Chapter 7 #2
“There now,” Theo murmured, his breath ghosting over George’s ear, making gooseflesh rise over the back of his neck. “Are you comfortable?”
Comfortable? George didn’t know how to answer that.
He certainly felt physically easier with his tightly fitting clothes loosened, but Theo’s careful undressing of him, and now his proximity, his touch, agitated George profoundly.
He was looking straight at the three men in the middle of the room, but he barely saw them.
All of his senses were focused on the man behind him—his hard, powerful chest, his burly arm wrapped around George’s waist, his chin brushing the top of George’s head.
Theo Caldwell, who he’d dreamed of lying with, just like this, so many times as a youth…
Even through their trousers, he could feel the jut of the man’s cock against his hip, and it was making him harder than he'd ever been in his life. He was convinced he was going to end up spilling right here in his drawers, without even touching himself. Like an untried boy.
Well, he was an untried boy, wasn’t he? Six and twenty and still green as a lad. How humiliating.
“No?” Theo said, making George realise he hadn’t answered his question. He opened his mouth to reply, but Theo spoke first. "Perhaps you’ll be more comfortable if you loosen your trousers?”
George’s mouth went dry.
Theo’s breath caressed the outer shell of his ear again, and this time, George visibly shivered. He felt Theo pause at his reaction, his powerful arm tightening briefly at George’s waist before he added, low, his voice barely audible. “Go on. Loosen your trousers—let that poor, cramped cock out.”
George couldn’t help the whimper that escaped him at those filthy words.
And then he was lowering his hands to the placket of his trousers and shakily unfastening the buttons.
Shoving one hand inside his drawers, he drew out his aching cock, the tip flushed red and wet.
He gave himself a hard, desperate stroke, a moan escaping him at the immediate pleasure and relief of his own touch.
“Christ,” Theo breathed in his ear. “Look at you. You’re eager, aren’t you? You've leaked all over yourself.”
George could only moan again, his hand stroking, hips pushing back against the hard male heat behind him.
He closed his eyes, no interest in the other men in the room anymore.
All his attention was on Theo, the feel of him, his sounds, his scent, all of it the more intense for George not being able to see him.
“You’re so desperate to come, aren’t you?” Theo murmured. “Poor boy.”
God, those words, like an iron hook, sinking into him, finding the soft, tender part of him that welcomed their sting. He whimpered again. It felt strangely liberating, giving inarticulate voice to his need.
Taking hold of the hem of George’s shirt, Theo drew the fabric up, all the way to his neck, exposing George’s smooth, bare chest to the cool air.
This time, George’s moan was louder, but he didn’t care.
Just stroked his cock again, his hand moving with a familiar, reliable rhythm that somehow felt new because, for the first time in his life, someone else was in this with him, and it was Theo Caldwell.
And God, now the man was toying with George’s left nipple, rolling it between his fingers, just enough to pinch a little, and George was gasping aloud, astounded that he could feel so much from such a small touch.
“Look at you,” Theo breathed again, and he sounded so awed that George had to turn his head, to see his expression.
The hot desire in Theo’s gaze as he took in George’s shamefully exposed body almost made George spend on the spot.
He wished Theo would lean forward and capture his lips, but he didn’t.
Instead, he took hold of George’s wrist and gently pulled his hand away from his cock.
“No more of this,” he said, gently but firmly, “I’ll tend to you now. ”
George’s lips parted, perhaps at first to protest, but then to gasp as Theo shoved his drawers down further, exposing him even more, then wrapped one big hand around George’s prick.
George arched into the touch with an embarrassingly loud groan. His whole body felt as though it had come alive.
“Yes,” Theo breathed as George moaned helplessly. “Just like that, you lovely boy.” His thumb slid over the sensitive, leaking head. “So wet,” he murmured, sounding very pleased about that. “Do you always drip like this, when you're desperate?”
George felt as though his whole body was blushing, even as he gasped out a breathy, “Yes, it’s embarrassing.” He was always terrified of getting worked up at some inopportune moment and soaking through his drawers.
“Do you think so?” Theo smiled wickedly, his eyes gleaming. “I love it. Makes it easy to stroke you.” And his hand was indeed gliding easily over George’s desperate cock, his thumb occasionally sweeping over the sensitive head in a way that made George gasp.
