Chapter Thirteen #3
“Connor.” He turned his face against the pillow to look back at him over his shoulder. “Are you going to tell me what you are seeing, or must I get up and inspect it in the mirror for myself?”
“Stay right there.” Connor’s voice had dropped.
His hand slid from the small of Vidal’s back down over the curve of his arse, and his thumb pressed gently against Vidal’s rim, which felt puffy and slick.
“You’re gaping, love. Pink and open and absolutely dripping with me.
You’re the prettiest thing I’ve seen in years. ”
Vidal let out a pleased sound into the pillow and clenched deliberately around Connor’s thumb. Connor swore softly, and another thick slide of come worked its way out of him.
“Where’s your mobile, sweetheart?”
“Mmm?”
“Your mobile. You’re going to want to see this. A man ought to know what he looks like after a proper fucking.”
Vidal fumbled one-handed across the bedside table without lifting his head. His fingers closed on the mobile and he passed it back over his shoulder without looking.
“Code?”
“Zero zero zero zero.”
The silence behind him was gratifying.
“You’re joking.”
“I am not joking, Connor. I have never had cause to remember anything more complicated, and when one has a mobile that unlocks with one’s face nine times out of ten, the code is decorative.”
“Vidal… That’s not — Okay. We’re having a conversation about your digital security another time.”
“Yes, yes. Take your photograph.”
“Right. Hands on your arse, please. Hold yourself open for me.”
Vidal reached back and spread himself with both hands, fingers pressed into the flesh of his cheeks.
“That’s it. Hold it just like that.” The mechanical click of the camera shutter came a second later. Then another. Then a third.
“Connor. You are taking your time.”
“I’m an artist, sweetheart.”
“You are a pervert.”
“I’m that as well, yes. Have a look.”
Connor leaned forward, bracketing Vidal’s body with one arm, and held the mobile in front of his face.
The photograph was taken from Connor’s angle, close, unhurried, and entirely without flattery.
His own hands were in the frame, spread white-knuckled across the tanned skin of his arse, holding himself open.
His hole was centred in the composition, flushed and stretched and glistening, a thick trail of Connor’s come working its slow way down the inside of his thigh.
His balls were tucked up high against his body, and they were beautifully lit by the bedside lamp.
Vidal let his head drop back against the pillow and made a long pleased sound.
“Connor.”
“Mm?”
“You have a talent.”
“I’ve an eye.”
“You have both. This is a remarkable composition. I shall be studying it at my leisure for some considerable time.”
Connor laughed, pressed a kiss to the back of Vidal’s shoulder, and set the mobile face-down on the sheet beside his head. “All yours, sweetheart. Keep it somewhere nobody’s going to find it.”
“Connor. I am twenty-six years old. I have been taking indiscreet photographs of myself since I first got a camera phone. I have a system.”
“You’ve got zero zero zero zero as your mobile code. You do not have a system.”
“These things are unrelated.”
Connor laughed, dark and pleased, and gathered the mess on Vidal’s thigh onto two fingers, pushing it unhurriedly back into him.
Vidal’s breath stuttered at the feel of it, at the slick easy way Connor’s fingers went in where his cock had just been, and at the casual possessiveness of a man putting his own come back inside where he thought it belonged.
“There is more left. I can feel it on my leg.”
Connor obliged. He scooped the second line of come from Vidal’s inner thigh and worked it back into him with two thick fingers, curling them slightly on the way out so that Vidal’s whole body jolted.
Vidal, who had come hard enough five minutes ago that he should by rights have been beyond arousal for at least an hour, felt his cock give a valiant half-hearted twitch against his stomach.
“You are undoing me, Connor.”
Connor’s fingers pressed deep one more time, a lazy proprietary stroke, and then withdrew.
He rubbed his palm once across the curve of Vidal’s arse like he was signing his work.
“There. All tucked in. You’ll be leaking it out of you for the rest of the night.
Hope you’re not planning on wearing anything expensive to bed. ”
“I am planning on wearing nothing at all, Connor, and I expect you to be in a state to appreciate it.”
Connor eased him over onto his side and pulled him back against the long warm length of him, one thick arm curling across Vidal’s chest. Vidal let himself be arranged.
His thighs were going to feel like minced meat in the morning.
There was a damp patch spreading slowly under his hip, and he could still feel Connor’s come shifting inside him with every movement he made.
He had never, in any of his cosmopolitan adult life, felt more agreeably used.
Connor’s sticky thumb was drawing slow idle circles against the dip of his waist. It was, Vidal thought vaguely as he looked up at the plaster rose on the ceiling, really very pleasant.