Page 12 of A Gentleman Never Keeps Score
But when Fox smiled it was the filthy grin of someone who was about to get something he very much wanted. Hartley’s chest tightened at the desire in Fox’s gaze. Other men’s desire had historically not worked out well for Hartley, and it was hard to look at Fox while remaining optimistic. But Hartley wanted Fox in return, wanted him enough that maybe it outweighed his trepidation. Fox was wearing buckskins tonight, and the fabric clung deliciously to his strong thighs. Even in the shadows Hartley could see that his jaw was dusted with stubble of the darkest black. Hartley wanted to run his fingers over the scratch of new beard and the softness of his lips.
“I’ll pass on the pie,” Fox said. His voice was a soft rumble and Hartley knew that however the next hour went, his dreams would be infiltrated by that voice saying things utterly unrelated to pie.
Hartley indicated the door with his chin and somehow they got inside without Hartley further making a fool of himself. His heart pounded madly in his chest. Whatever happened with Fox was likely to end with Hartley uncomfortable and Fox disappointed. But his prick had decided opinions and was not capable of learning from past mistakes, so he abandoned the pie in the kitchen and led the way to the library.
Once the door was shut and bolted behind them, Hartley knew a moment of raw panic and darted across the room, only stopping when he reached the window.
Fox cleared his throat. “I’m going to speak baldly. How do you usually fuck if you don’t like being touched?” There was no judgment in Fox’s voice, just the recognition that most people found touching fairly goddamned fundamental when it came to fucking.
But Hartley hadn’t quite figured out the answer. “Sometimes it almost works if only I do the touching.” It was never enough, never quite right; ultimately he had resigned himself to celibacy, figuring it was better than encounters that were alternately frustrating and terrifying.
Besides, the sort of one-sided arrangement that almost worked for Hartley didn’t appeal to every man. Most men weren’t content being passive. Especially large, strong men like Fox, who likely were accustomed to certain things from a lover. Although, at the moment Fox—still at a safe distance, hands shoved in his pockets, brow creased with concern—didn’t look like he was harboring fantasies of roughly bending Hartley over the sofa. No, Hartley was the only one with fantasies of being bent over things, and he couldn’t even act on them.
Fox was silent long enough that Hartley thought he was coming up with an excuse to leave. But then he cleared his throat, and when he spoke his voice was a bit rough. “Right then. You do the touching, eh? Let’s see what we can do.”
“Really?” Hartley’s voice was nearly a squeak, damn it. He coughed. “I mean, good. Very well.”
“How do you want me? Never done it without touching someone, so you’ll have to tell me what you like. Or need.”
Hartley didn’t need anything. Well, what he needed was not to be crowded, not to be pawed at, not to have his own desire turned into a weapon against him.
“Maybe if you could stand where I am? Against the window?” They still hadn’t touched, and it was strange but wonderful to be negotiating an encounter without there having been any touching yet. Words, Hartley could do. Words were safe. Touching was when things went awry. “And, um, let me suck you?” Fox’s eyes flared. Good. He moved to where Hartley had indicated, his back against the drawn curtains. Hartley stood before him, absent-mindedly smoothing the silk of his own waistcoat and fingering the row of brass buttons, one at a time, before he dared to touch Fox. First, he smoothed his hands down the coarse wool sleeves of Fox’s coat, stopping before the exposed skin of wrists and hands. Fox’s arms were huge, and maybe if Hartley were half right in his head he’d figure out a way to properly get a good look at them, but right now the layers of fabric between their bodies were reassuring.
Hartley stood there a minute, appreciating the sight of Fox against the wine-colored curtain, enjoying the fact that Fox had a bulge in his breeches but wasn’t doing anything about it, instead waiting for Hartley to act. Hartley dropped to his knees and heard the air rush out of the other man’s lungs. That was good. He liked knowing that Fox wanted this, that he wasn’t just letting Hartley have his peculiar way with his body.
He ran his hands up the sides of the man’s thighs, feeling the restrained strength beneath the rough buckskin. He took his time getting to the placket, both because he enjoyed exploring this man’s body with his fingertips and also because he wanted to draw this out. It had been a while since he had been with anyone, and in all likelihood it would be a while before he chose to do it again. Might as well make it last. He skimmed his hands over Fox’s hips and arse, only the most featherlight of touches. Fox’s hands were already gripping the curtains, large fingers twisted in the velvet.
