My Prince (3 page)

“Yeah. Laters.” He dumped the phone on his pile of clothes and rolled onto his back. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay,” Alex mumbled. He was still curled up on his side, and George wanted to kiss him—his shoulder, his neck, his hair.

Instead he got out of bed and went through to the monumental bathroom to take a piss and wash his hands and face with icy cold water.

He stuck his head out of the door.

“Hey. Alex.”

“What?”

“There’s a toothbrush in here. Mind if I use it?”

“Knock yourself out.”

“Thanks.”

Scrubbing last night’s scum off his teeth made George feel instantly better, even if the edges of a headache still lingered at his temples. Not a hangover—he hadn’t drunk enough for one of those. Just his body reminding him that he’d been drinking fucking champagne last night. That crap always gave him a headache.

When he walked back into the bedroom, Alex’s reaction reminded George he was bare-ass naked. He slept naked, always, and didn’t have a problem with his body. What he had was the product of years of carefully cultivating his muscles, toning and working out and eating right. The way Alex was looking at him, full of thirst, made George want to preen.

Alex snapped his gaze from blatantly admiring George’s cock to his eyes, and a very faint flush covered his cheeks.

“You want breakfast?”

George shrugged. “Sure.”

Alex leaned over, grabbed the phone on the nightstand, and waited for reception to answer.

“Can I order breakfast, please? Whatever. The works. Yeah. Thanks.”

After hanging up, Alex got out of bed without looking at George and went silently to the bathroom. George shrugged it off and pulled on his boxers, not wanting to be naked when the room service arrived. He went to the windows and pulled back the heavy curtains, revealing Edinburgh in all her morning glory.

The sky was icy blue, hardly a cloud in it, but the heavy fog rolling in over Waverley Station told him it was cold out there—really cold. This was his favorite type of autumn day: bitterly cold, bright, the sun hanging low in the sky.

Edinburgh was split down the middle, an almost visible line separating the Old Town from the New. The castle, the physical inspiration for J.K. Rowling’s infamous magical school, rose out of the rocks at the top of the mound, and the cobbled street that wound down from the castle to the coast served as the borderline between the two halves of the city.

The Scotsman sat on top of that line, a stone’s throw from the Royal Mile, and looked out at the Victorian glamour of the New Town. Unlike many southern British cities, Edinburgh had never been leveled by the bombs of war. Her architects had never wanted for space, so when it started to run out, they had simply built sideways.

So Edinburgh sprawled, clinging low to the ground, unlike the high-rises of London or New York. The castle remained the highest point, visible from almost everywhere.

Alex’s soft footsteps behind him made George wonder how long he’d been standing at the window like a lemon. Fingertips skimmed up his sides, and he fought the shiver that threatened.

“Nice day,” Alex said, resting his chin on George’s shoulder from behind. George guessed he had hunched over to manage it, and the thought made him smile.

“Mm.”

There was a knock at the door, and Alex pulled away to answer it.

“Are you going to put clothes on?” George called after him.

“Nope,” Alex said, tossing a cheeky grin over his shoulder.

George huffed a silent laugh. The room was warm enough George didn’t really want to put his own clothes back on, and thankfully Alex brought the cart through himself rather than letting the server in.

“Fuck me,” George said, impressed at the amount of food.

Alex laughed. “Yeah, breakfasts here are good.”

Curiouser and curiouser.

Since there was a lounge area in the corner of the suite, Alex took the food there, rather than back to bed. George was fine with that and made himself comfortable in one of the tartan armchairs. He flicked on the TV with the remote that was on a small side table between the armchairs, and it automatically went to a news channel, which was fine by him.

They ate in companionable silence, George devouring the full Scottish breakfast, which was, as promised, pretty damned good.

“You got plans for today?” Alex asked.

George looked over and watched him mop up the last of his egg with a piece of toast, then stuff it into his mouth. The habit made George smile—his brother did the exact same thing with his fried eggs.

“Maybe later,” George said. He didn’t want to give too much away, still wary of his unknown, very posh conquest.

