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“Yeah. Connor.”
He was rewarded by Connor’s hand sliding down his stomach and taking hold of his cock again, no longer teasing and slow, but sure, firm strokes, root to tip, hand twisting over the head to smear the pre-come that welled at the slit.
Reggie hissed, and Connor petted his flank with his other hand. “That’s it, love. You don’t need to do anything but feel. Just enjoy.”
Reggie’s clammy hands skidded on the edge of the table, so he placed them flat on the top, blunt nails digging at the wood. He leaned forward on his arms, head hanging, and finally, finally let go of all the tension he’d been carrying around like an unwanted cloak. He let himself enjoy, as Connor had said; forcefully shut off his mind and basked in sensation.
Connor worked his cock at a steady pace, his touch expert, just the right amount of pressure. His other hand slipped around to play with his balls, warming them in his palm and squeezing gently, until Reggie gasped and clawed at the table, thrusting into his touch, chasing the pleasure, asking for more with quiet little “please”s hissed through his teeth.
“Please what?” Connor asked, lips at the top of his spine, his still-clothed cock rutting between Reggie’s cheeks, urging his tempo faster, faster.
“More,” Reggie bit out. “Please, Connor,more.”
The hand left his balls, there was a rustle of fabric, and then it was bare, hot skin against his ass, shocking and sticky, pressing right back in between his cheeks as Connor rutted against him another moment, cursing under his breath, gripping bruises into his hip.
Panic leaped in Reggie’s chest, a kneejerk response to having a bare cock that near his entrance, hot and hard and bold and wanting to carve him open, to hurt him, to…
“All right,” Connor’s familiar, rough voice pulled him back, nothing like the lilting, vowel-laden speech of the Sels. “You’re all right. Easy, now.” He drew his hips back, and his hand moved in to take the place of his cock, stroking firm and sure along his cleft.
“Reg,” he said, lips along his spine again, a chain of kisses, moving upward to his nape, warm breath in his hair. “Who am I? What’s my name?”
Reggie knew that; he knew he wasn’t in danger. He dragged a deep breath in through chapped lips and shoved it back out again, shoving some of the worst of his nerves with it. “Connor,” he said, and though it seemed silly, saying it helped. He’d not had a name, then, when it was the Sels. There’d been nothing of care in the digging, bruising hands. He didn’t need handling with kid gloves, and Connor certainly wasn’t delicate, but there was something of care in the slide of his hand, up and down, up and down, parting him a little more on each slide. A thumb skimmed over his hole, and he shivered. “Connor, you’re Connor,” he said, surer now, and his next shiver was of anticipation.
“Good lad. Fetch me that oil, right up there, in the blue bottle.”
Reggie lifted his head, blinked his vision clear, and then, to both their surprise, laughed. Like Connor’s name, that too was a release of tension. He snagged the bottle, small and blue, and passed it back. “I can’t believe you keep your oil with your wine.”
Connor chuckled. “It came in handy, didn’t it?” The sound of the cork pulling free was accompanied by a mental picture of Connor pulling it with his teeth, and Reggie widened his stance a little automatically, cock twitching. “Now, then.” Anticipation in his voice, relish…before it softened. Connor stroked his hip, and his tone turned gentle, seeking. “Ready?”
“Yeah.” And he was.
The oil was cool, when it drizzled on his tailbone and slid in viscous pearls downward. He flinched away from it automatically, before he steadied himself, and soon, Connor began smoothing it in with his hand, warming it, the way slick, now, when he thumbed over his entrance.
When memory tried to overwhelm him, it failed, because this moment was so different than it had been with the Sels. They’d not used oil. They’d not warmed it with their fingers and teased him until he was rocking back, asking for a bolder touch.
Connor teased at him with a single fingertip, spreading the oil, testing, and then, finally, breached him.
It didn’t feel good, exactly. He could tolerate it, but tolerating wasn’t the same as being awash in pleasure. He remembered the pain of the only other time this had happened to him, the sharp sting, the blunt, forceful pressure, the sensation of being ripped open, while he was held down, and laughed at, and spit on.
As slowly as Connor worked that finger in and out of him, the heat bled out of his body, leaving him cold, and flagging.
He felt Connor’s hand flush to his backside, his finger worked all the way inside, and he started to thrust it, nice and easy, as tension streaked up Reggie’s legs, gripped him by the hips.
Warm breath touched his ear, and then Connor’s other hand cupped his jaw and pulled his head around to the side, so their lips could meet in a clumsy, over-the-shoulder kiss. Reggie closed his eyes and leaned into it gratefully, mouth open for the teasing of his tongue.
“You’re so tight,” Connor murmured against his lips, voice honeyed and warm. The slide of his finger was easier, now, a proper fucking, in and out. “You don’t normally do it this way, do you? It’s always you in charge, yeah? Do they like it? Your kitchen boys and stable lads? Do they arch their backs and stick it out for you? Begging for more? I bet you’re good with your hands, aren’t you? I bet you can find that” – his finger pressed deep, deep, searching, and then touched a place that lit up Reggie’s insides with a sharp zing of pleasure, black powder bursts of sensation that left him gasping – “spot. Yeah, yeah. You know about that spot, don’t you? Those long, pretty fingers, you always know how to make them feel good, don’t you?” It was an onslaught of words, heated and close against his lips, and Connor’s other hand closed around his cock, slow, even pumps in time to the thrust of his finger.
“Yeah?” He could feel the shape of Connor’s smile against his mouth, and then his cheek, his neck. “Like that? There you go, sweetheart. Arch your back a little more, and spread your legs – yes, good lad, just like that.” A swelling of pressure on the next forward press, a second finger, and this time Reggie felt the stretch. A sting, but one that heightened the sensation. It wasn’t comfortable – but it was thrilling. And Connor kept talking, the sound of his voice winding him up and up, until he was fucking into the fist around his cock, and rocking back on the fingers – three, now, when had that happened – chasing something.
“That’s good, that’s good – there you go. Gorgeous. Look at you. You like it, yeah? Feels good?”
Reggie reached forward, hands slipping on the tabletop, and deepened the arch of his spine, legs spreading, inviting him deeper. It was getting good, now, but he needed more; was beginning to feel empty and a little frenzied each time Connor’s fingers drew back. If he stopped now…no, don’t think of that. Connor wouldn’t do that to him. Connor was good, he was safe, and he wanted Reggie, the stiff, hot brush of his cock on the back of Reggie’s thigh evidence of that, same as the gravelly shift of his voice.
It was all so much, and not nearly enough; Reggie felt drunk though he hadn’t had a drop. “Please. Please, Connor, please, I need more,” someone was saying, and belatedly, he realized it was him, breathy and wanton like that one stable boy he’d had, years ago, gripping a stall door and begging with tears in his voice.Please, please, please, my lord, please, I need it. Who was the stable boy now? The beggar, the supplicant. Gods, it was excruciating, to think of himself that way, so exciting he was leaking, fucking the back of Connor’s hand right into the table edge in his eagerness.
And then Connor stopped touching him altogether. His fingers slid out, and he turned loose of Reggie’s cock, leaving him humping empty air.
“No! No, don’t–”
