Chapter Nine

Giles ran a hand over his aching jaw as he peered into the fridge, searching for anything suitable to offer a man who’d spent the whole morning toiling away. He pulled out a packet of parma ham, a jar of tapenade and a round of soft goat’s cheese. At least they should be easy to chew. Giles wasn’t sure his jaw muscles were up to much mastication after blowing Smutty.

“Sorry,” Giles said, on discovering a bag of yellowing leaves and foul smelling liquid. “I don’t seem to have any salad left. It keeps going off.”

“What are you talking about? You’ve got loads growing outside.”

“Hardly. It’s all just weeds.”

Smutty gave him a look that walked a fine line between exasperation and smugness. “You’d be surprised. Gimme a minute, I’ll come back with some salad.”

While Smutty was out on his insane mission, Giles set the table. As the earthenware plates thunked onto the hefty slab of oak, he remembered Smutty’s lewd comment about other uses for the kitchen furniture. It was just a joke though, right? People didn’t really have sex on tables in real life—that was the stuff of fantasy. There’s no way Fabian would have let Giles bend him over a table. Not when there was a perfectly comfortable bed upstairs. Besides, it couldn’t be hygienic, getting semen on a food preparation surface. Although if Smutty were standing at one end and leaning forward with Giles behind him…

The image Smutty’s words had conjured refused to go away, and with a groan Giles realised his erection was back at full mast. Without pausing to analyse what he was doing, he raced up the stairs and ransacked his bedside cabinet.

Yes, there was the lube all right, but where were the condoms? Eventually he found the crushed box lurking under a gallery guide to a Paris exhibition of Fauvist art. That was appropriate somehow, as it was while wandering the halls of the Musée d’Orsay that Giles had had his first inkling Fabian might not be as exclusive as he’d claimed. There was something about his manner when talking to the young museum guard—a man who even Giles could tell was as queer as they come—that set off an alarm inside him. He’d asked Fabian about it over dinner, trying to make it into a joke, but he must have been less diplomatic than he’d intended because they’d ended up having a blazing row back in their hotel room.

Giles had bought the pack of condoms the following day in a tiny pharmacy, but they’d remained hidden in his suitcase, unopened. Fabian wouldn’t risk Giles’ health, would he? He hadn’t dared raise the matter again in case he found out otherwise.

Not until that last, terrible row the night Fabian walked out on him.

Strangely, the memory of that night didn’t seem to sting like it had done even yesterday. Must have been the effect of going to see Fabian again. Of realising that maybe he hadn’t lost quite as much as he’d imagined. Fabian was like a exquisite porcelain vase: smooth and gorgeous to look at, but hollow inside.

Giles tucked the supplies into his trouser pocket and had only a moment’s twinge of regret to see the mess he’d made of his clothing, kneeling in that mouldering old greenhouse. It had been worth it. He’d happily ruin a whole rack of Savile Row’s finest to see that ecstasy light up Smutty’s face as he came, and know that it was Giles making him feel that way.

But that wasn’t helping ease the hardness of his dick. Bugger it. He’d just have to get downstairs first and hide his obvious arousal by sitting at the table. That table. Damn, this wasn’t going to get any easier, was it?

Giles was just easing himself down into a comfortable position when Smutty bounded through the back door with an armful of weeds.

“What on earth is that lot?”

Smutty spread them onto the table top in front of him, and Giles tried not to wince at the idea of all those little bugs that must be falling onto his nice clean surface.

“Jack by the hedge, wild garlic, chickweed, hawthorn buds and bittercress. All edible and all good.”

“They look like weeds to me.” Giles’ nose screwed up despite his best efforts to resist. “Are you sure they’re all safe to eat?”

Smutty huffed and gathered the greenery up again. “I suppose you’d rather have your chlorine-rinsed, plastic pack of baby leaf salad air-freighted in from South America then, would you? C’mon Giles, trust me. These are perfectly safe and what’s more, they’re organic and local, and they haven’t been picked by slave labour either.”

Giles stared in mute disbelief, which Smutty seemed to take as assent as he dumped the leaves in the sink and gave them a quick rinse. Giles opted not to make any disparaging comments, and set about slicing bread and ham while Smutty prepared the weed salad.

However, it was difficult not to react when Smutty plonked the dripping weeds on Giles plate, then peeled the ham off his own with a look of distaste.

“Thanks, but I don’t eat dead animals.”

“Really? You don’t know what you’re missing. This is delicious.”

Smutty glared at him, and Giles’ dick finally softened enough to be comfortable. He sighed into his weed and parma ham sandwich. It shouldn’t matter, should it? Smutty wasn’t going to be around for long, so it wasn’t like a few differences of opinion over diet should be an issue.

