by Lisa Worrall
“Hal, fuck,” Micah moaned as a second finger was inserted alongside the first. Harry soothed him with gentle murmurings and hot, open-mouthed kisses that were almost but not quite enough. Harry prepared him slowly and thoroughly, easing back when it all became too much and picking up the pace when Micah found himself grinding down on Harry’s hand, needing more. Every press of Harry’s finger against that wonderfully sweet spot deep inside his channel, had Micah whimpering uncontrollably, afraid he was going to lose his mind long before Harry’s cock got anywhere near him. “Hal, come on,” Micah complained, his voice raw and wrecked. “Need it, need you.”
“Surprise, surprise,” Harry chuckled softly. “Trying to top from the bottom—shocker.”
“Get on with it before I change my mind and flip you over.”
“Like you could,” Harry murmured, tearing the foil packet open with his teeth. “I dare you to manage to get your shit together enough to do anything but lie back and take it.”
Micah growled low in his throat at the grin on Harry’s face. He couldn’t get his anything together enough to even formulate a sensible answer, and Harry knew it—smug bastard. “Shut your trap,” Micah mumbled, closing his eyes as Harry positioned himself between his thighs.
“Open your eyes, baby,” Harry said, raising up on his hands.
Micah felt the blunt head of Harry’s dick against his arse and the sweat pooling at the base of his throat. Harry repeated his question and Micah opened his eyes to stare into Harry’s deep blue gaze. “I want to see your eyes. You wear your heart in them, did you know that? I can see every emotion, every sensation as you feel it.” He captured Micah’s lips in a heated kiss. “I need to see how it feels when I’m inside you.”
The last was said on a low breathy sigh that practically melted Micah into the mattress and he lifted his chin the minutest of fractions, indicating he was ready. A moment later he choked on his own breath. Nothing could have prepared him for this. Not the burn of being stretched, not the intensity of being filled by another person, nothing; but once Harry began to move—Holy crap! He'd never felt anything like this before. Had never given himself so completely. Not that he'd been a monk in the last six years and the subject had come up, but it had never felt right, not even the first time around with Harry. Although he put that down to naivety and apprehension than Harry himself. If he'd known then what he was feeling now, it would have been very, very different.
"Okay?" Harry gasped, his punishing rhythm not letting up as he asked the question.
"Don't stop."
"I'll take that as a yes."
"Take that as a shut the fuck up and keep going," Micah panted. "Oh dear God, do that again!" Harry's cock brushed against his prostate and Micah cried out, lost in the fireworks exploding in his brain.
"That?"
"Fuck, yes!"
Micah's fingers dug into Harry's thighs, trying desperately to hold on, afraid he was going to implode. "Hal… gotta cum, please." He reached for his own cock but his hand stilled mid-air at Harry's bark.
"Hands off. I want you to come apart on my cock."
Micah groaned loudly, but dropped his hand to the mattress, curling his fingers in the sheet as Harry's delicious torture continued. Harry took him to the edge and pulled back so many times Micah was certain he'd walk with a limp for the rest of his life. His orgasm tingled in his spine, the need for release overwhelming and when Harry pile drove into his prostate one more time, hot ribbons of white pulsed onto his belly, hitting his skin over and over, even splashing his chin in its intensity.
Harry stiffened with a harsh cry and collapsed on top of Micah, his sweat-dampened hair brushing against Micah's throat. Puffs of Harry's breath warmed his flesh as Harry's orgasm surged through him. Micah revelled in the sensations as Harry filled the condom, the heat of his seed warming the thin latex as he spurted into Micah's channel.
Micah's chest heaved, his lungs burning as he dragged air into them, wrapping his arms tight around Harry's shoulders and holding him close, only briefly giving thought to the fact that Harry was now covered in his jizz. But Harry didn't seem bothered, so why should he? They stayed that way for what felt like hours but in truth was only minutes, then Harry raised his head, his expression filled with concern as he gazed down at Micah.
"Are you okay?"
