Chapter Eighteen
James
He’s not entirely sure how he finds himself with a knee on Mason’s bed, in what’s clearly Mason’s childhood bedroom, with
Mason sprawled out below him. All he knows is that there was this feeling, all through the carriage ride, all through dinner,
like a brightening in his chest. Like someone reached inside him and lit a light he didn’t know existed.
All along, he’s thought Mason was being reckless, suggesting something that could never be. How could there be a safe dalliance?
How could there be protection, and acceptance, and support for a relationship such as theirs?
But here they are, in a house made of three families, where his cousin and her lover are accepted, and loved, and championed. Mason wasn’t simply talking from between his legs. He knew—he’s lived —another way.
And yes, in London, it’s different.
But James knows the bravery that wormed its way down to his foot at dinner, knows how warm and comfortable and... happy
he’s felt for the last twelve hours. Even if it’s just here, just with their weird extended families, all tangled into a protective
web of acceptance. Even if they have to hide from Lady Harrington—how much easier it is to hide from just one woman than all
of London.
He wants to know, just once, what it would be like to have this. What it might be like to be as comfortable as Lady Gwen and his cousin. What it might be like to finally reach out and take something he wants—someone he wants.
Mason blinks his eyes open, staring up at James, his mouth parted, chest rising and falling rapidly. He can see Mason’s mind
whirring behind his hazel eyes. Can see the questions, the hesitation. Can see the frustration too—that look he gave James
at dinner, full of heat and future payback and lust.
James doesn’t know how to explain what’s changed. How he’s gone from idolizing Mason, to hating everything he stands for,
to being jealous, to wanting more. How much it means, how much it excites him, how much it baffles him, that Mason wants him
back.
He can’t seem to form the words, and so he falls back on the only thing he knows, and bends over Mason. He dips his head,
waiting only a fraction of a moment for Mason to raise his neck, and then their lips collide.
It’s soft, and heated, and achingly tender. James slowly straddles Mason, a knee on either side of his broad hips so he can
press down, gasping into Mason’s mouth. Mason’s hands move to cradle James’ jaw, angling him so he can better nibble on James’
bottom lip.
James groans, heat shooting through him, and Mason pulls back.
They stare at each other for a charged beat.
“Your room is cute,” James says, closing his eyes in mortification as soon as the words pop out.
Mason chuckles and brushes his thumb along James’ jaw. “Thank you,” he says, no hint of derision in his voice. “You’re cute.”
James opens his eyes to find Mason’s sparkling with something—amusement, attraction, appreciation? “You’re absurdly handsome.”
God, he’s awkward.
“If you think it’s not mutual, you’re a fool,” Mason says and James feels something let go in his chest again. Mason’s really
here holding him, grinding up into him ever so slightly.
James groans and Mason’s little smile turns more predatory. He leans up and sips a gentle kiss from James’ lips before flipping
them with practiced ease. James’ back hits the mattress and he lets out a startled breath, everything tightening. The awkwardness
slips away as Mason holds himself above him, hands on either side of his head. He slowly lowers the rest of his body, so they’re
aligned, head to toe.
“I’ve thought a lot about this,” Mason whispers as he slips his thigh between James’ legs.
James bites back another groan and forces himself to make eye contact. “Not as much as I have,” he says, fighting the urge
to blush.
If they’re going to do this, they’re going to be equals in it. He’s been shy and demurring in bed before. But James is not
a fumbling young man any longer, learning his firsts. He knows what he wants, he knows what he likes, and damned if he’s going
to let his hesitations get in the way of finally being in bed with Bobby Mason.
“Oh yeah?” Mason says, breathing hard as James lets go and rubs against him with abandon. “Jesus, Demeroven.”
“James,” James pants, regaining enough sense to bring Mason’s mouth down to his.
Mason hums against his lips, opening his mouth with a groan when James slicks his tongue across his bottom lip. “Bobby,” he
rasps some minutes later.
“You’re wearing too many clothes, Bobby,” James says, his voice a husky whine as Bobby ’s hand begins to travel down his side, ghosting over too many layers and yet trailing fire as it goes.
“Good point,” Bobby says, immediately rucking up James’ shirt.
