“Fuck.”
Rupert sucked harder and grazed his teeth along the underside with just a little too much pressure. Jodi hissed. Rupert adjusted himself with a gentle lick, and Jodi’s back arched from the sweetly subtle pleasure. He took note of the gesture and filed it away, ready for when they switched roles, something he couldn’t contemplate while Rupert was blowing him like this. Fuck no. This couldn’t end. Ever.
But it seemed Rupert had other ideas. After a few more false starts, he found his rhythm and picked up the pace, using his hand for extra friction, and tickling Jodi’s balls with the other. Jodi cried out again and fisted the sheets beneath him. Damn it. He was the one supposed to be giving the lessons, and now he was about to blow his load in ten seconds flat. How the fuck had that happened?
Orgasm crept up on him, rushing through him and spilling out into Rupert’s mouth before he had a chance to warn him. Rupert’s eyes widened, and for a moment Jodi feared he’d gag, but he didn’t. He swallowed with a smirk and then continued to tease until Jodi begged him to stop.
“You sneaky bastard.” Jodi heaved for breath and wiped away the sweat that had trickled down his face and chest. “You’re supposed to be a fucking amateur.”
Rupert shrugged, clearly trying to hide his glee. “I did what you said, and it worked. Can’t believe I never thought of it that way before. Perhaps if I had, I wouldn’t have been so shit-scared of it all.”
That theory held a host of conflict for Jodi. A Rupert who’d been at peace with his sexuality might not have found his way to Jodi’s bed.
Stop being a selfish dick.
He stopped, distracted by Rupert crawling back up the bed, still naked, hard, and outrageously beautiful. Jodi tugged him down on top of him. “I wanna blow you too.”
Rupert laughed. “Sure about that? ’Cause you look near enough asleep to me.”
“Do I?”
Rupert’s answering chuckle sounded distant, growing fainter as Jodi slipped into that magical trance between sleep and consciousness, his favourite phase of sleep. As a child, he’d often wondered if it felt like that when you were dead.
It was midmorning when he woke for a second time, sprawled on his back like he’d had the best orgasm ever.
Rupert smirked down at him from his position propped up on the pillows. “All right?”
Jodi nodded slowly as his faculties returned to him, and he remembered that it was Friday, the day he left free for admin, or doing sweet fuck all, and Rupert wasn’t working either, leaving them both naked with nothing to do and nowhere to be. And I owe him a blowjob.
He sat up and pounced on Rupert, swallowing his gasp with a crazed kiss, covering Rupert with his body and pressing him into the mattress. Rupert was bigger than Jodi, taller, stronger, but he put up no fight as Jodi pinned his arms above his head.
“Don’t move . . . unless I tell you to.”
Rupert raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Jodi took his cue and moved down Rupert’s body, pausing at each sensitive zone—his neck, the curve of his chest, the trail of chestnut hair that led to his cock—to acquaint himself with the body he’d been craving to explore from the moment they’d met. And it was worth the wait. Hard, smooth, and lean, Rupert was everything Jodi had dreamed of and more. He reached Rupert’s dick and teased it with the tip of his tongue. Rupert jumped. Jodi grinned and did it again. He’d planned on giving Rupert the blowjob of his life, bringing him to the brink over and over until Rupert begged to be allowed to come, but watching Rupert fight to stay still beneath him, fists clenched, jaw set, his eyes a heady mixture of curiosity and desire, Jodi had another idea.
He gave Rupert’s cock a gentle tap. “Wanna fuck?”
“What?” Rupert’s eyes widened. “I’ve never—”
Jodi crawled quickly up the bed. “I don’t mean any heavy shit. Trust me, yeah? I’ll do it all.”
Rupert sucked in a shaky breath. “What do you mean, all of it? I don’t want to play the v-card, but I’ve never . . . and I don’t think I want to—”
Jodi silenced him. “I’m going to ride you. Fuck you from the bottom, if you’re comfortable with that. The stuff you’re talking about can come later, or not. You don’t have to do anything like that if you don’t want to.”
“No? Thought it came with the territory?”
“Hell no.” Jodi shook his head. “Being gay isn’t about getting fucked. I do it because I like it—more than like it—but plenty of men don’t. It’s not obligatory.”
