The Uncertain Customer (7 page)

Church inched forward until the unseen bulge that had doubtlessly taken root in his pants was pressed against the swell of Aster’s arse. The size of his excitement must have been impressive, for the boy jerked as though he’d been poked with something supremely intimidating.

“Which of you will lose this race, I wonder? Will it be you, lovely Aster?” Cruelly whispering the challenge into the boy’s ear, Church seemed determined to guarantee that he would not emerge victorious. Aster moaned piteously at the hot caress of breath against the side of his face. The combined threat of the cock pressing against his arse and the hand mercilessly stroking the shaft between his legs seemed to seal his defeat.

But Church was not all callousness. Gardenia was not to be left out of his special brand of torture. He traced his hands down Aster’s heaving sides and along the length of his slender thighs, leaning more firmly against the boy’s back as he did so. The path they traveled continued until the gentle touch ghosted over Gardenia’s pale legs. The lad mewed in reaction, his body greedily pressing up into the provocative touch.

“Or will it be you, my pale, delicate flower?” Church asked, his voice a seductive rumble. With that, he cupped his left hand around the soft globe of Gardenia’s rightmost arse cheek and reached around to dip the fingers of his right hand into the enticing crevasse that concealed the boy’s most beguiling treasure.

“Ah, sir!”

The tide had turned, and now it was Gardenia’s loss that appeared assured. He lifted his head from Aster’s neck, displaying the vibrant, dark red mark he’d been so busy raising on his companion’s formerly pristine skin. Church pried apart the peachy mounds of flesh of Gardenia’s buttocks so Wilcox could see clearly how his friend’s fingers toyed at the dusky bud his own aching manhood longed to breach. Captivated, Wilcox reached out to trace his fingers over the sweeping curve of Gardenia’s back, taking great care to follow every curve. The boy moaned his approval at the touch, his spine arching in that sweet curve only very young men seemed able to achieve.

Yet, even as Gardenia signaled his eagerness to be plowed with helpless gasps and purposeful wiggles of his narrow hips, Wilcox found that his eyes were only for Church. His friend’s lips were parted around gently panting breaths, and a delicate sheen of sweat had formed among the flaxen stubble on his upper lip that heralded the lateness of the hour. The lecherous expression on Church’s handsome features as he watched the havoc his actions had wrought in their young inamorata should have looked absurd, but served merely to incite the flames of Wilcox’s ardor. And as he stared fixedly at his longtime companion, the man with whom he’d shared the many crazy adventures of youth and all the triumphs and failures of adulthood, the desire that had been building within Wilcox for so many years suddenly burst forth in a wave of foolhardy purpose. That look was his, and his alone, and he refused to share it. Not even with these brilliant lads, who had been thrust into their lives in such a gloriously haphazard manner.

As though he was watching someone else, Wilcox observed his trembling hand as it moved away from his side and reached toward the one resting so cozily on Gardenia’s bum. He gazed curiously at the finger that extended to touch the back of the unsuspecting appendage, noting how the skin twitched slightly at his touch. Wilcox could feel the inevitable weight of a questioning stare, but he kept his attention fixed on the impertinent actions of his mysterious, questing hand. Though he almost begged it not to, Wilcox could not stop his fingers as they spread to cover Church’s completely. And then, adding to the madness, his hand caressed its new captive with a hesitancy that clearly bespoke its owner’s yearnings.

“Wilcox.”

Church spoke only that single word, yet it was enough to snap Wilcox back to the reality of the situation. Though firmly returned to his senses, Wilcox was intoxicated by the sensation of the rough texture of Church’s skin beneath his fingers. And so he continued on his demented path, tracing up his friend’s strongly muscled arm until he had reached the curve of a broad shoulder. On and on he went, brushing up the long column of Church’s throat until his fingers encountered the prick of his resurgent beard. The pregnant heaviness of the gaze that bore into his compelled him to explain himself. Somehow Wilcox resisted the urge to obey the silent command, instead tracing ever higher until he was able to brush the backs of his fingers over the sharp plane of his friend’s cheek.

“Wilcox,” Church repeated, whatever emotion he was trying to convey lost beneath the flatness of his tone. Yet when Wilcox moved to pull his hand back, a flurry of apologies surging to his lips, Church grabbed him, preventing his retreat. Watching Wilcox fixedly, Church turned his hand upward and pressed a kiss into his palm.