Leaning forward, Hartley pressed a kiss to the place where the buckskin strained at the placket of Fox’s breeches, just a small closed-mouth kiss, utterly chaste except for the location. He heard the man make a sound that was somewhere between a sigh and a hiss, and under his lips the erection grew larger. Now he was running out of patience, so he worked open the buttons and shoved breeches and drawers down all at once. Fox’s cock sprang free, dark and heavy and gratifyingly in proportion to the rest of him. Hartley flicked his tongue across the head, and at the first taste of that salty bitterness, his own prick hardened in his breeches. There was so much more to these encounters than touch; there was that familiar taste and musky scent, there was the little gasp the other man made at the slow progress of Hartley’s tongue. When he glanced up at Fox, he saw that the other man was staring at him. He liked Fox’s gaze on him, could almost feel the heat of it.
“It’s fine,” Fox said, sounding strangled. “I don’t have to be anywhere.”
Hartley snorted with laughter, then glared up at Fox because snorting had not been part of his plan. To prevent any further levity, he closed his lips around the head of Fox’s cock and gave it a thorough suck, letting his tongue swirl languidly around the head. Fox made a sound at the back of his throat and his fingers twisted even more violently in the curtain. That velvet would be permanently crushed by the force of Fox’s grip, and that thought alone made Hartley’s prick twitch with interest. Fox’s body was taut with restraining himself, all because that was what Hartley wanted. He didn’t even know Hartley, didn’t have any reason to care what Hartley wanted or didn’t want. Who even was this man? Did he go door to door granting unusual sexual favors? Hartley might have smiled if his mouth wasn’t busy doing other things.
After another suck, he pulled off and started kissing and licking his way down the shaft. He skimmed the sensitive underside with taunting flicks of his tongue, then traced the vein with tongue and lips. When he got to the root, he pressed his face into the wiry hair and breathed in the other man’s scent. His own cock was thoroughly hard now, and he wanted to reach down and adjust his trousers. Instead he wrapped one hand around the base of Fox’s erection and slowly started to slide it as far into his mouth as he could. God, he missed this, the taste of incipient climax, the feeling of fullness, of almost not being able to breathe, the sense of another man’s pleasure hinging entirely on his whim.
“Christ, you’re good,” Fox groaned. “Hell.”
Hartley gave a little hum to let Fox know his words weren’t unappreciated, and really he could feel free to keep talking like that and then some. Maybe Fox took the hint, because he kept up a stream of murmured praise. “Just like that. So good.” And then his words became a more urgent. “God help me. Your mouth is—I need to—I don’t know—” His hands were fisted in the curtains, his body taut with stillness.
If Hartley took himself in hand, he’d last three strokes, maybe four. He wouldn’t do it, though. For now he needed to store up as much of this as possible, to memorize every detail of this encounter. Hoping he still remembered the trick, he swallowed the shaft as best he could. And, success; Fox let out a muffled oath. Hartley could do this for a good while but decided to take pity on the man. He took the two globes of the man’s arse in his hands and tugged him forward, then released. He did it again, building into a rhythm that he set himself. Fox wasn’t moving so much as letting Hartley move him. A few more strokes, a swirl of his tongue, a muttered warning from Fox, then the burst of climax. Hartley lingered a moment, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
This was the awkward part. Well, there were a lot of awkward parts, but this was the worst of the lot. Now they would both be wanting to get away from one another, but it was dashed odd to slap your hat back on your head and take off into the night after having your cock sucked. Hartley quite felt bad for Fox for having to manage it.
Then Fox slid to the ground where Hartley still knelt. “Bugger,” he said, and Hartley gathered it was meant to be a compliment. “Didn’t think I’d manage to come for a while there. Making myself hold still...” He shook his head and made a sound of appreciation.
“You managed,” Hartley said, primly adjusting his cravat. His voice was hoarse and he was glad of it.
“You’re still...” Fox gestured at the visible erection in Hartley’s trousers.
“Yes, well. I imagine I will be for a while.”
Fox tucked himself back into his buckskins. “Anything I can do?”
“It’s a hard prick, not a fatal condition,” Hartley snapped. “It’ll keep.”
“Oh well, as long as you don’t actually die, then, I guess it’s nothing to worry about.”
Hartley huffed out a laugh despite himself. “I’ll deal with it later. Did you really think you weren’t going to be able to come?” he asked with no small interest. Hartley wanted to hear more about that, knowing he’d think about it when he took himself in hand later that night, in the safety and solitude of his small bedchamber.
