The double-fucking had filled every wanting crevice within him, and the two gentlemen had done it with far more affection than he typically received. Their attentive efforts left him wrung out and well-spent. If it weren’t for dereliction of duty, he thought he could have happily spent another night here in this mysterious cottage which no one else had spoken of in Hyde Park.
As matters stood, he gave thanks tomorrow was Sunday, and he likely wouldn’t be missed until noon. Then he slipped beneath the waves of sleep that had arisen in the wake of ecstasy’s torrential tide.
He opened his eyes to sunrise, birdsong, and the sight of Gawain’s freckled arse slipping off the bed and meandering across the cottage.
Gawain went first to his shirt hanging on the wall-hook, which he slipped over his head. It was an old shirt, Jack realised, not because it was discoloured or worn, but because it was cut and sewn in the style of some fifty years past. Then Gawain retrieved the copper kettle hanging from the ceiling beam. His back arched as he stood on his toes and stretched to reach it. A nagging thought in the back of Jack’s mind scolded him for not getting up to help the smaller man, but more of him simply enjoyed the sight of masculine muscle going taut beneath bespeckled skin.
When Gawain turned to fill the kettle at the copper tap, however, he caught Jack’s stare.
“Oh!” Gawain said, his voice soft despite his evident surprise. “Good morning.”
Jack returned him the same greeting.
Gawain raised the kettle. “Tea?”
Jack agreed with a nod. He watched as Gawain hung the kettle over the hearth, stoked the embers into flames, and retrieved a wooden tea-caddy. By daylight, Jack noted, both the cottage and Gawain appeared still more handsome and welcoming.
Then the cottage door opened.
Jack bolted upright.
The figure who stepped over the threshold, however, was not his superior officer or any stranger, but Butcher.
Only then did Jack realise Butcher’s absence from the bed. He must have arisen before Jack and Gawain both; likely to gather the basket of eggs and wooden bucket of milk he now carried into the cottage. Jack relaxed and offered his host an apologetic grin.
Butcher returned him a small handsome smile and joined Gawain at the hearth. Jack set about dressing himself in the meanwhile. Soon the crackle of frying eggs joined the whistling of the tea-kettle and, with the addition of cheese and toasted bread, a hearty breakfast ensued.
Jack, satiated in all possible ways, could’ve happily spent the whole day with his newfound companions. But as the sun crept ever closer to its zenith, he knew his fellow officers would soon wonder where he’d gone.
“Do you know the way back to Knightsbridge?” he asked his hosts. “I’m not sure I recall the path from last night.”
“Could you find your way from Hyde Park?” Gawain replied. “We may guide you so far as that, at least.”
Jack wagered he could and thanked his hosts for their trouble.
“Before you go,” Butcher began.
Jack hesitated. It sounded very much as though Butcher wanted another fuck. And while Jack’s spirit felt quite willing,his flesh—more specifically, his satisfactorily sore arse—would likely prove weak.
But rather than bend Jack over the workbench or the bed, Butcher instead sank to his knees before him.
A grin crept across Jack’s face. This, he could enthusiastically assent to. He settled his palms onto broad shoulders as Butcher’s clever hands undid the fall-front of his trousers.
Gawain watched with a wide-eyed but by no means disapproving or disinterested stare. Moreover, he echoed Jack’s own gasp as Butcher took him in his fist and gave a few swift, strong strokes.
But when Butcher bent to take Jack in his mouth, Gawain belayed him with a hand laid on his shoulder.
“May I…?” Gawain asked, his gaze flicking between Jack and Butcher’s bewildered glances.
Butcher looked to Jack.
Jack shrugged, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “By all means.”
Butcher arose. Gawain went below. Jack leaned back to brace his arse against the polished edge of the hollow tree stump, not wanting to overwhelm Gawain with his grip.
Gawain took him in hand, a lighter and softer touch than Butcher had, yet no less eager. His tentative grasp sent a delicious shiver up Jack’s spine. It only increased as Gawain parted those beautiful bespeckled lips and brought them to his cock-head. He sucked cock like he kissed, with a hunger that hardly dared to show itself until desire overcame restraint, beginning in timid caresses of the tongue and resolving into lavishing licks as he discovered he enjoyed the taste. He fit half of Jack’s shaft in his mouth, his fist handling the rest as he hollowed his cheeks. Jack resisted the urge to thrust, not wanting to overwhelm the man. His knuckles clenched on thewooden rim as Gawain moaned around him and ravenously sucked as if he wished to devour Jack altogether.
Then, in an over-eager effort to swallow him down, Gawain fell into coughing and had to spit him out. Butcher had him by the shoulders at once, steadying him as he knelt and drawing him up when he made the effort to stand.
