Authors: Samantha Wayland
“I don’t want to.”
“What do you want?”
“I don’t know,” he confessed. Because he was an idiot. How irritating a lover was he that he couldn’t even figure out his own needs, let alone begin to guess at Rupert’s?
Rupert, though, just kissed him again, and again, until Callum forgot to worry about what he should be doing, what he was meant to ask for, and could only focus on their tongues dancing together and the grind of their hips. He whined, again—and holy shit, he had to find a way to knock that off—when Rupert slid down his thighs, his ass once more perched closer to Callum’s knees and way too fucking far away from his dick.
His fingers dug into the firm muscles of Rupert’s ass, his thumbs hooked over his hip bones as he tried to drag him back. His arms went completely lax, though, when Rupert’s hand brushed over his erection.
“Oh shit,” he breathed, his hips jumping up to meet that pressure.
Rupert smiled, then kissed him again, tracing Callum’s shaft while his other hand wrestled with Callum’s belt.
Callum wanted to help. He wanted to snap his belt in two and hurl it across the room. But he just lay there, slumped against the back of the couch, and let Rupert have his way. He groaned and gasped and shook as Rupert tore at his clothes, his hips jerking as Rupert’s inherent grace was lost to his battle with denim and leather. He only had Callum’s belt open and the button freed when he gave up the fight and slid his hand beneath the fabric, pressing his warm fingers along the damp spot on Callum’s briefs and directly over his cock.
Callum cried out, the sound muffled by Rupert’s lips and tongue as he ground up against Rupert’s hand. He wanted to rut against Rupert like this for all of the approximately seven seconds it would take to come, but didn’t know if that was right. Or fair. He hadn’t even laid a hand on Rupert yet.
Rupert curled his fingers around Callum, cupping his shaft through the cotton, and let out a hum of pleasure.
Every goddamn thought in Callum’s head departed for parts south. “Jesus, Rupert, I—”
“Shhh,” Rupert whispered against his lips, then kissed his way to Callum’s ear. Callum clung to him, his hips twitching in spite of his attempts to hold them still. How was he supposed to do that when Rupert’s tongue was tracing the shell of his ear, his teeth nipping at the lobe? He was only fucking human, here.
“I’ve got you,” Rupert said, his lips tickling Callum’s skin.
Then strong hands were shoving his shirt up to his armpits, and his pants down over his hips, taking his shorts with them. Callum lifted as best he could with Rupert above him, gasping with relief when his dick finally sprang free of his clothing. He squirmed when his bare ass settled back on the rough upholstery, then Rupert’s hand curled around him, fingers hot and tight, and he froze.
“Jesus fuck,” he whispered, whimpering when Rupert’s other hand fisted in his hair, tilting his face up.
“Is this okay?” Rupert asked as he skimmed his thumb over the head of Callum’s cock, sending shivers down his spine.
“Are you joking?” Callum managed to gasp. He couldn’t
not
thrust his hips up into that tight grasp. His thighs burned and shook with each frantic contortion. He wanted to shut his eyes and just…fall. Fling himself, even, into the pleasure trying to consume him, but he held Rupert’s gaze as they rocked together.
Rupert’s smile wobbled, his rhythm faltering, and Callum looked down to see Rupert pressing the heel of his hand to his own erection, as if forcing it to subside.
Callum didn’t think, leaving no time to worry about etiquette and roles and the fact that he was operating blind here, he just reached for Rupert’s waist and tore at his belt. He felt momentarily victorious when he managed to pry it open, but it was fleeting when he discovered his hands shook too hard for him to get Rupert’s fly open in fewer than three tries. Somehow, Rupert’s quiet laugh against his ear reassured instead of mocked.
Still, it felt like he was never going get those damn pants open.
At last he succeeded, but his well of determination and confidence had run dry. He stopped, his hands hovering there, but Rupert didn’t hesitate, thank fuck, and stood up just long enough to shove his pants to the floor. Callum had no more than two seconds to look at Rupert’s thick cock, shaft riddled with veins, head flushed pink, and to think it was all beautiful, before Rupert slid back onto Callum’s lap and pressed the full lengths of their erections together.
