by Pearl Love
Wilcox gasped at the vision his friend presented with the gorgeous lad writhing on his lap. His gasp sharpened into a ragged inhalation as his own paramour suddenly squeezed the bulge rising stiffly from his pelvis. A sharp nip to his jaw drew Wilcox’s attention until he found himself face-to-face with Gardenia’s lovely pout.
“You’re ignoring me. Have I displeased you?” Gray eyes gazed down at Wilcox with teasing melancholy. “Is Aster so much prettier than me that he has stolen away your affections? Or,” Gardenia appended with a sly, oblique glance toward the other pair before Wilcox could stammer a reassuring denial, “is it someone else who fascinates you so?”
Wilcox gaped at the precocious lad. His mouth opened to refute the insinuation, but no sound emerged as he found himself unable to give voice to the lie. Still, he shot a panicked glance toward the subjects of Gardenia’s accusation, his heart pounding with the fear that Church had overheard. Fortunately, his friend was far too occupied exploring Aster’s mouth and nether regions to be much concerned with what he and Gardenia were getting up to.
“Hmm, I see that I guessed right.” Gardenia tilted his head curiously, his ponytail cascading over his shoulder at the motion. “So, why are the two of you here with us?” The puzzlement faded as it was swiftly replaced by a look of exaggerated scandal. “Oh dear! You enjoy watching one another with other men. Is that it?” Gardenia placed a dramatic hand to his bared chest. “How daring of you, my lord!”
“Enough,” Wilcox huffed in exasperation. He checked again to make certain that the boy’s ludicrous assumptions had gone unheeded. “That’s not it at all.”
Aster had clawed his fingers into the fabric covering Church’s broad shoulders, his hips moving erratically as a knowledgeable hand stroked him ever closer to the edge. His cheeks were red as beets, though for once his ravaged complexion was likely from desire rather than embarrassment. The boy was making little squeaking noises that were eagerly swallowed by the lips devouring his. Wilcox forgot his purpose in looking at his friend and the modest coquet, equally mesmerized and envious of Aster’s helpless reaction to Church’s deft handling. He realized that his hips were moving in time with Aster’s only when Gardenia moaned at the friction his movements entailed.
“Nnngh,” he groaned. “Yes, my lord, that feels wonderful.”
Wilcox glanced up at him, watching as a pink flush crept up from Gardenia’s chest until his cheeks were painted with the glowing hue. Feeling a hint of pride as the boy’s storm gray eyes darkened with pleasure, Wilcox was startled when unexpectedly strong hands clenched around his upper arms, stilling his movements.
“Not that I have any wish to stop you, sir, but I am curious.” Gardenia’s gaze drifted over to the engrossed couple. “Why do you keep your feelings hidden, if indeed he is unaware of your regard for him?”
Wilcox did not want to have this conversation and felt a flash of resentment at being called out by a mere whore. Instantly ashamed of himself, he squashed the uncharitable thought, responding instead to the unaffected sincerity of the boy’s question. “We are friends,” he began after a moment’s hesitation, keeping his voice low in fear of being overheard. “I do not wish to presume anything that might disturb that relationship. Besides, his fancy is more properly directed toward women—”
“Oh?” Gardenia interjected. “Such a conclusion seems less than entirely accurate, unless he is confused by what he has found between Aster’s legs.”
Unable to find a meaningful response to the astute observation, Wilcox merely blinked up into Gardenia’s now-smiling face.
“Hmm, that’s what I thought. Perhaps you simply need a bit of help. I do resemble Wincenty de Lesseur’s Cupid.” The boy’s grin increased in width and lewdness. “Or so a gentleman once told me while I was busily sucking on his John Thomas.”
Wilcox sputtered, but Gardenia merely bent down and bussed his lips in a playful kiss as though he weren’t in danger of having a seizure. “I hardly think this is an appropriate topic of conversation,” Wilcox finally managed to choke out, wondering if he sounded as ridiculous as he felt. Apparently so, for Gardenia merely shook his head and tsked at him.
“What more appropriate place than this to explore matters of the heart?” The boy straightened abruptly as his expression grew suspiciously bright. “I’ve got it!”
