Page 44 of The Queer Principles of Kit Webb
Chapter32
Percy watched Kit frown at the door to the coffeehouse.
“What’s the matter?” Percy asked.
“It’s not locked. I thought Betty would have locked up and gone home, but I guess she waited for me.”
Percy wanted to say that of course Betty waited for Kit. Betty and Kit worried about one another to an extent that was frankly comical. They were both notorious criminals and accomplished fighters, and yet they each acted like the other was as helpless as a kitten.
Kit opened the door and called out. “Betty!”
There wasn’t any answer. Percy saw that the candles and lamps were all extinguished and the fire in the hearth was safely banked.
“Maybe she left it open for whoever is staying upstairs this week,” Percy suggested. There always seemed to be somebody occupying the garret, and Percy would have bet his new leather breeches that Kit had never once asked for rent.
“No lodgers this week,” Kit said, and Percy could just tell that he was about to get very boring about checking to see whether imaginary housebreakers were hidden in every corner, so instead he took hold of Kit’s coat and pushed him against the wall.
“Shut up,” Percy said, and then kissed him before he could argue.
Kit Webb kissed in a way that was positively unfair. It was an injustice. It was sweet and tentative and totally at odds with the bad grooming and the criminal past. He kissed Percy as if he wasn’t sure he was allowed, as if he were worried about being woken from a dream.
Percy preferred to keep his lovers at a safe and cordial distance, and that was precisely how he had planned for things to be with Kit, but all this sweetness was ruining his plans. He was sure that’s what was happening as he bit Kit’s earlobe and felt the man shudder gently against him. This was Percy’s plans being ruined.
“I need to ask you—” Kit started.
“Shut up and keep kissing me,” Percy snapped. Or, he tried to snap. It came out as a purr, which was definitely Kit’s fault.
“—what in the name of all the saints it is that you’re wearing. I have never seen so much leather on one person. It’s obscene,” he said into the corner of Percy’s mouth. He cupped his hands around the swell of Percy’s arse, then down lower, where his arse met his thighs.
“You probably ought to take it off,” Percy said. “I’ll warn you that there’s about five miles of lacing and more buttons than I know what to do with.”
Kit made a frustrated sound, then ran his hands up Percy’s chest, then back down to his arse again, as if by touching he could make the clothes evaporate.
“Before we undress, we ought to get to that bed you promised me,” Percy said, sliding a fingernail under his false scar and tearing it off with a wince, then sliding it into a pocket.
Kit led them in the direction of the stairs. One of them musthave got distracted halfway there because Percy found himself being kissed again. They crashed against the wall near the bottom step, Kit’s weight crushing Percy rather pleasantly. Percy was beginning to doubt whether they could make it to Kit’s bedroom, and was beginning to consider whether getting fucked on the stairs was such a bad thing, when Kit changed course and steered them to the back room.
“My leg’s too fucked for the stairs” was all he said by way of explanation.
The fact that the back room had nothing approaching a proper mattress, let alone a bed, would ordinarily have been a serious objection, but at the moment Percy could only groan his approval.
“God, I want you,” Kit said, his gaze raking hungrily up and down Percy’s body. “Can’t stop thinking about it.”
Percy all but dragged Kit into the back room and kicked the door shut behind them. He was nervy and exhilarated from the prizefight, from his victory, and from the knowledge that Kit had been watching him.
“How do you want me?” Percy asked. His erection was straining painfully against the unforgiving leather of his breeches. He palmed himself in a futile effort at readjustment and heard Kit hiss.
“Take it out,” Kit said.
With fingers that felt clumsy and frantic, Percy managed to undo his laces and comply. He had just enough presence of mind to be mortified by his reaction to Kit’s hand closing around him—a strangled sob. Until that point, he hadn’t realized how much he wanted this, how long he had been craving Kit’s touch.He thrust helplessly into Kit’s fist, his face buried in the warm skin of Kit’s neck, lips moving over stubbled skin, breathing in the scent of him.
With one hand he began unfastening Kit’s buckskins, finally shoving them down. He almost sobbed again when his fingers reached Kit’s cock, thick and hot in his hand.
It would be best not to rush. He wanted to take off Kit’s clothes item by item and touch every patch of skin that he exposed. He had been thinking of this for so long that he wanted whatever followed to do his imagination justice.
But he also knew he wasn’t going to last. This, at best, would just take the edge off. They could go about things more sensibly next time, with more leisure and fewer clothes. Next time could be in half an hour. Right now, he just needed to come, and judging by Kit’s erratic breathing and throbbing cock, he was in much the same state. Rutting against Kit’s hip, while still stroking up and down his length, Percy grasped Kit’s arse with his free hand and pulled him close, hoping he’d get the idea.
Kit thrust back, groaning and swearing. “Wait,” he said, and turned around so his back was to Percy, his hands braced on the wall. “Fuck me,” he said, his voice raspy and ragged. “Please.”
