Page 45 of The Queer Principles of Kit Webb
It was the please that did Percy in. He very much had his heart and other parts set on getting fucked this evening, but who was he to deny a politely phrased request, especially one delivered by a gorgeous man with his breeches around his thighs.
“You certain?” Percy asked, thinking of Kit’s leg.
“Christ. Please. Can’t stop thinking about it,” Kit said, sounding desperate. “Oil’s in the cupboard by the door.”
Percy threw open the cupboard, uncorking the bottle with anoverheated hand. He returned to Kit, crowding him against the wall. He let his cock slide against Kit’s arse as he kissed Kit’s neck. He was rapidly becoming obsessed with Kit’s neck.
“Like this?” Percy asked.
“If you don’t stop asking questions and fuck me, I’m never speaking to you again,” Kit said, pressing back against Percy.
“All right,” Percy laughed. “Calm down.” He poured some oil onto his palm and slicked up his fingers. Once again kissing Kit’s throat, he slid his fingers along the crease of Kit’s arse, lingering over his puckered entrance.
Kit swore and rested his forehead against the wall. “Please,” he said, and Percy breached him with the tip of a finger. Lord, the man was tight. Percy couldn’t press in any further, let alone add a second finger.
“Let me in,” Percy said, and Kit’s only response was some garbled profanity. “Right,” he added after a minute, “we could stand here like this all night, with my finger barely up your arse, or you could let me fuckingin, Christopher.”
Kit laughed at that, rich and deep and not at all what Percy expected at that moment. “I knew you’d be like this.”
“Like what?” Percy asked.
“Impatient. Talkative. A little mean.”
“Christ. And you like that?” Percy asked, the words escaping his lips before he could think better of them.
“Something’s very wrong with me.”
Percy did not know whether to be affronted or not, but then something gave way inside Kit and Percy’s finger slid in further. “Yes,” he said rubbing circles onto Kit’s hip with his free hand. “That’s it. More, now.”
“I told you,” Kit panted. “I’ve never done this before.”
“You’ve— I beg your pardon?”
“I don’t fuck men. Or, I haven’t. I told you that.”
“Yes, but men often tell me they don’t fuck other men, often right before—or after—we’ve fucked, so you’ll excuse me if I take those proclamations with a grain of salt.” Percy pressed his chest flush against Kit’s back and took Kit’s erection in hand. He stroked it slowly, lazily, while carefully moving his finger inside Kit.
Percy tried to remember the last time he had been someone’s first in this way, and thought it was probably when he was still at school. In all likelihood, he had been careless and ignorant, and he didn’t want to be that way with Kit. He wanted to take care, wanted to make this good, wanted to make it something Kit would feel good about when he remembered it.
He whispered praise and gentle instruction into Kit’s neck and only after a while did he realize he was speaking in the way Kit had during their fighting lessons.
“You sure you don’t want to get on the floor?” Percy asked when he had another finger inside Kit.
“Can’t,” Kit breathed. “My leg. Ohfuck. Please, Percy, just do it.”
Percy slicked himself up and tugged Kit’s hips back to make him bend at the waist a little. Then he pressed the head of his cock against Kit’s entrance. Kit went tense—of course he did, Percy had been expecting that—but then visibly forced himself to relax.
Percy moved slowly, slower than he had ever done anything in his life. And he kept talking, coaxing and soothing Kit through it. He couldn’t help it, even though he knew Kit was going to laugh at him later for not being able to shut his mouth. He told Kit how good he felt, how gorgeous he was, how well he was taking it, how much he wished Kit could see. Kit’s palms were flatagainst the wall, his fingers curled as if looking for something to hold. Percy put his own hands over Kit’s, lacing their fingers together.
When Percy was fully seated, Kit rested his cheek against the wall, and Percy could finally reach his lips for another kiss. Percy kept babbling—Christ, fuck, look at you.He spoke the words into Kit’s lips and ear, into his neck, turned his words into kisses and his kisses back into words.
They were too close and too badly angled for anything more than grinding together, Percy sliding his length over the spot that made Kit’s swearing take on a desperate edge. It was all too much for a backroom fuck, for a quick stand up against the wall. It was too much for who they were to one another.
And throughout it all Percy couldn’t stop talking, could not stop saying things that were lamentably true and just as ill-advised. He ought to be concentrating on making this better for Kit instead of nattering on about howbeautifulKit was, how lovely Kit was being for him. A voice inside Percy’s head told him to stop being like this—weak, needy, desperate—but at the same time he saw the way Kit was responding to all of that, and thought that maybe it wasn’t so bad.
He extricated one of his hands and brought it to Kit’s cock. Kit gasped at the contact, clenching around Percy’s length in a way that made Percy almost sob. A few strokes later and Kit was coming, Percy’s name a strangled sigh, his body hot and grasping around Percy’s. Percy pulled out and came into his own fist, his climax so hard it nearly knocked him off his feet. He collapsed against Kit and could have stayed there if he hadn’t remembered Kit’s complaints about his leg.
“How’s your leg?”