Wilcox felt his body jerk, the touch of those mobile lips surging through him like a bolt of lightning. A shocked “What!” burst from him as though he were the one deserving of an explanation, his addled brain unable to discern the appropriate reaction. Wilcox had the distant notion that he should break the contact between his hand and Church’s mouth, but he couldn’t for the life of him make himself move away. “What?” he repeated, parroting his own exclamation, only this time with far more uncertainty.

“Shhhh.” Church blew the hushing sound over Wilcox’s palm. His grasp grew firmer as a resulting shudder threatened to dislodge his grip, ensuring that Wilcox had no choice but to submit. Then, following some insidious plan known only to him, Church busied himself with slowly drawing Wilcox’s index finger into the warm, wet orifice from which had sprung the decade and a half of absurdities that had made Wilcox fall so maddeningly in love with him in the first place.

“My God, man” was the only coherent sentence Wilcox was able to string together. He watched in a daze as his first finger disappeared between Church’s lips, the sensation of moist heat that enveloped the fortunate digit striking directly at his groin. Wilcox groaned when his middle finger was given similar treatment, shortly followed by the one bearing the signet ring, which identified his family’s rank. But those three were suddenly abandoned in favor of his smallest finger, upon which Church lavished all due attention, curling his tongue around the length of it and cupping it protectively before tightening his lips around it in gentle suction.

Wilcox knew perfectly well that they were not alone, that any untoward action on his part would be undeniable. He labored under the scrutiny of two, semi-impartial witnesses, not to mention the man toward whom his desires were directed. If he gave in to the impulse that was clawing its way from the pounding organ in his chest, through his body, and into his dimly functioning brain, he would never be able to undo it. Wilcox tried to resist the urges that plagued him, to allow good sense to reign in favor of preserving this dearest of friendships. But when Church drew back far enough to blow gently on the vulnerable finger he’d so thoroughly wetted, Wilcox tossed away all thoughts but one.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured as he fell upon his friend, knocking him down onto the mattress. He was vaguely aware of the two boys moving out of their way, but he had eyes for no one but the man now lying beneath him.

“Dear Lord, you are a heavy brute, aren’t you?” Church chuckled before digging his fingers into the bunched muscles of Wilcox’s back, the throaty nature of his voice belying the complaint.

“I’m so sorry,” Wilcox repeated. He bestowed an endless array of fervent kisses, whispering a meaningless litany of heartfelt apologies as his hips rocked helpless against Church’s in a pantomime of his deepest longings. “Forgive me,” he murmured again before ravaging his friend’s mouth with a probing tongue.

“Oh, do shut up, you bloody idiot,” Church said long minutes later once Wilcox had released him sufficiently to allow for speech. The only expression on his face when Wilcox drew back in shock at the terse remark was an indulgent smile that stole away any sting from the rebuke. Strong hands placed gently on either side of his face pulled Wilcox back down, and all meaningful conversation was instantly forgotten.

Church’s lips were a revelation. Incredulity at what he had somehow managed to accomplish warred in Wilcox’s breast with an overwhelming sense of homecoming. Ever since they had met over the cricket pitch their first year at university, Wilcox had wanted the irreverent rake with a fierceness that had pursued him doggedly ever since. But now, it was as though he’d always known the particular softness with which Church’s lips yielded to his. The unique taste of him was utterly familiar—an intoxicating blend of brandy, tobacco, and tea—and yet profoundly new. His fingers might have spent countless hours mapping the contours of Church’s body, so confidently did they trace over the delicious planes and hollows that defined his friend’s figure. Wilcox reached beneath the bottom hem of the loosened shirt hanging carelessly past Church’s hips and delved into the beckoning space below the hem of his trousers. He sketched a teasing caress over a jutting hipbone, the uneven breath that skittered over his ear proof that his search for one of his friend’s weaknesses had proved most successful.

“You’re overdressed,” Church growled as he tore his own shirt away, revealing the coveted expanse of his lightly furred chest.

“I think you’re confused.” Wilcox teased, raking his gaze over Church’s mostly clothed form. “Allow me to help you.” Distracting Church as he attacked the fastenings at his waist, Wilcox pressed an openmouthed kiss to the newly exposed skin, relishing the effort of blindly divesting Church of his trousers. Their undergarments and socks followed in rapid succession after some indecorous wiggling that left Wilcox groaning with a renewed ache. Church tossed the cotton leggings aimlessly toward the sideboard. Wilcox knew not where they landed, nor did he care as they lay together for the first time, pressed full length with not a stitch between them to detract from the connection. “Oh God!” Wilcox shouted, the heat from Church’s body pouring into him and stoking those embers that had already been raging toward giddy heights.

