Drawing Closer (15 page)

"Does that make it easier?"

Easier? Gray fumbled his way back through the conversation. Easier to do what? Oh…talk. Tell

Charles why he'd got that smile on his face, that flush of heat.

"Maybe. I don't know."

"Tell me."

It was like being touched when Charles used that tone of voice. Like a strong, firm hand closing

around him.

"I wanted you to -- to tie -- I wanted you to tie me to the bed."

"I can do that. You only had to ask." Charles sounded faintly surprised.

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"No. Didn't want to ask."

"Well, I'm not a mind-reader, Gray."

"I… I wanted to beg." God, that had killed him to say. Beg. Gray had never begged for anything in his life, ever. It'd been given to him and he'd taken it. He wasn't a jerk; he didn't take stuff for

granted, but when had he ever not gotten what he wanted?

And now he wanted Charles. Wanted this.

"I can make you beg." Charles sounded cool and relaxed but Gray was still watching and Charles'

toes had curled hard, just for a moment. He wasn't alone here; it made a difference. Both of them

locked in little pockets of arousal, not even touching, close to coming just from this, no more than

this.

The carpet, soft though it was, was scuffing Gray's knees as he held position and his fingernails

were picking up fluff as he flexed his hands hard, needing to move something.

He bent his arms, feeling his muscles shift and realign, taking his weight, and put his mouth on

the hollow of Charles' ankle, kissing it with a slow deliberation, feeling the thin, clustered bones

under the layers of cotton and skin.

"Please…"

It was an answer, not a request.

"Kneel up. Back on your heels. That's it. Turn, just a little…yes."

The flurry of orders gave him something to do, grounding rather than confusing him. He moved

the way he'd been told, settling into a pose that was as unfamiliar as his previous one. He

sprawled, he stood, he sat, loose-limbed and casual; this precise, constrained arrangement of his

body was new.

For the longest time, Charles just stared at him, a slow assessment that left Gray's watched skin

burning and tight the way Charles' hand did. His cock was rigid, slicked with pre-come at the top,

tickling him as it dried. Charles wasn't looking at it much, though. He was watching Gray's fingers

as they continued to twitch and shift, Gray's throat when Gray swallowed spit, Gray's chest as

it rose and fell. Charles' gaze was
making
him do those things, driving the tension in his body to unendurable heights.

Gray moaned, a thick, throat-caught whimper, rocking forward. "Charles--"

"No, I won't touch you yet." Still staring. Why wasn't he doing anything? "Put your hands behind your back, crossed at the wrists. Stay still."

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"Charles… dying here."

Charles chuckled, looking genuinely amused. "You're really not, you know."

Gray looked down at his erection and then back up at Charles. "Uh…"

"You're hard. I can see that. It's been a few minutes, no more. Really, Gray…"

"It feels like longer."

"I'm sure." Sometimes, Charles sounded as dry as desert sand.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Seriously?" Gray nodded. "I get off on it. Simple as that." Charles arched an eyebrow. "What, you wanted deep and meaningful? Sorry. I love looking at you -- you're an artist; I'd think you'd

understand that -- and I like -- no, I
love
making you wait, making you sweat."

He shifted to the edge of his chair and leaned forward, his hands on his knees. Gray could feel the

air between them stir as Charles pushed through it, getting close, close enough that if he'd wanted

to he could've kissed Gray.

Didn't look like he wanted to.

Charles' face was a blur in front of him, because Gray didn't want to blink and his eyes were

tearing up. His body was sparking, nipples hard, cock aching -- yeah, normal enough… but he

could feel the muscles in his thighs clench as he tried to offer himself up for a touch without

moving. That wasn't normal.

Charles tilted his head, bringing his mouth level with the side of Gray's neck. The whisper in

Gray's ear raised goose bumps down his arm, and he ground his teeth together before he whined

like a puppy he used to have, abject, shameless, wanting a treat. It didn't matter what Charles

was saying -- Gray couldn't separate the whispered words into anything comprehensible through

the seashell rush of blood in his ears, anyway. All that mattered was that Charles' breath was

stroking his skin with every other word, a barely there hint of a touch.

