After the Scrum (8 page)

Stanfords have standards.

It was practically the family motto. Drummed into their minds from an early age, it hadn't been strictly followed by anyone in their family. His mother might be the exception to the rule.

"You shouldn't think so hard. You're more brawn than brain." Francis yawned then stretched languorously in the front seat, mildly impeded by the seat belt. He leaned forward to look at a passing road sign. "We're about ten minutes out. Want to stop for tea?"

"And a piss. I'm dying here."

"How very charming." Francis grimaced.

"What? It's been three and a half hours. Do you know how many cups of coffee I had this morning? I'd be knackered without them, but I'm drowning." Caddock pulled into a service station. "You grab the tea then?"

A miniature turquoise Fiat sat on the driver seat waiting for him when he returned to the vehicle. His passenger, already situated, calmly sipped his tea with a bland expression on his face. Such a silly thing, it touched him for some strange reason.

They drove the last little bit in relative silence. Sherlock had apparently declared nap time over. The dog raced from one side of the vehicle to the other, peering out the windows to bark at anyone they passed.

Francis picked at the edge of the paper cup holding his tea, clearing his throat nervously. "About the antiques… I feel I should explain or warn you."

Caddock spared a quick glance over when he fell silent, completely intrigued by the bizarre turn of conversation. What in the world could require a warning about shopping? "Yes?"

"It's only fair to warn you that I am prone to fits of occasional and acute obsessive insanity around them." Francis continued staring at his cup, missing Caddock's struggle to avoid laughing. "Gran says I become entranced when I'm near anything older than the nineteenth century. It's the nicest description she has for it. She's also accused me of being a nutter on occasion."

Caddock tried.

It took a valiant effort in his opinion to hold it in, but eventually the laughter refused to be contained. He roared with it, eventually having to pulling into the nearest parking spot, which luckily turned out to be the one set up for the fair. Tears streamed down his face while he tried to compose himself.

"So happy to have amused you." Francis struggled to release the belt buckle, fumbling with it. He appeared to think the laughter had been solely at his expense, or even worse, perhaps meant maliciously. "Blasted belt."

Caddock leaned across the armrest to capture the frantic fingers with his own. He waited until Francis finally looked his way. "I wasn't laughing at you. Well, maybe a tad. I promise, however, that I'm looking forward to seeing this insanity for myself."

"Idiot."

"I'm the brawn, remember?" Caddock caught Francis by the neck to yank him forward until their lips met. It didn't take long before he was biting and tugging on his bottom lip, sucking lightly to ease the sting from his forceful kiss. "You're showing me your world. I'm pleased. So stop overthinking every bloody thing."

With the emotional tripe out of the way, Caddock dragged his Francis into another kiss. He had to force himself to pull back when their hands started to stray under their shirts. The local bobbies wouldn't take too kindly to public nudity.

"The ancient artefacts await." Caddock allowed a moment to enjoy the bruised lips and mussed-up hair on Francis. He looked rather brilliantly debauched. "I haven't snogged in a parked car in years. Feels all nostalgic."

"All right, old timer. Why don't you hobble along with me over to see the other antiques? I'm sure they've missed you." Francis's laugh turned into a moan when Caddock snuck a hand out to, not so gently, pinch his nipple through his shirt. "Unhand me, you uncouth villain."

"Your moan doesn't quite match your words." Caddock easily blocked the attempted swat to his ribs. "Careful, don't want to hurt yourself again."

The good-natured teasing continued all the way to the grounds where the tents for the antique fair were set up. Their laughter drew some attention, but not as much as Sherlock. The rambunctious dog was remarkably well behaved, though.

A quick show of his therapy dog licence allowed them free rein without interference. Sherlock still managed to turn heads. It wasn't helped by the harness Francis had placed on him, identifying him as a service dog. It did prevent people from wandering up and petting him without permission.

Extreme obsession didn't begin to describe Francis once in his beloved world of antiquities. It seemed as if he lost himself entirely, drifting from tent to tent. Everyone else around him became nothing more than a distraction.

