus had ruled the ring, and everyone politely ignored his own career. It was nice to be surrounded by people who knew and who didn’t push him, but it was also tinged with a little sadness that he couldn’t relive the good fights and his own glory days without the taint of his last time in a ring. Grief for what might have been added a fog to everything that had gone before. He didn’t regret his past or that one match, no one could’ve predicted the outcome, but he wasn’t quite sure how to put it all in context.
“Stay the night,” Gloria said. “It’s too dark to take horses out now, and we’ve already readied rooms for you.”
Rory nodded. He’d been drifting off for the last hour, half-listening to Tommy and Malcolm, half exhausted from the day’s fluctuating emotions. The table had long since been cleared by the hotel’s maids, so it was the easiest thing in the world to follow everyone up the stairs to his room. Everyone said their goodnights and once Tommy and Gloria had gone through their door, Malcolm leaned in close.
“Let me in.” His whisper grazed over Rory’s skin like a touch. Rory nodded, then pushed open the door. Once it clicked shut behind them, Rory opened his mouth to ask about the sheets in Malcolm’s room. Wouldn’t his friends know if he hadn’t slept in his room? But he couldn’t speak because Malcolm was kissing him. And not just the desperate kiss from earlier today; this was a gentle kiss that tasted like beginnings and forever. It was romantic. He broke away.
“Are you wooing me?”
“Would you like that?”
Yes. Yes he would. “I don’t need that. We’ve already fucked.” He’d rather fuck than admit he might be losing his heart to The Colossus. He wanted to know everything about this complicated man who stood up to his friend and who looked so sad and yet so keen when talking about his job, like there was some puzzle that Rory didn’t understand. And he needed to understand, much more than was his right to know after such a short time together.
“It’s only fair.”
“What?” Rory was confused.
“I gave you what you needed. Now it’s time to give me what I need.”
He blinked. Pretending it was a transaction might help calm his stupid heart, and Malcolm had certainly delivered on his end of it. He shivered at the memory of Malcolm’s heavy hot body crushing him. Could he get that again?
“What do you need, Malcolm?”
“I need you to worship me with your mouth.”
Rory sank to his knees. He could do that, but Malcolm tugged at his hair. Heat flooded his veins at the way Malcolm’s huge hands gripped his hair.
“Not like that, or rather not right away. I want your mouth everywhere.”
He stood up, running his hands up Malcolm’s thighs and torso over the wool of his jacket, slowly undoing the buttons until he could push the garment off Malcolm’s broad shoulders. His shirt still had the remnant of Rory’s seed from before dinner and was surely uncomfortable, but the thought of Malcolm sitting through dinner with the evidence of their last coupling hidden from his friend made Rory’s skin sizzle with heat.
He bent his head to kiss Malcolm, using touch to guide him, as the room was lit by only two small candles and the dark of night enveloped them both. Together they walked towards the bed and the source of light on the bedside table, and as they walked, Rory finished undoing the buttons on Malcolm’s shirt. He pushed the linen aside and gave Malcolm what he’d asked for. He dragged his lips over Malcolm’s jaw, loving the roughness from his evening stubble, and down his throat. Malcolm hummed softly, and so Rory continued, kissing along one collarbone, then the other. Malcolm undid his cufflinks and finished removing his shirt and Rory couldn’t resist.
“These hands are spectacular.” He held Malcolm’s massive fists, kissing his scarred knuckles, the marks of a champion, and then sucked Malcolm’s thumb into his mouth. He was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath and he glanced up.
“Keep going.” The breathy order was everything, lighting the already burning desires inside him. He explored all of Malcolm’s body with his mouth. The huge pectoral muscles, now cushioned and heavier from years of inactivity, and the way his hair curled on his chest, trailing down over his large stomach. Rory could feel the strength underneath and could imagine how imposing and impressive Malcolm must have been at the peak of his powers. Yet this was better somehow. Perhaps it was the way Malcolm’s fingers clutched at Rory’s shoulders, or maybe the taste of his skin on Rory’s lips, or simply the way Malcolm responded with soft sounds that truly made Rory feel alive, like he hadn’t felt in years.
Rory tugged at Malcolm’s pants, sliding them down over his hips and solid thighs. The man was massive everywhere. Glorious. Perfect. Rory had always loved feeling overwhelmed by someone, to give up the power that society had blessed him with, and Malcolm achieved that beauty simply by existing.
