After the Scrum (9 page)

"
No.
Not yet." Caddock nipped at his earlobe while shallowly thrusting the tip of his finger into Francis. It did nothing to ease the pressure for him; neither did his next words. "You'll wait until I say."

"Can't."

"You can." Caddock growled against his neck, biting then sucking the skin to leave a mark. "You want to be good for me, don't you?"

"Oh, hell." Francis thought he'd been electrocuted. Those words sent a charge that seemed to flow through every part of his body. These were deep fantasies he'd never been able to voice to anyone—never mind actually exploring them. "I need… have to…."

He was painfully aroused. Every shift of their bodies brought him closer to the point of no return. He wanted release so badly it hurt.

"Please."

"Would you like me to let you come?" Caddock's eyes darkened considerably. He hadn't stopped the miniscule movements of his invading finger, ever-present to drive Francis wild with want. "Would you? Ask nicely."

What is he doing to me?

"Please. Caddock. God, please. I must…." Francis trembled with the effort it took to
not
go off like a bottle rocket. He craved the added layer of the dominant game they were playing. It had been the one thing lacking from his previous encounters. "Please?"

Caddock pressed his finger in ever so slightly further. His smile widened at the sound it elicited from Francis, who writhed desperately above him. "
Now.
"

Everything faded into a strangled moan of pure pleasure. Francis's vision went white and the sound cut off, strangled by the raw desire in him. He practically erupted with the intensity of his completion.

By the time Francis regained some semblance of awareness, he found himself naked on the bed, with Caddock using a wet flannel to wipe him clean. Words didn't come to him until after they were cuddled under the comforter with Sherlock hopping up to curl at their feet. Even then, he didn't quite know how to verbally express how good it had been for him, not without over-inflating Caddock's ego. It was something the man certainly didn't need any help with. The smug grin on his face was bright enough to be blinding.

I have to say something.

"Nice."

Smooth, Francis, real smooth. Apples are nice. Beans on toast are nice. Incredibly hot, sweaty sex?

"More than fucking nice." Caddock started to roll over just as Francis lifted up. Their heads connected with an impressively painful thud. Caddock flopped down on the mattress, clutching his face. "Somewhat less fucking nice now."

Francis collapsed on his back, gently prodding the already growing goose egg on his forehead. "You've concussed me."

Caddock snorted in amusement while leaning over to tenderly check out the injury. "I'm sure I can find inventive ways to wake you up to ensure you aren't going to die in your sleep."

"How kind."

Chapter Fourteen

Caddock

Three in the morning was way too damn early to be awake. Caddock couldn't seem to drift back off though with so many thoughts filling his mind. He had so many questions that had yet to be answered.

Francis had seemed receptive to his particular brand of pleasure. People often tended to say all sorts of things in the heat of the moment. Better to confirm it when they weren't drunk on pleasure.

It had been a long time since he had been able to let go with another man. His own enjoyment in many ways had derived directly from causing his partner to lose control in such a powerful manner. It was intoxicating.

Thinking about their earlier pleasure drew his attention back to the naked body flush against his own. Shaking his head, he used the breathing exercises from his rugby training to focus his mind elsewhere. It wouldn't do for Francis to believe he had sex permanently on the brain—even if it was the truth.

Flexing his arms, Caddock shifted the man in his arms slightly. Brown hair brushed against his nose, tickling his nostrils. He tried valiantly not to sneeze.

He really did.

Pinching the bridges of his nose, Caddock tried to will it away. Nothing worked. He finally twisted his head around sharply to sneeze loudly, the sound barely muffled by his pillow.

The sound reverberated around the quiet room like a blast from a canon. Sherlock shot to his paws, barking wildly and searching for the intruder. Francis also sat up, though a little more slowly, looking adorably befuddled.

"Arm the battlements." Francis blinked owlishly in the dimly lit room, the bump on his forehead standing out more than it had earlier. "Arm the… what?"

"Arm the battlements?" Caddock stared at his young lover, confused and amused. "You been watching period war movies or something?"