It fascinated Caddock to watch him. He'd never seen anyone so incredibly focused on discovery, with an intensity he hadn't seen since his rugby days. A strange sense of honour filled him at being invited to be part of this obviously important pastime.

Two hours into their search, Francis seemed to come back to himself. His sheepish grin did interesting things to Caddock. And most of those revolved around wanting to find a dark corner for a bit of privacy.

Later.

I can debauch him later.

Controlling himself became increasingly difficult the more time he spent around Francis. He was endearing in a way no other man had ever been to him. It was definitely time for him to up the level of romantic persuasion.

While Francis had been off in antique land, Caddock had made plans of his own. Several phone calls and a bit of name dropping had two side-by-side accommodations booked at the Gravetye Manor. The rooms shared a bathroom, and most importantly—a door.

Many hopes hung on that connecting door. Snogging served many wonderful purposes. It would be nice, however, to progress a little further.

While Francis drifted over to another area, Caddock drifted into a lurid daydream. His fingers itched to explore pale, toned skin. Francis might not be as workout driven as he was, but all the running around after Sherlock had definitely given him a supple physique.

Sliding one of his hands into Francis's pocket, Caddock let two of his fingers stroke the slowly growing shaft. He felt it when the other man wilted against him. His soft groan was thankfully almost inaudible.

"Someone's having some exquisitely wicked thoughts." Francis attempted to squeeze by him to get a closer look at a nearby gilded mirror. His arse grazed against Caddock, allowing him to feel the evidence of his earlier fantasizing. "What
were
you thinking about?"

He caught the decorator by the hips and held him in place. He pointedly ground his hard shaft against Francis. "You. All the bloody time, I think about what I want to do with you."

"Oh?"

Another subtle movement lined their bodies up perfectly.

"
Oh.
" Francis jolted forward when footsteps sounded nearby. He twisted around to adjust his trousers, much to Caddock's amusement. His chuckle earned him an annoyed glare. "You twistedly perverse old man."

"And you're enjoying every second of it." He smirked when Francis's eyes drifted down to the evident arousal in his jeans. "Wanna give me a hand with this?"

Francis blinked at him once and then a second time. "Tempting, but not when the lace is watching."

Lace?

A cursory glance around allowed him to spot the slightly off-colour lace curtains draped across several nearby shelves. There wasn't much else to do but chuckle at the absurdity of the moment. At the least, it was clear they were
both
feeling the high level of attraction.

Caddock reached down to scratch Sherlock's ear. "Your owner has me all tied up in knots."

"Just in knots?" Francis leaned around a tall grandfather clock to smile at him.

"And many, many other things."

Chapter Thirteen

Francis

The door mocked him.

It sat on its innocuous hinges ridiculing him for all his inadequacies. The bland beige door held the secrets to the universe on the other side. Well, maybe not the universe. It definitely hid his next great sensual escapade.

Antique shopping had been fruitful. Supper had been delicious. The hotel was lovely.

It had been a surprise when Caddock pulled them up in front of Gravetye Manor. A luxury hotel in a sixteenth-century estate house in West Sussex, it was a place Francis had drooled over numerous times. He could never quite justify the expense of renting a room for a few nights during the annual antique fair.

And all Francis found himself doing was staring at one spot in the room. How utterly ridiculous. He wasn't some naïve virgin, even if he often blushed like one.

His granddad, a veteran of war, had always told him to face the hard things in life with his back straight and his chin up. Though sex probably hadn't been what he had in mind. Feigned confidence was still at least an attempt at it.

All right. Back straight, chin up, knock on the door.

Francis found his hand frozen an inch from the wood.
Don't be a cowardly custard, knock
. There was a ridiculous sense of relief when his knuckles finally connected. A rush of anticipation replaced the fear while he waited for a response.

A silly urge to hide behind a nearby chair struck him. He ignored it. Grown adults could indulge in all sorts of things behind closed doors. His desire to partake wasn't cause for embarrassment.

