Page 26 of It Takes Two to Tumble
And then strong hands were on him, pulling him up, bringing him down for a kiss that was clumsy and frantic and perfect. Phillip held himself up on one forearm so he could unfasten his breeches. “I’ve got to take it out,” he muttered, as if he needed to explain or apologize, but then Sedgwick’s hands were there, too, opening his own breeches, and his mouth was on the muscles of Phillip’s upper arm, kissing softly.
At the first touch of their erections together, Phillip swore and Sedgwick gasped. Phillip bent his head down to see—he needed to see this—and watched his fingers close around the silky hardness of the other man’s cock, thick and already wet. Sedgwick let out an inarticulate sound of pleasure and need.
“You like this,” Phillip said, gliding his hand along the other man’s erection. That much was obvious, but he wanted to hear it. He wanted to know exactly how much Sedgwick wanted this, wanted him.
“So much,” Sedgwick breathed, thrusting helplessly into Phillip’s fist.
“I want you in my mouth,” Phillip whispered. “I want to suck you.” He had never said those words, never thought he would. “Will you let me?”
A shudder of a breath. “Yes, yes, please.”
Phillip got to his knees, occasionally pressing haphazard kisses along his way. He tugged Sedgwick’s breeches a bit lower to give him better access. For a moment he sat on his heels and admired Sedgwick’s body, golden and strong, his erection arcing towards his belly. Then he leaned closer, wrapping his fingers around its base and bringing it to his lips before licking the head with the flat of his tongue.
Sedgwick’s hips bucked towards him. Phillip could see him half leaning on the desk, his head bent down to watch.
“Steady,” Phillip murmured. “I haven’t done this before.” He hadn’t meant to admit that, but this was Sedgwick, this was Benedict, this was a man who played with ducklings and sang lewd songs to the elderly, and Phillip didn’t need to worry about dignity, or whatever it was that usually hampered his desire. He knew in his heart he could tell him everything, anything, and it would be fine. He was safe. His heart was safe, or as safe as it ever would be.
At the feel of Phillip’s lips closing around his cock head, Ben had to stuff his fist halfway into his mouth to muffle any noises he might make. With his other hand he gripped the edge of the desk, never taking his eyes off Phillip.
Phillip lifted his head away, and Ben nearly cried out at the loss of sensation. “Are you planning to watch me?” he asked, his voice husky.
“Yes?” He had to watch. There was no other option. “Please?”
Phillip huffed out a laugh and swiped his tongue across the underside of Ben’s shaft.
Ben put his fist back against his mouth and stifled a moan as Phillip slid his mouth down lower, carefully, almost tentatively. He said he had never done this before, which surprised Ben, but then again it wasn’t as if Ben had ever done this either.
And now Phillip was working Ben’s cock with his fist and his mouth, his eyes half-closed. It was all Ben could do to keep still, to not thrust up into the wet warmth of Phillip’s mouth. He looked so intent, his brow slightly furrowed in concentration as he took Ben’s cock deeper. But he also looked like he was enjoying himself, and when he raised his eyes to Ben’s, all Ben could see in them was pleasure. Ben imagined what it might be like if it were he kneeling on the floor with Phillip’s cock in his own mouth and he felt his climax beginning to bear down on him.
“I—soon, Phillip.”
Phillip didn’t pull away, but he shifted, and Ben realized he was stroking himself. Oh, hell. He really was enjoying this, then. He moaned around Ben’s cock, and that was what finally sent pleasure crashing through Ben’s body.
At the last second, Phillip lifted his head and Ben spilled onto his own belly, his entire universe dissolving into sparks of pleasure.
For a moment they stared at one another, Phillip produced a handkerchief, and Ben had the horrified notion that they were going to get dressed and walk away as if nothing had happened. He didn’t think he could bear it, not after this. So he grabbed Phillip’s arm and pulled him up.
He reached his hand between them, feeling for Phillip’s erection. “Let me touch you,” he pleaded.
“You don’t—”
“Please.” His mouth met Phillip’s as his hand closed around Phillip’s hardness, and he stroked him the way he would stroke himself, and when it grew even harder he knew it was his doing, his hand and his body that had made it happen. He dropped to his knees without a second thought, and licked the bead of moisture that had gathered at the tip of Phillip’s erection. Phillip mumbled something incoherent that sounded like Ben’s name and dragged Ben up for a kiss. Ben kept stroking Phillip’s shaft with his fist, rubbing his thumb along the head, as Phillip kissed him hungrily, almost desperately. Soon Phillip was swearing a warning, one hand twisted in Ben’s hair and the other braced on the desk behind Ben’s back. Then Ben felt Phillip’s body go taut and still, followed by the warmth of his release.
“Ben,” Phillip said, his hand still combing through Ben’s hair, his expression bewildered and ravaged. “Benedict.”
Ben didn’t know how long they stood there, Phillip’s head buried in Ben’s neck, their heartbeats finally returning to normal and their breathing becoming less ragged. Ben stroked his hand up and down Phillip’s back, as if soothing him, as he would soothe a crying child or an injured animal, because something about the way Phillip was almost clinging to him told him that he needed whatever small comfort Ben could give him.
“Thank you,” Ben said, long after the lamp on the desk had burned out, leaving them with only the scant light from the banked fire and the waning moon. He kissed Phillip’s forehead. He wanted to ask whether Phillip was all right, but didn’t know how to do it in a way that this prickly, proud man didn’t interpret as interfering or condescending.
Phillip raised his head. “Still no penance?” His voice was gruff.
Ben smiled, and hoped Phillip could see it. “Not a chance. Not for this. Never for—” He had nearly said love, but that was rather putting too fine a point on the thing. “Never for friendship or affection.” And since that sounded both mawkish and inadequate, he added, “Or for whatever this is.”
Phillip let out a breath that might have almost been a laugh, or might have been a sigh of relief. “Good.”
Chapter Thirteen
It was with a headache and an ill temper that Phillip walked to Lindley Priory the following day. He had spent the afternoon closeted with his land steward, listening to tales of that blasted Easterbrook’s poor treatment of his tenants. Strictly speaking, Easterbrook could do whatever he pleased on his own land within the limits of a law that strongly favored landowners, but in practice Phillip’s tenants were stretched thin by having to provide food, money, and sometimes even shelter for family who were or had been Easterbrook’s tenants. Phillip felt badly equipped to manage this problem, and resented Easterbrook for having brought matters to a point where Phillip couldn’t ignore them. He heartily wished Easterbrook to the ends of the earth.