James can’t help but laugh as Bobby rears back to work on the buttons, sitting across James’ hips. James sits up too, both
of them gasping. Bobby wiggles in his lap and James leans forward, working his way down Bobby’s buttons while Bobby claims
his mouth again.
Bobby finishes first, mostly because the movement of his hips is driving James wild. Bobby’s hands glide up his chest beneath
his undershirt, soft and strong and spreading zips of pleasure as they go. Bobby tugs James’ arms back while slipping off
his shirt and undershirt in one go.
Not wanting to be outdone, or to come in his pants from just the friction of Bobby in his lap, James manages Bobby’s final
button. He nearly tears Bobby’s shirt and undershirt in his effort to remove them, tossing them off the bed triumphantly.
Bobby mock glares at him.
“Hey,” Bobby says.
James kisses him in reply. “Like you don’t have twenty in this room,” James mumbles against his mouth, leaning forward to
press Bobby back against the bed.
Bobby hums in delight, using the movement to wrap his legs around James’ waist. James gives himself just a moment, rutting
against Bobby Mason, both of them still half clothed, moving frantically. He thinks his schoolboy dreams may have died and
gone to heaven.
But they’re not schoolboys anymore, and there’s no need for this to end in damp frottage, much as the idea sends a juvenile thrill through him. So he lifts himself up to meet Bobby’s eyes, briefly entranced by how dark and wide his pupils have gone. By the image of Bobby mussed and panting, with swollen lips and a light sheen of sweat covering his solid, built chest. Like some kind of Spartan god, sprawled out entirely for James’ pleasure.
“Trousers,” James says, closing his eyes as it slips out without any smoothness at all.
“Definitely,” Bobby says, squirming beneath James immediately.
James opens his eyes and laughs at the look of concentration on Bobby’s face as he tries to divest himself of his trousers
without changing their position. “Want some help?”
Bobby meets his eyes. “Please.”
James smiles and shifts to his side to help Bobby pull off his boots, so they can work together to relieve him of both trousers
and pants. It takes some maneuvering, and James learns Bobby’s ticklish at the joint of his knee. And then it’s not so funny
anymore.
Bobby lies there beneath him, totally at ease in nothing but his skin, allowing James as much time to peruse as he likes.
And what a glorious perusal it is. Every part of Bobby is defined and firm, from his magnificent broad chest to his muscular
thighs. And at their apex—well, the man has never had anything to be modest about. No wonder he’s got a pompous edge once
in a while.
“You’re glorious,” James says, running a finger from the base of Bobby’s throat down to his navel.
Bobby’s breath hitches and James looks back to meet his eyes, waiting for Bobby’s small nod before he lets his fingertip slip lower. Before he rasps through that dark, curly hair. Before he wraps his hand around Bobby Mason and looks up to watch his head tip back in ecstasy, mouth parted, a little wrinkle of pleasure between his eyebrows.
It’s almost enough to make James come right then and there. But before that, he wants to see Bobby come undone. Wants to watch
as the movement of his hand makes him twitch and sigh and moan. Wants to learn what rhythm makes him arch from the bed. Wants
to keep a steady pace, and then stop to circle his finger around Bobby’s head and watch Bobby’s eyes pop open in bliss.
“Fuck,” Bobby says as James repeats his pattern, adding a little twist. “If you don’t stop—”
“Do you want me to? We have all night,” James says.
Bobby hesitates and James swirls his thumb through a drop of moisture. He’s close. Bobby groans and flops back, biting at
his lip and waving James on. James chuckles and increases his pace, leaning down to press a kiss to Bobby’s throat. Bobby
shifts, reaching out to tug James’ mouth to his, sucking on his lip as his hips stutter.
In three short jerks Bobby moans against his mouth. His body goes taut and he comes over James’ hand. James slows his pace
and Bobby falls back to the mattress, eyes closed, mouth open, utterly beautiful and blissed-out and gloriously all for James.
James gently releases him and rolls, just for a moment, to find Bobby’s pants on the floor to wipe his hand. When he turns
back, Bobby’s eyes are open, watching him, his chest still heaving.