Rupert nodded slowly. “I’ve thought about it a lot, even before I really knew, you know? And I don’t want to. I’ve tried it on myself, and it doesn’t feel right, which is kinda weird, because I think about you in that way all the time, and it doesn’t feel wrong at all.”
“That’s because there is no right or wrong, Rupe.” Jodi touched Rupert’s cheek. “Just us.”
Rupert covered Jodi’s hands with his own. “‘Rupe’? No one’s ever called me that before.”
“Does it feel wrong?”
“No, nothing about you ever does.” Rupert raised his hands again, returning them to where Jodi had placed them. “Do what you want with me. I’m yours.”
His warm, comfortable smirk let Jodi know Rupert was ready for whatever he threw at him, and his choice of words stirred something in Jodi. He kissed Rupert with a softness that belied the rising heat between them. “I’m yours too, you know, if you want me.”
He pulled back before Rupert could respond, sitting up and grinding down on Rupert’s cock. “This is what I’m going to do. Think you can handle it?”
Rupert swallowed. “I can try.”
Jodi chuckled and reached across Rupert to the bedside table, retrieving his long-neglected stash of johnnies and lube. “Babe, you don’t have to try to do anything. You’re fucking perfect.”
“Can I touch you?”
“Please.”
Rupert brought his arms around Jodi, kissing him in a frenzy that made Jodi’s head spin. Jodi let him have his way for a moment, then grasped Rupert’s face in his hands, breaking the kiss so that he could return to Rupert’s cock.
He took Rupert in his mouth, and Rupert jumped again and let out a strangled moan. “Jesus fucking Christ.”
Jodi smiled and sucked Rupert harder, taking him as far into his throat as he could, straining his gag reflex. Deep-throating was uncomfortable, but he’d always got a kick out of choking on another man’s cock. The suffocating thrill made his heart beat faster and his blood rush through his veins to the point where he could hardly see straight. And being with Rupert, the effect was tenfold. Jodi’s senses came alive as Rupert wove his fingers into his hair, and he felt every groan and shudder like they were his own.
“You’re gonna make me come,” Rupert gasped. “If you want to ride me . . .”
Jodi got the message and reluctantly eased off. The urge to let Rupert shoot down his throat was strong, but the throb in his dick reminded him that he’d had a plan, a fucking awesome plan, and it was time to see it through.
He sat up and reached for the condoms. “Wanna do the honours?”
“Me? Fuck no. This is your show. Do what you will. I’m ready.”
That was good enough for Jodi. He tore the condom wrapper open with his teeth, rolled it onto Rupert, and lubed up, then cast the paraphernalia aside. They’d ticked all the boxes; what came next was about them and chasing down the current that had simmered between them for so long Jodi couldn’t imagine life without it.
He kissed Rupert deeply, prying his hands from behind his head, and guiding them to his cock. Having Rupert at his mercy had its appeal, but not right now. Rupert needed to feel this, all of it. “Hold it still so I don’t have to wriggle around trying to find it.”
“Can I touch yours too?”
“You can touch whatever you like.”
Jodi leaned back as Rupert held his cock still, his other hand closing tentatively around Jodi’s dick.
“Fuck.” Jodi groaned, and hi
s eyes fluttered shut. Rupert had the lightest touch, but it was just enough to set Jodi on fire. Rupert’s fingertips grazed his cock and merged with the burn of taking Rupert inside him. Suddenly, he found himself on the edge, fighting off an orgasm that threatened to derail them before they’d even got started.
Beneath him, Rupert threw his head back and panted out a moan. “Jesus. It’s only halfway in.”
Is it? Dear God. Jodi steeled himself and eased down the rest of the way, batting Rupert’s hands aside. He placed his own hands on Rupert’s hips, breathing deeply, and reacquainting himself with the sting of having another man’s dick—and Rupert had a big dick—crammed inside him, a sensation that had never felt so good.