“Why, thank you,” Church replied with his distinctive cheeky humor.

For some perverse reason known only to it, Wilcox’s cock twitched at the small witticism. Apparently conscious of the betraying movement, Church glanced at him with a raised brow, but the bead of sweat that slid down his face gave away his own mounting ardor. Wilcox forestalled whatever quip Church had been planning by ensuring that the only sounds his friend could utter were kiss-smothered moans.

Wilcox would have been content to spend the remainder of the night thusly with Church lying in his arms, his body covered by a lovely expanse of warm, pampered muscle. But their nearly forgotten hosts had other ideas. Church was the one to break their latest kiss when a pair of slender hands suddenly alighted upon their sides. Following suit, Wilcox likewise looked toward the two boys, who were regarding them with varying degrees of playful bashfulness.

“Oh, don’t mind us,” Gardenia chirped while arranging himself on his stomach so he lay at their side. “We’re happy to languish in the corner being ignored by you strapping dandies.”

“Gardenia, don’t be rude.” Aster softened his admonishment with a gentle smile. “But we would feel amiss if we weren’t able to provide you with at least some tiny bit of service. Mr. Leslie always exhorts us to do our best to please our guests.”

“You’re such a fancy talker, Aster.” Gardenia sulked with a huff. “Surely you can think of a better use for your mouth than spouting off all those frilly words like you was a prince or somewot.”

For the first time, the uncultured edge that bespoke the boy’s rough birth snuck through into his speech. It was highly likely that Gardenia had been born in the Dials, mere blocks from where he now peddled his body. Yet, despite the disclosure of his low circumstances, Wilcox found himself charmed by the lad’s lively, unapologetic coarseness. A quick glance revealed that his friend was similarly enchanted.

“And what would you do for us, if we gave you permission?” Church inquired.

Gardenia responded with a broad, lascivious grin that should have looked ridiculous on his cherubic features but was instead delightfully charming. The boy pushed insistently at Wilcox’s hip until he took the hint and rolled away from Church, exposing their matching erections. Gardenia regarded both of their engorged members thoughtfully, gave a small nod, and proceeded to dive headfirst until Wilcox’s aching cock was buried deep in his throat. Wilcox had just enough time to see one of the vials that had formerly been resting on the ledge above the bed drop from Gardenia’s fingers and fall to the covers before his eyes crossed and he could see only stars.

“Oh, you are a tr-treasure!” Church exclaimed with a throaty hitch in his voice. Cracking open an eye, Wilcox saw that Aster had followed his colleague’s lead, his brown head bobbing studiously over Church’s engorged shaft. Transfixed at the sight of Church parting his lips in an enticing pink O as he gasped for breath, Wilcox buried his fingers in his friend’s hair and pulled him in for kiss.

Their tongues sparred in an erotic game of one-upmanship, each trying to make the other submit. Wilcox would thrust and Church would parry, neither giving an inch in their struggle for dominance. But there was no anger in their play. Every moan bespoke their shared passion, every countermove calculated to ensure the maximum amount of pleasure for the other. Wilcox ran his tongue along the sensitive ridges defining the roof of his friend’s mouth, making Church groan at the startling caress. His brief triumph was short lived as Church suddenly changed the rules by reaching over and pinching one of Wilcox’s nipples between his fingers. Wilcox whimpered helplessly, his hips jerking in mindless reaction to the exquisite torment as Church took advantage of his distraction to suck insistently on his tongue.

And all the while, their hired paramours earned their keep. Wilcox tunneled deeper into the soft golden waves beneath his fingers, striving mightily to maintain his composure as Gardenia cleverly bent his own tongue to the task of driving him insane. Never once losing an inch, Gardenia swallowed Wilcox’s until his lips surrounded the base of his cock, the fluttering muscles in his throat milking the sensitive tip. Despite the difficult angle, the boy somehow managed to massage the pulsing length with his tongue, probing at the cleft below the helmet before easing down until it teased at the place where his lips formed a ring around the rigid shaft. A soft hum from his tormentor made Wilcox gasp, and soon his fingers were making a ruin of Gardenia’s formerly neat hairstyle.