Page 19 of Measure of a Man

“You thought I’d rushed off to pay a visit to a lady, when the man I’ve wanted for years had just turned my world on its axis, and made me spend my seed into his hand in a bloody tailor’s shop?” His indignant tone gave way to embarrassment. “I panicked. It was still running down my leg after I fastened my trousers. Believe me when I say, I was not of sound judgement when I left, just damned certain that I’d ruined it all—that you knew what I was and would hate me for it. That if you actually liked the bloody woman, I’d really made a cock up out of it. I was annoyed at myself for being so selfish and wanting to keep you.

I must have wandered for half the morning before I found my way home. But later, the more I thought about it, I grew certain you’d wanted that as much as I did.

You see, I’d always thought I could live a reasonably happy life. Abstaining where I couldn’t be myself, which was most of the time, and indulging where I could, which was almost never. Oh Julian, but then I met you, and the could and the couldn’t began to collapse. I told myself that being your good friend was enough. All those childish bets and dares were because I enjoyed your attention so much. But sometimes I’d catch myself thinking that you admired me, in the same way that I admired you. More than admired you. Adored you even. The shop was the first time that I hoped I might not be mad after all.”

Exeter adored him? And had done so all along? It was like being flung off his horse, but instead of the cold, unforgiving ground rushing up to meet him, he’d landed in soft, warm hay. He was smiling so much his jaw ached.

“I did! I do adore you, you beautiful thing!”

He pressed quick kisses to the palms of Exeter’s hands.

“I’m yours. I always have been.”

Then Exeter had him on his back, kissing up his throat, his jaw and finally—sweet finally— his mouth.

“How much of an arse would I be, if I asked you to say that again.”

Virtue laughed euphorically. “I’m yours!” he shouted.

Exeter rested his forehead against Virtue’s temple. “How could we be such fools? We’ve wasted so much time. I’ll be damned if we waste any more.”

Virtue wrapped his arms around the strong back that had carried the weight of so many burdens.

“I’ll say! I’ve been so jealous.”

“I can’t deny that I’ve struggled with green eyed mosters of my own.” He laughed, happy lines forming round his eyes. “But now that I know exactly how much you like prize fighters, I’ll do my best.”

Virtue found himself flipped over and pinned under Exeter.

“Try to get out of that one then.”

He ineffectually struggled for a moment, then wrapped his legs round Exeter’s waist, locked his ankles and squeezed like a snake. “I think you’ll find you’re the one that’s trapped.” He leaned in for another maddening kiss.

A half-hour later, Virtue’s prick was already hardening again. The inevitable conclusion to having a naked Apollo for a bed mate.

“Interesting,” he said.

“What is?”

“You might have the bigger cock, but it looks like I recover quicker.”

EPILOGUE

TWO YEARS LATER

Virtue lowered his still-smoking pistol. It had been a cracking good shot; right through the middle of the board.

“Foul!” Exeter called from behind him.

“Don’t be such a swine,” Virtue sulked, his competitiveness getting the better of him as Exeter laughed. “My foot was nowhere near the line. Come now, accept the truth, that of the two of us, I’m the better marksman.”

It was hardly the truth, but today Virtue had managed twelve shots on target to Exeter’s meagre seven, so he had, in his own estimation, earned the right to lord it over his lover.

Exeter grumbled something about the importance of ‘good sportsmanship’ and somebody being a ‘fraudulent little tease’ as he dipped his mouth to kiss the exposed line of Virtue’s neck. The thick girth of his arousal was evident as he pulled Virtue close.

Perhaps Virtue had teased him a little—but, no, actually, he’d been perfectly justified in removing his shirt and leaving just his trousers and braces on. The climate in France, such as it was, was like living in a tureen of hot soup. Even the shaded lawns of their rented château, did little to protect them from the thick heat of summer. If the legitimate removal of his clothes had hastened his opponent’s loss, then that was merely a coincidence that had no bearing on his conduct, he rationalised the way only a guilty party could.

By the time they lay down to picnic, Exeter had removed his shirt as well. He’d done well to avoid the salmon-pinkness that cursed most of their English compatriots abroad. Virtue was well satisfied with his lot in life as he ogled the hard planes of Exeter’s body.