He opened his eyes. Rupert was watching him, gaze wide, chest heaving. Jodi circled his hips, absorbing the tiny shocks of pleasure that jolted through him, growing in magnitude with every movement. He grasped the headboard. The growing furnace in his belly told him that they didn’t have long, and there was no way he was leaving Rupert behind. Jodi used the headboard for balance and fucked himself on Rupert’s cock in a rhythm he fast lost control of. He dropped his head, feeling Rupert’s touch all over him—strong hands that belied the quivering in Rupert’s thighs.
Rupert gasped. “Shit, I’m gonna—” And he came with a low cry, sudden and hard, the force of it sending his eyes rolling into the back of his head.
Jodi slowed his pace, awed. He’d pictured this moment many times since he’d caught sight of Rupert outside that dodgy club on Boxing Day. Beautiful, beautiful Rupert. Jaw clenched, pale skin flushed and shimmering with sweat, he was breathtaking.
A few long, drawn-out moments later, Rupert stirred and reached for Jodi’s cock. Jodi shook his head and let go of the headboard, leaning back and jutting his pelvis forward. “Don’t worry about that. Ever come without touching your dick at all?”
“Er . . . no?” Rupert raised a bemused eyebrow. He put his hands on Jodi’s thighs and squeezed. “Show me?”
Jodi had slowed his movements when Rupert had come, lost in it. Buoyed by Rupert’s grip on his legs, he picked up the pace, slamming down again and again until the coil of pleasure inside him snapped.
He sucked in a harsh breath, then yelled out, spilling over Rupert’s belly as Rupert looked on, his face a conflicting mix of confusion and wonder.
“How is that even possible?”
“Prostate, baby.” Jodi slowed, drawing out every last shudder and gasp, but eventually, they were both spent. Holding the condom in place, lifted himself from Rupert’s body, and collapsed in a heap beside him.
Rupert tossed the condom and rolled over, wrapping himself around Jodi from behind. “That was amazing. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m okay.” Jodi raised his head, then let it drop again, absorbing the drowsiness that came from an awesome fuck as it washed over him. “Was it good for you? I mean, did you like it?”
Rupert laughed, though, like before, it sounded distant. If not for the warming cage of his arms, moulding their bodies together, Jodi would’ve thought he’d left the room. That, and the gentle brush of Rupert’s kiss on his cheek, and the soft whisper of words that felt like a dream. “Like it? Boyo, you blew my damn mind. Now go back to sleep. I’ve got you.”
November 26, 2014
Rupert dropped down low and crawled along the threadbare carpet of the dilapidated Brixton flat. The smoke was thick and acrid, carrying the telltale stench of whatever faulty electrical item the fire had originated from.
Gav and Tony shuffled past him, heading for the kitchen to put it out. Rupert shouldered open the door to the living room, feeling around for signs of the flat’s occupants. His hand hit what felt like a couch. He patted down the cushions until he found an arm. Bingo. Rupert sat up on his knees and called out to the elderly man. There was no response. The man’s body was limp—lifeless—and Rupert had been doing the job long enough to know he was likely already dead.
He lifted the man over his shoulder and radioed in. “Got one. Any word on the other occupants?”
“It’s just him, O’Neil. We’ve got the wife out here. Bring him down.”
Great. Rupert didn’t fancy the task of laying the dead man at his wife’s feet. Hopefully, there’d be an ambulance waiting so she wouldn’t know until Rupert had slunk away. Heartless? Not really. Rupert had done his fair share of breaking bad news.
He carried the man out. A lone paramedic greeted him—no ambulance, just a bike with blues and twos. Rupert laid the man on the pavement. The paramedic pronounced him dead and covered him with a blanket. The wife’s distraught wail should’ve gutted him. Should’ve torn him in two and etched itself in the part of his soul that never got over the death and destruction he witnessed time and time again.
It didn’t.
He pulled his breathing apparatus off and went to the rear of the rig to clean down. Radio chatter told him the fire was out and the block of flats had been cleared of all residents. Their job was nearly done. An hour or so, and they’d be back at the station, showering and hanging around for another call.
“O’Neil?” Briggs, the watch manager, stood behind Rupert. “Everything okay?”
“Yup.”
“Sure?”
“Yup.” Rupert kept his gaze on the task at hand. Briggs was a good man—a friend—and he’d gone above and beyond for Rupert since Jodi’s accident, but Rupert wasn’t in the mood for a heart-to-heart. Not today.
