Drawing Closer (24 page)

"Eloquent as ever," Charles teased him, tracing the contours of Gray's face with a fingertip,

unable to stop touching him but trying to keep the touch as limited as possible.

It wasn't working; no matter how small the point of contact, his body was reacting with as much

fervor as if they'd been naked and tangled together.

The bump halfway down Gray's nose, the furry dense hair of his eyebrows, the dent in his

chin…

"We really need to talk some more," Charles said reluctantly.

"Yeah…" Gray breathed out the word, turning to capture Charles' finger in his mouth. 'Talk…"

he said, the word muffled as he began to suck and lick at it.

Charles snatched his finger back. "Stop that!"

Gray gave him a faux-innocent look. "You were touching me."

"Fucking isn't going to make it easier to resolve this."

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"What will?" Gray shrugged. "I'll do anything it takes, Charles. You want to punish me, go ahead."

"
No
." Charles got up, putting as much distance between them as he could. "That's the last thing --

Christ, Gray, that just proves it. Of all the stupid--"

"Hey!" Gray rocked back and then rose in one smooth movement, his eyes darkening. "What the hell did I say?"

"Punish you? What did you have in mind, hmm? Tied down, or maybe over my knee, and one

hell of a hard spanking?"

"Wouldn't be complaining," Gray said.

"I would never --
ever
--" Charles ran out of words and ran his hands through his hair. "
God
."

Gray frowned at him. "Newsflash, Charles: you have. Often."

"Not when I was angry," Charles snarled. "If I ever thought you were stupid enough to let someone angry with you tie you up--"

"That's what safe words are for," Gray argued, sounding much like he'd been in Charles' class

when they'd debate something endlessly, exhilarated and combative.

"They're not fucking magic spells, Gray. It is possible to be a total bastard and, oh, I don't know, not fucking
care
if someone's screaming out duck-billed fucking platypus, you know."

Gray looked at him as if he'd gone insane and his head started to pound. He tried to calm down.

"Gray, I'm fairly well conditioned to stop instantly when a safe word's used. I can't imagine

under normal circumstances ever doing that to you. I'd never start something when I was drunk or

in any way not in full control. I just wouldn't. But angry… that's so fucking risky to judge and

it's not what this is for, anyway. I don't spank you to punish you; I don't ever want to. I do it

because it arouses me and you. And given the fact that you love it, it'd be a pretty damn stupid

punishment anyway."

He stared at Gray, hoping that Gray understood, and was relieved when Gray nodded after a

moment.

"Fine," Charles said, exhaling a pent-up breath. "We're getting somewhere."

"Somewhere that we're back together?" Gray asked hopefully.

Giving into the inevitable had never been so tempting. "Do I have any choice?"

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"I'd like to say 'no', but, yeah; yeah, you do." Gray was silent a moment and then he met Charles'

eyes squarely. "It was too easy for us, wasn't it? Meeting, hooking up… everyone but Carl being

supportive…"

"Not every relationship has to be as fraught as Romeo and Juliet's."

"No, but it doesn't hurt to get a taste of what it's like without each other, and I hated it, Charles."

"Me, too," Charles admitted without embarrassment. "You're addictive, you know that? I missed you."

Gray looked smug. "Better believe it."

"I'm still not spanking you until I'm sure I'm not angry with you."

"That's my punishment, is it?"

Charles grinned at the knowing look on Gray's face. "No. Maybe. Oh, come here, will you?"

Gray was wrapped around him an instant later, mouth hungry, hands moving over him in quick,

hard sweeps. Charles had to brace himself, almost knocked off balance, but it gave him all the

excuse he needed to grab Gray and hold on tight.

Kissing Gray felt as intense as fucking him, as impossible to stop as the final thrusts of a climax.

He heard the sounds they were both making, impossibly distant and deep in his head at one and

the same time, hoarse, harsh murmurs of need and mutual reassurance.

