Chapter 15
THEO
Theo couldn’t stop staring at George. For the last five days, they’d been in each other's constant company, but at night, they’d been retiring to the privacy of their own bedchambers.
While Theo enjoyed the sight of George in his riding clothes, there had been no opportunity to see him like this, sprawled on a bed—well, on a pallet—in nothing but his drawers.
The innkeeper had sent up plenty of food for them. Theo ate his fill, and could only watch in astonishment as George consumed every last crumb of what remained, including all the fruitcake.
“Are you sure you don’t you want some?” George asked Theo, for at least the third time, pushing the last piece under his nose.
“Quite sure,” Theo said. Not only did he not have a sweet tooth, he absolutely detested currants.
“You’re missing out,” George informed him. “This cake is glorious.” And with that, he took another huge bite.
Theo tried to look away, but his eyes kept drifting back to George, lounging on his side on the straw pallet, his head propped up on one hand.
When he stretched across the pallet to snatch up his wineglass from the floor, the subtle play of his spare musculature in the lantern light was beautiful to behold.
And that mouth.
Why could Theo not stop thinking about George’s mouth?
Clenching his jaw, he lifted his glass to his lips, drinking deep. Soon they would have to retire, and then they would be sharing that straw pallet, neither of them wearing very much, since all their clothes were drying.
Theo couldn’t stop thinking about touching George, lying on top of him so that every part of that lean body was plastered against him, their cocks hard and vital and pulsing with desire. He stifled a groan.
He’d never been interested in kissing before, but now Theo found himself fantasising about exploring George’s mouth with his own.
Every night, he dreamed of having George in his lap, riding him.
Or of taking George’s cock into his mouth.
He imagined George on his hands and knees, pushing his hips back against Theo’s as he moaned with pleasure.
Often, when Theo would glance at George, he’d find George already looking at him, heat in his dark eyes.
Their gazes kept getting tangled up, and every time it happened, it was harder to pull his own away.
He didn’t want to pull his gaze away. He wanted to follow his instincts, which urged him to reach for George.
Except that George had seemed quite sure that he didn’t want go down that path with Theo again. If he changed his mind, he would have to be the one to say so.
Now, their encounter at Redford’s felt almost like a dream.
When Theo thought of how George’s warm body had felt that night, lying back against his own, he wondered if perhaps he'd imagined it.
The memory felt almost too perfect to be real.
Which was ridiculous given how little they had done, really.
Just touching one another with their hands, half-clothed the whole time.
So why had it felt so… momentous?
Perhaps it was because it had been George’s first time with another man, though why that should matter to Theo he couldn’t say.
His mind kept returning to that moment when he’d gently nudged George’s hand off his own cock—“I’ll tend to you”—and the way George had moaned.
It had been a moment of helpless surrender, instinctive and natural.
George had been so perfectly trusting, giving himself up unquestioningly to the pleasure Theo offered him.
And God but Theo wished he could stop thinking about it.
It was, he decided, past time they turned in. Throwing back the last of his wine, he got to his feet. “We should get to bed,” he said. “We need to make an early start tomorrow.”
“Must we?” George said, pouting a little. His lower lip was full and sulky, but his gaze was merry and he was so appealing, Theo nearly groaned aloud.
Instead, he said briskly, “Yes, we must. Anyway, aren’t you exhausted?”
“I suppose so,” George sighed. He shifted his body on the pallet, making room for Theo. "This is actually surprisingly comfortable.”
Theo strode over to the window to extinguish the lantern the landlord had left there.
He felt a strange wave of relief when the flame winked out and soft darkness shrouded the attic.
Now he couldn't see how alluring George looked, lying there in nothing but his drawers—and George couldn't see Theo’s reaction to him.
He carefully picked his way back to the pallet.
The weather had cleared a little since their arrival, and now weak moonlight shimmered through the small window.
It wasn’t enough to see anything beyond vague shapes in the darkness of the attic, but he could navigate the main obstacles in his way.
When he reached the bottom of the pallet, he fumbled around on the floor for the pile of blankets the innkeeper had left for them.
Tossing one at George, he said, "Here. I know you said you’re warm, but you’ll soon get cold when you’re lying still.
” Grabbing another for himself, he lay down, settling onto his back and shaking out the blanket to cover his body.