"Oh yeah." Micah winced and a breath whistled through his teeth as Harry slowly left him, stripped off and tied the condom, then flopped onto the mattress beside him. The frown on Harry's forehead deepened at the sound.
"Shit, did I hurt you?"
Micah slapped at Harry's hands as he attempted to turn him over onto his side. "What are you doing? Get off."
"I need to make sure there's no tearing," Harry's tone was insistent as he tried to pull Micah's cheeks apart to see for himself.
Micah kicked him in the shin and pushed him back. "Stay out of my arse," he warned.
"That's not what you said five minutes ago," Harry mumbled.
"Stop, my sides are splitting," Micah deadpanned then reached up to comb his fingers through Harry's hair, keeping his smile soft. "I'm fine, honest. In fact," he leaned in and kissed Harry hard and fast, "I feel amazing. You were amazing."
Harry returned his kiss with a heated one of his own, before staring deep into Micah's eyes. "At the risk of having to check I still have balls," Harry said softly. "I want you to know I could never find the words to tell you how much being with you, being surrounded by you, meant to me, so I'm going to take the easy way out and not even try. All I can say is that I love you more than I ever thought possible. You're everything to me, and I will spend the rest of my life proving how grateful I am you gave me a second chance."
"Wow," Micah shook his head in awe. "How many of your mother's Mills & Boon have you read?"
Harry's answer was lost in the rather unmanly squealing Micah set up when long fingers dug into his ribs, and he found himself once again at Harry's mercy. Apparently, he was going to pay for that remark but, somehow, as Harry's mouth slid across his, he didn't mind.
Chapter 6
"They're still staring," Harry mumbled from behind his pint glass. "It's like that scene in American Werewolf in London when they walk into the Slaughtered Lamb for the first time."
"You're in the cundry now, boyo," Micah said in a broad country accent. "You be one of them 'out of towners' we've heard tell about."
"They're not going to sacrifice me under the next full moon, are they?"
"Nah." Micah took a healthy mouthful of his beer. "Next village sacrifice isn't 'til Halloween."
"Stop, my sides are splitting," Harry deadpanned. He glanced at the bar again. "She's starting to freak me out."
"Maggie is a little protective of me," Micah confessed. There was no point beating around the bush. "I may have leaned heavily on her barmaid's ear during some drunken conversations. Conversations about you."
"Ah," Harry replied, a wealth of understanding in the sound. "That'll be why she's giving me the evil eye. She's probably wishing she's slicing my head into quarters instead of those lemons."
Micah leaned across the table and beckoned to him. "Come 'ere." Harry leaned in and Micah kissed him softly. "There. Feel better?"
"Meh, another should do it." Micah obliged. "Yep, I'm good now."
"Don't worry, her bark is worse than her bite." Micah sat back and heaved a sigh of utter contentment, suddenly hit by the memory of the night he first met Harry. He'd been nervously sipping at a pint then, too—minus the rabid barmaid out for his blood, of course.
"I somehow doubt that." Harry ran a hand through his hair and Micah resisted the urge to capture the dark waves as they fell through his fingers. "Mum's really excited about the tour tomorrow."
"I'm looking forward to booking her in," Micah replied. Deciding to keep to himself the fact that he wanted to test her urine and blood pressure sooner rather than later, as she had looked a little puffy when she'd returned from shopping in town earlier. Of course, it c
ould just be because she'd been on her feet for a period of time, but he wanted to make sure that was all it was.
"Is this a private love fest or can anyone join?"
Micah looked up as Sarah and Gary approached their table, a bottle of wine and four glasses clutched in their hands. "What are you two doing here? Who's looking after my godson?"
"I had a phone call from a certain barmaid we all know and love," Sarah replied, nudging Harry with her hip, indicating he should move to the seat beside him. "She thought I ought to come down and find out what the hell is going on with you and lover boy here. And Algie is with my mum."
"What does it look like is going on?" Micah growled, tossing a glare across the snug at Maggie behind the bar. At least she had the good grace to blush. "My lover and I are having a quiet drink on a Sunday night."