“Get undressed.” Rory walked to the small side cabinet and although the bowl of warm water the servants had left for them was now cold, he rinsed the cloths left for the task and returned to Malcolm who sat, naked, on the bed. Shadows hid his expression but it was hard to miss Malcolm’s thick cockstand. Rory ignored that, instead kneeling on the ground. He took the cloth and washed Malcolm’s feet, repressing a giggle at the lessons learned in church all those years ago. What would the Lord think of this? A man washing another man’s feet at the end of a long day. Well, it didn’t matter because Malcolm let out another of those breathy moans as Rory used the cloth to clean away the day’s efforts. He always found it easier to relax when his feet were clean, and he assumed it would be the same for everyone.
“Rory.” Did Rory imagine the slight awe in Malcolm’s voice? He hoped so, and when he was done with his task, he lifted Malcolm’s foot and kissed it. He kissed each toe, then dragged his lips along Malcolm’s arches, over the sensitive skin, and Malcolm groaned. A deep guttural groan that sent shivers racing over Rory’s skin.
“Rory. My God.”
“You said everywhere.” Rory paid attention to Malcolm’s other foot, giving it the same treatment, until Malcolm’s head dropped backwards, and only then, did Rory use his hands and mouth to kiss and caress all the way up Malcolm’s legs, savouring those incredible thighs and finally when Malcolm was begging for it, only then did Rory flick his tongue over the head of Malcolm’s thick, dripping cock.
The salt on his tongue exploded as Malcolm cried out his name, and Rory expected Malcolm to grab his head and guide him, even roughly, down over the thick shaft, but Malcolm did not.
“Would you please?”
“Please what?”
“Suck me.”
It was thrilling to be asked and yet it wasn’t quite what Rory needed. He needed to be used. But he waited before asking, licking his tongue up the length of Malcolm’s cock. His own had been hard and heavy throughout this whole evening, and now rubbed needily against his pants. Fuck, he was still dressed in his town clothes.
“Guide me.” Rory wanted to be used, he wanted to feel Malcolm’s cock at the back of his throat, and he wanted Malcolm’s hands—those beautiful heavy tools—threaded in his hair and holding his skull. He slowly sucked Malcolm’s cock into his mouth, moving impossibly slowly as he waited for Malcolm to decide how much he wanted.
“Like this?” Malcolm tentatively cradled Rory’s head and pushed him down. Yes. Rory moaned his agreement, his mouth deliciously full. Soon enough they worked out the rhythm together and it was all Rory could do but relax his face while clinging to Malcolm’s thighs with his fingers. He flattened his tongue and took as much as he could, and while Malcolm guided, it wasn’t quite with enough control as Rory needed. He was still the one determining how much he could take and how fast he slid up and down. And then the moment came when Malcolm finally let go of whatever was holding him back. Malcolm’s fingers dug into Rory’s temples—yes—and he pushed Rory down. His mouth was impossibly full and when Malcolm’s cock hit the back of his throat, there was nothing he could do but groan and try to beg for more with tears leaking from the corners of his mouth. This was exactly what he wanted. To be used. What a gift Malcolm had given him, and now Malcolm’s rhythm became desperate, and his breathing became faster and louder until Rory was just a passenger, the vessel that gave Malcolm pleasure and it was perfection. He could come right now, but he didn’t because he needed to swallow down Malcolm’s pleasure first. He slid his hands up Malcolm’s thighs, and cupped his balls, and yes, that was all it took for Malcolm to spurt into Rory’s mouth, filling him with salty seed that slid down his throat. It was the best ending for a thoroughly confusing day.
“Come up here.” Malcolm grabbed his shoulders and Rory rose off his knees, pins and needles firing in his feet, until he collapsed on the bed in Malcolm’s arms. Malcolm slid one hand between them, and the moment he covered Rory’s length with that huge hand, Rory came in a rush of blinding light. And then there were kisses and a hot heavy hug, and finally Rory’s thoughts stopped and he fell asleep surrounded by Malcolm’s weighted hands and solid comforting body.
Fuck knows how many hours later, the sun filtered through the curtains and Rory woke up alone. And for the first time in his life, it made him sad. He pressed the balls of his hands to his eyes, the pressure helping keep all emotions at bay. Malcolm had left after the best night of his life. So what? They weren’t destined to be together, like a couple, it was just sex. Amazing wonderful sex. And, his brain slowly woke up to reality—they were in Malcolm’s friend’s hotel—they couldn’t exactly wake up together. Oh no. Rory’s heart was beating like the clappers. He wanted to wake up with Malcolm. Fucking hell, this was a disaster. He wasn’t supposed to fall in love. Not so quickly and not before he’d done what he came to London to do. He was a goddamned fool.