Page 13 of Moaning Under the Mistletoe
“For kidnapping me?” He’d never been bundled out of somewhere so fast, and if he’d expected it, he would’ve found it hot. Done like this with no warning was disconcerting.
“For talking about your uncle in public. It’s too emotional.”
Oscar sighed as Bennington’s actions made some sort of messed up logical sense. “Heaven forbid that we stray from socially acceptable, emotionless, topics whist in your fancy club.”
“What? I meant to apologise for upsetting you.”
“Oh. Thank you. I wasn’t upset.”
Bennington stared at him.
“Well, a little bit. It’s difficult to hear how people knew my uncle while still figuring out how to deal with the knowledge that my own father kept him a secret from me.” Every time someone talked about his Uncle Ismail, Oscar was hit with a sense of regret that he’d never had a chance to meet him. From everything he’d heard, he probably would’ve got along well with Ismail.
“Yes.” Bennington reached across the carriage and brushed his thumb under Oscar’s eye. “I have too much family and I often wish I had less of them, but I wouldn’t wish this secrecy on anyone. It’s not fair.”
Oscar leaned against Bennington’s hand, which was a slightly awkward movement with Bennington sitting across from him. “You have too much family?”
“I do.” Bennington paused and Oscar waited. “Six younger siblings and three half-sisters, now that my mother has remarried. Countless cousins.”
“That is a lot. I have four siblings, three older and one younger. I didn’t realise that my parents had travelled with Uncle Ismail from their country to London.”
“Their country?”
“My parents are from West Sumatra. It’s part of the Dutch East Indies now. They were ordinary people who suffered when the Padri fought the local leaders, the Adat. War broke out a year before I was born, and my father says he was lucky to get his family onto a boat to London. I was born in 1804 on arrival in London.”
“And the war?”
“Still continues. The Dutch sided with the Adat, so they will likely win.” Oscar knew he was lucky to grow up in London, in relative peace. He’d heard all the stories about the Dutch using locals like his family as slaves. None of the options were good for people like him and his family. “I am grateful that my father took a chance on a better life here.”
“You are allowed complicated feelings about him.”
“Thank you.” Oscar was surprised that Bennington understood the odd complexity of being thankful to grow up here while also being upset at his father for keeping Ismail a secret.
“How can I make it better?”
Oscar knew one thing he’d been wanting to do since he saw Bennington staring forlornly out the window before lunch. “You could let me suck your cock.”
Bennington spluttered, colour splashed over his pale cheeks. “Shouldn’t I suck yours?”
“Sometime, sure.” Oscar shrugged. “I want to be on my knees for you.”
Bennington tapped on the roof and the hackney slowed down. He leaned out the window. “Take the long route, please.” And then Bennington secured the window coverings, so they were almost in the dark.
“Bennington?”
“Suck my cock. Use me to make yourself happy.” He sat on the seat opposite Oscar, leaning back with his arms spread wide across the back of the seat. Heat rushed through Oscar’s veins, and he fell forwards onto the floor of the hackney. The puff of dust from the floor did nothing to slow his enthusiasm as he grabbed Bennington’s buckskin clad thighs. Oscar buried his face between Bennington’s legs, nuzzling his cock, already hard and straining at the fabric, and together the two of them, hands clashing, worked to free Bennington’s cock. His prick was a thing of beauty. Long and thick, with a perfect head. Oscar breathed in deep and licked his lips. He wished it wasn’t so dark in here so he could gaze at it properly. He’d put his mouth around many cocks in the last month, but none of fine as this one, and he wanted to savour it.
“You want it?”
“Yes.”
“Go on then.”
Oscar bit his bottom lip and stared up at Bennington, whose mouth hung open with his amber brown eyes seeking out Oscar’s own gaze. “Let me plan my attack.”
“Just suck me.” The growl from the back of Bennington’s throat filled the hackney, making the very air seem thicker and warmer. Oscar winked, then bowed his head, mouth open, and sucked down Bennington’s thick cockstand. Hell. Just like the other day, he was completely filled, and he couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel to have Bennington’s fingers inside him while he did this. Filled at both ends. He almost came from the thought of it, heat flashing through his body, overwhelming him. He rose up, almost lifting his mouth off to ask, but then the carriage swayed and he remembered where the heck they were. He had to rush, to get Bennington off before they reached wherever the cab was taking them. He used all his skill to lick and suck the impressive prick, all the while pushing his hands under Bennington’s shirt and exploring his torso with his fingertips. Bennington was quiet, bar his ragged breathing. It was probably sensible not to make noise, but Oscar wanted to hear him. He doubled his efforts, wanting to hear Bennington’s desperation for him. He flattened his tongue and opened his throat, taking in as much of Bennington as possible, fingers digging into Bennington’s abdominal muscles as his cock hit the back of Oscar’s throat. Moisture and heat prickled his eyes but he kept going—sliding up and down, up and down—until his lungs screamed for air. Finally, Bennington growled, then made a noise that sounded like a shout dampened between pinched lips and came with a hot spurt into Oscar’s mouth. He swallowed down the salty seed, then leaned back on his heels, wiping his mouth. The last part was unnecessary, but he loved the way Bennington’s eyes smouldered as he watched him.
“Mr Mardin.”