It stopped and Gray blinked, wetness spilling out of his eyes. Not true tears, not close, but they

felt the same running down his face.

"I love you like this," Charles said again, each word clear and distinct, punching their way

through the haze of arousal. "I'm as hard as you are, did you know that?"

Gray shook his head, doing it slowly so that Charles had time to ease back, keep a distance

between them, even if it was only a matter of inches. Wasn't going to cheat, wasn't going to force

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Charles to touch him…
wasn't
.

"I want you to do something about that," Charles said. "I want your mouth on me, Gray, just that. Keep your hands where they are, and use your mouth to get me off. I'm going to come in

your mouth and you're going to hold it for long enough that when you swallow you can still taste

it minutes later. I want you to be tasting me when I make you come."

He whined then -- couldn't help it. Soft, frantic little whines, building up and spilling out. He'd

never wanted anything, anyone, as intensely as he wanted Charles. Years of easy, fast fucks,

climaxes as pleasurable as a cold beer on a hot day, nothing more -- this was a world beyond that.

When they'd finished, dressed, left the bedroom, he'd be himself again; giving Charles grief,

arguing, teasing, snatching kisses, and angling for a drink of Charles' good whiskies, the ones

Charles said he had to work his way up to appreciating. It wasn't that they kept this separate,

never to be spoken of, not really, it was just that neither of them wanted it fulltime. At least, he

didn't think they did. He wasn't sure he could.

But right now, in the shadowed quiet of Charles' bedroom, with the afternoon theirs to fill, and

the soft rain falling outside, he wanted this for as long as Charles would give it to him.

It was a game and he was getting good at playing it.

Charles stood, leaving emptiness around Gray, and stripped from the waist down. Gray wanted

him bare; wanted to be able to nuzzle into Charles' stomach, the hair there soft, dusted over hard

muscles, but the sweater was covering it.

He closed his eyes and felt the bump of Charles' erection against his face, soft, stretched skin

over hardness, and a rich, heady smell. His tongue flicked out, a quick, secret lick, dartingly fast,

glancing off the side of it as Charles moved back and sat down. His eyes opened just in time to

catch Charles' smile.

"No hands?"

"That's right."

Gray nodded, swallowing, getting closer in a graceless scramble, his hands still locked behind his

back, unbalancing him. Charles was sitting, knees spread wide enough for Gray to fit between

them, looking utterly relaxed, his hands resting on the arms of the chair. One finger on his right

hand was drumming lightly, slowly. Gray didn't think Charles knew he was doing it but he took

the hint and didn't do what he would have liked, which involved getting Charles' cock wet and

messy in the next thirty seconds.

Instead, he used the tip of his tongue to deliver teasing, stinging flicks against the head. And

Charles hadn't said he couldn't talk…

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"If I was painting your cock, you know what I'd do?"

"Literally? Or sketching it?"

He loved that Charles would always talk to him. Loved it.

"Literally."

"Show me." Charles sounded interested.

"Well, it's big--" Charles snorted softly and Gray grinned. "So I'd hit it with a wide, thick brush to start with, just fill in the background, you know…" He licked a wet stripe from the base of

Charles' cock up and then did another and another, covering all he could see. The way that

Charles was sitting meant that his cock was flat against his stomach, which was a problem...

"You can't reach it all," Charles pointed out. "I think your technique is flawed, don't you?"

"You could help."

"Or not."

Gray huffed and burrowed his face into the folds of Charles' sweater. "You could move this out

of my way," he said, his voice muffled.

"I could do that," Charles allowed, tugging the sweater up.

Bare skin. Way better. Gray allowed himself one nuzzle into Charles' stomach, rubbing his cheek

against the silky tickle of hair, and then worked his tongue between cock and skin and managed to

wet both quite thoroughly.

