George cast an anxious glance around, but the other men were all far more interested in what was happening in the middle of the room than in George’s modest disrobing. So, despite his embarrassment, he let Theo unbutton and remove his waistcoat too, then pull free the knot in his cravat and draw the linen away from his throat, leaving him in only his shirt—the neck now gaping open—and his trousers. Theo’s careful touch had a slow, curling excitement building in his belly. He had no thought of protest when the man guided him to the chaise, then lay down beside him, shifting and rearranging them both till he was satisfied with their position—Theo leaning against the back of the couch, with George lying back against him, Theo’s right arm wrapped around George’s middle.
“There now,” Theo murmured, his breath ghosting over George’s ear, making gooseflesh rise over the back of his neck. “Are you comfortable?”
Comfortable? George didn’t know how to answer that. He certainly felt physically easier with his tightly fitting clothes loosened, but Theo’s careful undressing of him, and now his proximity, his touch, agitated George profoundly. He was looking straight at the three men in the middle of the room, but he barely saw them. All of his senses were focused on the man behind him—his hard, powerful chest, his burly arm wrapped around George’s waist, his chin brushing the top of George’s head. Theo Caldwell, who he’d dreamed of lying with, just like this, so many times as a youth…
Even through their trousers, he could feel the jut of the man’s cock against his hip, and it was making him harder than he'd ever been in his life. He was convinced he was going to end up spilling right here in his drawers, without even touching himself. Like an untried boy.
Well, he was an untried boy, wasn’t he? Six and twenty and still green as a lad. How humiliating.
“No?” Theo said, making George realise he hadn’t answered his question. He opened his mouth to reply, but Theo spoke first. "Perhaps you’ll be more comfortable if you loosen your trousers?”
George’s mouth went dry.
Theo’s breath caressed the outer shell of his ear again, and this time, George visibly shivered. He felt Theo pause at his reaction, his powerful arm tightening briefly at George’s waist before he added, low, his voice barely audible. “Go on. Loosen your trousers—let that poor, cramped cock out.”
George couldn’t help the whimper that escaped him at those filthy words. And then he was lowering his hands to the placket of his trousers and shakily unfastening the buttons. Shoving one hand inside his drawers, he drew out his aching cock, the tip flushed red and wet. He gave himself a hard, desperate stroke, a moan escaping him at the immediate pleasure and relief of his own touch.
“Christ,” Theo breathed in his ear. “Look at you. You’re eager, aren’t you? You've leaked all over yourself.”
George could only moan again, his hand stroking, hips pushing back against the hard male heat behind him. He closed his eyes, no interest in the other men in the room anymore. All his attention was on Theo, the feel of him, his sounds, his scent, all of it the more intense for George not being able to see him.
“You’re so desperate to come, aren’t you?” Theo murmured. “Poor boy.”
God, those words, like an iron hook, sinking into him, finding the soft, tender part of him that welcomed their sting. He whimpered again. It felt strangely liberating, giving inarticulate voice to his need.
Taking hold of the hem of George’s shirt, Theo drew the fabric up, all the way to his neck, exposing George’s smooth, bare chest to the cool air.
This time, George’s moan was louder, but he didn’t care. Just stroked his cock again, his hand moving with a familiar, reliable rhythm that somehow felt new because, for the first time in his life, someone else was in this with him, and it was Theo Caldwell. And God, now the man was toying with George’s left nipple, rolling it between his fingers, just enough to pinch a little, and George was gasping aloud, astounded that he could feel so much from such a small touch.
“Look at you,” Theo breathed again, and he sounded so awed that George had to turn his head, to see his expression. The hot desire in Theo’s gaze as he took in George’s shamefully exposed body almost made George spend on the spot. He wished Theo would lean forward and capture his lips, but he didn’t. Instead, he took hold of George’s wrist and gently pulled his hand away from his cock. “No more of this,” he said, gently but firmly, “I’ll tend to you now.”
George’s lips parted, perhaps at first to protest, but then to gasp as Theo shoved his drawers down further, exposing him even more, then wrapped one big hand around George’s prick.
George arched into the touch with an embarrassingly loud groan. His whole body felt as though it had come alive.
“Yes,” Theo breathed as George moaned helplessly. “Just like that, you lovely boy.” His thumb slid over the sensitive, leaking head. “So wet,” he murmured, sounding very pleased about that. “Do you always drip like this, when you're desperate?”
George felt as though his whole body was blushing, even as he gasped out a breathy, “Yes, it’s embarrassing.” He was always terrified of getting worked up at some inopportune moment and soaking through his drawers.
“Do you think so?” Theo smiled wickedly, his eyes gleaming. “I love it. Makes it easy to stroke you.” And his hand was indeed gliding easily over George’s desperate cock, his thumb occasionally sweeping over the sensitive head in a way that made George gasp.
George fell into the heady mindlessness of Theo’s confident touch, only vaguely aware of his words—soft encouragement, awed admiration, sly amusement. Look at you and You like that, don’t you? and Such a good boy. George ate it all up, every word a caress to his lonely body.
“I’m going to spend,” he found himself gasping after almost no time at all. But Theo didn't seem to mind his lack of stamina. He made a pleased noise, carefully increasing his pace, strengthening his grip.
George didn’t know what else, if anything, was happening in the room by then, whether the three men were finished or still going at it. It was just him and Theo in this moment. And quite suddenly, too quickly, he was coming, climaxing hard. He cried out, too loud probably, spending in a series of hot, stuttering pulses. And all through his crisis, Theo patiently, expertly, worked him till he was empty and utterly spent, his bare stomach covered with his own cooling spend.
When it was over, he sagged back against Theo, closing his eyes as he panted. Echoes of pleasure still ran through him, but already he was coming out of his daze, like a swimmer resurfacing from a dive. He became aware again of the sounds of the other men in the room. The guttural grunts and soft curses. The rhythmic groan of floorboards beneath someone’s knees.
Reluctantly, he opened his eyes. Turned his head.
Theo was watching him, a faint smile pricking the corners of his mouth.
How could he look so easy?
“Did you enjoy that?” he asked softly, and George could only blink and nod, still caught up in the warm aftermath of climax, mutely content, distantly astonished.
“I enjoyed watching you,” Theo murmured, a wicked glint in his eye. “I could’ve spent in my drawers just from that.”
