Chapter 12
CHAPTER 12
S tephen woke up abruptly when a large weight fell on top of him and knocked the wind out of him. “What the blazes?” he cried out, shoving at whatever was attacking him.
“Shhhh,” Hastings slurred right next to his ear. “You’ll wake her up.”
“Are you drunk again? And naked?” Stephen asked in disbelief. “With ladies in the house?”
Hastings snorted as he nuzzled behind Stephen’s ear. “‘Ladies’ is questionable at best,” he whisper-shouted in his ear.
“You are yelling in my ear,” Stephen told him. “That will definitely wake them. And why are you on top of me? I can barely breathe.”
“I’m whispering,” Hastings said, and his voice was slightly quieter this time.
“Of course you are,” Stephen said with a sigh. Hastings snuggled into him, his legs spread open, with Stephen nestled in between. Stephen was trying very hard not to notice Hastings’s obvious erection pressed right against his burgeoning one. Hastings had one hand in his hair, and his lips were now sucking on Stephen’s earlobe. “What are you doing?” Stephen asked, his voice a little unsteady.
“I’m trying to seduce you,” Hastings mumbled. “Is it working?”
“Better than you know,” Stephen muttered. Then more clearly, he said, “You’re not going to remember any of this in the morning.”
“’Course I will,” Hastings said with the confidence of the very drunk. His mouth was now nipping its way along Stephen’s jaw.
“Why are you doing this?” Stephen asked. He tried to push Hastings off, desperation making him clumsy, but Hastings was having none of it. He closed his fist in Stephen’s hair, pulling it a bit, and bit his lower lip. Stephen’s heart began to beat a rapid concerto and his erection was now full blown. “I can’t do this,” he told Hastings, even as his hands made their way to Hastings’s shoulders and gripped them tightly.
“You don’t want me?” Hastings asked, his lips touching Stephen’s, his breath hot and heavy in Stephen’s mouth. It was the most erotic thing Stephen had ever experienced, which made him cringe a little inside because it indicated how very little experience he had with this sort of thing.
With sexual relations, he told himself firmly. If you’re lying here with an erection pressed against another man’s erection and thinking of him in erotic terms, you can surely call it what it is. It’s sexual.
“You know I do,” Stephen admitted without hesitation. “But you are very drunk, and it would surely be taking advantage of that situation if I allow this to continue.”
“Take advantage,” Hastings whispered. He paused to suck on Stephen’s lower lip and Stephen couldn’t suppress a groan. “Please.” That sounded very like begging to Stephen, who wasn’t immune to the power of Hastings’s need.
“Stop kissing me,” Stephen told Hastings, his words a bit muffled by Hastings hot, greedy mouth trying to conquer his. But even as he said it, he wrapped one arm around Hastings back and grabbed onto his firm, naked backside with his free hand. Good lord, he’d never felt anyone else’s behind like this and it was glorious. Why hadn’t anyone told him how heart-stoppingly delicious it was to squeeze that mound of flesh?
“You like that, hmm?” Hastings said into his mouth. “I do, too.” Then he gave up any pretense of trying to seduce kisses out of Stephen and took control of his mouth. He pressed his open lips against Stephen’s and thrust his tongue into his mouth, and Stephen moaned as he tried to keep up. He tentatively slid his tongue against Hastings’s, who promptly sucked on it and groaned as he ground his hips against Stephen.
Stephen knew he should stop this. He knew from experience Hastings was far too drunk to remember what was happening right now. But he couldn’t make his body obey his mind. He blamed it on being rudely awakened and not having his wits about him, on being half asleep still, on anything that would allow him to keep kissing Hastings and touching him.
It was only as Hastings continued to thrust his hips against Stephen and Stephen’s nightshirt crept up his thighs that Stephen realized Hastings had pushed the covers away before lying down on top of him. By then they were kissing endlessly, roughly, and Stephen had his hands buried in Hastings’s curly hair, holding his mouth on his. He couldn’t stop Hastings from reaching down and yanking his nightshirt up, from their naked cocks rubbing against one another, and when that happened, he also couldn’t stop the sharp gasp of arousal he made against Hastings’s mouth. Hastings broke the kiss and pressed his forehead to Stephen’s.