“That was the most spectacular tug I’ve ever had,” he says.
James can’t help but blush. “Thank you.”
“Thank you ,” Bobby says, reaching out to pull James down into another kiss. “God,” he mumbles against James’ lips.
James lets himself get lost in the kiss, feeling proud and touched and unbearably horny. But he hates to be rushed when he’s post-climax, so he doesn’t want to—
Suddenly he’s on his back and Bobby is climbing off the bed, then tugging him by his ankles. James slides across the comforter,
staring up at the canopy, unable to fully believe where he is.
He rises on his elbows when he hears his first boot hit the floor, his legs now dangling off the mattress. He watches, his
pulse in his ears as Bobby makes quick work of his trouser button. He lifts his hips so Bobby can shimmy his trousers and
pants down and all the way off. He would feel immodest, but the way Bobby stares down at him and licks his fucking lips—James
has no calm, no suave, no nothing left in him. Except one exaggerated gulp, and a twitch in his midsection he can’t at all
control.
“May I?” Bobby asks, his breath fanning across James’ thigh where he’s kneeling at the side of the bed.
“God, yes,” James hears himself say.
And then it’s heat and hands and slippery pleasure that has James’ fingers twisting in the comforter below him. He tries to
stay on his elbows, tries to watch, but it’s entirely too much, and he falls back to the mattress, eyes clenched shut as Bobby’s
mouth makes stars burst behind his eyelids. He thinks briefly of stopping him—of demanding to be inside a different part of
him before he comes, but they have all night, and the idea of coming in Bobby Mason’s—
It’s too bright and wonderful and intense to even finish the thought. He throws his head back on a loud moan, his hips straining
toward the ceiling. Pleasure floods through him, tight and pulsing. His fists clench into the sheets. It’s perhaps the most
extraordinary thing he’s ever felt, and it takes him a long minute to even begin to feel anything but white-hot bliss.
Tingles and zips course through him in aftershocks as Bobby finally releases him. He blinks his eyes open and tips his chin, looking down to find Bobby’s cheek resting against his thigh, beside his softening— Lord, that’s hot.
“Here,” he mumbles, his mouth dry. “Up here.”
Bobby smirks, climbing up to stretch himself out against James’ chest. He leans down for a kiss, halting just above James’
mouth. James can barely move, but manages to raise one hand to cradle the back of Bobby’s skull and guide him down so he can
give him what he hopes is the most grateful kiss of his life. He tastes faintly of salt and tang and James hums against his
lips.
“Spectacular doesn’t begin to cover it,” he manages to say as Bobby pulls back, still held close enough that he’s a little
blurry.
“Good,” Bobby says, such tenderness in the word.
James can feel a flush spreading over his cheeks. Bobby shifts against him, sinuous and languid.
“I’ll... need a minute,” he admits.
“We have all night,” Bobby says simply, sliding down to curl himself against James’ chest, his nose pressing to James’ clavicle.
James cards his fingers through Bobby’s hair. “I’ve never had all night,” James finds himself admitting. “Have you?”
Bobby traces his fingers along James’ chest, contact that tingles just faintly, stirring the first inklings of recovery in
James’ abdomen. “I have, but it didn’t seem so—” James can feel his frown.
“Safe?” James suggests, the thought swelling in his own chest.
No wondering if someone will enter the room. No worrying that they need to pay. No rush, no hurry, no sense that time is running
out and they need to reach for climax immediately.
“Yeah,” Bobby says, his breath warm against James’ neck. “And real. ’S nice to know I’ll see you again.”
James closes his eyes against the rush of comfort that surges over him. “Yeah.”
“By the way, you’re even prettier in the throes of passion, you know?”
James blinks and looks down to find Bobby staring up at him, chin resting against his chest. “So are you,” he says, more comfortable
returning the compliment than thinking about the reality that Bobby Mason thinks he’s pretty when he comes.
Fucking hell, Bobby Mason just made him come. And by the way Bobby slides up his chest, the way he hooks his thigh over James’
hip, the way he leans down to take James’ mouth, he’s going to make him come again.