Even if some of his current wishes were a little out of his usual realm of interest. He had the distinct feeling Caddock would be more than up for the challenge.
Pun not actually intended.

Caddock answered after a few moments, wearing a pair of grey boxer briefs and a grin. "You're overdressed for the party."

Francis didn't think silk pyjama bottoms equated to a full outfit. Sherlock ducked by the two men to make himself comfortable in front of a roaring fireplace at the side of the room. "Way to wait for an invite."

A brief silence followed before Caddock caught him by the arm to drag him inside the room. It had a similar layout to his own, though the décor differed slightly. It was hard not to inspect every piece of furniture and ornamentation. The designer in him wanted to map everything out in his mind for future inspiration.

"I'm having a small nightcap." Caddock held a small glass of what appeared to be brandy. "I thought it might be nice to relax after a day of indulging your obsession."

Francis sank into one of the plush armchairs situated by the fire. He had to laugh when Caddock dragged the other one until it was next to his before taking a seat. "Rearranging the furniture? Isn't that my job?"

"I wanted to be close enough to touch." His hand slid easily across Francis's silk-covered thigh. He massaged the lean muscles underneath his fingers before making a show of setting both of their half-empty glasses aside. "Maybe more than touch."

Once situated in his chair, Caddock threw his arm out to catch Francis by the waist, dragging him over so he straddled Caddock. One muscled arm wound around his back for support while they paused, face-to-face with eager anticipation in both their eyes.

Spreading his legs so his knees rested on the chair instead of digging into his brute's thighs, Francis found the position almost immediately that pressed their groins together. Deep simultaneous moans resulted from the contact. A hand slid down his back to slip into the top of his pyjamas; calloused fingertips grazed teasingly along the crease of his arse.

Slight pressure from the hand inched him forward, which in turn forced their shafts alongside each other, only separated by his silk pyjamas and Caddock's thin shorts. Francis rested one hand on the man's broad shoulders to steady himself. His other played absently with the scruffy five o'clock shadow on his jaw before leaning in to brush their lips together.

Intercourse could wait. It would have to wait, since he wasn't fully ready for it. The pleasure of a shared orgasm, however, had waited long enough.

The conversation regarding the progression of their budding relationship would come later. All Francis wanted to think about were the fingers teasing ever lower and the tongue insistently exploring his mouth. Then there was the glorious sensation of grinding against one other.

"Like it?" Caddock moved his fingers in lazy circles, still drifting further down. Francis's entire body reacted to the deep rumble of the Brute's voice. "Oh, yes, I think I could talk you into ruining those pyjamas, couldn't I? Have you dreamed about this? I've had some ruddy filthy ones about you—about all the inventive ways I want to fuck you and all the wonderful things I could do with this lithe body of yours."

"Saints above." Francis had trouble remembering how to breathe while all his senses were under assault.

The fingers delved further down his crease until they found their target at last, teasing his most sensitive area with light, fleeting strokes. Caddock kept his lips pressed against Francis's ear, whispering a stream of sensual filth. It all had his arousal rising.

His body moved of its own accord. He writhed in Caddock's lap.
What a glorious sensation.
Their shafts lined up perfectly and they quickly established a gliding rhythm.

Using his hand on Francis's arse as a guide and motivator, Caddock had him bucking wildly against him. It hadn't ever felt quite so overpowering. Francis couldn't ever recall being carried off into such a practically out-of-body experience.

The wicked whispered promises that caressed his ear would've likely been sufficient to bring him to completion. They assaulted his senses in a cerebral fashion, something no one else had ever bothered to do.

Caddock seemed to pluck all of Francis's most hidden desires from his mind. It drove him to rock wildly in his lap, their shafts hot and hard, rubbing together constantly—the silk and cotton fabrics covering them already more than damp with the evidence of their actions.

"I'm going…." Francis gasped for air, unable to complete his sentence. He tried again, but found it impossible to formulate the words.