Alex put his plate back on the cart, kicked one bare leg over the arm of the chair, and stretched both arms up into the air, groaning as his back cracked.

His body was tanned and toned, his chest…
nice
, George decided. Alex was delicately male, not obnoxiously so. He was tidy and clean and masculine, not a raging bear of a man, nor a skinny, smooth twink.

He realized he’d been caught staring when he met Alex’s eyes, and Alex quirked an eyebrow.

“Thanks for breakfast.”

“You’re welcome.” Alex scratched his belly and watched as his cock twitched into semihardness. His smirk, when he turned it on George, was devastating.

Without saying a word, George did something he’d never done before and slid out of the chair and to his knees, shuffling over until he was between those slim, elegantly spread thighs.

Alex bit his lower lip and watched George watching him. George took a deep breath, then licked Alex’s cock from base to shiny tip.

“Fuck,” Alex groaned.

George liked giving head. It was something he’d found he was good at. He wasn’t one of those guys who was born without a gag reflex or had super sucking skills or any of that crap. He just liked cock.

Even though they were all different, George had learned all the little tricks to make a cock explode. This period of experimentation was still ongoing. The important thing was to know not every trick worked on every cock. Some guys would freak out if he petted that space just behind their balls. That was when he knew he wasn’t going to fuck that guy anytime soon. Since he’d already fucked Alex, he figured that one was safe to use.

Alex’s foreskin wasn’t massively long, unlike his own, which always seemed to get in the way. Still, he licked and nibbled on it, making Alex’s thighs tremble, then spat in his hand and stroked that now very hard cock from top to bottom, revealing the shiny pink head.

“Oh fuck,” Alex groaned again.

He went to grab George’s hair, remembered that George didn’t have any—his buzz cut was buzzed
short
—and grabbed his own instead. George tried not to laugh, then refocused his attention on the blow job.

George teased for a little while longer, appreciating how Alex’s toes curled when George tongued just under the head of his cock. Then he went to business.

There was something very affirming about having a cock in his mouth. Not just that, but the weight and feel and smell of a man, of the two of them together. Alex was musky and salty, his skin hot and smooth, and the feel of it filling his throat was insanely hot.

It didn’t take long for Alex to start lifting his hips, and soft, sexy little noises spilled from lips that had turned cherry red from the way his teeth were gnawing on them.

George could tell he was getting close and redoubled his efforts.

“George, do you want me to… oh God… I’m gonna… fuck….”

George surged forward and clamped his lips down, wanting Alex to come in his mouth. The first hot, salty spurt hit his tongue, and he swallowed and pushed his fingers against that sweet spot behind Alex’s balls, helping him ride out those sweet waves of pleasure.

“Jesus,” Alex gasped and slumped back into the chair.

When George pulled back, still swallowing, Alex made one hell of a sight for sore eyes. He was sweaty and flushed, his hair disheveled from where he’d been pulling at it. George sat back on his thighs and grinned, rubbing his face with the palms of his hands.

“Oh God,” Alex groaned again. “That was amazing. Thank you.”

George laughed then, feeling light. Free. He rolled easily to his feet.

“You’re welcome.”

“Is it weird to say thank you for a blow job?”

“Little bit. I don’t mind.”

“Sorry. You melted my brain.”

“Mind if I take a shower?” George asked, looking down at where Alex was still sprawled, wearing a blissful expression.

“You go ahead.”

“Thanks.”

The bathroom really was palatial—slate-gray tiles, marble, a shower that blasted water from not just above but either side of the roomy cubicle.

George used the complimentary toiletries and reveled in the luxury for a few minutes longer than he normally would, lazily masturbating himself to a fairly average climax. Blowing Alex had turned him on again, and he needed to get that out of his system before he went home.

The towels were warm, not scratchy, and George rubbed himself dry before wandering back into the suite to put on his clothes. This was the weirdest, and by far the best, hookup he’d ever had. Alex was steaming hot, amazing in bed, funny, sweet… and George forced his mind away from those thoughts before they took hold.

Hookup. It was a hookup. Nothing more.