And again and again and again this week if James has any say as he loses himself in an absolutely wonderful snog. Because
this—the feeling of the two of them together—is more wondrous than anything he’s ever felt before. Even discovering the pleasures
of the flesh as a young man, he didn’t feel like this.
What could be minutes or hours or seconds later Bobby finally pulls back, both of them breathing heavily. James opens his
eyes, body straining, and they stare at each other, mouths plump, faces flushed. Bobby winks at him and then rolls to the
side.
James admires his nimble, muscular form as Bobby crawls across the bed. James follows enough to realign himself, so they’re
at least somewhere close to the pillows. He watches in confusion as Bobby rummages through his bedside drawer, and then grins
when he returns with a small bottle of oil.
“If you want to,” Bobby says, shrugging. “No pressure or anything.”
“Give it here,” James says, holding out his hand, because of course he wants to.
Bobby beams and passes over the oil before flopping down on his back. James can’t help but admire him again, from shapely legs, to hardening cock, up to that eager smile. He’d like to know everything he can about Bobby Mason, from how he feels in hand, to what it’s like to be inside of him, to how he looks when he sleeps.
So he lets himself admire. Lets himself take his time, situating himself between Bobby’s legs and lifting his hips. Lets himself
enjoy the press of Bobby’s thighs against his knees as he splays his legs.
James oils his fingers and studies Bobby’s every groan and sigh and moan. He makes it languid and takes pleasure in every
frustrated look Bobby gives him before his head tips back on another whine. He’s beautiful, and glorious, and just the effort
of making him ready has James ready too.
“Do you want to be on your back?” he asks.
Bobby blinks his eyes open, staring up at James. “Oh,” he says, thinking.
James waits. He’s never done anything he truly didn’t want to do. But so often there’s not time, or affection enough, to make
choices just based on taste. He’s received often enough to know what he doesn’t like, but a coat closet rarely provides enough
space to make a real decision.
“I’d like you behind me,” Bobby says, and James can hear both that it’s what he wants, and that it’s costing him something
dear to admit to it.
James smiles, shifting back to allow Bobby to turn over. He slicks himself as Bobby rises up on hands and knees. He leans
over him, letting every inch of himself wrap around Bobby’s body, relishing in the warmth of Bobby’s back against his chest,
and the way that, like this, he can surround Bobby, even though Bobby has so much height on him.
“Please,” Bobby says, shifting his hips in a way that nearly steals all of James’ resolve.
James kisses Bobby’s shoulder and then straightens up, taking time to allow Bobby to adjust as he presses close and slowly,
achingly, enters. He breathes through his nose, following the shallow rock of Bobby’s body, listening to his whines and sounds
and watching the tension in his back, until he sees Bobby relax.
The tight, hot, gripping welcome of Bobby’s body almost makes him black out. He steadies himself in the sound of Bobby’s heavy
breathing, in the feel of his hot skin, in the light smell of sweat that hangs around them. And then he begins to move. The
sound Bobby lets out, low and gorgeous and full, is almost as good as the way it feels to be enveloped in him.
James runs a hand up and down Bobby’s back as he angles his hips, searching for the spot he found with his fingers. Bobby
muffles a shout and James groans, moving faster. He adjusts to glide his hand down Bobby’s flank, curling inward until his
hand finds Bobby’s cock. But the movement changes the angle of his hips and Bobby grunts.
Then suddenly Bobby rears back so they’re both kneeling together, James driving into Bobby as his back presses into James’
chest. Like this, with them moving together, everything is deep and tight and warm. James plants sloppy kisses on Bobby’s
shoulder as he moves his hand in time with his thrusts, using every bit of his self-control to make sure Bobby feels as much
pleasure as humanly possible. Because he knows the minute he lets himself go, it’ll be over in four short pumps.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Bobby says, arching against James.
“You feel incredible,” James says, not quite tall enough to reach Bobby’s ear, but just right to press open kisses to the
side of his neck.
“I— Oh, God, I’m going— I can’t,” Bobby stammers, rocking into James’ hand as James keeps moving steadily, pushing Bobby toward the edge until he comes with a loud groan.
