Anna Martin's British Boys Box Set: My Prince - The Impossible Boy - Cricket

by Anna Martin

  “Alex,” George whined.

  “You want me to fuck you?”

  “Yeah. Now, please, put it in me.”

  Those words on their own were enough to make Alex’s eyes roll back in his head, and he finally, finally turned his attention to his own aching cock.

  This time he hadn’t called ahead, so there was no lube in the drawer waiting for him. He had to go over to George’s bag, grateful that he knew where the stuff was packed so he could put his hand right on it.

  When he got back to the bed, George was still face down, ass up, but now he’d reached back to grab hold of his cock and was humping his own fist.

  “Stop it,” Alex said, giving George’s meaty rump an affectionate slap. “Or you’ll come before I get a chance to get in there.”

  “But it aches,” George whined.

  “Trust me,” Alex said. “This won’t take long.”

  He’d already done the hard work in getting George used to the idea of something in his ass. With some lube on his fingers, Alex gently rubbed George’s hole, spreading the cool liquid over the incredibly hot flesh. George continued to make pained noises and Alex couldn’t take it anymore; he rubbed more lube over his cock, then leaned in to cover George’s body with his own.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  “Yeah.”

  Alex tilted his hips and reached back to aim his cock at George’s hole. It took a moment of rutting and rubbing against the slick crease until he found the right angle, then Alex started to nudge inside.

  George’s face was back in that pillow, and his noise levels kept increasing. If Alex wasn’t so painfully turned-on, he’d be amused. As it was, he had his face pressed against George’s sweaty shoulder, and all he wanted was to be buried to the hilt inside that gorgeous, gripping heat.

  He took his time, making the most of what they were doing together. George was an insatiable bottom. He either had a high pain threshold or he was horny enough to push back on Alex’s cock, rushing that initial penetration. By the time Alex was balls deep he felt like his whole body was primed, ready to thrust and rut and come.

  “You okay?” Alex asked, forcing himself to be a decent guy and check in.

  “Yeah. You gonna fuck me now?”

  Alex chuckled and pushed himself back up, keeping his cock buried inside George’s ass. He grabbed hold of George’s hips and started to rock back and forth, watching his cock appear and disappear into George’s hole.

  When George relaxed enough to make that ride smoother, Alex let go. He trusted George to tell him if he needed Alex to slow down or stop or change the angle. For now, he did the one thing he’d never done with George before and just fucked him. Hard and fast, as promised, his head thrown back, fingers clenching, hips pistoning, and George growling and grunting and offering filthy encouragement beneath him.

  To Alex’s complete shock, George came first.

  Alex had noticed him reaching back, tugging on his own cock while Alex blissed out inside him, but when George’s back arched and he grunted hard, his whole body shaking with the force of his orgasm, Alex was forced to hold on tight and ride it out with him. It didn’t take much, just a few thrusts more, and Alex was right there with him. His whole world imploded as his vision went black and everything was George, everything.

  He collapsed in a sweaty heap over George’s back, feeling his dick slowly escape.

  “Oh God,” Alex gasped. His heart was beating too hard and he was breathing too fast to say much more. “Oh Jesus.”

  George laughed breathlessly. “Yep.”

  Alex kissed over his back, his shoulders, and when George turned his head, his cheek and lips.

  George shifted so they could kiss again, slower this time, then he rolled off the bed, wincing and stretching.

  “Oh my God, this is disgusting.”

  Alex couldn’t help it—he buried his face in a pillow and howled with laughter.

  “Not funny, Alex,” George snapped and waddled—genuinely waddled—off to the bathroom.

  By the time he came back, Alex’s sides were hurting from laughing so much. He rubbed his face with his hands to dry the hysterical tears and chanced a look up at George.

  “You should be grateful I decided not to wipe your spunk all over your face.”

  “That’s gross,” Alex said.

  “Yeah. I know. Don’t think it didn’t cross my mind to, though.”

  Alex smiled, unable to keep it off his face. “You wanna snuggle?”

  “I’m big spoon,” George said, pouting.

  Alex reached over and turned off the lamp. “Always,” he said as the room was plunged into darkness.

  They slept for a while, then George got up to use the bathroom, and Alex thought he probably felt the lack of him more than anything else and woke up too.

  When he returned, Alex nudged him onto his back and snuggled into George’s side, finding the way their bodies fit together and yawning against George’s shoulder. Because he wanted the comfort, or maybe just because he needed to, Alex skimmed his fingertips over George’s chest, stroking and teasing the soft, wispy hairs.

  “Hey,” George said softly.

  “What?”

  “You want to do something completely crazy?”

  Alex smiled and turned his face to deeply inhale the scent of George’s skin. “Sure.”

  “Want to walk up Arthur’s Seat?”

  “That’s… completely fucking crazy.”

  “I told you. If we leave now we can probably watch the sun rise. In a few weeks the whole city will be taken over by crazy theatre people for the Fringe Festival, so if we want to do it before it starts getting cold again…”

  Arthur’s Seat was a hill—big surprise there, Edinburgh was full of hills. This one in particular was known for being fairly steep. Tourists trudged up there all the time, in all winds and weathers, for the spectacular views out over the Old Town, and the sunrise.