Apprehensive of what had the lad so excited, Wilcox inquired despite his instinct to draw Gardenia’s head down and put an end this foolishness by removing his ability to speak. “And precisely what have you ‘got’?”
Gardenia bit his lower lip and looked askance at the other couple. “Would you like to see us together, my lords?” he said loud enough for Church and Aster to hear him. “What do you say, Aster? Should we give the gentlemen a show?”
The suggestion instantly garnered Church’s attention. He detached his lips from his gasping prize, though his hand remained busy with its dexterous pursuit. One light-colored brow was raised in intrigue as he looked over at Gardenia. “Now, that sounds interesting. What exactly did you have in mind?”
Gardenia climbed off a mortified Wilcox, who rushed to hide the evidence of his own arousal with trembling hands. He crawled across the vast mattress, leaving his blue kimono in a puddle of silk behind him. Stopping only once he had resumed his former position, this time over Aster’s extended legs, he tossed Church a cheeky grin. “If you think us pleasing separately, just think of how much better we’d look together.” Leaning forward, Gardenia touched his tongue to the corner of the other boy’s mouth. “Besides, there are no strangers here. Why should we segregate ourselves during this time we have together?”
“Now, see here!” Wilcox whispered to his erstwhile playmate, anxiety morphing the protest into a rasping hiss.
“Ah, you are clearly a young man of superior vision.” Church’s aspect took on that singular expression which historically had resulted in Wilcox landing in a heap of trouble. “Yes, I approve of this scheme of yours, my love. What say you, Wilcox? Excellent!” he continued before Wilcox could even form a coherent objection to the mad plan.
“Very good, my lord,” Gardenia replied with mock solemnity.
Aster shot his friend a look of profound gratitude when Gardenia took his hand and tugged him until he was free of Church’s lap. Wilcox experienced another twinge of sympathy for the lad’s ill-concealed distaste for his current occupation. Any pangs of guilt at participating in the boy’s debauchment were, however, instantly routed by the spectacle of the two young men pressing their lips together in uncontrived passion.
“Now, there’s a vision to behold,” Church breathed.
Wilcox stared in silent agreement. His erection, which had flagged at the threat of his regard for his friend being exposed, rallied quickly at the voyeuristic display. Since Gardenia had already lost his clothing during their romp, there was no obstacle for Aster to overcome when he curved his hands around the smaller boy’s flanks. He rubbed his thumbs gently over the pale flesh, the ghostly caress making Gardenia shiver. The tease bespoke long familiarity, and the pressure in Wilcox’s groin worsened as his mind flooded with speculation regarding what Leslie’s flowers got up to with each other when left to their own devices.
Not to be outdone, Gardenia tugged Aster’s bottom lip with his teeth as he pulled back. He released the plump bit of flesh with a moist pop before gracing his audience with a naughty smirk. “Shall we show them what you most enjoy, dear Aster? I’m certain these gentlemen would be fascinated to learn how dearly you love it when someone plays with these beauties.” Gardenia reached out and tucked his thumbs into the overlapping fabric of Aster’s kimono before drawing the sides apart. The heavy silk slipped over the curve of Aster’s shoulders but had yet to settle in the crook of his bent arms when Gardenia grasped his companion’s nipples between taunting fingers.
Aster’s lips parted on a surprised gasp, his eyes widening for a helpless instant at the surprise assault. But they soon shut tightly in agonized ecstasy when G
ardenia gave each of the trapped nubs a firm twist. A cry forced its way from Aster’s throat, and his fingers dug into Gardenia’s waist, leaving dimples in the smaller boy’s yielding flesh. Wilcox was momentarily alarmed at the harsh treatment, but any concern for Aster’s wellbeing was soon assuaged by the sight of the young man’s rosy cock poking through the fold of silk covering his lap. Whatever discomfort Gardenia might be causing him, Aster’s insistent arousal offered unmistakable proof that he didn’t mind the small bit of abuse in the least.
“There you are, my lovely. At last we meet.” Church’s voice rumbled deep in his chest as he knelt up behind Aster and placed his hands on the boy’s exposed shoulders. “Now, let’s get a proper look at you.” He stroked slowly down the length of Aster’s arms until he reached the crumpled remnants of the green kimono. Taking care to avoid the rearing shaft of Aster’s erection, Church pulled free the sash keeping the garment in place. The heavy silk instantly fell apart, leaving the lad as naked as his friend save for where the fabric hung from his arms. “Truly magnificent,” Church murmured as his gaze raked over the slender musculature of the boy’s torso. He bent low to press a reverent kiss to Aster’s shoulder. “Don’t you think?”
