Genre: Fluff, PWP, Romance
Disclaimer: An original One Shot by WantSome.
All characters are fictional and any resemblance this story bears to other circumstances or people is purely coincidental and unintentional … yada yada. Because they belong to me, the usual vault rules apply: Touch Not Lest Ye Be Touched
Warnings: If you don’t like yaoi, shounen ai, or boy on boy love you’re on the wrong website. Also, this is 18+ for language and sex, be warned. I should say that this is practically porn with a very shallow attempt at a very predictable plot, so if you like your characters well developed and your story convoluted and intelligent, this is not the one for you. Be further advised that this is self edited, so please point out any glaring errors, but be kind, it’s my first ‘published’ work.
Author’s Note: I write for myself and my own pleasure, however, constructive criticism and comments are appreciated and valued.
Last Updated: 08 August 2009 – Finished
Homeless = Hopeless?
Living rough in London and sleeping on the streets is tough on anyone. I should know. I work part time for my grandmother at a soup kitchen called Sunshine Soup Kitchen (original name, huh?). We’re a charity, and we cater to anyone who walks through the door, no questions asked. Sometimes, if you’re lucky and you walk in early enough after opening time, you might even get a bunk in one of the five dorms we have upstairs. But usually those go early and we try to save them for families with kids.
No, it’s not fun watching these people live so hard. Even the young ones have such sad, dark, old eyes. It makes me sad, too, and it makes me work that much harder to help Grandma get the funding she needs to keep this place running. Unfortunately, with the credit crunch and the state of the economy, getting that funding has become harder and harder. And, probably due to the same reasons, we’re getting more and more down-and-outs through our doors.
I do, however, love our regulars. They’re really something. The older guys tend to stick together and look out for each other. We get the types that are here every night and it turns into almost like a social club for bums. I love listening to their stories of their youth. Nine times out of ten I bet they’re all made up stories but its fun listening to them anyway.
We get some young ones here too; the runaways or the addicts. Their eyes really scare me, actually. They’re dark and lonely, and most of them worm their way into your heart and you can’t help but try to make things better for them. Unfortunately, besides a bowl of soup and a friendly smile, there’s not much I can do for them myself. Yes, we offer help through various contacts – child protection agencies, psychologists etc – to help people get off the streets but the sad thing about living on the streets is, it kind of sucks you in and you can’t get out.
The young ones usually don’t last long. I like to think they go home, but I know deep down that, more likely, they’ve gotten themselves involved in something illegal, like drugs or prostitution, or whatever. London is kind of hard like that. These are the types that are the saddest to think about.
And then you get types like Paul. He hasn’t been in a while and everyone was wondering what had happened to him. He had the kind of charm that captivates people. Tall, long legs, broad shoulders, wavy dark hair and china blue eyes with a crooked, full-lipped smile… Bernard calls him ‘a bit of alright’. I say he’s a whole lot of alright! I guess you can tell I had a tiny crush?
He was back, now, though, and telling everyone he had finally found a job and having a last meal with all the old regulars. He’s obviously not your normal bum. His clothes are normally neat, although sometimes it’s obvious that he’s lived in them for a day or two. He’s never dirty like all the rest. Yes, the smell and dirt on some of these guys is gross, but you get used to it, and you get so you see the people underneath all the grime, too.
Paul is probably the guy you hear about on the news, who used to be ok but lost everything thanks to the economic downturn. Maybe his business went bust, or maybe he was stabbed in the back by a corrupt colleague? Who knew, he never really talked about his personal life.
I was really happy to hear that he finally found work. But I was kind of depressed that it meant he wouldn’t be visiting here anymore. What reason could he have for visiting a soup kitchen when he was making money of his own? Who’d have known that down-to-earth and down-on-his-luck Paul would find a job in investment banking? The guy has landed with his bum in the butter, that’s for sure.
I was thinking all this while serving Bernard his soup and watching Paul talk to the old regulars. He’d kind of become one of them, although he couldn’t be older than, say, 30, tops? I didn’t notice him approach me until he spoke.
‘Penny for your thoughts,’ he offered, making me jump.
‘Huh?’ I asked, stupidly. Yeah, well intelligent input, Henry. ‘Oh, no, they’re not worth a penny.’