  Alex thought for a moment. “Yeah. Okay.”

  It wasn’t as cold as he’d expected, and the walk wasn’t as steep as he’d been warned about. Alex got the impression this might have been something George had planned for, because there were long-sleeved T-shirts packed in the duffle bag he usually used for rugby, and hooded sweatshirts, along with their waterproof jackets. By the time they made it halfway up the hill, Alex’s fears about blisters were proved to be unfounded, and the chips they’d stopped for at Central (for fuel, they’d needed it) were long gone.

  Conversation was easy, even in the dark. The sky was clear and the moon huge, providing plenty of natural light as long as they stuck to the marked paths. At some point George had linked their fingers together, and their hands swung naturally between them as they walked and talked and carefully watched the path so they didn’t lose their footing.

  It was still dark when they reached the top; the whole of Edinburgh was spread out before them. Dark velvet, orange light, and the heady moon still low in the sky.

  George found a comfortable-looking rock and sat down, leaning against it, and spread his legs so Alex could sit between them and lean back into George’s chest.

  “God, it’s beautiful up here,” George said. His chin was on Alex’s shoulder, his arms wrapped securely around his waist. “Why have I never done this before?”

  “Because it’s mad?” Alex suggested, teasing.

  “Yeah. Maybe. What time is sunrise?”

  Alex pulled out his phone and checked it. “About four forty-five. We have half an hour or so.”

  “Good timing. I’m glad we got to see it still dark.”

  Alex hummed and tilted his head back, silently asking for kisses.

  That kept them occupied for a while, until George pointed to the horizon and the faint, golden glimmer of light.

  For some reason it didn’t feel right to talk. Not through this. It was a strange experience, new and pure, watching the day rise up to meet the night and they were right at the cusp of it. Watching. Witnessing.

&n
bsp; “Hey, Alex?” George murmured.

  “Mm?”

  Their fingers were laced together, and George squeezed them. “Will you marry me?”

  Alex tore his eyes away from the sunrise and twisted so he could look at George. Blinked. Shocked.

  Something in George’s expression said that he’d been planning this. A cheeky twinkle in his eyes, the pleased, self-satisfied little smirk at the corner of his mouth.

  Alex gaped. He wasn’t going to ask “seriously?” because he’d asked for this; he’d been the one to tell George to propose because George would do it right. This was right.

  “Yeah,” he breathed. “Yes.”

  This kiss wasn’t like the others. This was sealing a promise, binding a contract, making it real. George pressed forward, his tongue searching for Alex’s and pulling it back into his mouth. They kept trading those slow, important kisses until Alex got a crick in his neck and he pulled away, delighted laughter escaping from his lips.

  He leaned back against George’s chest once more, and watched as the sun appeared fully over the horizon now, spilling light over the city he called home, while the man he’d soon call “husband” held him close.

  Bonus material

  This story was written for the 2018 Rainbow Advent Calendar. For the full list of stories, please visit http://alexjane.info/rainbow-advent-calendar-2018/

  and join in all the festive fun on the official Facebook group here: https://www.facebook.com/groups/1673039336093815/

  ***

  “Will you please… stop… fidgeting,” Alex hissed.

  “Sorry,” George muttered and dropped his hands.

  Alex slipped his hand into George’s and squeezed. George didn’t feel comfortable in church, hadn’t for a long time, but it kind of came with the job these days. It didn’t help that the whole service was in Dutch, so he had absolutely no idea what was going on. He just stood when Alex did, and sat down when Alex did too.

  Alex gently rubbed his thumb over George’s ring. He’d picked up the soothing little habit since the wedding.

  They had only been married a few weeks—it had been a long engagement. They’d both wanted that; to let things settle and to get more comfortable in the rhythm of their relationship. There had been a lot of back and forth about where the ceremony would be, and who would be invited, and whether or not they were going to tell the press.

  George had wanted to just go down to the registry office and sign the damned bit of paper and be done with it. But he’d learned to accept that those kinds of things just weren’t on the table any more. The past few years had been good for his temper; he’d mellowed. That had been Alex’s influence.

  Still didn’t mean he wanted all the pomp and circumstance of a royal wedding though. Britain had suffered through two of those already this year, he didn’t need to be the one who made it a third.

  There had already been a state visit planned for Alex’s uncle and aunt—the Dutch King and Queen—to visit the British royal family. It wasn’t difficult to tag a small, personal visit to Edinburgh onto the end of their trip, just two days, just long enough for them to watch George and Alex get married in a hotel overlooking Edinburgh Castle.

  Alex had cried. So George cried. Then everyone was crying. It was supposed to be a bloody wedding, not a funeral.

  It was the best day of George’s whole life.

  The cloak and dagger of the six months leading up to the wedding turned out to be worth it. No one called the paparazzi, and they released a small, discreet statement after the wedding announcing that they were now married.

  Alex squeezed George’s hand again, and they stood up for the next hymn.

  This was the first Christmas George was spending away from his mum and dad. And his nan. He was still a little heartsore that he wouldn’t be spending the day with them, but there were responsibilities attached to his new title. He’d accepted that long before the wedding.