"That's not very erotic." Charles sounded as if he was about to start laughing. "Damp, but not sexy."

"Oh, the hell with it--" Gray opened his mouth, deciding to give up the fancy tricks, and got the first few inches of Charles' cock trapped between his lips. Charles' fingers wound tightly through

his hair, pulling Gray off him and holding him still.

"No. Keep on… painting me. You give up too easily."

"Should warn you: I'm a perfectionist."

Charles smiled, slackening his grip. "I told you I was patient. And there's no rush, is there?"

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"No…" Something clicked in Gray's head and he straightened. "Oh, fuck, yes, there is!"

"What?" Charles was frowning, and Gray couldn't blame him. Way to ruin the mood…

"Beatrice. Birthday. Invited me to tea."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"What time?"

"Four." Gray turned his head, trying to read Charles' watch. "How long do we have?"

"Twenty minutes, ten of which we'll need to wash and dress…"

"More than enough."

"For you, certainly, and I don't need to hurry, of course--" Charles pointed out.

"Yeah, you do."

"I'm sorry?"

Gray grimaced. "You're kind of invited, too. Did I forget to mention that part?"

"You know perfectly well that you did, just as you know that I would have refused." Charles

didn't look happy. His hand was tapping the arm of the chair now, a measured, familiar beat to it.

"I told you I'd told her about us."

"Yes."

"And that she was cool."

"So you say."

"And she likes you."

"Better before I entered into a relationship with you, I think."

"Only one way to find out." Gray smiled up at Charles. 'Ten minutes? Long enough to--"

"Over my knee."

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"Huh?"

Charles was looking pissed. "Now, Gray."

"Look, Charles, I'm sorry…"

"I have no gift, I'm unprepared--"

"I
said
I was--"

Charles wasn't moving. Gray sighed and did as he was told, wriggling into position. Not the first

time, not by a long shot, but Charles had never been annoyed with him before, and it made a

difference.

"You're not going to come," Charles said inflexibly. "You're going to walk around to your grandmother's house, sit down on your well-spanked arse and be polite for as long as she wants

you there. And then--"

"Then we come back here and I say I'm sorry again and make it up to you, really, really well?"

He could feel Charles' fingers tracing the cleft of his ass, making him ache deep-down, deep

inside.

"Please, Charles? Please? God, I haven't seen you in three days--"

"Shut up, Gray."

It hurt. His ass, his feelings, his aching cock. And he was fighting it, not outwardly, because he

knew if he did, Charles would stop and he didn't want that to happen, not really, but, yeah, it

wasn't fun.

And then, between one smack and the next, between one bitten-back ow and one that slipped by

his clamped mouth, it started to feel good because he could tell Charles wasn't angry, wouldn't be

doing this if he was.

"You are a brat," Charles said, dividing the sentence into words with hard, crisp slaps. "You know that, right?"

The last one was low enough and stung enough that Gray's legs kicked out in an involuntary

protest. Charles tipped him onto his back and Gray reached up, hauled Charles down so that he

could kiss him, making it a fast kiss because they were on the fucking clock, but making sure

Charles got the message.

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"You're going to kiss that better later," he said, slithering down to the floor and landing on his knees with a bump. He leaned in and sucked at the head of Charles' cock, rigid and wet. "Now tell

me I can use my hands."

"You're sure you want to do this?"

"Like I'd let you visit my grandmother with this in your pants?"

"Brat," Charles said. "And no, you can't. Hands behind your back."

"Charles, it takes too long that way--"

Charles stood, put his hands on Gray's face and hooked his thumb firmly into the corner of

Gray's mouth, opening it wider. "Hands behind your back, Gray."

Gray looked up at Charles and opened his mouth, straightened his back, and put his hands where

Charles wanted them.

"Hold still."

He felt the first careful thrust slide over his tongue, filling his mouth, and moaned as his balls

tightened. God, he was going to come just from this, and then--