Page 24 of It Takes Two to Tumble
“The sort of friends who grope one another in boathouses and behind woodsheds? The sort of friends who imagine one another while bringing themselves off? Because I most definitely did that this afternoon.” Twice, in fact. And once the night before.
Sedgwick’s cheeks went even redder, and his lips parted slightly. Phillip forced himself not to look away even though his breeches were growing tighter at the thought of what he’d like to do to those lips.
“I did that, too, you know, but that’s neither here nor there—”
It took Phillip’s brain a moment to catch up with his cock. “You thought of me while tossing yourself off?”
“Yes, but I can’t see—”
“Is that a typical mark of friendship for you? The boathouses and the wanking and so forth? Because I’ll have you know it isn’t for me, Sedgwick.”
“Don’t be absurd.” The vicar’s mouth was caught between a scowl and a smile and Phillip desperately wanted to kiss it. “But just because I want to touch you doesn’t mean I need to.” He sounded gratifyingly uncertain about that.
“That’s absolutely right it doesn’t,” Phillip growled. “I haven’t the slightest interest in going to bed with someone who’s going to have to do penance for it afterward. Rather ruins the moment.”
“Penance,” Sedgwick repeated slowly, as if he had never heard of the term. “You thought...” He shook his head, and when he spoke again it was in a deliberately light tone. “We don’t much go in for penance in the Church of England. I have a whole pamphlet you can read on the topic.” There was a twinkle in his eye, damn him. He was about to laugh, of all things.
“You can keep your blasted pamphlets. What I mean is—”
“I know what you meant. And don’t worry about penance. That’s... not a concern.”
“Isn’t it, though? If not actual penance, then guilt. Shame. I won’t have any part of your sin, Sedgwick.”
“You can leave it to me to decide what I think a sin is. Everybody’s a damned theologian on this topic. I’m so tired of it. If we can all quietly agree that eating pork and shaving aren’t sinful, I don’t see why we can’t extend that same grace to men like us.”
Phillip had never seen Sedgwick this angry. His body was taut with emotion and his cheeks were flushed. Phillip had the distinct impression that if Sedgwick hadn’t been carefully controlling himself, Phillip would already have a black eye.
Phillip’s cock was already hard. His cock had terrible, terrible judgment, but that was nothing new. He got to his feet, almost without thinking about what he was doing.
“Don’t bring me into it,” Phillip said, perversely trying to egg Sedgwick on, trying to see what lay on the other side of this hot anger. “I’m not ashamed of who I am or who I want to touch. And I don’t believe in sin.”
Sedgwick waved his hand in frustrated dismissal. “I tell you, there’s no shame between us.” He gestured between their two bodies. “Nor any sin.”
“Oh?” Phillip was playing with fire, and he knew it. “Then what is there?” He made the same gesture. It was a barefaced challenge, a shameless dare, and they both knew it. Sedgwick’s eyes glinted with acknowledgment. He could no more ignore the challenge than he could have avoided jumping in the lake a few nights ago.
Sedgwick shook his head, as if in disbelief at what he was about to do, and then his mouth crooked up in the barest hint of a smile.
He turned the key in the lock and stepped forward.
They were standing so close Ben could almost feel the heat rolling off Dacre’s body. He ought to leave, or at least come up with any excuse to put some distance between them. But he knew he wasn’t going to. He had known since walking into this room what was likely to happen, and he knew he wasn’t going to try to stop it.
He had spent days trying to ignore the awareness that flared between him and Dacre whenever they were in the same room. He had walked the circumference of the lake, half in prayer and half in a knotted web of thoughts. And he had decided that it was wrong to ignore what he was feeling. He couldn’t ignore it any more than he could ignore his faith in God. It felt like denying a core part of himself. He believed that it would be here, with Dacre, with a chance to be honest about who he was and what he wanted, that he’d figure out what his next steps must be.
He took a deep, steadying breath. Dacre still had the challenging look in his eye from when he had asked—dared—Ben to say what lay between them.
“You know better than I do. You tell me,” Ben said, with more courage than he felt. “Tell me what there is between us.” Thattell mefelt like jumping into a lake that wasn’t filled with mere cold water but with sea monsters and thorns and perils he couldn’t even name. It wasn’t a question. It was an invitation.
And Dacre knew it. His eyes opened fractionally wider, as if he had been expecting something else but was caught unawares. “Where to start,” he murmured, his eyes hot on Ben’s face.
“What I mean is...” Ben took a deep breath and searched for the words he needed. “I know about what you called ‘convenient friendships.’ I don’t want that.” He had thrown himself into this lake of dangerous desire, body and soul, and he didn’t want to be the only one there.
Dacre stood perfectly still, his hand arrested halfway to Ben’s arm. “No?” The word came out on a breath.
“No,” Ben said firmly, and felt Dacre’s hand settle solidly on his arm. “If I just wanted to bring myself off and then feel unsatisfied afterward, I could do that on my own. Tell me what it would be like if we had something else.”Something more, he wanted to say. “I want everything.” He rested his own hand on Dacre’s hip, feeling the warm flesh beneath the linen of his shirt and the wool of his breeches.
Dacre groaned. “God help me, Sedgwick. When you say things like that...”
“When we’re together it feels right. I want to go down that path and see what’s there.”