‘That’s our Henry,’ interrupted Gran, ‘always woolgathering when he should be paying attention. Did you hear a word Paul just said?’
‘Um…?’ No, I hadn’t. I’d been woolgathering, just as Gran said.
Gran rolled her eyes at Paul and smiled. ‘You’re going with Paul to his new company to pitch our charity for their donations.’ She handed me the folder before I could protest. ‘Don’t forget to mention their tax breaks, and definitely don’t forget to mention the trademark, ok?’
‘Oh, no, Gran! I’ve never done this without you before.’ I’m kind of pathetic. I’m really shy, usually, and definitely not a salesman. Plus I’d only ever watched Gran do it.
‘You’ll do fine, read it in the car,’ Paul said.
‘Huh?’ Now he had a car?
‘Paul’s company is footing the bill for a cab, Henry. Now go before the president changes his mind,’ Gran practically pushed the two of us out of the door.
In the cab I didn’t say much after Paul gave the cabbie the address in Canary Warf. Some of the old regulars came to see us off and whistled at the posh area. Then I opened the file and commanded Paul to tell me everything he knew of Gregory Corps while I re-read the paperwork. I was petrified. You know what they say about people’s biggest fear being death and public speaking? I think they were talking about me…
The cab took us all the way from Picadilly to Canary Warf and the fare was astronomical. During the ride I found time to thank Paul for thinking of Sunrise Soup Kitchen and remembering us after he’d found success. It was gratifying to think that he must have told his boss about us now that he had solid work. Those few who do manage to find work or a second chance at life usually forget about their stint on the streets in a heartbeat. And I told him so. I fancy the guy blushed a little but he didn’t say anything further.
As we got out of the car I couldn’t help but gawp at the amazing, enormous buildings that rose up around us. Very modern, very slick, very expensive.
‘Your office is here?’ I asked, and followed him in. Not only was I now nervous, but I was a little intimidated as well.
‘Intimidated?’ he teased, guessing right. I had to admit I’d never pitched the charity at all, let alone to such a large corporation so yes, I was a tad nervous. He reached for my hand, surprisingly, and gave it a squeeze. Even more surprisingly, I wasn’t that nervous anymore.
‘I wish I’d just dressed a little nicer, though,’ I said, looking down at my jeans and button up shirt. At least I was wearing a proper shirt today and not just a t-shirt.
‘You look great,’ he smiled, comfortingly.
We were admitted through security then had to take the lift to the 56th floor. I think that was higher than I’d ever been. I felt a little woozy and I couldn’t be sure if it was my imagination playing tricks on me because I knew we were so high or the thinner atmosphere at this altitude but I totally got vertigo for a moment as the lift pinged open. Paul put a steadying arm around my shoulders and gave me a squeeze before letting me go with a quickly whispered ‘Good luck.’
I was introduced to a Mr. George Gregory; an old-ish guy with salt-n-pepper hair and pale blue eyes. He didn’t stand or shake my hand, merely stared at me like I was something he found under his shoe, then asked Paul to wait outside.
Well, that wasn’t unexpected, some people just didn’t like charity bods like me. But then, it was him who had invited me over, so he could try to be polite, right? I treated him to my best business-like smile and launched into my carefully prepared and several-times-rehearsed-in-the-cab speech about Sunshine Soup Kitchen and the programme we had. I told him about our outreach work and how we were a registered charity. This meant that he could put our trademark on his paperwork and advertisements and thereby promote the ethical and humanitarian nature of his company. He didn’t seem too impressed.
As I wound my little story down he finally stood up and walked around his desk to lean against it, directly in front of me. I prepared myself for rejection.
‘I see that you know your stuff,’ he said, having asked me a few pointed questions which I hoped I had satisfied correctly. ‘What if I said I had a condition before accepting this deal? A condition that must be met before I commit to signing up for the continued sponsorship of your enterprise?’
‘Um, I would have to hear the condition. If it’s the trademark thing, you know that is optional.’
‘It’s not the trademark. I’m thinking of a different trade. What if I told you I was in a position to offer you three times what you are proposing if you were to spend one night in my bed?’
‘Huh?’ Is it just me or is this becoming my standard reply?