God, so good to do this again, to feel Gray's energy sweeping through him.

The wall hit his back and he realized that Gray had walked him back, purposefully. He dragged

his mouth clear of Gray's for long enough to gasp out something that sounded vaguely like a

question and got another kiss in reply before Gray sank down on his knees.

"You don't have to worry," Gray panted, the heat of his mouth soaking through Charles' pants as Gray mouthed an erection Charles could feel throbbing with every breath he took. "Don't have to

touch me if you're scared you're still mad at me. Just have to let me….oh, God--"

Gray's hands clenched, biting into Charles' hips, the pressure only easing as Gray moved them to

deal with getting enough of Charles' clothes out of the way to have access to his cock. Charles

stared down at him, his gaze going between the blatant eroticism of his cock circled and enclosed

by Gray's lips and Gray's disheveled hair, falling into his face. Slowly, deliberately, he ran his

hand through the soft fall of dark hair, pushing it back so that he could see the inward curve of

Gray's cheek, hollowed as he sucked, rounded as he licked.

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Then, as Gray began to speed up, one hand still clamped on Charles' hip, the other curved, palm

up, caressing Charles' balls, Charles took a handful of hair and tugged on it sharply.

It probably hurt, but it did the job. Gray stopped, pulling back, glancing up.

"Hands behind your back," Charles told him. "Stay still."

There was a flash of gratitude on Gray's face. Charles wondered if it would still be there later.

He ran his fingers over the slick, spit-wet length of his cock, working it casually, noting the way

Gray's breath caught; the flick of his tongue over his damp lips. Then he brought Gray's face

close enough to rub the head of his cock over Gray's mouth, parted and ready. Gray licked

tentatively at it when he could and Charles' hand tightened in Gray's hair.

"No. Still. Absolutely still."

Gray made a sound so utterly involuntary that Charles smiled. Oh, yes. Lovely little whimper.

He wanted to come, ached for release, but this was too important to rush.

Because he wasn't angry.

If he'd been angry he'd have sent Gray away or fucked him, fast and easy and meaningless.

But he wasn't angry.

And Charles was going to give Gray exactly what he needed; something he could label

punishment if he wanted, although it was nothing of the kind, and something Gray would get off

on, something that pushed their limits just a little.

In a slow, calculated tease, he rubbed off on Gray's face, sliding his cock across the smooth skin

of Gray's cheek, down to the rougher scrape of the chin, shadowed with stubble. It hurt the

sensitized, blood-flushed flesh but that really wasn't a problem -- more of an incentive, actually.

And he could always push inside the waiting, soothing warmth of Gray's mouth, past the ripe

swell of Gray's lips, bruised by the friction and the less than gentle bump of Charles' cock as it

traveled across them.

He marked Gray, with scent and come, marked his hair and throat while Gray moaned, shivering,

eyes closing, utterly compliant. The way Gray changed at moments like this left Charles stunned.

The combative, restless energy was channeled into this…waiting, content acceptance. Gray knew

what he wanted with a certainty that Charles envied and he embraced it once achieved. An hour

from now, Gray would be animated, smiling, incorrigible; here, in this moment, he belonged to

Charles.

Too much. Too long since he'd done this, too fraught a time in between. Charles felt his climax

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surge through him and put his hand against the back of Gray's head, holding him exactly where he

wanted, and coming, with his cock a bare, scant inch from Gray's mouth, come spattering the

gasping, open lips. He closed his eyes -- had to; but as soon as he could, he forced them open, his

body suffused with pleasure, loose and relaxed. Gray's eyes were screwed shut in agonized

determination not to lick his mouth clean and Charles grinned, feeling a primal triumph in Gray's

obedience.

He took hold of Gray's shirt in two hands and hauled him to his feet, kissing the messy,

deliciously debauched mouth, forcing the taste of his come past Gray's lips, shuddering with an

unexpected aftershock as Gray lost control and stabbed his tongue forward savagely, moaning

and biting and licking.