“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Callum cried a moment before Rupert captured his lips and swiveled his hips in a long, delicious, and really fucking amazing grind.
Callum kissed Rupert like his life depended on it, breathing like a bellows through his nose as he held Rupert against him and arched up into his heat. Their shafts, pinned between their bellies and against each other, rolled and rubbed, pre-come and sweat barely easing the too-hot friction. Callum didn’t care. Couldn’t stop. He could feel his orgasm crawling over his skin and up his spine, poised to tear at him. It was unlike anything he’d ever felt.
He’d had orgasms before, of course. But to this point, they’d been entirely solitary affairs. It hadn’t mattered if he’d been jerking off at home alone or leaning against a filthy bathroom stall door, a stranger trapped in there with him and others in the cubicles around them. He’d been, he knew now, in all ways that mattered, completely alone.
Callum clutched Rupert, arms wrapped tight around him, and pushed harder. Rupert’s grip in Callum’s hair was painful as he licked into Callum’s mouth and rode his bucking hips while circling his own back down. They clung and writhed and somehow created a safe space for each other.
A place where Callum could finally let go.
“Rupert!” he shouted, his back arching off the couch as his climax sank its furious claws into him. He shuddered and held onto Rupert, knowing he was going to leave bruises, but unable to do otherwise.
Rupert moaned against his lips, their kiss now no more than a press of open mouths and shared breaths. Another wash of heat spread between their bodies as Rupert trembled in Callum’s arms, the clockwork circles of his hips lost to inarticulate and frantic jerks.
They stayed there, lying in a tangled heap, for a long while. Callum’s breathing returned to almost normal, and Rupert no longer shook, but they didn’t move to separate or stand up. Instead, they stayed close, pressing their lips to each other wherever they could reach. Callum’s hand stroked the length of Rupert’s spine, while Rupert’s long, elegant fingers traced over Callum’s cheek, his ear, soothing his abused scalp where Rupert had yanked his hair.
Callum couldn’t really hold onto any thought for long. He felt amazing. Lax and stupid and aware that he finally understood what the huge brouhaha was about “afterglow”. This shit was awesome.
It was only when Rupert shifted that Callum realized his brain was still functioning, barely, and the very first real and solid thought that popped into his head promptly came out of his mouth.
“I think we’re stuck together.”
Rupert chuckled. “Hmmm…and here I was wondering if we could just stay here for another hour.”
Something warm and sweet and really fucking scary uncurled in Callum’s chest. He ignored it in favor of kissing Rupert slowly, licking past his swollen lips until he hummed with contentment.
Eventually, Rupert eased back, grimacing as their skin peeled apart. He looked down, at god knew what, but Callum kept his eyes pinned to Rupert’s face. He was suddenly feeling very shy about his dick hanging out, and what he was pretty sure were the flecks of semen caught in his chest hair.
He forgot to worry about whether he look debauched versus disgusting when he really got a look at Rupert. Hair standing on end, face pink with beard burn, lips puffy and red, and his clothes wrinkled and askew or half torn off.
He was a
mess
. And perfect. Honest to god, Callum had never seen anything or anyone he wanted more.
“You look amazing,” he said, then winced, frowning at himself.
“Is that bad?” Rupert asked curiously.
“No!” he said quickly. “I was just noticing that I can’t seem to hold a thought for more than ten seconds, and when I do have one, it just comes right out my mouth. It’s like you broke my filter or something.”
“You had a filter?” Rupert asked, deadpan.
Callum sent him a supremely disgruntled look.
Rupert laughed. “Don’t worry. You’re just come-dumb.”
“Pardon me?”
“I made you stupid, the sex was so good,” Rupert said, practically preening.
Honestly, Callum wanted to preen, too. That sex had been
so good
. His dick twitched with interest, but there was no way he was going to recover this fast. He spared a moment to lament his virtuous teens and early twenties, but then let it go. Even that deep well of bitterness couldn’t knock him off his contented high.
Rupert was tempted to suggest they shower together. It was probably more than Callum was ready for, but Rupert just…wasn’t ready to let go. He’d started this intending to have a good time. To have sex. And they had. So how could it be that once again, it felt as though none of it had gone the way he’d expected?
