James Caldron, the man.
A man with a voracious appetite and an untapped hedonism that revolved like the earth around the sun of a single boy.
A man who was, undoubtedly now after two weeks of ruckus, salacious sex, gay.
Gay.
Me.
It should have been harder to wrap my head around. I’d never been much for sex, but I’d always believed myself above it somehow. It seemed to be the bane of all intense intellectuals, chained in their minds so the desires of the gut and the heart went long unused and atrophied.
Obviously, this was untrue.
In fact, I felt feverish with my need for Tally, overcome by the wickedness of my thoughts as they seized my mind at all hours of the day.
He was a hazard to my profession.
But he was a balm for my lonely soul.
I couldn’t get enough.
Which explained why I was taking such a horrific risk at that very moment with Tally folded in half over the grand expanse of my antique desk, his glorious bottom raised and parted by his own hands to reveal the pinkish apex of my entire universe.
I licked my lips, saliva pooling on my tongue as I took in the depraved sight of him like that. But it wasn’t enough.
The more I had of him, the more I wanted. His submission was a drug I’d never find my way back from. I kicked his feet open wider and casually circled his asshole with my lubricated thumb.
His pale legs trembled deliciously.
“So eager for my cock, boy,” I said in the new voice I’d developed in these moments, as coarse as gravel and so deep it rumbled. “I might just have to keep you here, ankles cuffed to the desk, so I can use you whenever I want throughout the day.”
Tally groaned and jerked slightly against the desk in a futile attempt to create friction against his cock.
It was pointless because I wouldn’t let him come without consent, but also because I’d used the ridiculous purple bow tie he had been wearing when he came in to tie around his balls in a pretty bow.
“I require more than just your cock to live, James,” he sassed, as he always did, topping from the bottom like the brat he was. “I need food, wine, and conversation, too. The occasional cuddle wouldn’t be unappreciated either.”
“Really?” I practically purred, fisting the base of my condom-covered cock that glistened with lube in the light from the same Edwardian fixtures the likes of Churchill and Atlee had sat under.
Far from disconcerting me, it stoked the flames of lust, warming my gut even higher.
I rubbed the tip of my prick up and down Tally’s clenching hole, teasing us both. Only when he loosed a frustrated groan and wiggled his lean hips did I clamp a hand on his waist and drive myself deep into his channel.
Our groans twined together in the otherwise silent room, a symphonic coupling that made something in my chest crack.
It was a sensation I was all too familiar with now that I was spending most of my spare time with or inside Tally.
He was decimating the arctic tundra beneath my skin, an archaeologist courageously uncovering what lay beneath the crust of my body. So brave, my boy, and so reckless.
I curled over his prone body as I began to cant my hips, tunneling in and out of his clasping body slowly, drawing out our pleasure until we both shook with it, primed by the same tuning fork.
“Christ, James,” he moaned again and again, loving to say my name and knowing how I loved to hear it. “I’m going to come all over your desk.”
The thought spiked desire through my low back and contracted in my heavy balls.
I tugged his head back, fingers curling through his silk hair so I could whisper harshly in his ear. “You do, and I’ll take you over my knee, boy. When you come, you’ll do it in my mouth so I can have the taste of you on my tongue when I leave to go home without you. I wish I could spend myself in you, see the cum drip from your loosened hole when I was done with you. I wish we could both be filled with each other.”
“Do it,” he gritted out, voiced nearly pained with ecstasy as he thrust back against me. “Take the condom off. I’m clean, and you’re the bloody PM, not to mention you. I’m sure you’re fastidious about your health.”
I froze, the head of my cock wedged between his round cheeks. I stared down at it, imagining the sight and feel of taking his sweet arse bare.
“You’re sure?” I croaked, moved sexually and emotionally by this act of trust.
Its significance felt absolute, an act that propelled us further into an intimacy from which I wasn’t sure either of us could recover.