"Lover?" Sarah's gaze widened and she tapped her glass. "Gary, uncork that stuff, babe, and fill this bad boy up. This should be good."
"Oh, for God's sake," Micah hissed through his teeth, moving to the chair next to him to give Gary room. "I don't suppose there's any chance of you sitting at your own table—in the other pub in the village?"
"There isn’t another pub in the village."
"Exactly." He smiled sweetly at Sarah, who returned the gesture with added middle finger. "I'll take that as a no then," he mumbled, reaching out for Harry's hand and giving it an apologetic squeeze. "Harry, this is my friend Sarah and her husband Gary."
"Best friend," Sarah stressed. "Since you were staring up my fanny a few weeks ago, I think it's safe to say we're best friends, don't you?"
"Really? You wondered what you could say to create the perfect first impression, and that was what you came up with?" Micah shook his head, utterly aghast. "You do realize every time Harry sees you for the rest of your life, an image of me staring up your va-j-j wearing a miner's hat and carrying a canary is going to flash before his eyes?"
"Please," Sarah huffed, taking a large sip of wine. "I'll be far more offensive than that before I'm done, he'll barely remember the first one—will you, Hal?"
Micah couldn't help but laugh at the 'what's happening?' expression on Harry's face as his gaze flitted between Micah and Sarah. "I'm sorry, babe. I'd shut her up if I could, but it's impossible—trust me. You'll just have to ride it out."
"Okay." Harry drew out the word then flinched when Sarah punched him in the arm.
"So, Hal." She smiled sweetly, although Micah imagined it was the kind of smile a shark gave just before it ate you. "Wanna tell me why, less than twenty-four hours ago, give or take, old goo-goo eyes over here was crying on my shoulder, and now looks like the cat who slurped the proverbial cream? If I said I wasn't gagging to know what it was you said to erase the last six years of pain and self-loathing, I'd be lying." She kept her tone conversational, but Micah heard the steely edge to the words.
"Sar—"
"Do you mind? Me and Hal are getting to know each other."
"It's okay, it's okay," Harry smiled reassuringly at Micah. "I can handle anything she throws at me."
"Ooh, Hal, I'm startin' to like you already," Sarah raised her glass to him.
"I think I'm likin' you, too," Harry replied, lifting his beer and clinking it against her wine. "He talked about you all the time at uni."
"Aww, crap. Not everything, I hope."
"Pretty much everything." Harry grinned widely. "Even the part you're desperately hoping he didn't tell me."
Sarah's gaze flitted to Micah's with a look cold enough to turn him to stone where he sat, and then returned her attention to Harry, nodding in appreciation. "Nicely played. Please continue."
"You will appreciate that what you're going to get is only what you need to know," Harry said softly and Sarah waved her hand in dismissal.
"Fine by me, as long as you appreciate I can't guarantee not to break your face when you've finished."
"Fair enough."
Micah wasn't sure what Sarah's reaction would be to Harry's story, but he was quietly proud of the fact that she sat and listened, allowing him to get through what he wanted to say without interruption—although her wine glass was emptied and refilled while he spoke, an indication of her growing agitation. When he finished, Harry sat back in his seat, and Micah was certain he wasn't prepared for Sarah to grab hold of his collar and pull him into her arms, holding him there for several minutes before she let him go—but that's what she did.
"Am I to assume that means you don't want to break my face?" Harry asked.
"Oh I want to break a face alright," Sarah replied, patting his hand. "It just ain't yours, honey. Your father's an arsehole, no offence."
"None taken."
Sarah turned her icy stare on Micah. "And you couldn't pick up the phone and tell me this, why?"
"Because you don't need to know the ins and outs of a duck's arse," Micah retorted. "And I only found out myself last night, for God's sake. Besides, I believe I had my mouth full at the time."
"And you have the cheek to accuse me of being offensive?" Sarah grimaced. "Great, now I have to miss introducing Algie to Mum's cronies at the W.I. in the morning because I'll be bleaching my brain."
"Then you're welcome."
"You know, if you had half a brain you'd be dangerous," Sarah sniped.
"At least if it was dynamite I could blow more than my own nose."
