Chapter Twenty-Eight #2
Tristan took it, and James led him through the apartments and into his bedroom. A carved four-poster that looked like it had seen off several centuries sat at the centre, and heavy curtains pooled on the floor, drawn shut over the dark.
James turned and took hold of Tristan’s face, backing Tristan up until his calves hit the edge of the bed. Tristan eased down onto the mattress, and James came down over him, kissing along his jaw to the spot beneath Tristan’s ear that undid him.
“Tell me what you want,” James said against his skin.
“I want you to keep doing that.”
James obliged. He worked down the side of Tristan’s throat with his mouth, set his teeth at the hollow above Tristan’s collarbone, and Tristan’s hips rolled up. James’s hand came down and pinned him by the hip.
James pulled his jumper over his head and dropped it off the side of the bed. Then he set to work on Tristan’s, easing it up over his ribs, his mouth following the hem, pressing to each new stretch of skin as it came clear.
James smoothed a hand down Tristan’s chest and pressed it flat to his stomach. “You still all right?”
“Yeah. Just — this is all pretty new to me.”
“I know.” James bent and kissed the centre of his chest, then lower. “We’ll go slowly.”
He meant it. He left time around every touch, leaving room for Tristan to catch up before the next one.
His mouth moved down Tristan’s stomach while he slid Tristan’s jeans over his hips.
Then his breath came warm through the cotton of Tristan’s boxers, and Tristan reached down to cradle James’s head.
James looked up at him from between his thighs.
“Can I take these off?” James hooked a finger into his waistband. Tristan lifted his hips, signalling agreement.
James drew his boxers down and away. The cool air hit first, then James took hold of him, the angle wrong, the grip tighter than he’d ever use on himself.
James stroked him once, root to tip, and Tristan’s breath came apart.
“Good?”
“Yeah.”
James did it again, his thumb crossing the head on the upstroke and dragging through the slick that had gathered there. Then he let go.
Tristan whined, and James soothed him with a hand on his leg, then kicked his trousers off the end of the bed and came down between Tristan’s thighs.
“Off,” Tristan said, tugging at the waistband. “Take them off.”
James pushed his boxers down, and then there was nothing between them. Just the drag of skin on skin, slick with precome until Tristan’s brain shorted out. He rolled his hips to meet James’s movements, and felt James’s breath catch at his throat.
James held himself above Tristan, braced on one arm, and wrapped his free hand around both of them. He kept his grip loose, working them together.
“Touch me,” James said. “I want your hands on me, Tris.”
Tristan reached down and took hold of James’s cock. It was different from his own, thicker, running hotter in his palm, and James’s forehead dropped to his shoulder as Tristan began to work him.
“Christ, Tristan.”
“Good, huh?” Tristan grinned up at him. “I’m a proper wanker.”
James laughed. “You are profoundly lucky,” he said, “that I find you attractive enough to overlook that.”
He worked Tristan’s cock with strokes so slow and light that they bordered on cruelty.
“James — James — please—” Tristan threw one arm up to cover his eyes. James kept to his maddening pace. “Please, James.”
“Go on, then.” James’s thumb dragged a lazy circle over the head of his cock. “Tell me another joke, Tris. A joke for an orgasm.”
Tristan’s mouth opened. Nothing came out.
James laughed again, tightened his hold and gave him two fast, twisting strokes. Tristan’s come spilled over James’s fist, his back bowing off the mattress, and James worked him through it with steady pulls until the last aftershock left him boneless.
Tristan lay there, panting, while the room reassembled itself around him. James kissed him, then sat on his heels and worked at finishing himself off.
He was careful about it. He angled himself away from Tristan, his strokes fast and efficient. When he came, he caught himself in his palm, not a drop landing on Tristan, and reached for the tissues on the bedside table.
Tristan propped himself up on his elbows and smiled. “What a gentleman.”
James snorted, balled the tissues up, and dropped them over the side of the bed.
“Nothing happens between us that you’re not ready for, Tristan.
That was the deal, and I mean to hold to it.
” He settled onto his side and drew Tristan in, one arm slung heavy over his waist. “In this particular instance, you are not a con virgin. You’ve genuinely never known another man biblically, and I’m not going to rush you into that. ”
Tristan groaned and kicked him in the shin. “Shut the fuck up.”
James’s brows furrowed in exaggerated offence. “That’s no way to address a sovereign.”
“That wasn’t for the sovereign.” Tristan dragged a pillow under his head and glared at him. “That was for Jams.”
James grinned and rolled his whole body on top of Tristan’s, letting his muscles go slack, lying on him as pure dead weight.
Before Tristan could shove him off, James had buried his face in the crook of his neck and was grinding his jaw back and forth, dragging stubble over Tristan’s cheek until Tristan yelped and squirmed beneath him.
“James! Get off me!”
James ground in harder, both arms locked around him now, and Tristan could feel him laughing into his throat. “I want Benton to see the state of you at breakfast,” James said into his skin. “I’m going to make it so obvious what we’ve been up to that his eye twitches all the way through it.”
Tristan stopped fighting. He lay under the King, stubble burn coming up his neck, and laughed until his stomach hurt.