“Yes,” he whispered back, softer with an aching vulnerability in his sweet voice. “Please.”
I didn’t hesitate a moment more. Fisting my cock, I carefully left the warmth of his body to peel off the condom, wrap it in tissue, and toss it in the bin before I re-lubricated my straining dick and tapped at the entrance of his body again.
“I’m going to take you hard and fast, boy,” I warned as I watched the nearly purple head of my cock dip in and out of him, a bare tease of the intensity that was to come. “I’m going to fill you up with my seed, and afterward, you’re going to stay prone over the table so I can see your sweet hole filled with me, do you understand?”
Before he could fully gasp his answer, I seated myself balls deep inside him. My head reared back, tendons so taut in my neck I thought they would snap, and I groaned to the heavens in some blasphemous thanks for the glory of the moment. The sensation of Tally all around me was almost excruciatingly good, searing heat gathering at the base of my spine, tightening in my balls so painfully I knew I would burst within moments.
So immersed in our joint pleasure and the way my boy shuddered and keened beneath me, I didn’t notice anything outside my narrow view of him, of us.
Not the clink of a key thrust into a lock or the tell-tale creak of the old oak door pushing open nor the draft that followed.
I only knew the heat of Tally, the wonder of being inside him, of having his trust and his body entirely under my control. My chest ached with the acuity of the moment. Seconds later, Tally groaned and spilled himself, cock untouched, all over the side of my desk. Thoughts of punishing him for disobeying my orders by spanking the porcelain swell of his arse sent me into my own earth-shattering climax.
So, you see, I did not notice the man in the door until all was too well said and done.
Even then, it was Tally who cottoned on first, stilling so completely beneath me that I was horrified I’d injured him at first.
But then, I too noticed the third set of breaths filling the suddenly quiet chamber.
My head turned by minute degrees, my brain already scrambling for purchase, desperate to devise an excuse for the erotic tableau we presented to whichever unfortunate staffer was suddenly privy to our relationship.
My eyes shuttered closed the moment they landed on Gregory Plume.
The same Gregory who had the political bit between his teeth. Gregory who had tried to elicit promises that I would support him as the next Tory leader when I decided to retire my position as leader of the party.
Tally moved suddenly, carefully separating our bodies so that he could silently, efficiently pull his trousers up from around his ankles and fix his hair. Then he turned to me, the same calm expression on his face, a deadness in his eyes as he put me to rights as well.
All the while, Gregory stared at us, blinking, blinking, blinking, and all I could think was ‘does he have astigmatism?’
“Chin up,” Tally whispered softly as he adjusted my collar. “You’re still the PM, James. This isn’t the end of anything.”
“Isn’t it?” I croaked.
Something dark flashed through his expression before it dissipated. “Good evening, Prime Minister,” he said louder, almost jaunty once more as if nothing untoward at all had occurred between us. “Thanks ever so much for agreeing to the archaeological survey of the Battle Bridge Stadium site. I’ll make sure everything is in order to
proceed smoothly.”
I watched dumbly as he smiled widely, a fake, laminated excuse for his normally beautiful grin, and then as he strolled casually past Gregory to whom he inclined his head regally before stepping outside and closing the door.
“Gregory,” I said on a heavy sigh. “Please, take a seat.”
It was only a facial tic, a micro-expression most men might not have seen, but I knew it for what it was.
A clenching of the jaw, a flickering of one eye as if he had bit fully into an unripe lemon.
Gregory would not support a gay PM.
An unfortunate and nightmarish reality given the now irrefutable fact I was unquestionably homosexually and deeply, quite ridiculously really, in love with my much younger stepbrother.
“Let’s discuss this,” I continued tiredly as I leaned against the front of the desk to obscure the splash of Tally’s pearlescent seed from Gregory’s hateful gaze. It might very well be the end of my life and livelihood as I knew it, but some small part of me still felt it was important to shield my Tally from the light of scrutiny.