George fell into the heady mindlessness of Theo’s confident touch, only vaguely aware of his words—soft encouragement, awed admiration, sly amusement. Look at you and You like that, don’t you? and Such a good boy. George ate it all up, every word a caress to his lonely body.
“I’m going to spend,” he found himself gasping after almost no time at all. But Theo didn't seem to mind his lack of stamina. He made a pleased noise, carefully increasing his pace, strengthening his grip.
George didn’t know what else, if anything, was happening in the room by then, whether the three men were finished or still going at it.
It was just him and Theo in this moment.
And quite suddenly, too quickly, he was coming, climaxing hard.
He cried out, too loud probably, spending in a series of hot, stuttering pulses.
And all through his crisis, Theo patiently, expertly, worked him till he was empty and utterly spent, his bare stomach covered with his own cooling spend.
When it was over, he sagged back against Theo, closing his eyes as he panted.
Echoes of pleasure still ran through him, but already he was coming out of his daze, like a swimmer resurfacing from a dive.
He became aware again of the sounds of the other men in the room.
The guttural grunts and soft curses. The rhythmic groan of floorboards beneath someone’s knees.
Reluctantly, he opened his eyes. Turned his head.
Theo was watching him, a faint smile pricking the corners of his mouth.
How could he look so easy?
“Did you enjoy that?” he asked softly, and George could only blink and nod, still caught up in the warm aftermath of climax, mutely content, distantly astonished.
“I enjoyed watching you,” Theo murmured, a wicked glint in his eye. “I could’ve spent in my drawers just from that.”
A thrill went through George at that admission, and he was tempted to move closer, press his lips against the other man’s. Instead, he whispered, “Could you spend in my hand?”
One of side of Theo’s mouth hitched in amusement. “I certainly could.”
George gave him a shy smile and shifted position, moving to Theo’s right side. By the time he was settled in place, Theo had shoved his trousers and drawers down to his thighs, baring his own hard cock and heavy balls to George’s fascinated gaze.
“Do you use your right hand, like me?” George whispered.
Theo nodded, pulling his shirt up to expose his flat, lightly furred belly.
“How do you like it?”
Theo gave a husky laugh. “I’m sure whatever you do will be perfect—just imagine it’s your own cock.”
Heart pounding, George ran his fingertips up Theo’s shaft before gently closing his hand around it and giving it a slow, experimental tug.
It felt familiar and unknown at once. Like his own—perhaps a little bigger, though not by so very much. Subtly different from his own. A little straighter, perhaps, the head a little plumper. It felt powerfully good in his hand, warm and solid, the skin as soft as kid.
It was odd to be handling a cock and not feeling the sensation of being touched himself, especially when he was using the same hand he would use on himself, at the same angle, with the same stroking rhythm. Everything the same and everything different.
When Theo groaned, George’s own cock twitched and began to rise again. Amazed, he shifted to look at Theo, and found the man staring at him with hooded eyes, his gaze intent.
“Keep doing that,” he said, his voice low and rough. “I love your hand on me.”
Later, George wasn’t sure where it came from, but he heard himself whispering, “What else would you like—my mouth?”
Theo’s gaze heated. “Christ, yes,” he whispered. “I’d love to spend down your throat.”
This time it was George who groaned, imagining that. Imagining going to his knees for Theo, like the dark-haired man earlier, opening his mouth as Theo’s fingers tunnelled into his hair, pulling him closer…
Turning his face into Theo’s shoulder, George pressed a desperate, open-mouthed kiss to the warm skin there as his mind conjured up a stream of filthy images, and his cock pulsed. And all the while he kept stroking Theo’s impossibly hard cock in the same steady rhythm.
“Fuck,” Theo gasped at last, and then his hips were jerking up and he began to come with sticky exuberance, his blood-warm spend drenching George’s hand, while his own hand clutched George’s hip.
His voice was loud enough to draw the attention of the others in the room.
Ordinarily, George would have been mortified by that, but right now, he couldn’t bring himself to care. So what if they saw? Let them look.
When he was finally done, Theo just lay there, boneless and grinning, uncaring of the mess on his belly.