Charles drew back a second later, meeting Gray's eyes in a charged, wordless communication,

before drawing the back of his hand across his mouth and then the palm across Gray's.

Gray's eyes were glazed and he was sobbing for breath, his hands still behind him, his body

straining towards Charles.

"Let me come, please, let me come--"

Charles eased his half-hard cock back into his pants and fastened them, leaving them both fully

dressed. He had to think about what to do next; this wasn't exactly a planned scenario and he was

still dealing with the way his evening had been turned on its head with Gray's appearance.

With an inward shrug he decided to just do whatever the hell he wanted as it seemed to be

working so far. Somehow, he thought Gray would approve of anything apart from a command to

wait. Which would normally have made that the first words out of his mouth, but he wanted to

talk to Gray and that wasn't going to happen with him in this state.

Changing over their positions, he put Gray up against the wall, facing it, his palms at shoulder

height and his legs spread a little. Gray arched his back, his fingers flexing against the painted

surface, his head thrown back as he murmured Charles' name pleadingly.

Gray was wearing a loose blue shirt over black jeans; easy for Charles to slide one hand up under

the shirt and find smooth skin, heated and damp. He worked his hand up to the nape of Gray's

neck and let his other hand hover over the solid shape of Gray's cock, trapped behind denim,

where it was going to stay as far as Charles was concerned.

Then he drew his thumbnail sharp and hard down Gray's spine, scoring the skin. "You can come

any time," he said into Gray's ear, leaning in but not letting his body touch Gray's. "Now would be good." His hand clamped down over Gray's cock and squeezed it, giving Gray something to

rub up against, his hips jerking.

His thumb reached the waistband of Gray's jeans just as Gray came, and he cupped Gray's

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backside, feeling the muscles tighten abruptly as Gray cried out, riding his climax.

He kept his hand pressed against the leap and twitch of Gray's cock until the wetness seeped

through enough for him to feel it and then finally leaned in, kissing the back of Gray's neck

through the fall of dark hair, finding skin and biting it possessively.

"I want you naked," he said to Gray. "Now."

"Couldn't have wanted that before I came in my pants?" Gray said, a gratifying shake in his voice despite his words.

Charles grinned and swatted that bitable, fuckable arse. "I did. So?"

"Did anyone ever tell you that you're a--" Gray began, easing the button open on his jeans and turning his head enough that Charles could see him grimacing.

"Gray? Naked. Now."

"You, too," Gray demanded.

"When we get upstairs."

Which wouldn't be for a while, but Gray didn't need to know that just yet.

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The noise of the crowd that had swelled after the crack of the auctioneer's hammer died back to

an expectant quiet as the next painting was brought out and placed on a waiting easel. It was

midway through the auction and the smaller, warm-up items had come and gone, bought for

double or triple their worth.

It really was a weird way to raise money, Gray thought, looking around at the lushly comfortable

room filled, mostly, with rich people wanting to spend money and, more importantly, be seen to

do so.

He would have been slightly ashamed of his cynicism if he didn't know it was shared by Drew's

wife Margaret, a briskly friendly woman with humorous eyes who had entertained him with

some sotto voce asides after he'd endured a few conversations with people who thought they

knew a lot about art and didn't. Not that Gray was an expert -- he painted, yes, he followed the

trends, sure, and he knew something about the history of art because the ink on his degree was

still wet, comparatively speaking, but expert? No.

Just enough of one to know when someone was talking out of their fucking ass about color,

composition, and light.

Seeing his painting up there, greeted with an interested rustle of programs, made him gulp and

grope blindly for the hand that was already waiting for his. He squeezed it briefly, then released

it, giving Charles a grateful look, momentarily distracted by the way Charles looked in black tie,

all crisp and clean. Immaculate. Stern. Thank God, Charles, unlike Gray, owned his clothes

because Gray planned to get them creased and crumpled. He wanted to get put over Charles' knee