Shame Briggs couldn’t read minds. “Come and see me when we get back. ’Bout time we touched base.”
Rupert sighed as Briggs walked away. Not a day seemed to go by without some well-meaning soul trying to persuade him to pour his heart out to them. When were they going to realise that no amount of tea and chatter would change a bloody thing?
The next hour passed in a haze of soot and grime as they made the flat safe for fire investigators. Rupert was the last man out. On his way, he passed a London Fire Brigade home-safety poster pinned up in the entrance hall. The cruel irony hit him hard. His crew spent much of their time out in the community, trying to prevent fires happening in the first place—smoke alarms, fire blankets, escape routes. Their message had clearly never reached this family.
Outside, he watched the grieving wife being coaxed into a police car, finally persuaded to leave the scene. Until a few months ago, Rupert would’ve perhaps gone with her, supported her until a family liaison officer arrived. Not now. Fuck that. It had been a while since he’d had the energy to counsel someone through what were often the hardest and most distressing moments of their life. A while since he’d had the stomach to meet the haunted gaze of a soul who’d lost everything they’d ever known in the blink of an eye.
Back at the station, he dodged Briggs and ducked into the showers. Whatever kind of job he’d been on, there was always something satisfying about watching hours of soot and grime disappear down the plughole, and he lingered under the hot spray as long as he dared. The coast was clear when he got out, or so he thought, until he got to his bunk and found Briggs waiting for him.
“Not hiding from me, are ya, O’Neil?”
Rupert sighed and tossed his damp towel on the bed. “No point with you fecking stalking me, is there?”
“S’pose not.” If Briggs was offended, he didn’t show it. He glanced around. “How’s Jodi?”
Rupert looked around too, checking that they had relative privacy, though he didn’t know why. His personal life wasn’t much of a secret. “Pretty much the same.”
“Still having seizures?”
“Not this week. They’re hoping it was just a phase of his recovery.” And dear God, so was Rupert. He’d spent the beginning of the last month dreading the moment the doctors decided Jodi was well enough to leave the hospital, but it hadn’t happened. Instead, Jodi had been plagued by a run of terrifying seizures, and Rupert had regressed into fearing nothing but that damn-fucking shadow on Jodi’s brain.
“And how are you bearing up? It’s gotta b
e hard, Rupert. Two jobs and caring for Jodi. Don’t know how you do it.”
I don’t, Rupert wanted to say. He’d handed his notice in at the club, and it had been a long time since he’d felt like he’d done anything properly, but he held his tongue. Briggs had waved the possibility of promotion to crew manager under Rupert’s nose the day before Jodi’s accident. He hadn’t mentioned it since, and it was probably just as well. The bump in salary would’ve cleared the last of Rupert’s postdivorce debts and allowed him to treat Jodi and Indie the way they deserved, but if—when Jodi came home, chances were Rupert would have to cut his hours to care for him.
And pay the mortgage with magic beans.
Briggs shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Rupert turned his back on him under the guise of pulling a wrinkled T-shirt—his clothes were missing Jodi’s attention—over his head, counting down to the question he knew would come next.
“Don’t suppose he’s, er, talking yet, is he?”
“No, not yet.” Rupert closed his eyes against the image of Jodi convulsing on the hospital floor, his dark gaze blank, and his mouth clamped shut, not uttering a sound. Was it wrong that Rupert longed for him to cry out? Even in pain? Anything to prove there was a scrap of Jodi left behind that hollow stare?
Briggs slapped Rupert on the back. “Chin up, mate. Never know, tonight might be the night you walk into that hospital and get yer boy back.”
It wasn’t. Rupert clocked out around midnight and jogged the short distance to hospital. The night sister met him at the nurses’ station and ushered him to the quiet corner of the ward where Jodi had his bed. Rupert squeezed her hand in thanks. The ward managers had been incredibly tolerant of his fluctuating shift pattern, and let him in to see Jodi whenever he liked, providing he didn’t disturb the other patients, which was unlikely considering his visits to Jodi were mostly spent in silence.
And tonight would be no different. Jodi was fast asleep, curled on his side, his good hand tucked under his chin.
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