A thrill went through George at that admission, and he was tempted to move closer, press his lips against the other man’s. Instead, he whispered, “Could you spend in my hand?”
One of side of Theo’s mouth hitched in amusement. “I certainly could.”
George gave him a shy smile and shifted position, moving to Theo’s right side. By the time he was settled in place, Theo had shoved his trousers and drawers down to his thighs, baring his own hard cock and heavy balls to George’s fascinated gaze.
“Do you use your right hand, like me?” George whispered.
Theo nodded, pulling his shirt up to expose his flat, lightly furred belly.
“How do you like it?”
Theo gave a husky laugh. “I’m sure whatever you do will be perfect—just imagine it’s your own cock.”
Heart pounding, George ran his fingertips up Theo’s shaft before gently closing his hand around it and giving it a slow, experimental tug.
It felt familiar and unknown at once. Like his own—perhaps a little bigger, though not by so very much. Subtly different from his own. A little straighter, perhaps, the head a little plumper. It felt powerfully good in his hand, warm and solid, the skin as soft as kid.
It was odd to be handling a cock and not feeling the sensation of being touched himself, especially when he was using the same hand he would use on himself, at the same angle, with the same stroking rhythm. Everything the same and everything different.
When Theo groaned, George’s own cock twitched and began to rise again. Amazed, he shifted to look at Theo, and found the man staring at him with hooded eyes, his gaze intent.
“Keep doing that,” he said, his voice low and rough. “I love your hand on me.”
Later, George wasn’t sure where it came from, but he heard himself whispering, “What else would you like—my mouth?”
Theo’s gaze heated. “Christ, yes,” he whispered. “I’d love to spend down your throat.”
This time it was George who groaned, imagining that. Imagining going to his knees for Theo, like the dark-haired man earlier, opening his mouth as Theo’s fingers tunnelled into his hair, pulling him closer…
Turning his face into Theo’s shoulder, George pressed a desperate, open-mouthed kiss to the warm skin there as his mind conjured up a stream of filthy images, and his cock pulsed. And all the while he kept stroking Theo’s impossibly hard cock in the same steady rhythm.
“Fuck,” Theo gasped at last, and then his hips were jerking up and he began to come with sticky exuberance, his blood-warm spend drenching George’s hand, while his own hand clutched George’s hip. His voice was loud enough to draw the attention of the others in the room. Ordinarily, George would have been mortified by that, but right now, he couldn’t bring himself to care. So what if they saw? Let them look.
When he was finally done, Theo just lay there, boneless and grinning, uncaring of the mess on his belly.
George’s lust—which had been building again as he tended to Theo—began to slowly ebb, and as the second wave of incipient pleasure gradually faded, so too did the madness of the desire that had gripped him. As reality reasserted itself, George blinked, and felt as though he was waking from a dream.
His gaze bounced quickly around the room. There were more men here now than there had been before—perhaps another half dozen—though most everyone’s attention was on those performing in the centre of the room. Now that the haze of lust had dissipated, everything was sharper-focused, and louder. Even the other men’s groans sounded harsher, more animal.
A new feeling began to brew inside George, mild but unmistakable. Regret. Worry.
What have I done?
The arm that had been clutching his side loosened. Had Theo detected his panic? George didn’t ask, or even look around. Instead he levered himself up and away from the chaise, casting his gaze about for his clothes. Spotting his coat on the floor, he grabbed it and shakily extracted his silk handkerchief from the pocket before wiping off his sticky hand with the delicate fabric.
Across the room, a man cried out—in pain or pleasure? Distracted, George turned his head towards the sound, then quickly looked away again, panic flaring, when he encountered a few curious gazes turned in their own direction.
“George, are you all right?” Theo asked quietly. He was sitting on the edge of the chaise now and there was a note of concern in his voice.
“I think I’d better go,” George said, forcing a smile that he knew probably looked unconvincing and not quite meeting Theo’s eyes. “Thank you for”—he paused, unsure how to complete that sentence—“for showing me around and…” Trailing off, he gestured between them, hoping that the fierceness of his blush wasn’t too obvious in the dim light as he weakly added, “…everything else."
Theo stood up, tucking his shirt into his trousers, and fastening the buttons again. “I’ll come with you,” he said easily.
“No, please,” George said. “I’ve already interrupted your plans enough for one evening.” Even as the words left his mouth, he cringed at their scrupulous, incongruous politeness. Theo Caldwell had just come in his hand, and he was apologising for taking up his time.
“Interrupted my plans?” Theo said. Again, he looked amused. “On the contrary, George, you’ve entirely fulfilled them.”
George could only stare at him, unsure how to react.
