Page 32 of Two Rogues Make a Right
Will placed his palms on the other man’s torso, spreading his fingers over his ribs, and kissed him some more. He had the notion that it would be worth anything, anything in the world, to regularly watch Martin melt from prickly irritation to soft capitulation like this. He could imagine weeks and months and years of easing Martin’s irritability away with kisses and nonsense words and gentle pets.
“What would happen,” Will said, barely lifting his mouth from Martin’s, “if I got to my knees?”
“I’m not certain.” Something in the tone of his voice suggested barely checked desperation.
Will kissed him again. “May I try? I like having my mouth on you.” For emphasis, he pressed a wet kiss behind Martin’s jaw. “And I’d like to do that, if you think you might like it too.”
Martin swallowed. “All right.”
Will cupped Martin’s cheek with his palm. “If you change your mind, will you tell me to stop?” When Martin was silent, Will kissed him. “If you’re not sure you can tell me to stop, then let’s do something else. I need to know that you can tell me to stop. For me to enjoy this—to enjoy any of it—I need to be certain that you’re comfortable. Otherwise it’s—bad memories, all right?”
Martin looked at him sharply, but nodded his head. He didn’t ask any questions, because he never did, thank God; he just treated Will like all the traps and snares in Will’s mind were a normal part of the terrain. Will shucked his coat and threw it on the floor where Martin’s clothes had landed, then began kissing down Martin’s chest. He ran a thumb over one pink nipple, and when that earned him a curse and a shudder, he followed it up with his tongue. He took his time, because time was the one thing they had in any quantity. When he got to his knees, he didn’t right away undo the falls of Martin’s trousers, instead contenting himself with kissing and nuzzling the fabric on either side of a very obvious erection. All the while, Martin carded a hand through Will’s hair, sometimes so bold as to tentatively hold him in place for a moment but never directing his movement.
“Will.” Martin’s voice sounded ragged. Will looked up and saw Martin gazing down at him, eyes wild. “I—just wanted to tell you I like this. I’m—comfortable.”
Will felt something warm and dangerous slither around in his chest. When he finally mouthed along the hard line of Martin’s erection, the hand in his hair went rigid. Will went motionless, waiting for a sign that this was all right. He raised his eyes and Martin nodded.
He unfastened the falls of Martin’s trousers, waited for a nod, and then lowered them a few inches, watching the flushed length of him spring free. Martin made a choked noise that sounded like begging, and Will kissed the bare skin beneath his navel, the crease where his thigh met his torso, pretty much anywhere he could get his mouth other than the erection that was right in front of him. He remembered how Martin had reacted at first to Will’s hand on his length, and supposed a mouth would not be any easier. Finally, he began mouthing around the base of the shaft, then slowly up, and by the time he had his lips wrapped around the head, Martin’s hands were tight in his hair, his body taut with tension.
“Will,” he ground out. “I need more—please.”
Will pulled off. “You’re doing so well. So good for me.” Martin made a broken gasping sound as Will drew him into his mouth. Will had been telling the truth when he said he liked this—the taste and the feel on his tongue, having to work to take it all in—but he also liked the sense that he was taking care of Martin in this way. He felt Martin’s body go tense, climax approaching, and gentled him through it, feeling like he was giving himself over to something.
Martin’s hands were on his collar, pulling him up. “Let me,” he said, his knuckles brushing the front of Will’s trousers.
Will swore and fumbled his way through opening his trousers, then groaned in relief at the pressure of Martin’s hand.
“I don’t know how you stand it,” Will babbled. “You’re incredible. I was kissing you for ages and touching you everywhere but your cock and you just waited. I’d have gone raving.” He gasped as Martin did something with his thumb. “Do that two more times and I’ll be gone.” And so he was, shaking and swearing into Martin’s shoulder.
This time it was Martin who got them cleaned up, Martin who led them into bed. Somehow the jug of ale even made it into the bed with them.
“It’s not self-restraint,” Martin said after taking a pull from the jug and passing it to Will.
“What isn’t?”
“The...” He gestured in the vicinity of his trousers.
Will raised his eyebrows. “Then what is it?”
“I just... don’t. I don’t toss myself off.” Martin spoke with a nervous tightness that made Will want to cover his face with kisses. “Is that unusual?”
Will was certain it was highly unusual, if his time living among men his own age in the navy was any indication, but he wasn’t going to say so. “Everybody’s different,” he said. “Why don’t you? You don’t seem to have any difficulty getting hard. Or coming, for that matter. Everything seems to be in, er, top form.”
“I just... try to make it go away.”
“Why, though?” Will remembered what Martin had told him about not wanting to want sex. He expected it had something to do with residual shame over wanting to shag men, but didn’t want to assume.
“For one, I don’t...” Martin snatched the jug away from Will and took a long drink. “This is enormously stupid.” He swallowed. “When you touch me, my first thought is sometimes that I don’t deserve it. No, shut up, I know you’re going to tell me that I do deserve it, but you’d also tell me I deserved the crown jewels if I had just come back from robbing the royal vault, so your opinion on this matter is not required.”
“Grumpy,” Will said, and bit Martin’s shoulder.
“The other reason, and this is even stupider, is that it doesn’t seem right to think of someone like that without their permission.”
Stunned, Will propped himself onto his elbow and looked down at Martin. “You think it might be... unethical... to toss yourself off while thinking about someone who hasn’t given their permission to be used in your fantasy.” That had never, not even once, occurred to Will, but it seemed like a not totally insane proposition; besides, Martin seemed pretty dedicated to overcorrecting for his father’s sins—Sir Humphrey had certainly not been one to put much stock in concepts like permission, Will recollected grimly. “All right, fair, but why not just imagine some faceless bloke?”
“That’s not how it works for me. I don’t want to shag faceless blokes,” Martin said, his face very red.
Will kissed his forehead. “Who do you want to shag, then? I mean, I’m assuming you want to shag me because here we are, and consider permission granted. Play with yourself until your hand goes numb.”