But the food stuck like glue in his mouth, and he set his sandwich down. What he needed was a glass of wine to wash the taste away.

And then maybe another one after that, to commiserate himself for having raised his hopes up about something that was clearly never going to be more than a brief fling.

“Penny for ‘em?” Smutty eventually asked.

Giles snapped to attention, ransacking his brain for an acceptable answer. He wasn’t about to admit to the urge for a drink, and still less to the reason why. What had he been thinking about earlier? Oh yes, table sex. That wasn’t something he wanted to raise right now either. Just thinking about it was making his cheeks heat, and he still wasn’t sure if it had just been a flippant remark.

“Have you ever eaten meat?” It wasn’t a topic of conversation he particularly wanted to resurrect, but he couldn’t sit there any longer looking like a gormless fool.

Smutty’s lips twisted into a filthy grin. “Oh yeah, I love a good bit of meat in my mouth. I’m surprised you don’t remember, Giles. It was only last night.”

“You know what I mean.” Giles contemplated a trip to the sink to run cold water over his burning cheeks.

“Yeah, I’ve had rabbit a few times. And every autumn we’d slaughter a couple of pigs, so I’ve had bacon and pork and all that.”

“So that’s okay, is it? Killing your own animal? But not to buy it from Waitrose?”

“If you raise and kill your own, you know they’ve had a good life and a good death.”

A good death. Was there such a thing? Not in Giles’ experience, but maybe it was different for animals. It wasn’t like they really understood what was happening to them.

Smutty was still talking. “You know, with all that land you’ve got, you could easily keep a few pigs. They’d be great for the orchard. They’d eat up all your windfalls so pests and diseases don’t overwinter in them. They make good pets too.”

Giles shuddered. “I don’t think I could kill one.”

“No, but you’re not allowed to anyway. You’ve got to take them to an abattoir, but you can keep all the bits—roast the tail and make headcheese and that. It’s like proper traditional food. Reckon you’d like it.”

Giles had vague memories of a particularly gory episode of River Cottage when Hugh Fearnley Whittingstall made revolting sounding traditional dishes out of guts and brains. He shuddered. “I wouldn’t know the first thing about looking after a pig.”

“Nah, I don’t suppose you would. Bit too messy and unpredictable for a man who irons and folds his spare dishcloths.” Smutty grinned. “I bet you iron your underpants too, don’t you?”

Giles glared into those laughing eyes and took a savage bite of his sandwich. His mouth filled with a delicious garlicky flavour. “This is good,” he exclaimed, surprised.

“Told you. They’ve got more bite to ’em, the wild salads. You’d taste them even better without the ham.”

“But I like a bit of meat too.”

“Yeah, I remember.”

The lewd glint in Smutty’s eyes and the way he shifted in his chair made Giles’ breath catch. What would he have to lose by asking? The worst that would happen would be Smutty laughing at him, and since he’d already done that plenty of times, Giles knew he could cope.

And if he was turned down? Then he’d have the perfect excuse to go and pour a glass of Merlot, wouldn’t he?

Giles cleared his throat a few times and gripped the edge of the table top. It was a good, solid slab of oak and the legs were certainly sturdy. “Erm, about what you said earlier… Were you serious about wanting to do that?”

Smutty lifted a quizzical eyebrow. “You’ll need to give me more to go on there, Giles. I’m not a mindreader.”

“You know. You said… About this table. You suggested—”

“Have you been thinking about that all this time?” Smutty’s smirk was positively infuriating. “Gods, of course you have. We didn’t finish you off, did we? Have you been sitting there, picturing it, getting all hot and bothered? No wonder you look like you’ve just run a marathon in a heatwave.”

Giles picked at a dent in the tabletop with his fingernail. He wasn’t going to look up to meet the mockery in Smutty’s eyes.

But then a hand landed on his, stilling its motion and lacing their fingers together. “It’s okay to ask for what you want, Giles.” Smutty’s voice was soft, intimate, with no trace of derision. “I’d like to know, and if it suits me too, we’ll do it.”

Was it really that easy? You just had to ask? It hadn’t worked that way with Fabian. Giles had a moment of clarity, realising that the derisive laughter he’d been expecting was nothing to do with Smutty, but everything to do with how Fabian had reacted to Giles’ fantasies the few times he’d dared to divulge them.

“Come on Giles, tell me. What are you picturing?”

Giles pulled out the condom and lube. When he placed them on the table, Smutty drew in a sharp breath. Giles dared a quick glance at his face, but it wasn’t fear or apprehension he saw there—only arousal, dilating his pupils and flushing his lips. It gave him the courage to go on.

“I want you naked, bent over the table, gripping onto the sides.” Giles’ voice came out rough and needy, but he forced himself to finish. “I want to fuck you so long and hard, you forget how to speak.”