Francis yawned, stretched, and then finally turned half-open blue eyes towards him. "My granddad's favourite exclamation, left over from his days in the military no doubt. It stuck in my mind. So why did the Brute roar in the night?"

Ignoring the now quietly growling Sherlock, Caddock seized Francis by the leg to shift him once again into his arms. He then rolled them so they were side by side. Not being alone in bed was something he could definitely get used to enjoying.

"Sleep, cub." Caddock began to run his fingers through Francis's chaotic mess of brown hair. He tugged lightly on the strands before stroking. "Sleep."

"Cub?" Francis tried to sit up, sounding mildly indignant. He stopped, and then glanced over his shoulder. "I think I gave you two black eyes."

"Me. Brute." Caddock smirked at Francis who was clearly struggling to stay awake even though he continued to glare at him. "You. Cub. And yes, you did catch me right between the eyes with your pointy head."

"We'll discuss your inventive ideas of nicknames and the circumference of my head after I've slept and consumed copious amounts of coffee and…." Francis trailed off into a slurred mumble, which was followed seconds later by the start of a barely audible snore.

They woke several hours later to the sound of the concierge ringing with their courtesy wake-up call. Francis hadn't wanted to miss the earliest part of the last day of the fair. It took a minute or two to untangle themselves from the mess of limbs, complicated slightly by the enthusiastic Sherlock trying to greet them with liberal licks to their faces and wags of his tail.

Dog breath at seven in the morning did not constitute a pleasant wake-up. Sherlock, it seemed, had been anxiously waiting for his morning walk. He grabbed his leash and dropped it on Francis's head, directly on his bump.

"Ow." Francis winced with a pained groan. "Has anyone ever told you that you have an exceptionally hard head?"

"Something's hard." Caddock thrust his hips forward to brush the truth of his words against Francis. "How's your bump?"

"Sore." Francis slipped out of the bed and blushed practically from head to toe at his nudity. He rushed into his own room with Sherlock hot on his heels. "I'll… see you downstairs."

Caddock chuckled for a moment then hefted himself out of bed with a heavy sigh. It seemed last night hadn't completely relaxed Francis.
Good.
He quite enjoyed being the reason behind that flushed skin.

Knowing they had an hour before Francis would become impatient to leave, he jumped into their shared shower. It might be fun to provide a bit of a visual temptation if he was walked in on.

The connecting door never opened though. Caddock finished up and dressed in a fresh set of jeans and one of his old training jerseys. He sat in the lobby of the hotel, reading a paper with a cup of coffee, waiting for Francis to join him.

It gave him ample opportunity to allow his mind to consider the risks he was taking. Anyone who had the media's attention had to work incredibly carefully to watch their image. He'd never given a rat's arse about sharing most aspects of his life, but this was different.

He'd never been truly active in the
community
as such. The London scene could be a bit much for him. And he'd never met anyone like Francis there.

Or maybe he hadn't really been looking all that hard.

"Careful, you might strain something with all those lofty thoughts." The man occupying his thoughts swanned by, stealing his cup of coffee then heading towards the front door with Sherlock at his heels. "Coming with?"

Shaking his head in amusement, Caddock followed the two out of the hotel—after obtaining a second cup of coffee. Punishment could be meted out for the loss of his original cup. It'd be amusing to see how many fantasies they shared.

He spoke first with the hotel concierge about having supper delivered to his room. No way would they be sleeping separately again on this short trip. One night had given him a taste of the joys of having Francis in his life—and bed.

With his orders placed for the evening, Caddock headed out of the hotel to hunt down his companions. Sherlock and Francis appeared to be playing a game of tag around his Range Rover. Francis ran by with his dog nipping at his heels, stopping only once he was completely out of breath.

"Enjoying yourself?" He grinned at them, watching Sherlock, who sat panting at their feet with his tail wagging happily. "I'd pay several quid to bottle his energy."