“So damn good,” Hastings moaned. “It feels so good.”
And it did. It did. Stephen could feel the wiry hair surrounding Hastings’s cock, he could feel his ballocks brushing against him each time Hastings thrust. The movement of Hastings’s cock against his was a sweet torture, rubbing him closer and closer to climax.
“Hastings,” he gasped. “You must stop. I’m going to go off, Hastings. I can’t…stop.” He reached both hands down and pulled Hastings’s hips tighter into him, squeezing his behind with both hands, driving him down again and again against his cock.
“Good,” Hastings said, his voice rough and breathless. “I’m going to come. Want you so bad. Wanted this so bad.” He leaned over and bit Stephen’s shoulder, and then he groaned and froze above Stephen, cock to cock, and Stephen felt a wash of wet heat on his stomach. He couldn’t have stopped his own climax then if the archbishop had been standing there.
When Stephen came it had a force to it he hadn’t expected. His climax was ripped almost painfully out of him, the heat and the shuddering spasms of pleasure almost too much to bear. He’d taken himself in hand many, many times over the years, but there was no comparison here, no comparison to the one time he’d had sex with a prostitute in Portugal during the war. This was him and Hastings, and he was already wearing Hastings’s climax across his body, and now he’d branded Hastings with his and it was all so magnificent and shattering.
And then it was over. He lay there panting, his satisfaction warring with embarrassment. It had all happened so fast, and Hastings warm and willing and in his arms was more than he could resist. He knew he should have resisted, knew he’d probably regret it, particularly when Hastings had no recollection of it in the morning. Hastings was panting, too, his head resting on the pillow next to Stephen’s.
“We can forget about her now,” Hastings muttered. He was a boneless heap on top of Stephen, and Stephen wasn’t surprised when moments later his breathing deepened, and it was apparent he’d fallen asleep still atop him.
Stephen gently but awkwardly rolled Hastings off. Hastings lay there sprawled on his back snoring, completely oblivious to the sight he made, his cock still half mast, a smear of their combined climaxes across his hips and stomach. Stephen was shocked at his desire to lick it right off his stomach and kiss him some more. What was the matter with him? Had he lost all sense of propriety? He quickly rolled off the other side of the bed. He held his nightshirt up off his stomach, horrified at what Mrs. Tulane would say if she saw his linen besmirched by their semen. He stumbled over to the washstand and filled the bowl and used his washrag to clean himself off. His cock was so sensitive he hissed as he wiped it off, hoping that would settle it down.
When he was done, he went over and cleaned Hastings. He took his time, not sure he’d ever have the opportunity to see and touch him like this again. He shouldn’t. He should have stopped this before it got so far out of hand. It was clear jealousy had driven Hastings’s desires tonight. Now Stephen felt like a vile seducer because Hastings was cup shot and upset and Stephen had groped him like a lecher.
Hastings briefly woke up at the touch of Stephen’s hand as he wiped him off. Hastings reached down and wrapped his hand around Stephen’s, holding it on his cock with a sigh. “All right,” he said, then he closed his eyes and went back to sleep.
Stephen rinsed the cloth and determined he’d toss the water out in the morning to prevent any questions. Luckily, he didn’t have to worry about Hastings’s presence in his bed causing concern since he’d been there before. He crawled back into bed and leaned down and kissed Hastings’s chest, right over his heart. Stephen was determined that if Hastings didn’t remember what had just happened, he wasn’t going to tell him. It would change everything between them, and Hastings would probably run back to London. He was terrified of belonging here, of having something of his own. And Stephen wasn’t ready to lose him yet, even if this never happened again.
When morning came Stephen had barely slept. He gingerly climbed out of bed and dressed, and snuck out of the room, wash basin in hand. Mrs. Tulane wouldn’t even be up yet. They had to face Freddy at the Park today. There was no hiding the fact that he’d just had the most intimate and erotic sexual encounter of his life with Hastings. Surely everyone would see it.
Before he went down the stairs, he took a deep breath and sternly told himself that as far as the rest of the world was concerned, nothing unusual had happened last night. And if Hastings didn’t remember, then Stephen would maintain the lie even if it killed him.