“Zero zero zero zero.”
The silence behind him was gratifying.
“You’re joking.”
“I am not joking, Connor. I have never had cause to remember anything more complicated, and when one has a mobile that unlocks with one’s face nine times out of ten, the code is decorative.”
“Vidal… That’s not — Okay. We’re having a conversation about your digital security another time.”
“Yes, yes. Take your photograph.”
“Right. Hands on your arse, please. Hold yourself open for me.”
Vidal reached back and spread himself with both hands, fingers pressed into the flesh of his cheeks.
“That’s it. Hold it just like that.” The mechanical click of the camera shutter came a second later. Then another. Then a third.
“Connor. You are taking your time.”
“I’m an artist, sweetheart.”
“You are apervert.”
“I’m that as well, yes. Have a look.”
Connor leaned forward, bracketing Vidal’s body with one arm, and held the mobile in front of his face.
The photograph was taken from Connor’s angle, close, unhurried, and entirely without flattery. His own hands were in the frame, spread white-knuckled across the tanned skin of his arse, holding himself open. His hole was centred in the composition, flushed and stretched and glistening, a thick trail of Connor’s come working its slow way down the inside of his thigh. His balls were tucked up high against his body, and they were beautifully lit by the bedside lamp.
Vidal let his head drop back against the pillow and made a long pleased sound.
“Connor.”
“Mm?”
“You have atalent.”
“I’ve an eye.”
“You haveboth. This is a remarkable composition. I shall be studying it at my leisure for some considerable time.”
Connor laughed, pressed a kiss to the back of Vidal’s shoulder, and set the mobile face-down on the sheet beside his head. “All yours, sweetheart. Keep it somewhere nobody’s going to find it.”
“Connor. I am twenty-six years old. I have been taking indiscreet photographs of myself since I first got a camera phone. I have asystem.”
“You’ve got zero zero zero zero as your mobile code. You do not have a system.”
“These things are unrelated.”
Connor laughed, dark and pleased, and gathered the mess on Vidal’s thigh onto two fingers, pushing it unhurriedly back into him. Vidal’s breath stuttered at the feel of it, at the slick easy way Connor’s fingers went in where his cock had just been, and at the casual possessiveness of a man putting his own come back inside where he thought it belonged.
“There is more left. I can feel it on my leg.”
Connor obliged. He scooped the second line of come from Vidal’s inner thigh and worked it back into him with two thick fingers, curling them slightly on the way out so that Vidal’s whole body jolted. Vidal, who had come hard enough five minutes ago that he should by rights have been beyond arousal for at least an hour, felt his cock give a valiant half-hearted twitch against his stomach.
“You are undoing me, Connor.”
Connor’s fingers pressed deep one more time, a lazy proprietary stroke, and then withdrew. He rubbed his palm once across the curve of Vidal’s arse like he was signing his work. “There. All tucked in. You’ll be leaking it out of you for the rest of the night. Hope you’re not planning on wearing anything expensive to bed.”