“Are you saying I talk too much?”

“I told you what I want.”

“Okay.”

Had Smutty just agreed to go along what Giles wanted? Or was he simply affirming that Giles had indeed told him what he wanted?

Smutty’s smile softened and he squeezed Giles hand again. “Okay, that sounds like fun. But how about we wait until I’ve had a shower? I’m absolutely mingin’.”

Minging? Giles had heard the pupils at school use the word and had a good idea of what it meant, but hearing it from a grown man pulled forth a sharp burst of laughter.

“What? I am. Seriously, I’ve been working all morning and I’m proper sweaty.” Smutty took a quick sniff of his armpit and wrinkled his nose. “Yep, mingin’.”

“I don’t care.” Giles was surprised to realise he really didn’t. To prove it, he gripped Smutty’s wrist and pulled him close. There was a moment when he thought Smutty would end up on the floor, but somehow he gave a lithe twist and ended up astride Giles lap. Giles buried his face in Smutty’s armpit and took a deep breath. Yes, there was a strong tang of sweat, but it didn’t smell bad. In fact, the scent sent even more of his blood racing down to his dick.

Giles groaned when he felt Smutty’s hand close around his erection.

“All right, I believe you.” Smutty’s voice sounded as hoarse as Giles’ had been. “Let’s do it.”

Giles kicked the chair back as he stood, dimly registering the sound of it thudding against the flagstones but not caring enough to set it right. All his senses were focused on the man in front of him. The man now sitting on the edge of Giles’ kitchen table and stripping his t-shirt off. Giles stepped between Smutty’s legs, desperate for a taste of him.

Smutty leant back and parted his lips to Giles’ kiss, responding enthusiastically but letting him lead. His mouth tasted like summer—ripe and sultry. Giles chewed on that generous lower lip, thrilled to hear the low groan that vibrated through Smutty’s body. He wanted to press up close and grind into hot flesh, but Smutty’s hands were busy unbuttoning Giles’ shirt and it would be so much better without clothing in the way. Giles’ hands decided to speed things up, tearing at the fly of Smutty’s jeans and diving inside.

Yet again, Giles was momentarily intimidated by the size of him. He tried to shake it out of his head, this fixed idea of his that a well endowed man would want to top, but it proved more stubborn than he’d expected.

“Are you sure this is okay?” Giles asked, wanted to kick himself for his accursed manners. Why the hell couldn’t he just take what he wanted?

“Am I complaining? For fuck’s sake, Giles, I’ll tell you if it isn’t. You should be able to feel for yourself how much I want this.” Smutty accompanied his words with a jerk of his hips, rubbing the tip of his dick against Giles’ now naked belly. “Just make sure you use plenty of lube. It’s been a while. I’m getting more choosy as I get older.”

Giles realised he didn’t have a clue how old Smutty was. He didn’t even know his proper name. The mystery of it was more arousing than he’d ever have expected.

“What? You’re giving me a funny look,” Smutty said, laughter leaking into his voice. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

“I was just thinking I don’t know anything about you. You could be anywhere between twenty and forty. I don’t know where you grew up, or your real name, or anything like that.”

“Do you want to know? All that stuff’s kinda boring.”

Giles thought for a moment. “I’m not sure. I used to think that kind of thing was important.”

Smutty snorted. “Yeah, right. You think way too much, Giles.”

Giles couldn’t hold enough of a coherent thought together to respond. Not when Smutty’s hands were working their way into his trousers and taking hold of him. He couldn’t think of anything much other than the touch of those deft fingers and the way they massaged his shaft and explored his sac. But Smutty was still talking, and he made an attempt to listen.

“I know you think I’m just a feckless hippy coz I grew up in a commune, but not everyone ends up like me.” Smutty’s fingers rippled up and down, drawing a low moan from Giles, but he still wouldn’t stop talking. “There was this other kid, Finn. His mum was a smackhead so he was brought up like my brother. He buggered off and turned into some kind of suit. Changed his name to something posh and we never heard from him again.”

Giles couldn’t care less about any of the other hippy children. Not when Smutty was doing thatwith his hands. “Sorry, is there a point to this story?”

“Yeah, patience, man. I’m getting there.” Smutty tugged gently on Giles’ balls, “It just goes to show, you have to take people as they are now. Doesn’t matter what their background is, if they’re a total arsehole in the here and now.”

“You talk too much. Jeans off, now.”

Smutty cocked his eyebrow and Giles thought for a moment he’d pushed things too far, but then the wide grin was back. Smutty wriggled off the table, dropped his jeans and turned his back to Giles.