"I don't know what you see in him, Hal, but please accept my condolences for getting stuck with his stupid arse for the next ever."
"I'll take my chances," Harry smiled and Micah's heart swelled in his chest at the tender look in his eyes.
"Rather you than me," Sarah replied, tapping her wine glass with a violet-coloured fingernail and blowing Gary a kiss as he refilled it.
"I'd rather him than you, too." Micah frowned as she took another glug of wine. "Hang on a minute. The recommended unit for breastfeeding women is one glass of wine, not one fish bowl. Slow down there, slugger, or Algie's gonna be pissed until he's twelve."
"Pfft," Sarah waved a dismissive hand at him. "That nipple cream you told me to try was shite, so this cow is closed for business. Algie is doing very well, thank you very much, with Aptamil and Dr Brown's bottles. Hence Algie being at Mum's, and me and the fish bowl being here." She pointed her finger at Micah as he opened his mouth to respond, stopping him in his tracks. "And don't you dare say breast is best. We both know you're hardly qualified to comment considering you've not handled one outside the delivery room since 1999."
"At least I haven't been waiting since 1999 for mine to come in," Micah said, his lips twitching, as did hers moments before they cackled like witches around a cauldron, clinking their drinks together, leaving their significant others to stare incredulously between them.
"Wow," Harry said, taking Micah's hand in his as they walked home a couple of hours later. "She's definitely one of a kind."
"And then some." Micah slipped his arm around Harry's waist and nestled against him, sighing when Harry put his arm around his shoulder and pulled him closer.
"It's so quiet here," Harry murmured. "So tranquil. What did two troublemakers like you and Sarah find to do when you were growing up?"
"We made our own entertainment," Micah said with a smile. "You'd be surprised how much fun knocking on Doris' door then legging it can actually be. Not for Doris, of course, but for us—untold hours of blissful amusement. I highly recommend it."
"I'll take your word for it." Harry shuddered in mock-horror. "The thought of being chased down the street by Doris fills me with a special kind of terror."
"Believe me, you ain't seen nothing until you've seen that woman bearing down on you in her dressing-gown with a pricing gun in her hand. I can't tell you how many times I had to pick buy one get one free stickers off Sarah before she could go home."
"I bet there were warning posters with your faces on them all over the village."
"We certainly created a name for ourselves." Micah smiled to himself as memories of his childhood s
kittered across the surface of his mind. He was sure at one point Jenny thought he and Sarah would end up together—until the summer when Micah was sixteen and her older brother, Jack, came home from uni. What a summer of discovery that had been, which had included being discovered by George Maxwell kissing Jack's face off in his empty hayshed. Which happened to still be— "Come on," Micah grinned wickedly at Harry and grabbed his hand, increasing their pace and pulling Harry with him.
"Come on where?" Harry pointed to the left. "Home's that way."
"We're not going home." Micah tapped the side of his nose. "Not yet anyway." He giggled at the bemused look on Harry's face, hoping he would be able to change it into a smile when they reached their destination. They crossed the village green, past the cricket pavilion and then into Brick Lane, named for the high red brick walls lining either side. The lane was dark. Even though the moon was full, its light was blocked by over-hanging trees that grew the other side of the walls. In the summer the walk through the lane was beautiful, with sunshine casting dappled shadows through the branches. It led to the river, upon whose banks the annual village picnic was held. But that's not where Micah was headed—not tonight.
Micah rounded the bend and came to an abrupt halt. His breath whooshed out when Harry collided with him in the dark. "Sssh," he quickly pressed his fingers to Harry's mouth and whispered. "If you wake Bullseye we're finished before we start."
"Start what?"
Micah shushed him again and then led Harry up the winding drive of Brick Lane Farm. The big farmhouse loomed ahead, lights at the upper windows, and Micah hoped George Maxwell wouldn't decide to have a last look out over the hills before he got into bed. His feet knew exactly where they were going. Hell, he'd taken this journey enough times so they should do. In fact, once, he and Sarah had tried it blindfolded and Micah hadn't missed a step.