20. Please, Your Grace #4
He pushed and retreated, kept pushing, retreating, until Connor’s every fiber appeared to be the embodiment of bliss and he could see Connor’s cock flex and twitch with each pass.
“Or shall I bugger you like we have only seconds before the maid interrupts?”
Connor stared back, eyes wide and glistening.
Jonathan slammed hard and deep.
Connor squealed and squeezed him with his thighs and jerked himself into a crunch. Those abs shouldn’t be legal, because seeing them fold and unfold left Jonathan too close to undone. But he kept going, hitting that spot, making Connor sound like that.
“Hold still so I can plough you like you deserve. Like a lord does a commoner.”
He loved slamming into Connor’s ass, the smacking sound, the slickness of the lube, the sudden stop of his balls and then swinging again when he pulled out. He loved it all. He heard himself panting. And Connor groaning. And he loved—
The sounds they made together, that was what he loved. The sounds. They were loud, but without words, like animals, not lords. And Connor’s ass was tight around him and his thighs smashed Jonathan’s hip bones.
He drove into Connor again. And again.
There was so much liquid on Connor’s stomach, and his cock looked ready, even without being touched.
Jonathan wanted to do this forever.
He couldn’t do this for another second. He reached a hand for Connor’s cock, wrapped around it and passed his thumb over the slit, gathering liquid.
“Now, Connor, now.” That didn’t sound like a polished lord. “You may come. Now.”
The command was enough.
He felt Connor’s shudder and watched the spurts decorate the center of Connor’s chest and reach to his throat, creating a beautiful combination of cum and sweat and need, until the sound of his body pounding Connor’s and Connor gasping threw him off the edge, too.
He hadn’t known what it would feel like to glide in his own cum, to keep pumping through it and adding more as he moved.
To get messier, to get wetter, to feel that he made this in Connor and it was what he wanted, a mess he planted in Connor.
He couldn’t have known it would be this beautiful, this necessary.
He couldn’t have known how this would feel.
It was theirs, together.
Together.
Connor’s legs fell bonelessly to the mattress, and Jonathan collapsed on top of him in a salutation pose, no longer a lord in command of anything, but a supplicant.
His mouth was next to a slick of Connor’s cum, and he wanted a little bit of it, a little taste for himself to balance out what he’d left inside Connor.
“Was good?” Connor mumbled without opening his eyes.
“So good.” He didn’t want to pull out, because then he wouldn’t be able to track each breath Connor took by the infinitely small movement that fluttered around his cock.
“Ow.”
“What? What? Did I hurt you?” He started to lift himself, but Connor clapped a heavy arm across his back and flattened him again.
“No, that.” The only part of Connor that moved was his right hand, pointing vaguely at his chest, and Jonathan realized that the pin, his birthday present, was probably gouging a tiny divot in Connor’s chest. And the new blouse was sticking between their bodies. Shit.
No, not a problem, a little soak would solve this. Semen came off sheets easily, and this was cotton, not silk, so he could care for it properly. But this close, he could see goosebumps on Connor’s upper arms and knew he had to care for him first.
Safe, seen, and stable was a phrase he’d memorized to describe how to prevent Connor from dropping too far.
Disentangling their bodies wasn’t what he wanted to do, but Connor’s wellbeing came first, so he moved.
“It was the best birthday I’ve ever had and that was because of you.” While he found the edge of the duvet and wrestled it from under Connor’s legs, he brushed his lips on the base of Connor’s throat and glided a kiss across his cheekbone, already retreating from red to pale pink. “Thank you.”
Silly comfort kisses, but Connor liked them. He nuzzled into Connor’s neck when he tucked the duvet close around him.
“I’m proud of you Connor. You listened very well.” Praising Connor was the easiest part of the aftercare routine. He sensed Connor’s body unfurling and flattening deeper into the mattress.
“Our play is finished tonight. You did well, so very well.” He’d nailed keeping him warm and making him feel appreciated, but stable required water and snacks, and he’d screwed that up. A better partner would have staged those in the room so that he wouldn’t have to leave Connor’s side.
Next time. At least there was a glass in the bathroom.
“I’m going to get water, okay? I’ll be right back.”
“Don’t go.” He was mumbly and immobile, barely present, and Jonathan wanted to drape himself over the top of the blanket mound and say so many sweet words.
“I’ll be right back. You need water.”
“Come back.”
“I will absolutely come back.” He’d almost said always, but that was sex talk, just sex talk. He was so ill-prepared for this, but at least he could get fluid into Connor, and next time, he’d be even better about preventing the drop.
Because yes, there was clearly going to be a next time.