‘I’m offering you a deal, Henry. Sleep with me, and I’ll give your charity three times what you’re asking. That’s pretty generous, right?’
It took all of two seconds for me to register what he meant. Oh, hell no! Hell would freeze over before I sold myself to some… get your thoughts in order, Henry, I sternly told myself.
‘You definitely have the wrong impression, Mr. Gregory, if you think that is what I am offering.’ I snapped my folder shut and stood, noticing that he wasn’t as tall as I’d first thought. I was still shaking a little because that glare is seriously intimidating. I’m so not used to dealing with this crap. I might have mentioned I’m pathetic and shy. Be strong, Henry, put him in his place and don’t loose your nerve or your pride. ‘I don’t think we’ll suit as business partners. Or partners of any kind. You’ll excuse me.’ I made to leave but he grabbed my arm.
‘What if I offered you five times what you asked?’ he tried again.
‘No thank-you,’ I shrugged off his hand and continued to walk towards the door. ‘Not interested.’
‘How about one hundred times?’
I reached the door and, with one hand on the knob I turned and gathered all my dignity around me like I’d seen Gran do once at a posh charity function when some social mushroom had insulted her. We might be charity workers but we still had a little self respect – plus Gran was the cousin of a duchess! We Winterfields don’t let little no-bodies push us around.
‘Not for a billion, billion times the amount, Mr. Gregory. Good day.’
I finally yanked open the door and rushed right past where Paul was waiting to the lift. It took ages for Paul to join me there, and while I waited for the darn lift I punched the button repetitively in frustration.
‘It’s not hydraulic, you know,’ Paul said, finally joining me. ‘It won’t come any faster if you pump it.’
‘Ha ha,’ I said, sarcastically. ‘It’s either punch the button or punch your boss and I don’t want to lose you your job so I chose the button. Although I think you’re better off with us down at the kitchen than the corrupting influence of that guy.’
I was surprised at myself. I’m really a nice guy, usually. And here I was, throwing a royal strop. I guess the tension of having to pitch my first charity drive, and the check I’d had to keep on my emotions when Mr. Gregory made his proposal, was getting to me.
‘What a wanker,’ I continued to push the button.
Perhaps I had been a little more nervous than I realised. Perhaps I just really wanted Gregory Corp’s donation for the charity and was more upset with myself at failing my first pitch than anything.
‘Henry, stop,’ he said, finally, with that lopsided smile that I had come to like so well. He took my hand that was still holding down the button in both of his. ‘Come to my office and let me explain everything, ok?’
I allowed him to lead me by the hand to his office. On the door was his name. Paul Gregory.
That’s nice, I hadn’t known his surname before…
Hang on, Paul GREGORY?!
‘What in hell is going on here, Paul?’ I said, pointing to his name tag. ‘Look, I’m going, whatever you have to say you can come to the kitchen and tell me…’
I didn’t get very far. He grabbed my arm and spun me around to face him. Something in his china blue eyes gave me pause and I realised he was begging. ‘Please, Henry, please just stay and listen to what I have to say. Please?’
I raised an eyebrow and folded my arms. He took this as invitation to continue.
‘Your suspicions are correct. George Gregory is my dad, and president of this company…’
I didn’t let him get much further. I’m usually quite self controlled and polite, but today I was discovering a b**chy side I hadn’t known existed in me before. I had definitely had enough.
‘George Gregory is your father? You brought me here to pimp me out to your dad? What the hell? Didn’t you learn anything about us down at the kitchen? Did you think I was going to roll over and let some rich dick f**k me till doomsday for a little funding? What? Was I supposed to go down on my knees and beg? Oh, and while I’m down here, Mr. President, shall I suck your cock for you? I don’t think so, buddy, if you thought that you mn…’
The bastard kissed me. Now, I’m only 23 but I’m no stranger to being kissed against my will. I know exactly what to do in that situation. Only, I’d wanted Paul to kiss me since he showed up that afternoon in his pin striped suit and lopsided grin and told my Gran he could get us funding. So I enjoyed it for a few seconds before biting down, hard.
‘Gods, Henry!’ he yanked himself away and put a hand to his lip. I’d drawn blood but I didn’t care. I had to press my hands to my mouth to stop my quivering lips from letting out a sob. I was really upset and now I hated myself for acting like a dumb heroine in one of those old movies the guys at the kitchen like to watch. I hated him for putting me in that position.