  With the King’s blessing, he was now Count George Maguire of the Netherlands. Not that he would ever, ever use the title in public. Or private. Or in any situation other than formal state celebrations, such as the traditional Christmas service. They weren’t obligated to attend, but Alex had wanted to and George wanted to support him. They’d spent Christmas either in Edinburgh or Manchester for the past few years, so it wasn’t really a sacrifice.

  The hymn finished, and they sat back down again. George really, really wanted to discreetly check his watch, but it was on the wrist attached to the hand that Alex was still holding, and if he did he would probably get told off again.

  They were sitting a few rows back from the altar, at the end of a row, tucked away. That was absolutely fine by George. From here, he could look around and appreciate the hard work they’d done to make the church look beautiful for Christmas. Even though his family weren’t religious, pretty much every state school had been attached to a church when he was growing up. So he was familiar enough with the rituals of the season. It smelled incredible in here too; like pine and cinnamon and clove and candles. Like Christmas.

  Alex closed his eyes and bowed his head as the vicar—or whatever the Dutch Church equivalent was—led the congregation in a prayer. He still didn’t let go of George’s hand, though, and George wondered if that was his own kind of silent protest.

  It was freezing cold when they slipped out of the church about ten minutes later, and George was pleased there was a car waiting for them. They were sharing with Klaus and Olivia, Alex’s parents, and heading back to their house for lunch.

  “Poor George, you must have been deathly bored,” Olivia said as the car pulled away from the church.

  “It’s fine,” he said.

  “How are your Dutch lessons coming along?” Klaus asked.

  “Vreselijk.” Terrible.

  It made them laugh, like he hoped.

  Alex was supplementing George’s vocabulary lessons by offering all sorts of sexual favours, so long as George asked for them in Dutch. Alex’s parents definitely didn’t need to know that particular word had been learned in the context of ‘I want you to do terrible things to me.’

  On the ride back to the house Alex had grown up in, on the outskirts of Amsterdam, Alex tucked himself into George’s side and dozed. It had been a crazy few months for them, with Alex graduating with a Master’s degree in Architecture, planning a wedding, and then they’d decided to move house too. George absently stroked his fingers through Alex’s hair, glad now they finally had a couple of weeks off for Alex to relax.

  Their Christmas church visit wasn’t an official engagement, just a tradition, so Alex was wearing one of his suits rather than any of his regalia. George happened to like this suit a lot. The jacket was a cut a little shorter, meaning it was much easier to admire Alex’s bum in the extremely well fitting trousers.

  Alex sighed against George’s shoulder, and George kissed his forehead.

  They’d come a long way in the past few years. Olivia had gotten her way, to no one’s surprise, and after they’d made an announcement that they were engaged, George and Alex had signed on as patrons to LGBT charities. It had meant being far more public about his life and his sexuality than George had ever been before, but Olivia was pretty good at shielding them from the arseholes who occasionally came out of the woodwork, so the overall experience had been okay.

  Today was the first time they’d made a public appearance since announcing that they were married, and George was sure there would be some chatter about it. No doubt he’d find some picture of them in the papers over the next few days. He was still working on not being annoyed by that. He was just living his life, loving his husband. It didn’t need to be a political act.

  “We’re home,” Olivia murmured and George blinked, not realising that he’d been dozing.

  Christmas Day was a fairly quiet affair in the van Amsberg household, with a nice lunch then curling up in the living room to watch a movie. George couldn’t help but compare it to the madness he was used
to. Big families tended to foster a certain kind of chaos, and with so many of his siblings still young, they went all out to celebrate Christmas for them.

  This was nice in a different way. Alex had exchanged presents with his family on Sinterklaas—St. Nicholas Day—earlier in the month, but had kept his presents for George for Christmas Day. They already had a handful of their own traditions, a blend of English, Dutch, and Scottish influences that felt very true to the life they were building together.

  George had bought Alex a whole bunch of very revealing jockstraps from gay-owned companies. That was very true to their lives, too.

  When it was late and dark and George was pleasantly tipsy (he had a thing with Klaus where they always seemed to drink too much red wine when they got together, it was worse over Christmas when Klaus insisted it be mulled wine, which George could never resist) he let Alex lead him upstairs.

  Alex had always kept his room here and stayed often, unlike his brother Hendrick, who had an apartment in Amsterdam. He was spending Christmas with his new fiancée, who was wonderful. George happened to think she was way out of Hendrick’s league—he followed her around like a doting puppy.

  “Sorry,” Alex said as he shut the door behind them.

  “What for?”

  “I’m just so tired at the moment.”

  They’d changed into more comfortable clothes after church, and George watched, lazy and interested, as Alex stripped out of a thick jumper.

  “You don’t have to apologise for that.”

  “I know. But I feel like I haven’t had much time for you since the wedding. And that sucks. I want to be a good husband.”

  “You are,” George said, pulling Alex into his arms. “You’re the only husband I ever want.”

  Alex huffed a laugh against George’s shoulder, then started to sway them gently from side to side.

  “For the next week I’m all yours, okay? I know we have stuff to do, but it’s about me and you first of all.”

  “Okay.”