“Noted.” Beauchamp smiled and folded his tie over the bedpost.
Then his mouth was on Vidal’s cock. His tongue worked flat along the underside of Vidal’s shaft on every withdrawal, and at the crown he turned his head and pressed the sensitive tip deliberately into the slick heat of his inner cheek, dragging it there. His lips slid wet and shameless down the shaft while he watched Vidal’s face.
“Beauchamp.” Vidal’s hand tightened in his hair. His thighs began to shake, and his own breathing went high and broken. “Beauchamp— ”
Beauchamp came off him in one long pull, and on the way up let his teeth graze, just barely, along the vein running up the underside of Vidal’s cock. He sat back on his heels, his mouth wet and glistening. Vidal’s cock smacked back against his belly, slick and aching, suddenly cold where the warmth of Beauchamp’s mouth had been.
“No.” Vidal’s whole body protested against this development. “You cannot — you absolute SADIST — ”
“Patience.” Beauchamp stood and unbuttoned his cuffs. “I told you. I intend to take rather longer over you tonight.”
Beauchamp came back from the drawer with a bottle of lube, set it on the duvet beside Vidal’s hip. His shirt went over the chair, the trousers were folded along their crease before they joined it, and then he was standing at the foot of the bed in nothing at all, letting Vidal take his fill of him.
“You have been hiding all of that under your unremarkable grey suits, my love,” Vidal sighed, taking in the broadness of Beauchamp’s chest, and his impressive cock rising towards his stomach. Beauchamp smiled at him, taking his length into his hand and giving it a few slow pumps for Vidal’s benefit. “This is a crime against the public.”
Beauchamp knelt back onto the bed, took Vidal by his hips, and moved him up the mattress, onto the diagonal. He worked a pillow under his lower back and made all the adjustments needed to make sure his arm stayed safe.
The lube clicked open. Beauchamp pushed the hem of Vidal’s shirt up out of the way, smoothing it clear of his stomach with the flat of his hand, then worked him open, two fingers and then three, until Vidal was fisting the duvet one-handed.
Beauchamp settled back on his heels between Vidal’s thighs and took his cock in his fist. He stroked himself into full hardness, his foreskin sliding wet over the head.
“You arekillingme, Beauchamp,” Vidal moaned.
Beauchamp huffed a breath through his nose, hooked Vidal’s knee up over his hip, notched the head of his cock against him, and pushed in, splitting Vidal open. He set an even pace. When Vidal’s hips came up to chase his thrusts, Beauchamp pressed a palm flat to his belly and held him down.
“Lie still,” Beauchamp said, and Vidal, who had never obeyed anyone in his life without at least putting up a token resistance, let his hips go slack.
Once Beauchamp was sure of his arm, and judged that Vidal was loose and open to him, his pace intensified. He got a hand under Vidal’s raised thigh, hauled it higher against his ribs, and started fucking him in earnest, hard enough that the headboard knocked the wall.
“There it is.” His voice had dropped low. “I’ve been wanting to fuck you quiet for months now.”
“Déu meu— Beauchamp — ”
“Well, that was a good ten-second run,” Beauchamp laughed, even as he drove deep into Vidal, keeping up his rapid, grinding pace. He wrapped his fist around Vidal’s cock, and stroked him in time with his own thrusts. “Go on, then. Let me hear how you’re liking it, Vidal.”
“You do not give the —ah— the orders here — ”
“Tonight I do.”
Vidal got as far as “I swear on the bones of every Montcada — ” before he came, hard. His heel dug into the small of Beauchamp’s back, and Beauchamp buried himself deep within him.
He dropped his forehead to Vidal’s good shoulder as he chased his own finish, his rhythm gone ragged at last, and then, to the genuine astonishment of Vidal, Beauchamp began to talk.
“Christ. Christ, Vidal, you feel — you’ve no idea, have you, you’ve been walking round that flat for months — fuck — months of you. In that robe, or completely starkers, and I just had to stand there without being able to do anything about it…”
Vidal lay very still beneath him and listened. Beauchamp had been his perfect shadow, and had never once given anything away. It turned out the man’s composure had a single point of failure, and Vidal’s body was it.
“— wanted you since I broke that bottle of Fonte di Foiano — ” Beauchamp drove into him deep and came mid-sentence, the confession lost in a long groan against Vidal’s shoulder.
The room settled around them. Vidal lay there grinning at the ceiling, his good hand drifting up to scratch at the short hair at the back of Beauchamp’s head. “Beauchamp, you are a proper TALKER. You are a filthy little commentator. I like this.”
“You bring it out in me, Vidal.” Beauchamp eased out of him with care, and kissed the inside of Vidal’s knee. Beauchamp busied himself with settling the pillows around Vidal and his bad arm before climbing in behind him and drawing the duvet up over them both.
“Your fingers.” Beauchamp picked up Vidal’s plastered hand and pressed the tips, one at a time. “Any pins and needles?”
“My fingers are in transcendent condition, Beauchamp. Every part of me is, thanks to your attentions.”
“Mm.” Beauchamp settled him back against his chest and pressed his mouth into Vidal’s hair. Around them the flat was very quiet.