‘Don’t touch me without my permission,’ I said at last. He had the good grace to look a little ashamed but he didn’t apologize. Finally I huffed and dug out a crumpled tissue from my pocket for him to blot up the blood on his lip.
‘Don’t bother coming to the kitchen again, Mr. Gregory,’ I said, seeing the hurt flash in his eyes as I called him by his surname. I think my heart must have been breaking. I’d really started to like this guy. I turned to go but he grabbed my arm, gently this time, causing me to look up into infinitely sad china blue eyes. Why did he have to be so lovely?
‘Please, just listen to what I have to say, please, just sit for a second and listen. I promise I’ll let you go without touching you once I’ve explained.’
I could tell he wasn’t going to let me go until he’d said his piece so I nodded.
‘I’ll listen but I prefer to stand in the company of Gregory’s,’ I couldn’t help but snipe. I felt ashamed of myself for being such a cow. Margaret, our resident drama queen at the kitchen, would be proud. Here I was, throwing a right strop, and no-one to appreciate it. Such is life, right?
He looked a little hurt but sighed and nodded. He ran his hand through his lovely dark hair and left it all dishevelled, and suddenly he looked a tad more like the Paul I’d come to know at the kitchen; a little untidy, a little unkempt, a little less intimidating and a lot cuter. Then he started.
‘Last September my dad kicked me out of the house to teach me a lesson. That’s when I stumbled upon Sunshine Soup Kitchen and met you. It was only one week before my dad let me back, he loves me in his way, you know.’ I snorted at this but said nothing. ‘But, as you know, I continued to visit the kitchen. I couldn’t stay away. Anyway, I told him about the kitchen, and about the guys, and about your gran, and about you.’
He seemed to struggle for words now, and his gaze was pleading for me to understand.
‘The thing is,’ he continued. ‘My dad knows me better than anyone, and the minute I mentioned you, he knew I had feelings for you. He knew that you were the reason I kept going back even though I didn’t need to.’
Somehow my trademark reply seemed appropriate this time. ‘Huh?’
‘I like you, Henry. I more than like you.’
‘So… then… but… and what…’ I couldn’t form a coherent sentence because my thoughts were suddenly all over the place. He liked me? Why didn’t he ever say anything? Why did he bring me here? Why the whole thing with his dad which still miffed me off? Why put me through all that and then confess?
‘Why?’ I finally settled on that as a simple , easily articulated question.
He smiled that lopsided grin again. ‘Why do I like you?’
I finally let him lead me to the couch. ‘Well, yeah, but mainly why all of it? Why didn’t you say anything all this time? Why did you make me come here today? Did you know your dad is gay?’
He laughed. ‘My dad isn’t gay, Henry, that was a test. A test he applies to all my friends or loved ones because he always thinks that people are after the family money. My own mother left him for another, richer, guy, and he thinks all people are like that now. Although neither of us knew if you returned my feelings, he thought he would show me you would only be after my money, rather than my love.’
‘But I liked you before I knew you had money, so he can’t mn…’ He had a bad habit of interrupting me with kisses, but this time I let it go and kissed him back. I licked and soothed his swollen lip where I’d bitten it before and sucked his tongue into my mouth. He was a pretty good kisser and he smelled and tasted so yummy. Hot damn!
‘You like me, then?’ He asked. I answered him with a nod and a smile and suddenly found myself hauled onto a firm lap and thoroughly snogged. I smiled into the kiss and thought how strange it is the way things turn out.
Paul isn’t a hobo, instead he’s rich. George isn’t a gay lecher, but rather a concerned dad, helping his kid and making a hash of it.
I’ve also realised that I’m not a quiet, shy, retiring person, as I’d thought, but a bit of a b**ch, considering my snide comments earlier, and a total slut when it comes to Paul’s kisses. I had his shirt open and my hands all over him within minutes.
‘So,’ he finally said, breaking the kiss and catching my wrists so I couldn’t undress him even more. ‘I take that as a yes to my next question.’
‘I was going to ask you to be my boyfriend. Exclusive and only mine.’
I pretended to think about this for a while. ‘What if I said I had a condition to this deal?’
