THEO
Theo woke the next morning feeling rather green about the gills.
After George had left Redford’s, he’d fallen into company with some fellows he knew and drunk far too much brandy, before heading home and drifting into the sort of shallow, drunken sleep that left a man drained and exhausted the next morning.
All he wanted to do was roll over and pull his pillow over his head but he had to be at the church in less than an hour. And so, resignedly, he rang the bell for hot water and forced himself out of bed.
Half an hour later, he was clean-shaven, a little more awake thanks to the coffee the footman had brought him, and was looking halfway presentable. He’d be nicely on time too, since the wedding ceremony was taking place at St George’s in Hanover Square, only a short walk away.
He stepped out into a morning that was overcast, the grey and cloudy sky seeming to promise rain. The dismal outlook did nothing to improve his mood, and, as he strode towards the church, he scowled to think of the day ahead. The ceremony itself, though a bore, would hopefully be relatively short, but he had no such hopes for the wedding breakfast. Judging by last night’s endless dinner, it would probably be at the more opulent end of these sorts of things and go on for hours. The very thought made his head ache and his stomach feel decidedly queasy.
There was, however, one person who might ease Theo’s boredom.
George Asquith.
The thought sent a thrill of excitement through him, even as he winced to remember their awkward parting the night before. Which was all the fault of that damned kiss. The unexpected press of George’s lips against his own had thrown him into a stupid panic.
He’d over-reacted, pushing George away like that, but he’d been startled and acted instinctively. He wasn’t sure why he’d felt quite so panicked, though. It was true he didn’t go in for kissing with his bed partners, but still. It wasn’t that he hated it. It was just easier to keep his encounters on the right track that way. Kissing was… personal. Better to gaze upon a man’s well-muscled back as you fucked him than to stare into his eyes and share his breath. That way, you got all the pleasure and none of the unwanted intimacy.
Which made it all the more ridiculous to find himself wondering now what would have happened last night if he’d just let the kiss happen. What would it have been like? Even now, as he remembered those brief moments when George’s lips had briefly pressed against his own, his heart began to race—which was utterly absurd.
Forget the kiss, he told himself, impatiently. Remember the other part instead. The good part when you had George begging you to touch him.
God, yes. Because that had been good. His cock plumped happily at the memory—the weight of George’s body reclining against him, the warm satin of his skin under Theo’s fingers as Theo pushed up his shirt, baring his lean chest and flat belly, the hot, solid heft of his prick in Theo’s hand. The way he’d gasped and arched and dripped, finally coming apart entirely while Theo worked him.
Perfect, his mind supplied, unhelpfully.
Even then, his mind stubbornly returned to the question. What would have happened if he hadn’t pushed George away? Might he have stayed a little longer at Redford’s? Might they have made plans to return there this evening? Would Theo have even wanted that? He did not generally bed his partners more than once.
He had realised a long time ago that, for men like him, the best path in life was one that offered uncomplicated pleasures, and nothing more serious. That was why he went to Redford’s. For straightforward sex with whatever man took his fancy. He had no desire to form any attachments—in his view, any man who did want that was undoubtedly more trouble than he was worth.
He was fairly sure that was exactly the sort of man George Asquith was.
Sentimental.
George’s expression when Theo had shoved him away had been stricken, and seeing that flash of hurt had made Theo feel like a heel.
He was not fond of feeling like a heel.
“Caldwell!”
When Theo looked up at the sound of his name being called, he realised, with some surprise, that he had almost reached the church. Ahead of him, wedding guests were milling around. Piers was among them, wearing an exceptionally ugly coat in a bilious green colour and waving at Theo.
“Where on earth did you get that coat?” Theo called as he closed the distance between them.
Piers beamed at him. “Do you know, everyone’s been asking me that this morning.”
“I’m not surprised,” Theo said faintly, though, seeing Piers’s pleasure at being the centre of attention, he couldn’t quite bring himself to point out why that was. Instead, he changed the subject. “Will the ceremony start on time, do you suppose?”
“Yes, most everyone’s here,” Piers said cheerfully. “We need to usher this lot inside so we can get started. Help me, will you?”
Together, they gently urged the chattering guests to move into the church, bringing up the rear themselves. As they slowly moved up the aisle, Theo spotted George, sitting in splendid isolation on the groom’s side. He’d left several empty rows between the guests already seated and himself, silently declaring himself to be a person of no particular importance. Theo wasn’t sure what to make of that. Whether to feel sorry for George, or to cheer him on.
“I’ve got to sit on the front row,” Piers said. He didn’t seem to have noticed George. “But there’s room on the row behind if you want to sit there?”
“No, that’s for family,” Theo said. “I’ll sit back here. You go ahead.”
“Right-o,” Piers said brightly, striding off.
