Page 8 of Measure of a Man

“What’s that for?”

“You never use oil?” he asked, surprised. “Well, I suppose not. You hardly look like you’re enjoying yourself mutilating your prick like that. It doesn’t always need to be a dash at the races. You can make it an art; grant yourself permission to enjoy it.” He drizzled oil into his palm and then wrapped it around his length and gently stroked. “If you like it, I’ll get my valet to send some round for you.”

Virtue stared, entranced by the sheen of his foreskin as it moved, and Exeter’s thick fingers glinting with their gold rings as he exposed, covered, and exposed his ruddy cock head in a continuous smooth action. Exeter’s chest jerked and his stomach muscles clenched if a stroke was particularly pleasurable. His jaw slackened, his eyes half closing, as small staccato breaths syncopated against the rhythm of his hand.

Yes, one could say he liked it.

Exeter made frigging look luxurious, while Virtue supposed he was making it look furtive. Something to get over with as quickly as possible.

“Alright,” he said. “Give me some of that.”

Exeter came closer without stopping the maddeningly slow pulse of his hand.

“Hold yourself up."

“Put it in my hand?"

“You don’t even know where to put it.”

Looking at Exeter’s cock, it was clearly to go all over. Virtue sucked his teeth. “Fine.” He offered his cock up to him.

“Trust me, you’ll enjoy it.” Exeter winked and tipped the oil straight onto Virtue’s cock.

“Oh, that’s cold. You arse! You didn’t want to let me warm it in my hand first.”

He tugged, and that did feel smooth. It was a new sensation. A titillating one. He probably wouldn’t chafe as much, but he needed a firmer grip for the level of sensation he preferred.

It was time to use a few tricks of his own. Still looking at Exeter, Virtue ran his fingers over his taint; pushing and rubbing against the skin. His hips stuttered. Goodness, he was close already. He cuffed the base to hold himself off.

“Are my lords ready to be remeasured?” Dibden interrupted with renewed impatience.

Both of them startled. They’d forgot the man entirely. Poor Dibden had probably never seen the like of it.

“Quick, man, do your best,” Exeter said, releasing his grip on his cock.

“Come closer. That’s it. Together, so I may compare you side by side.”

They weren’t prize fighters now; this was something else. This close, it was painful to swallow. He took it all in: Exeter’s flushed cheeks, his nostrils flaring, the jagged rise of his chest with each shallow breath, and the sweat glistening on his neck. What would it be like to lean forward and taste the salt of his sweat? Looking at his thick chest hair and the drawn tight, soft brown of his nipples. Were they sensitive like his own? If he ran his thumbs over them, would Exeter writhe away or moan?

Virtue lowered his eyes, unable to meet Exeter’s gaze.

Lingering under the sweet bite of bergamot hair oil and the freshness of shaving soap, was the real scent of the man. His nostrils flared. Arousal. A scent so carnal it engraved itself on his senses.

He forced his mind to clear. That wasn’t what he was to think about. He was here to focus on— well he couldn’t even focus on that, he thought unhappily, as it was cocks.

What a fool he was to indulge in such a dangerous game.

Both were undeniably big.

He wasn’t like Exeter, who stood prick curved to his belly; Virtue’s swayed lower and heavy. There was a gnawing in the pit of Virtue’s stomach that Exeter had him in girth. As he breathed out, his cock twitched up against the underside of Exeter’s. The touch so fleeting, he could hardly divine that it had happened. From the gleam of wild shock in Exeter’s eyes, it had.

The tailor reached round to measure him, but Virtue’s focus was all on Exeter.

“I believe you’re both perfectly matched. There is not a hair’s breadth in it.”

That couldn’t be?

“Measure us again,” Exeter bit out.