Rupert could feel the sore spots on his hips and shoulders where Callum had dug in his fingers. There’d been times when Rupert hadn’t been able to tell if Callum was in the throes of ecstasy or terror. He wasn’t sure Callum had been able to tell, either. One moment Callum would be kissing him, leading the chase of lips and dance of tongues, and the next, he’d hesitate, like when he’d refused to look down at their laps, or his hand had hovered over some spot on Rupert’s body that he so obviously had wanted to touch.
Rupert had intended to teach Callum something. To be his happily willing and hopefully able partner through a series of firsts. Now, that was lost to the memory of Callum saying his name, holding him close, kissing him long and hard with every ounce of his considerable focus and sometimes boundless affection honed down to the point where their lips met. Rupert was no longer so arrogant as to think he could or should teach Callum anything. Now, it was Rupert who wanted to learn. To explore what Callum could teach him. To figure out why Callum hesitated, what he really wanted to do, and to tear down the inhibitions that held him in check.
Which, perhaps, would be better left for when they weren’t due at a restaurant to see friends and a curious four year old within the hour.
Rupert stood, groaning as his bad knee came unkinked from the back of the sofa. It hadn’t occurred to him that it was a bad idea to abuse the already unpredictable joint like that. He stalled for time, tugging his clothes back to where they should be and smiling down at Callum, who didn’t seem to know
where
to look.
Maybe this was the result of Callum training himself to not look at other men in the locker room. It was a skill Rupert had never managed to completely master—to his great peril, as it had turned out.
Those memories seemed to make his knee ache more, and put a damper on his mood. A shower, though, would restore his good humor and, hopefully, his knee. He took a step toward the bedroom and wobbled. Badly. Callum shot to his feet, a strong hand hooking around Rupert’s elbow.
“Are you all right?” he asked, trying to stuff his junk back in his boxers with his free hand.
Rupert made himself look away from that delightful spectacle and tried to smile. “Yes, it’s fine. Or it will be in a moment, I think.”
“Did I hurt you?”
Rupert turned, swallowing his pride and allowing Callum to support him. “You didn’t hurt me, Callum.” He gave Callum a stern look, then smirked. “Not in any ways I didn’t enjoy, anyway.”
Callum’s cheeks turned pink again. Rupert bit back a grin.
“But your knee…”
“My knee hurts, which is par for the course after having been struck by a car, even a decade later.”
Callum blanched. “What?” He sounded angry, like he might find that car and exact long-overdue retribution.
“Its fine, Callum. It happened a long time ago. Look, I’m sure it will work now, see?”
Rupert took a step, biting his cheek to keep from whimpering.
Callum arched a dubious eyebrow. “You know I play hockey, right? I’ve seen a lot of guys pretend they aren’t hurt. You kind of suck at it.”
Rupert refrained from doing anything childish, like sticking out his tongue.
Callum’s grip held firm. “At least let me help you to the bedroom so you don’t fall on your face. I don’t want to have to explain to Oliver that you’re only graceful on skates.”
“Generous of you,” Rupert murmured, trying to sound put out, but not immune to the compliment buried in there. He started hobbling toward the door to the bedroom and the blessed relief of the shower beyond, Callum at his side, still holding one arm.
Callum released him once they were beside the bed and started backing away. “I’ll just, uh…” He gestured over his shoulder toward the living room. “Wait my turn, I guess. You sure you’re okay from here?”
Rupert worked hard to keep his expression serious in the face of Callum’s maidenly sensibilities. He was tempted to point out they’d just had a rather lovely frottage on the couch, so perhaps Callum need not blush at the idea of seeing Rupert strip down for a shower.
“I’ll be just fine,” Rupert assured him, letting his smile break free once Callum had turned his back and bolted through the door.
“So, Rupert, I heard what happened,” Mike said with a laugh as they settled into their booth at Quigley’s. “You get that from
How to Make Friends and Influence People
?”
Alexei chuckled as he, Reese, and Mike slid in opposite Rupert, Oliver, and Callum.
Rupert immediately pictured what he and Callum had just been up to at the hotel, his pulse jumping with arousal and fear. “I haven’t any idea what you mean,” he said, stalling.
That couldn’t be what Mike meant, could it?
“With that jerk back at the rink? The kid’s father?