He burst out laughing, confirming my suspicion that he had been listening to my talk with Mr. Gregory all along. This was a direct quote.
‘I’d have to hear the condition.’
‘Ok, I’ll be yours exclusively and only yours if you continue to make that lovely sound you made a moment ago whenever we kiss like this.’
I proceeded to show him. Just as my fingers found their way into his shirt and brushed a nipple, he made a short, broken groan.
‘That sound,’ I said.
‘Oh, well, I think I could consider your proposal if you continue to touch me just like that.’
‘Consider it a deal, then,’ I said, leaning in to kiss him again. But I found myself dumped off his lap and straightened up immediately. Paul quickly fixed his clothes and mine (hey, when had my shirt come undone?) and made us presentable before dragging me back to the lift and out into the street.
He hauled me into a cab and gave the cabbie an address in Mayfair.
‘Where are we going?’
‘My place,’ he said.
‘Oh, I don’t think that’s a good idea, Paul,’ I protested. ‘Gran thinks I’m coming back and there’s a load of stuff that I still need to do at…’ this time he didn’t kiss me to shut me up. Instead he gave me such a smouldering look I couldn’t get a word out. It said both ‘I want you,’ and ‘shut up’ at the same time and somehow my body automatically obeyed.
Paul lives in a very nice area just off Berkley Square, in a big old house that has been converted into studio apartments, just like most of London.
He’d barely closed the door of his apartment behind us before he pounced. I found myself shoved up against the wall and sandwiched there by his body while he devoured my lips, and thrust his tongue into my mouth. I heard a groan and wasn’t sure if it was him or me making the sound but it turned me on – a lot.
His hands were unbuttoning my shirt and spreading it open and off my shoulders along with my coat and scarf in no time. ‘Henry,’ he said, ‘undress me.’
I didn’t need to be asked twice but I had to clench my hands hard to keep them from shaking as I reached for his clothes. Only, I started with his belt, and I think he was pleasantly surprised.
I unbuckled it, unbuttoned his trousers and pulled down the zip in short order, and thrust my hand inside to caress him through his boxers. He made that lovely, short, broken growl again and I smiled into the kiss.
‘Oops!’ I yelped as I fell on the bed. Somehow, while I was distracted, Paul had led me backwards into the studio space and straight onto the bed. When my legs touched the edge he’d kept moving forward, causing me to fall onto it with him over me. The man loomed deliciously.
I pulled at the hem of his shirt as he pulled at my jeans and sneakers. I was left in nothing but my boxer-briefs and he still half in his trousers and half in his shirt. The shirt will forever have my gratitude because it had cuff links instead of buttons, and as it turned inside out it got stuck on his large hands and effectively trapped them.
Yay; I could explore now without distractions. I trailed little open mouth kisses down his chest. He had a little smattering of hair on his chest that felt soft against my palm as I stroked it down. My mouth found his nipple and he made what is now my favourite sound in the world again.
My hand followed the arrow of the dark hair down over his navel and into his boxers this time, feeling the bigness of him in my palm.
Hang on, this I had to see. I trailed kisses down his chest and stomach, leaving a little bite mark just below his navel to his gasps and moans. Perhaps he was too distracted because he didn’t seem to be making much progress with that blessed shirt.
I hooked my fingers in the waistband of his boxers and pulled them down with a swift jerk, taking his trousers with them to his knees. He was hard, and beautiful, and a little enormous. Well, s**t and s**t.
I’m not tiny in the trouser department but this guy was just wasteful. It’s unnecessary to be so big, was my first thought. My second being how I was ever going to fit this inside of me. My own desire waned a little at the prospect.
I tried to push the thoughts aside as I bent to lick and kiss the thing, finally taking the head into my mouth. Paul groaned. His hands were finally free and he thrust his fingers through my hair but mercifully didn’t push my head down or thrust his hips up. I’m not a virgin, but I’m not terribly experienced either. I haven’t mastered the deep-throat thing yet.
I suckled gently on him, while my hands did the work my mouth couldn’t handle. I fondled his balls and played with the curls at his base, causing him to gasp and sigh. Did hair have nerve endings that they could feel sensations? He liked it so much it almost seemed like the hair did have nerves, although I doubted it. My other hand wrapped around the shaft and moved in tandem with my mouth. Finally I got tired of that, and, although he tasted so nice and salty, I moved my mouth from the head to pay some attention to the shaft that would soon, hopefully, be inside me. If it fit, that is.