Hypnotized by the erotic scene, it was a moment before Wilcox realized Church was speaking to him. He looked up and shivered when he met his friend’s darkened gaze. Church had a predatory air about him, his body coiled as though he were prepared to devour these floral treats. Wilcox’s breath caught in his throat as though he were the intended prey. Managing only to nod in response, he wondered at the way Church stared at him for a timeless instant before returning his attention toward the frolicking lads.
The pink nubs rising from Aster’s chest were now a dusky rose as a result of Gardenia’s relentless teasing. A final hard pinch prompted a moan of plaintive appreciation. But Aster did not take the assault without rallying his own defense. He wrapped long, graceful fingers around Gardenia’s cock, whose modest length and girth was just as expected for one of the boy’s diminutive stature. The restrained dimensions of his sex, however, proved no hindrance to Gardenia’s enjoyment. His narrowed eyes widened as he treated his friend with a look of amazed delight.
“Aren’t you a cheeky monkey?” Gardenia moaned, his tone a contrary mix of praise and admonishment.
Church chuckled at Gardenia’s antics, though the amused sound changed in character when the boy attached his lips to the column of Aster’s neck. The recipient whimpered at the vicious pressure, though he never let up as he worked Gardenia’s cock into a fine state of throbbing arousal. Gardenia took hold of Aster’s swollen cock to return the favor, and the two boys were soon working each other into a trembling frenzy.
Projecting engrossment with the boys’ activities, Wilcox kept a close watch on his friend, curious as to how Church was enjoying the performance. He felt somewhat bad for using the lads as a pretense, but Church did not disappoint. From where he was positioned behind Aster, his lap was hidden from view, but the uncharacteristic color in Church’s cheeks betrayed the extent of his engrossment. He was staring fixedly at the mutual play of nimble hands and dripping cocks. His tongue darted out to leave a tempting sheen behind on his lips, which Wilcox was suddenly desperate to taste for himself.
Church inched forward until the unseen bulge that had doubtlessly taken root in his pants was pressed against the swell of Aster’s arse. The size of his excitement must have been impressive, for the boy jerked as though he’d been poked with something supremely intimidating.
“Which of you will lose this race, I wonder? Will it be you, lovely Aster?” Cruelly whispering the challenge into the boy’s ear, Church seemed determined to guarantee that he would not emerge victorious. Aster moaned piteously at the hot caress of breath against the side of his face. The combined threat of the cock pressing against his arse and the hand mercilessly stroking the shaft between his legs seemed to seal his defeat.
But Church was not all callousness. Gardenia was not to be left out of his special brand of torture. He traced his hands down Aster’s heaving sides and along the length of his slender thighs, leaning more firmly against the boy’s back as he did so. The path they traveled continued until the gentle touch ghosted over Gardenia’s pale legs. The lad mewed in reaction, his body greedily pressing up into the provocative touch.
“Or will it be you, my pale, delicate flower?” Church asked, his voice a seductive rumble. With that, he cupped his left hand around the soft globe of Gardenia’s rightmost arse cheek and reached around to dip the fingers of his right hand into the enticing crevasse that concealed the boy’s most beguiling treasure.
“Ah, sir!”
The tide had turned, and now it was Gardenia’s loss that appeared assured. He lifted his head from Aster’s neck, displaying the vibrant, dark red mark he’d been so busy raising on his companion’s formerly pristine skin. Church pried apart the peachy mounds of flesh of Gardenia’s buttocks so Wilcox could see clearly how his friend’s fingers toyed at the dusky bud his own aching manhood longed to breach. Captivated, Wilcox reached out to trace his fingers over the sweeping curve of Gardenia’s back, taking great care to follow every curve. The boy moaned his approval at the touch, his spine arching in that sweet curve only very young men seemed able to achieve.