“Oh, yes. Right.” Rupert said, relieved, then grimaced. “I shouldn’t have done that. It was terribly foolish.”
“Seemed terribly
necessary
to me,” Alexei said.
“Yes, well,” Rupert hedged, pleased by the support, “I don’t think it will help convince that man to let his son continue to figure skate, let alone work with me.”
“That might be true,” Callum agreed. “But maybe he’ll think before he opens his mouth again.”
Reese looked between them all, confused. “What happened?”
Rupert wasn’t sure what to expect, but he was abashed to listen to Alexei relay the story of his giant freak out on John Shaw in terms that were, frankly, glowing.
Reese smiled at Rupert, as if he wouldn’t expect any less. “Well done, Rupert. You should have punched him in the nose!”
“I hardly think that would have helped,” Rupert returned dryly. “And I didn’t much feel like getting punched in return.”
Alexei scowled. “I would have liked to see him try.”
“As would have I,” Callum agreed, a wealth of dark promise in his voice.
“I’m sorry I missed it,” Reese said as his gaze shifted over their little group. For once, he wasn’t the only one backing Rupert up.
It was rather nice.
A lot
nice, really.
“Me, too,” Mike agreed. “I had no idea you had it in you,” he said, his smile softening the truth.
“Don’t be fooled, my friends,” Reese said, “Rupert may look like royalty, but he doesn’t suffer fools lightly, and shares his opinions without hesitation.”
“You don’t say,” Callum deadpanned.
Rupert ignored that and smiled down at his brother. “Oliver, would you like me to read you the children’s menu?”
“Yes, please,” he replied, as if he’d never hesitated to speak in his life.
Rupert shared a smile with Callum over Oliver’s head. They were hearing that sweet little voice more and more, but usually only when Oliver felt the need to be heard, to demand, or to defend.
Rupert took a moment to help Oliver, trying not to lose hope when Oliver chose to indicate his preferences by nodding or shaking his head silently. Rupert considered prompting Oliver to speak his order to the waiter, but feared putting him on the spot might result in a set-back rather than a breakthrough.
“So, Rupert, I have many questions for you,” Alexei said with a smile as he handed over his menu, the last to order.
“You do?” Rupert asked, slightly terrified.
“Yes. You are a man of many secrets, it seems.”
Rupert rolled his eyes. “You keep saying that, but it’s simply not true.”
“Let’s review what we’ve learned,” Alexei said with an unmistakable gleam of mischief in his eyes. He held up his hand to tick off the list on his fingers.
“Let’s not,” Rupert grumbled.
Alexei continued as if Rupert hadn’t spoken. “You have a brother, your best friend is a famous recluse parading around Moncton like he’s nobody—”
“Hey!” squawked Reese.
“—you act jumpy around your own hockey team but yell at terrible parents in public.”
“I don’t usually—”
“Reese is your boyfriend one minute and not the next—”
Callum glowered at Alexei. “Reese is
not
his boyfriend.”
“—and now we learn,” Alexei continued, undeterred, “that you are a figure skater. A good one, too, from what we saw.”
“He was supposed to go to the Olympics,” Callum offered helpfully.
Rupert gave him a dirty look. Just ten seconds ago he’d sounded furious about Reese being his boyfriend, and now he was grinning.
“Oh ho!” Alexei boomed. “More secrets revealed!”
“Really, it’s not a secret. It’s just not relevant anymore.”
Mike cocked his head. “Yeah, but it’s interesting. Why wouldn’t we want to know?”
Mike was talking like they were friends. Like Alexei didn’t make it his life’s mission to startle and shock Rupert at every bloody opportunity.
Callum, perhaps sensing Rupert didn’t know what to say, spoke up. “What I want to know is why they called you The Earl?”
Rupert sent Reese a quelling look.
What Rupert didn’t count on was Oliver. “Because he is an earl. We both are.”
This pronouncement was met with a startled silence. Rupert could only wish it was because Oliver had spoken two full sentences aloud.
All eyes turned to Rupert, except Reese, who was giggling in the corner like an idiot.
Oliver’s confidence flagged in the face of so many strange looks. “Isn’t that right, Rupert?” he asked in a small voice.