His hips stutter into James’, and James keeps going, wringing every last drop of pleasure from Bobby until he feels him go
slack, shuddering against his thighs. James kisses his shoulder and guides Bobby back to the bed, so he can rest, spent, face
buried in the pillows. James waits, his whole body straining, the angle almost unbearable.
After what seems like a cursed eternity in heaven, Bobby opens one eye and looks back at James. His lips quirk into a dazed
smile and he turns his face into the pillows. Only then does James let go, focusing on his own pleasure, and the blazing,
gripping, white-hot tautness in his groin that snaps with a ferocity he’s never felt before.
He collapses down on top of Bobby after surely the longest, most spectacular orgasm of his life. He rests there, breathing
heavily, his sweaty cheek pressing into Bobby’s shoulder blade, where nothing but pleasure and Bobby and a buzzing euphoria
exist in the world anymore.
“Good?” Bobby mumbles, turning his head to look up at James with one squinted eye, his face still flushed, hair matted to
his forehead.
“Fucking brilliant,” James rasps without hesitation. “For you?”
“Fucking brilliant,” Bobby repeats, a sweet smile lifting the corner of his lips.
James bends his neck to press a kiss to the apple of his cheek and then starts to pull away, only for Bobby to whine and scrabble
a hand at his hip.
“Stay,” he says.
“I’ll be right back,” James promises, heaving himself up with regret.
He stands, naked as the day he was born, and thoroughly unembarrassed. It’s a new, heady feeling, and he lets himself bask in it while he orients himself to the room he completely ignored when he snuck inside. It’s a lovely shade of blue, and somehow already messy. Pride tingles through him—partly his doing.
He spots the wash basin on the far dresser and strides over, quickly cleaning himself up before dipping another cloth and
returning to the bed. Bobby’s still sprawled on his stomach, but he’s raised his chest to watch James return.
James can’t help but feel a slight exhausted twitch between his legs at the sight of his... lover ? Bobby is a gorgeous man, and now that he knows the feel of his muscles, the sounds of his mouth, the wonderful undulations
of his body, he’s not quite sure how he’s going to remain proper for the rest of the week.
But they have the rest of the week, and isn’t that something?
He sits at Bobby’s hip and gently cleans him up, smiling as Bobby sighs and flops back to the mattress.
“God, you’re sweet. Hot and sweet. Never known that one before,” he mumbles into his pillow.
James laughs and lays the cloth over the hamper with his own, hopefully to dry by the fire before morning. He turns and watches
Bobby crawl under the covers, the two of them staring at each other in the soft firelight.
“Come back to bed,” Bobby says, reaching out a hand.
He’ll have to wake early and slink back across the hallway to his own room, lest Bobby’s nosy staff find them entwined together
like this. But he can’t ignore the pull of Bobby’s earnest expression, nor the want to be wrapped in his arms.
Bobby doesn’t disappoint, scooting to the middle of the bed so James can slip in beside him. Bobby gloms immediately on to James’ back, his strong, muscled arm sliding around James’ waist to pull him tight against Bobby’s stomach. His leg threads through James’, providing a much-needed light stretch of his overused hips, and James turns into pudding.
“This is nice,” Bobby says, nuzzling the back of his head.
“Yeah,” James agrees. “It is.”
So nice he thinks he could stay right here forever, warm and comfortable and... something else he’s not ready to name.
Something glowing and wonderful, but too much, too big, too soon.
The way Bobby’s broad hand rests, pressing on his stomach. The way his foot has wrapped around James’ ankle, his thigh between
his legs, rubbing ever so slightly. The rise and fall of his chest against James’ back, easy and even and lazy.
He’s never felt this before, not with anyone, much less with Bobby Mason , a man with whom he’s shared so much in such a small time. It scares him. But at the same time, there’s a fullness in his
chest he can’t fight—a bright, burgeoning security. It pounds against his breastbone. He’s never felt this safe before.
And he’s certainly never been in bed with Bobby Mason falling asleep behind him, holding him tight and close.
He’s pretty sure he’s never going to be able to feel like this again, if it’s not with Bobby.
The thought should terrify him into leaving, but instead he closes his eyes and lets the warm rise and fall of Bobby behind
him lull him into a deep, untroubled sleep.