At last, they were lying quietly side by side, silent but for their soft breaths which sounded oddly loud in the darkness.
"Are you tired?” George whispered after a minute of that heavy silence. "I ought to be, but I find I’m not.”
“You’re right—you ought to be tired,” Theo said repressively. “It’s been a long day. Go to sleep.”
There was a pause—then George chuckled and turned on his side to face Theo. “You’re being very stern. You're reminding me of my old house master at St. Dominic’s, Mr. Simpkins. Do you remember him?”
“Simpkins?” Theo said, outraged, turning onto his own side. He did remember. Simpkins had been a rather decrepit and tetchy Latin master.
“Only in terms of your sternness,” George added, laughter in his voice. Theo could just about make out the outline of him, and the gleam of his eyes in the darkness. “You don’t look like him,” George added.
“I should bloody well hope not!”
George laughed. “Are you really so vain about your looks?”
“I’m not being vain!” Theo protested. “But Simpkins was eighty if he was a day. Worse, he was pigeon-chested and had brown teeth.”
George chuckled. “I know—and his breath! But don’t worry, Theo, your breath is much nicer. At least, it was when we…” He trailed off, and the silence hung heavily between them.
Theo tried to think of something to say, something that would break this odd tension, but before he could find words, George spoke again.
“You said we could do it again,” he said softly. “If I wanted to.”
Theo’s heart began to race. “And do you?”
By way of answer, George edged closer and set his hand on Theo’s bare chest.
Theo croaked, “I thought you didn’t want this.”
“It’s not a lack of wanting,” George whispered. “I’m afraid of becoming attached. You wouldn’t want that and—”
“George—”
George spoke over him, determinedly. “—and I don’t either. But the trouble is, every night this week, when I’ve found myself alone in my bedchamber, my mind has gone straight to what we did at Redford’s. I get so worked up, I have to stroke myself till I spend.”
Theo swallowed against a moan.
“The difference tonight,” George continued, “is that I’m not alone.”
“And what about after tonight?” Theo asked quietly.
“Tomorrow, we go back to normal,” George replied softly.
“Just as though nothing happened? Is that what you want?”
“Yes.” George whispered. They were so close now that Theo could feel the warmth of George’s breath against his lips. He inched closer still and ducked his head, skating his lips along the sharp line of George’s jaw, towards his ear.
“All right,” he breathed shakily. “We’ll leave our secrets in this room.”
“Yes,” George whispered again, moaning when Theo grazed the curve of his ear with his lips.
“Is there something particular you'd like?” Theo murmured, smiling helplessly when George tilted his head to the side, making more room for him.
“I want to suck you,” George breathed, provoking a soft astonished gasp from Theo.
Drawing back, he gazed at George in the darkness.
He could make out the contours of George’s face now.
The sweep of his high cheekbones, the fascinating curve of his mouth.
Unthinkingly, he lifted his hand, dragging his thumb over George’s full lower lip.
“You don’t have to kiss me,” George husked. “I know you don’t like it.”
The pang of disappointment that pierced Theo at those words took him by surprise, and he frowned, annoyed at himself. He wasn’t interested in kissing George, he told himself, just being contrary. Reacting to being told he couldn’t have something.
Shaking off that thought, he shifted, moving George onto his back and covering him with his own body.
He ran his hand up one smooth, lean flank.
George’s skin was warm satin beneath his fingers, his body pliant and yielding.
He moaned at Theo’s touch, all aching surrender, and somehow Theo knew in that moment exactly what George wanted, what he needed. A little bossiness. A little firmness.
He thumbed George’s nipple. “Have you thought about sucking me before tonight?”
George whimpered. “Yes. God, yes.”
“Have you ever done it before, with anyone else?” Theo nosed at George’s throat, sucked softly on the smooth flesh.
George hissed a breath. “I—ah—no.”
“Hmm,” Theo murmured against his neck. “I'll be your first then?”
“Yes.” George arched up against him, chasing more sensation.
“You’ll need to be tutored,” Theo said, lifting his head from George’s neck to look at him. He brushed his nose against George’s and their lips grazed, not quite kissing. “I think I’d better show you how to do it first,” he murmured. “Then you can try.”
George moaned and bit his lip, his assent wordless but unmistakable.