“Yes,” Gregory agreed darkly, almost triumphantly, as he sat in the offered chair. “Let’s.”
CHAPTER SIX
Tally
Stupid. So completely and stupidly stupid.
All of it. Including me.
I sat at home in the dark, my knees curled up to my chest with my arse still aching from James’s rough fuck, and I tried to think. I tried to be rational with myself. I tried to tell myself it would be okay.
But somehow, I knew it wouldn’t. Even if that knobhead MP didn’t use what he’d seen as leverage, James would still know he knew. And for James, anyone knowing he was anything other than straight as a ruler seemed to be a point of quiet terror.
I hated that, I really did. I hated that we fucked in secret, that I had to sneak around like some kind of mistress, I hated that no matter how much I missed him, ached for him, felt for him, there would never be a future for us. Not when he wasn’t ready to be out.
It turned out being surprise stepbrothers was the least of our worries. Who knew?
I told myself a bunch of logical things. That James was from a different generation. That he was a public figure in a country with plenty of homophobia still clouding the air. That my experience of being queer—cushioned by lots of money and wonderful parents and finding my tribe very early on—was not at all universal. Hell, it wasn’t even universal to my socio-economic cohort, which was the most privileged in the world.
I reminded myself that it could be more than unpleasant for James to come out. It could be dangerous. So it wasn’t my place to push him on it.
But…
But.
A part of me just couldn’t understand. If he felt for me even a sliver of what I felt for him, then I had no idea how he was tamping it down and pretending that what we did was separate from the rest of our lives.
Because it wasn’t separate for me, not at all.
I woke up and thought of his face; when I worked, I imagined his touch the entire time. I ate dinner and longed for his pine and leather scent. He consumed me.
I exhibited a level of self-restraint hitherto unknown to me and didn’t call or text him that night. But when I woke up the next morning, I couldn’t stop myself. I had to hear his voice and so I dialed him, not knowing what I would say.
Sorry that MP saw me spray jizz all over the side of your desk? Hope you’re not being blackmailed right now?
But it didn’t matter. James didn’t answer my call. Nor the next one I made at lunchtime. Nor the text I sent that afternoon.
A cold, grasping kind of anxiety wrapped its fingers around my throat and refused to let go, choking me for the rest of the day.
It’s over.
He’s done with me.
He blames me.
I refused to be that boy. I’d never been clingy, so I wasn’t going to start now. But God, it hurt. It hurt feeling cut off and discarded. It hurt knowing I’d cared more about him than he’d cared about me. It hurt knowing I was good enough to fuck, but I wasn’t good enough to claim.
By the time late evening had rolled around, I was drunk on winter-themed cocktails. After drafting ever longer and ever more dramatic monologues to James in my head, I had progressed to acting them out in my kitchen, waving my arms and everything. Which is when the doorbell rang, of course.
I was in a short silk robe and nothing else, but still, I belted it with great dignity and walked to the door to see who it was. And from the official-looking black car parked just outside my window, I thought I had a pretty good guess.
I flung open the door, ready to deliver one of my scathing diatribes. “If you think you can just show up here—”
I was abruptly cut off because James took one look at me wearing nothing but that silk robe, and suddenly, the door was kicked shut behind him, and I was slammed against the wall, his mouth hot and searching on mine.
“James,” I gasped.
“Boy,” he growled back, bending down to bite my neck.
“We shouldn’t—I’m very cross with you—”
“I need you,” he breathed into my ear. He shoved his hips against mine so I could feel how much. “I need you.”
My own cock was already responding, announcing itself through the part in my robe. “Okay, but not here—”
He swung me up into his arms like I weighed nothing—which, despite multiple lemon juice cleanses, was just not true—and carried me into my sitting room, where the windows only faced the rear garden and not the street. He dropped me onto my back on the sofa and then followed me down, all muscles and silky, bespoke wool as he crowded over me and slanted his mouth over mine.