"Sherlock felt the need to express his displeasure at being cooped up all night." Francis pulled a portable water dish out of his satchel and set it down for the thirsty dog. "I had to soothe the savage brute before taking him around delicate artefacts."

Caddock raised his eyebrows then glared between sheltie and Francis. "Savage brute?"

"You two have a lot in common." He retrieved the bowl, opening the rear door of the vehicle to let Sherlock hop inside. He turned a suspicious frown towards Caddock. "You are remarkably calm about your stolen coffee."

He waited until Francis had started past him to the passenger side of the vehicle to grab him by the arse and yank him closer. "I'll exact payment eventually."

Francis coughed several times, turning his head to the side to attempt to hide the flush on his cheeks. "I look forward to your attempts. And to laughing at your failures."

"You cheeky bastard." He squeezed his arse one last time then shoved him towards the other side of the Rover. "Hop in, cub. Time to get your old furniture fix."

"You make me sound like I'm addicted to furniture polish and dust."

"The first step to finding help is admitting you have a problem." Caddock reached over to help when Francis struggled with his seat belt—again. "How do you ever drive your Fiat if you can't even work a buckle?"

"My Watson adores me. He'd never impede my ability to drive with finicky issues like this nonsense." Francis's eyebrows lowered in obvious aggravation at having to be buckled in. "I've decided to name your vehicle Dr Evil—over the top, flashy, and prone to bouts of wickedness."

"Really? Dr Evil?"

"Suitable name for a recalcitrant vehicle owned by a brute." He glared petulantly at the seatbelt then focused his attention on the passing scenery. "It hates me."

"And yet, Dr Evil has managed to safely cart your precious antiques around without complaint." Caddock always found it highly amusing the way Francis talked as if cars were living, thinking beings. "Perhaps he should demand a few quid in compensation for being overwhelmed by dust and mould?"

"You're a rather lippy chauffeur." Francis retrieved a treat from one of the front pockets of his bag and tossed it over his shoulder to the excited Sherlock. "Attractive, but mouthy."

"You didn't seem to mind my mouth last night. You begged for more, cub." Caddock sipped his coffee then focused on driving.

As they spent more time together, he found they fell into an easy, playful companionship. His sense of humour differed slightly, yet still complemented Francis's own. They laughed—frequently. It had been one of the pieces missing from his previous relationships.

By the time they pulled into the parking area once again, coffees had been finished. Francis placed the therapy animal harness on Sherlock and they set off for the tents they'd missed the previous day.

Since it would be another morning and afternoon spent meandering amongst the antiques, Caddock was content to let Francis inspect each item. He, on the other hand, mentally plotted out the rest of his plans for the evening. It didn't have to be perfect, but special.

Frotting with the man had been spontaneous—enjoyable certainly, but not a true representation of what it could be. Tonight would be different. He hoped.

Sherlock brushed past him with a wag of his tail, which brought to mind a potential issue. Perhaps a massive beef bone to distract the dog should be the first item on his to-do list. It would be a bit of a mood killer to have him putting his wet nose in the middle of an intimate moment.

Maybe a sedative? No, bad idea, Francis would strangle him with a necktie for even thinking about it. And Caddock had far more interesting ideas for what to do with the numerous ties the man owned.

The visual of Francis nude with nothing but a necktie on caused an uncomfortable tightening in his jeans. He compounded it by suddenly thinking about tying the man up to his bed with them. Suddenly, the rather harmless scrap of silk fabric took on a life of its own.

Chapter Fifteen

Francis

By the end of the fair, Francis had managed to pack the back of Dr Evil—the Range Rover—to capacity. A satisfying trip, but that was mostly owed to the company. Antiques could be found any time, after all.

He had never shared a trip quite like this with anyone—outside of his gran. Rupert did occasionally take him places, but only to review properties in need of his decorative touch. Neither held the overtly romantic hints this had.

The hotel itself had been quite a step up. He was being wined and dined. Seduced. And honestly, he couldn't even begin to find it in him to resist.