Rupert could not regret his vow to encourage Oliver to speak about anything and everything he wished. He could, however, lament it for all he was worth.
“Yes, that’s right, Oliver. Though, technically I’m an earl, and you’re the heir to the earldom.”
Oliver nodded, seemingly pleased to have this reaffirmed.
Mike, Alexei, and Callum all just stared at him.
“What?” Rupert asked defensively. He dearly wished someone would say or do something. Reese snorted. Something
useful
.
“You’re an
earl?”
Callum asked, dragging out the title like it was foreign on his tongue.
Oliver bounced in his seat, his little legs swinging against the banquette. “Yes!”
Rupert rolled his eyes. “It isn’t a big deal.”
Now Reese guffawed. Rupert couldn’t remember why he was ever friends with that man.
“The earl of what?” Alexei asked.
“Pardon?”
“What are you the earl of? I read books. We have nobility in Russia, too. What is your title?” he asked curiously.
Rupert sighed, having done this particular introduction more times than he cared to count. Before he could give a curt and entirely sufficient answer, Reese spoke up.
“I present to you fine gentlemen Lord Rupert Douglas Macalister Smythe, the tenth Earl of Weckfordham, and The Honourable Oliver Cameron Macalister Smythe, the future eleventh Earl of Weckfordham.” Reese gestured at Oliver, who dipped his head regally, like the bloody Queen greeting her subjects.
Rupert shot Reese a baleful look. “
Really
?”
“What? Did I get it wrong?”
Reese knew perfectly well he had not. Rupert was grudgingly impressed that he recalled Oliver’s middle name—not that Rupert would admit anything of the sort.
“Macalister?” Callum asked.
“Yes, my grandmother was Scottish.”
“And his cousin is now chieftain of the clan,” Reese supplied, proving himself to be a veritable font of unhelpfulness.
Callum grinned. “My father is going to love you, duchess!”
“
Earl
,” Oliver corrected sternly.
Rupert had no idea how to deal with this conversation. When did anyone decide Rupert would meet Callum’s father? How was
that
ever going to come about?
“So many secrets!” Alexei cried, banging his hand on the table and making everything on it jump. “You are so sneaky!” He turned to Reese. “What else is he not telling us? Does he have a wife he isn’t telling us about tucked away somewhere?”
“Hardly,” Reese replied dryly.
“Well, then what?” Alexei demanded.
Reese looked up at the ceiling, for all the world appearing to be sorting through his extensive knowledge of Rupert, searching for some new gem. He didn’t even notice Rupert glaring at him.
“I think that might actually be the best of it,” Reese admitted, sounding terribly disappointed. “Except that he has a thing for black underwear, sucked his thumb until he was eleven, could probably have gone to the Olympics as an equestrian if he’d set his mind to that instead of skating, and his ancestral home is called Woodcock.”
“Woodcock?” Alexei asked gleefully. Mike giggled.
Rupert dropped his head into the table. “Ungh.” That was the sound of utter defeat.
“That’s a good name for a house, Rupert. Very
manly
,” Alexei assured him.
“Yes, thank you,” Rupert replied as he lifted his head. He didn’t bother glaring at Reese. Clearly his powers of telepathy weren’t working, or Reese would have self-immolated by now.
Callum’s low chuckle and dancing eyes were a better place to focus.
“I love Woodcock,” Oliver announced in a clear, high voice that sliced through the laughter at their table and the hum of conversations from the other patrons around them. The room got noticeably quieter. “Woodcock is so much fun. It’s so
big!
”
Reese slumped into the corner, his face buried in his hands. Alexei, Mike, and Callum weren’t much better. Oliver, bless him, smiled innocently. He hadn’t meant to be funny, of course, but he liked that he had.
“I love it, too,” Rupert managed with a straight face, rolling his eyes at the effect this declaration had on his friends.
His friends. It had been a long time since he’d sat round a table with a bunch of friends laughing so hard their ribs would hurt come morning.
Mike was the first to get himself under control. “Why don’t you live there? I’m guessing being an earl comes with a bunch of responsibilities. I’m surprised you’re over here in the colonies with us.”