Yet, even as Gardenia signaled his eagerness to be plowed with helpless gasps and purposeful wiggles of his narrow hips, Wilcox found that his eyes were only for Church. His friend’s lips were parted around gently panting breaths, and a delicate sheen of sweat had formed among the flaxen stubble on his upper lip that heralded the lateness of the hour. The lecherous expression on Church’s handsome features as he watched the havoc his actions had wrought in their young inamorata should have looked absurd, but served merely to incite the flames of Wilcox’s ardor. And as he stared fixedly at his longtime companion, the man with whom he’d shared the many crazy adventures of youth and all the triumphs and failures of adulthood, the desire that had been building within Wilcox for so many years suddenly burst forth in a wave of foolhardy purpose. That look was his, and his alone, and he refused to share it. Not even with these brilliant lads, who had been thrust into their lives in such a gloriously haphazard manner.
As though he was watching someone else, Wilcox observed his trembling hand as it moved away from his side and reached toward the one resting so cozily on Gardenia’s bum. He gazed curiously at the finger that extended to touch the back of the unsuspecting appendage, noting how the skin twitched slightly at his touch. Wilcox could feel the inevitable weight of a questioning stare, but he kept his attention fixed on the impertinent actions of his mysterious, questing hand. Though he almost begged it not to, Wilcox could not stop his fingers as they spread to cover Church’s completely. And then, adding to the madness, his hand caressed its new captive with a hesitancy that clearly bespoke its owner’s yearnings.
“Wilcox.”
Church spoke only that single word, yet it was enough to snap Wilcox back to the reality of the situation. Though firmly returned to his senses, Wilcox was intoxicated by the sensation of the rough texture of Church’s skin beneath his fingers. And so he continued on his demented path, tracing up his friend’s strongly muscled arm until he had reached the curve of a broad shoulder. On and on he went, brushing up the long column of Church’s throat until his fingers encountered the prick of his resurgent beard. The pregnant heaviness of the gaze that bore into his compelled him to explain himself. Somehow Wilcox resisted the urge to obey the silent command, instead tracing ever higher until he was able to brush the backs of his fingers over the sharp plane of his friend’s cheek.
“Wilcox,” Church repeated, whatever emotion he was trying to convey lost beneath the flatness of his tone. Yet when Wilcox moved to pull his hand back, a flurry of apologies surging to his lips, Church grabbed him, preventing his retreat. Watching Wilcox fixedly, Church turned his hand upward and pressed a kiss into his palm.
Wilcox felt his body jerk, the to
uch of those mobile lips surging through him like a bolt of lightning. A shocked “What!” burst from him as though he were the one deserving of an explanation, his addled brain unable to discern the appropriate reaction. Wilcox had the distant notion that he should break the contact between his hand and Church’s mouth, but he couldn’t for the life of him make himself move away. “What?” he repeated, parroting his own exclamation, only this time with far more uncertainty.
“Shhhh.” Church blew the hushing sound over Wilcox’s palm. His grasp grew firmer as a resulting shudder threatened to dislodge his grip, ensuring that Wilcox had no choice but to submit. Then, following some insidious plan known only to him, Church busied himself with slowly drawing Wilcox’s index finger into the warm, wet orifice from which had sprung the decade and a half of absurdities that had made Wilcox fall so maddeningly in love with him in the first place.
“My God, man” was the only coherent sentence Wilcox was able to string together. He watched in a daze as his first finger disappeared between Church’s lips, the sensation of moist heat that enveloped the fortunate digit striking directly at his groin. Wilcox groaned when his middle finger was given similar treatment, shortly followed by the one bearing the signet ring, which identified his family’s rank. But those three were suddenly abandoned in favor of his smallest finger, upon which Church lavished all due attention, curling his tongue around the length of it and cupping it protectively before tightening his lips around it in gentle suction.
Wilcox knew perfectly well that they were not alone, that any untoward action on his part would be undeniable. He labored under the scrutiny of two, semi-impartial witnesses, not to mention the man toward whom his desires were directed. If he gave in to the impulse that was clawing its way from the pounding organ in his chest, through his body, and into his dimly functioning brain, he would never be able to undo it. Wilcox tried to resist the urges that plagued him, to allow good sense to reign in favor of preserving this dearest of friendships. But when Church drew back far enough to blow gently on the vulnerable finger he’d so thoroughly wetted, Wilcox tossed away all thoughts but one.