As he kissed me, his hand dropped between us to free his giant erection, which dropped on the part of my stomach my robe had exposed.
His cock was velvety, hard, scorching. It bumped against mine, and we both emitted twin grunts of choked need.
“The end table,” I panted. “Lube.”
“We’ll talk about why the fuck you have lube there later,” he rasped, lifting to his knees to get it.
“It’s only in certain strategic locations in case a date goes well,” I protested, although why I thought I could successfully defend my honor with my robe shoved to the sides and my cock bobbing against my stomach, I had no idea.
His eyes glinted cold and blue in the dark light of the room as he slicked lube around his thick organ. “Are you trying to infuriate me?”
“Dates happened before you, Prime Minister. They’ll happen after you too.”
The growl he gave then wasn’t playful nor was it teasing. It was pure animal anger and need. Raw possession. He gave my hole a cursory anointing and then mounted me, driving into me like I was a spoil of war.
I arched underneath him, and he pinned me down, splitting me open with his rough, angry need. “You are mine,” he said. “My boy to fuck. My boy to watch and touch and taste.”
I wanted to say no, I wasn’t. I wasn’t his. If I were really his, he would have had me stay last night, and he would have called me today. If I were really his, he’d want me in every way, not just with my legs spread.
But I couldn’t bring myself to contradict him because, at that moment, it felt true. Even if it was only true for right now during these stolen moments on my sofa. I was his.
“Yes, sir,” I said, going loose and open the way he liked, surrendering utterly to his rutting cock. “I am yours.”
“Boy,” he said, and that was it, but I could hear the need in it. The torment. He was in agony over something, and it was more than his building release.
His hips settled into a brutal, punishing rhythm. His tie caressed my chest as he moved, the expensive wool of his suit trousers rubbed against my thighs. My penis leaked pre-cum, entire pearls of it on my belly, and he ran his fingers through it, licking it while looking down at me. And then he gathered up the edge of my silk robe, gathering more and more of it in his fist, and
he used that fistful of silk to jerk me off.
I won’t lie and say I’ve never used that particular silk robe to jerk off before, but having him do it, having him be in his suit while I was the slut-whore with the undone robe and nothing underneath it…
Having all those inches stroking into me while his cruel fist gripped me around all that silk….
Well, it was like nothing I’d ever felt. I arched my throat and begged my way through the climax as it sawed me in half, ripping me open and sending ropes of ejaculate spilling out of my tip and onto my stomach. James went still, his eyes avid and hungry on the sight of me soiling all that fabric with my seed, and then he followed me, spending inside my channel with a low, vicious oath and several long pulses that nearly felt as good inside me as the thrusts.
And then…
And then it was over.
It was over, and nothing had changed. Nothing had been fixed. We were just stickier now.
I pulled myself free of him and stood.
“Tobias,” he said, but I held up a hand, indicating he should wait.
I returned with wet wipes and a towel for him. I’d already cleaned up and tugged on my favorite pair of fuzzy pajama pants and an old T-shirt.
He cleaned himself up and righted his suit, and when he looked over at me in my pajamas, something around his mouth went soft and kind.
“Do you fancy some tea?” I asked as he sat on the edge of my sofa, still staring at me in my pajama pants as though he’d never seen anything quite so endearing.
“No,” he said, and then he seemed to snap out of whatever reverie he was in. “No, I shouldn’t stay long.”
“Then why are you here, if I might ask?”
He ran a hand through his hair. The silver at his temples caught in the moonlight, and my heart stuttered. What was it about older men?
“Gregory has gone to the press,” James said finally. He lifted his eyes to meet mine, and all traces of softness were gone. He looked completely and utterly...empty. “My people tell me that the tabs are already printing their versions of the scandal. In the morning, it will be everywhere. You. Me. Us.”
Tales of Darkness & Sin: An Anthology Page 39