Rupert shrugged. “It’s actually quite easy to do almost anything from here, and I have solicitors in London who handle a lot of what’s needed. I came here when I was twelve because I wanted to work with a particular coach, and there happened to be an excellent school nearby that my father approved of. I met Reese and never left.”
Alexei glanced between Rupert and Reese. “He was your boyfriend?”
Reese rolled his eyes. Rupert didn’t feel even a tiny bit sorry for him.
“You’re a little obsessed with this, you know that?” Reese said. “No, I am not now, nor have I ever been, Rupert’s boyfriend.”
Rupert just smiled. “Not my fault he doesn’t have better taste.”
Alexei and Mike both studied him, and he knew this particular look. The question. He hesitated only long enough to guess the fallout if they told the whole team, then decided he trusted them, and didn’t give much of a damn if the team found out anyway.
“Yes, I’m gay,” he said blandly, noticing from the corner of his eye how Callum flinched. He didn’t dare look directly at him. Outing himself was fine, and not particularly unusual, but he was aware of how much just the idea of it scared the shit out of Callum.
The man had built a lifetime of lies on that fear. Rupert couldn’t fathom what would ever make Callum go about dismantling it.
Mike and Alexei didn’t seem particularly fazed by Rupert’s revelation. Nor surprised, given the fifty dollar bill Alexei handed Mike—trying and utterly failing to be subtle, to Reese’s further amusement.
“That’s cool,” Mike said with a smile once he’d tucked his winnings away.
All in all, it was a non-event.
Their food arrived and the conversation turned to the upcoming season, who the Ice Cats were scouting, and Mike asking if Callum thought it would be okay to reach out to Savannah about his training regimen, even though Callum’s sister was no longer the team’s trainer.
The answer was yes, of course. As it turned out, Savannah managed Callum’s summer training program and had for years. They laughed about what an ass-kicker she was and started drilling down into the details of their summer workout schedules. Callum was relaxed and happy, and Rupert was struck again that he seemed so different from the man who had barged into his office a month ago.
That was, until Mike and Alexei invited Callum to actively train with them for the rest of the summer and Callum’s plans for the coming weeks came up.
“I have to go to Vegas for the awards thing,” Callum said, and at first, Rupert thought he was imagining how the light left Callum’s eyes. How his shoulders curled in, just a little.
“That’s right!” Alexei bellowed, as was his wont when he was excited, or on any day ending in y. “You won last year, right?”
“Uh, yeah,” Callum said, staring at his plate. “So, I’m expected in Vegas for a few days, and my agent wants to meet with me while I’m out that way, so I’ll be gone for four days.”
By the time he finished speaking, Oliver was clutching his arm. The moment he sat back, Oliver climbed into his lap and buried his face against Callum’s chest. He curled a hand around the back of Oliver’s head, the pressed the other to his back.
“We talked about this, Ollie. It’s not for a while and I’ll only be gone for a few days. You can hang out with Rupert the whole time I’m away.”
“I even cleared out most of my meetings, remember?” Rupert said, sliding closer and brushing a hand over his brother’s thin shoulder.
“And we can help,” Alexei offered. Mike nodded eagerly. “Will you hang out with us, little man?”
Oliver peered over his shoulder at Mike and Alexei, then blinked up at Rupert.
“Does that sound good?” Rupert asked.
Oliver nodded quickly.
“Okay!” Alexei boomed. “We will have lots of fun. We can come hang out at your house while Rupert has his meetings, if you want.”
Rupert smiled at them gratefully.
“We don’t have a house,” Oliver said quietly.
Alexei cocked his head. “You don’t?”
“Woodcock is too far away, so we live in a hotel.”
Rupert grimaced. “I promise we’ll find a new place to live soon, Oliver.” He turned to Alexei and Mike to explain. “We’re in an extended-stay hotel until I can find time to look. It’s just…” he waved toward Oliver “…it’s been busy.”
Mike and Alexei exchanged a long look before turning back to Rupert. “We might know a place,” Mike offered.
Over the past few weeks, Rupert had become increasingly anxious about the idea of moving. It wasn’t that he didn’t want more space—bloody hell, did he want more space—but he was worried that leaving the hotel would mean losing Callum. Oliver clearly wasn’t ready. And neither was Rupert. Especially after this afternoon.