Suddenly I was on my back. Paul had put his arms under my own and lifted me bodily to throw me on my back and do that delicious looming like before. He divested me of my underwear, and himself of his trousers which were now at his ankles, thank heavens, and laid down full length along me. He was heavy, but it was a comforting and familiar type of weight. I liked it. I couldn’t help but thrust upwards to feel his erection on mine. We both moaned at the heat of it.
Slowly he kissed my lips and stroked my face as if trying to memorise my features. He dragged his lips along my jaw and nibbled the curl of my ear, making me sigh. The sigh turned to a whimper as he dipped his tongue into my ear then gently blew on the moist area, making me shiver and clutch his shoulders.
I flipped us over again, this time straddling his belly and treating him to some of his own medicine. I wanted to make him quiver like he did to me. I blazed my own trail of kisses along his jaw and down his neck to that spot at the base of his throat that dips where his collar bones meet his sternum. I French kissed that hollow and blew on it too, loving the sudden goose bumps that spread on his slightly perspiring skin. Man, he’s hot, I thought.
It turned into a game for us. First he turned us so he was on top, raining kisses down on me, touching my sides, my belly, my aching cock and then I would turn the tables. I liked being on top because it meant he had both hands free to touch me. Is that selfish?
The bed was a mess and I revelled in it. Finally he turned us and moved down so that he was between my legs. He took my dick into his mouth like a pro. I think I might have sobbed a little at how lovely his mouth felt. Like a wet, hot, heaven, I thought.
While he ministered to me with his mouth, his hands weren’t idle, either. One played with my balls while the other dipped lower and slowly, slowly pushed a finger in. I stiffened immediately and he lifted his mouth, surging up to kiss my lips instead.
‘Relax, darling,’ he said, reaching into the night stand to draw out a small tube of KY. Hallelujah, for a moment I thought he was going to try put that thing in me dry.
He spread a small amount on the tip of his index finger, the laid the tube aside, still nearby, where it was out of the way but reachable. Then he came back to kiss me. The man took his time, distracting me with his kisses and by the time I remembered where all this was heading, he already had two fingers slowly thrusting into me.
‘Oh, gods, Paul, that feels really good,’ I whispered close to his ear where I was nibbling his lobe. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders to anchor myself to reality. I moved to kiss him and he obliged by meeting my lips with his. The kiss turned into a steaming battle of tongues as I thrust mine into his mouth this time.
He added another finger, and this time I felt it, tensing. Immediately he froze and whispered sweet nothings into my ear about how beautiful I was, about how much he loved the sounds I was making. It helped me relax but I wasn’t really paying much attention to the actual words because all my focus was on what he was doing down there.
What he was doing was slowly guiding his erection to my passage. I raised my legs to lock them around his hips, obligingly opening myself for him. He groaned as he slowly pressed into me, finally getting the head in. He was moving too slowly, and by the time I judged him all the way in I was sobbing and begging and quivering and pleading for him to move, please, hard, fast, now.
But he wouldn’t. He slowly drew out again and slowly thrust back in. I suddenly found myself having an out of body experience. I watched as if from beside the bed. I saw where Paul and I were connected and realised he wasn’t all the way in like I’d thought. He was holding back. The thought barely registered as I watched myself writhe with need and beg him to move faster. Is it vain that I thought I was pretty hot like that? I watched myself cry out in lust and demand more from Paul and gasp and moan and be completely shameless in my love making. Was I always that wanton? I felt myself blush, ashamed at my own thoughts.
Then I found myself back in my body again as Paul drew out slowly and slowly pushed back in again. I realised I had been watching myself in the mirror on wardrobe door and I blushed even more as I caught Paul looking at us like that too, meeting my eyes in the mirror. No out of body experience, just a mirror.
His hand found its way between us and he wrapped it around my shaft, giving it a slow caress in time with his achingly slow thrusting down below.
‘Please, Paul,’ I begged, trying to speed him up by clutching both my hands to his hips and trying to bring him in faster and harder. ‘Don’t tease me!’