Alex was still sprawled naked in the chair watching the morning news. George rubbed his jaw, pocketed his phone, which was almost out of battery, but that didn’t matter, and shoved his wallet in his back pocket.

“Do you need me to call a cab for you?” Alex said without looking over his shoulder.

“Nah. I can pick up a bus from down the road.”

“Sure?”

Now Alex did twist in the chair, his forehead creased with concern.

George grinned. “I can get a bus, princess. Thanks for last night… and this morning.”

Alex grinned back, quirking an eyebrow, and got up from the chair. It was weird now, him being so comfortably nude while George was dressed in last night’s clothes. George grabbed his coat, then wrapped his hand around the back of Alex’s neck and kissed him smooth and easy, hard, no tongue.

He squeezed Alex’s ass, then walked quickly to the door and let himself out without looking back.

Sure it would be freezing out, George shrugged on his coat, then pulled the knitted beanie from the inside pocket and stuffed it on his head. As he jogged down the front steps of the hotel, he looked right automatically and noticed his bus farther up the road, stopped at the lights. Grinning, he turned left and jogged down to the bus stop, pleased in that little way that meant a small piece of life had gone according to plan.

It was going to be a fine day.

Chapter Three

“W
OULD
YOU
turn that fucking shit off for five fucking minutes?” Jodie screamed from the open kitchen door.

George didn’t know why she had her knickers so tightly twisted. It was Screen-Time Sunday, when everyone he lived with brought their TV or computer monitors downstairs and they hooked them all up in a big circle to play
Battlefield 3
in multiplayer mode.

The setup was some kind of bonding activity George had never bothered analyzing too closely. The house he’d lived in since moving to Edinburgh was a run-down dump, but for reasons unknown, seemed to attract everyone. Officially six of them were living there, though the roster of housemates constantly changed as people used it as a stop-gap before moving on to better, nicer homes.

For now, there were six blokes in the house. That could be a good or a bad thing, depending on the situation. When Sandra had lived with them, she had made their lives hell. She was a nurse and worked odd hours, and she always got upset with things like Screen-Time Sunday. Dev had taken her place, and everyone seemed much happier for it.

A series of booming explosions reverberated around the dining room, courtesy of Marvin’s sound system, which had some pretty intense subwoofers. George watched as the snarl on Jodie’s face grew wider.

“Alright, give it five, boys,” George said, pausing his game and stretching. “Piss break.”

There was a general rumble of assent from his comrades. Jodie scowled at him, even though he was the one to call the break, and everyone dispersed for either the loo or for tea or outside for a fag.

Screen-Time Sunday happened every other month, depending on when work schedules allowed everyone to get together. It was a ritual Marvin had developed before George had moved into the house, and one George was happy to go along with.

For all the shit that came with living with so many other people, this united them. They were also pretty united in their mutual dislike of Jodie—Marvin’s girlfriend, who insisted on coming over even though there was literally nothing for her to do except sit and watch them. Then she got bored and took it out on George or one of the others, and it was really pissing annoying.

The house in Leith was an ex-council house, which meant nothing really, apart from the fact that it had too many bedrooms. The landlord used to rent it out to students, who had wrecked the place, so he switched to “working professionals” instead. That was what George was now—a working professional. In between this strategic switch, the bastard hadn’t bothered to update anything, and there was a list of issues with the property that grew by the hour.

The bathroom had black mold that wouldn’t budge, even if someone had the inclination to scrub at it (and no one did.) Three out of the four burners on the stove didn’t work. That meant lots of takeaways, and the house constantly stank of fresh, or freshly rotting, cheap food. George had one of the only bedrooms that didn’t suffer from rising damp. The trade-off for this was that it was tiny, the old box room, which meant he could stand or sit on his single bed but not do much more. He had a chest of drawers, with his Xbox on top, and that was about it.

George ran upstairs to take a leak, not wanting to wait for everyone else to finish downstairs, then moseyed into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. Jodie was sitting on the counter, next to Lauren the lezzie from next door, and waving her cigarette around demonstratively. The TV in the kitchen was fairly small, and George didn’t know where it came from, but they left it playing the Sky News channel as background noise most of the time.