All the time I was trying to speed us up, Paul was trying to slow us down. ‘Hush, darling, gently now,’ he whispered, blowing in my ear again. Finally we found our own special rhythm and when his hand on my member picked it up too, I couldn’t hold it anymore and I felt myself being swept away on a tidal wave of sensations.
Man, it felt good.
A few moments later I came back to myself to feel Paul slowly stroking my face, pushing my hair off of my neck where it clung to my sweat.
He obviously hadn’t joined me on my tidal wave of an orgasm. I wrapped my arms around him and drew him down for some more lingering kisses. He stopped his movements and just lay on me, connected as if that was how we were meant to be. It was incredibly sweat and incredibly sexy at the same time.
I found my now flaccid member stirring again as I regained full use of my mental facilities and formulated a plan on how to get my boyfriend off as well. Yes, ‘boyfriend’ sounds good, huh?
I wrapped my legs around his hips a little tighter, and continued our game from earlier by pulling him down and twisting us so we switched again. Me on top straddling him and him still buried inside me.
‘You’re beautiful,’ he said, making me blush, strangely. We were completely naked and joined in the most intimate way and this simple compliment made me blush? You’re such a girl, Henry, I thought. But I didn’t have time to berate myself much as his hands found their way up my chest and fondled my nipples gently.
I started to ride him. I started slow, because I knew by now that that was how he liked it. I lifted myself up so that only the tip was inside me and I moved with tiny little thrusts up and down, teasing just his head.
‘Don’t tease me, Henry,’ he begged, much as I had before, his hand tightened convulsively around my penis. As a reward for the sensation I sank suddenly right down on his shaft.
‘Oh, gods,’ he groaned at the unexpected sensation. I might have moaned a little too.
I loved that broken, short groan he made so I teased him by varying the pace and depth of my strokes. He forgot about my cock entirely, resting his hands on my hips and trying to control my rhythm by guiding them but not succeeding.
‘You’ll be the death of me yet, darling,’ he sighed as I finally sank down again, this time I was pretty sure he was all in because I was sitting right down on his groin. I leaned forward for a quick kiss, then sat up again leaning back to support myself on my hands which rested on his thighs behind me. Somehow this altered angle changed everything. He was not just pressing that special spot he’d found inside me, but his entire length was stroking against it with each thrust.
I completely lost the mental capacity to flirt and tease and my body took over entirely. I rode him like an American cowboy rides a one of those wild horses on those Chanel 4 shows. Perhaps there was something to be said for the Yanks.
I had wanted to go slow because I knew now that he liked it that way but I couldn’t control myself, and his screams joined mine this time as we climaxed together.
I collapsed on top of him a moment later, spent and satiated, with him still inside of me. He pulled the blanket over us and wrapped his arms around my shoulders.
‘Damn,’ he said.
‘Yeah,’ I agreed, knowing what he meant. My body still didn’t quite feel like my own yet.
‘I’ve wanted to do that for ages,’ he said.
‘Really? Since when?’ I still didn’t quite believe it that he’d liked me for a while.
‘Since the 22nd of September 2008.’
It was March 09, so I said what I always say. You guessed it, all together now; ‘Huh?’
‘That’s the day I walked into Sunshine Soup Kitchen for the first time. I think I fell for you then and there when you smiled and welcomed me.’
He even remembers the date, I thought.
‘How about you?’
‘About me what?’
‘When did you realise you liked me,’ he asked. He sounded so sweet and insecure.
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ I said, deciding to tease him a little. ‘I think I started to like you when I found out you were a billionaire and mn…’
I was going to have to teach him a lesson about interrupting me with kisses.
‘You know,’ he said. ‘Good boys don’t tell lies.’
‘Whoever said I was a good boy?’
‘Naughty boys should be punished,’ he replied with that adorable lopsided grin.
I await my punishment with anticipation. But that’s another story.
Key to London Slang:
(I know you probably know these – but people do sometimes ask!)
Snog/Snogging/Snogged = French kissing (with tongue)
Lift = Elevator
Strop/Throwing a strop = throwing a tantrum
Living rough/sleeping rough = being homeless
A bit of alright = cute, hot, attractive person
Landing with one’s bum in the butter = landing on good times