“Like this, yeah?” Smutty said, bending over the narrow side of the table and thrusting his arse out. “It’s gonna feel fantastic, when you ram your cock into me. Hope you can make it last a while. I wanna be able to still feel it tomorrow.” He wriggled obscenely and walked his feet apart so his cheeks parted.

It was even better than the fantasy. Giles had forgotten how bright Smutty’s flame tattoo was. He ran his hand down over the inked skin, enjoying the way Smutty sighed and arched his back. His hand came to rest on Smutty’s round behind. It was a work of art, worthy of inspiring paintings and poetry. Giles had always considered the concept of muses to be a rather fanciful one, but seeing Smutty like that, he could begin to believe in a human muse. An earthy, sensual muse with a beautiful body and a filthy mouth.

“Giles, you’re thinking again, aren’t you? Here, get me ready.”

Giles took the lube and his hands went onto autopilot. He could do this. Fabian had always needed a lot of preparation when he’d deigned to bottom, so Giles’ fingers were well trained. But then when he pressed a fingertip to Smutty’s pucker, instead of meeting resistance, the muscles there welcomed him in. He sank in to his second knuckle, into perfect, satiny heat. Smutty moaned, and Giles could feel the vibration from inside.

“You sure it’s been a while?”

“What can I say?” Giles could hear the grin on Smutty’s voice. “I’ve always been easy. Must be all the yoga. I’m good at relaxing.”

“You weren’t last night.” Giles remembered the way Smutty had flinched as he touched him there. How different he was today, moaning and pushing back against the invading finger, as if begging for more.

“You came on pretty strong last night. Wasn’t sure I could trust you to follow the rules.”

“And you trust me now?” Giles pushed in a second finger.

“Ohhh yeaaaah…”

Hearing that raw need shudder through Smutty was the most erotic thing Giles had ever heard, and knowing that just his fingers were doing it… Before he could think about what he was doing, he pulled them out and scrabbled for the condom. The blasted thing took a bloody age to unroll because Giles’ hands were slippery with lube and he hadn’t used one in many a year. But then it was on, and Smutty was still there, still leaning forward over the table and undulating his hips like he was anticipating Giles in there.

Giles lined up and pushed in. Slowly at first, gasping as the clinging heat gripped him, but then restraint evaporated. There was no resistance to fight like there had been with Fabian, and he forged on ahead into the delicious pressure. Hips tight against Smutty, Giles leant down and kissed the back of his neck, just where the tip of a flame licked up his spine. The skin there was speckled with fragments of vegetation and tasted like hay. Smutty’s breath came hard and fast, his body thrumming beneath Giles.

“Are you all right?” God, he’d gone too fast, hadn’t he?

“I’m good. Just, gimme a minute, yeah? Let me get used to you. Fuck, you feel amazing.”

All that yoga Smutty claimed to do must have made him super-flexible, because he managed to twist around and kiss Giles firmly. Giles grunted with surprise as Smutty’s tongue pushed into his mouth, then gave himself up to it. To having his mouth plundered even as his cock was throbbing inside Smutty. He felt like one giant nerve ending, every slight shift of Smutty’s body sending shockwaves through him, every beat of his heart pounding into every last atom of his being.

Giles wasn’t sure who started moving first, but before he’d realised what was happening they were rocking together slowly, sensation zinging up and down his spine. He had to break the kiss or he’d come from this alone.

Smutty gasped as Giles pulled away, but then groaned obscene endearments as Giles grabbed hold of his hips and began in earnest. Long strokes were best. He could control himself better when he wasn’t buried in that suffocating, pulsing heat. He pulled out almost all the way and made slow, shallow thrusts, watching as the ridge of his cock stretched Smutty’s rim each time. The language coming from Smutty grew so filthy Giles almost laughed. He hadn’t heard anything that bad since he’d taught a boy with Tourettes. But then when he thrust in deep, the heartfelt “Fuuuuck!” from Smutty was almost too much again.

Giles held back and teased again for long enough to have Smutty cursing the day he was born, arching his back in a fruitless quest for more, deeper, now!Then he let him have it. Deep and fierce, hard and fast, snapping his hips until the room resounded to the slap of flesh on flesh and Smutty’s incoherent shouts. He was ready—they both were. Giles could sense it in the tightening of Smutty’s muscles around him. He leant forward again, plastering his body to Smutty’s back so he could lick the salt from that inked neck. When Smutty twisted to kiss him again, it was a panting, open-mouthed mess. He could taste the arousal, the desperation.

Giles reached under Smutty’s body, found that dripping cock and began to stroke a lazy rhythm in time to the rocking of their hips. Smutty was trying to speed it up, he could tell, but Giles kept control of the pace, enjoying the frantic whimpers of frustration until his balls drew tight again.

“Oh God, I’m going to— I can’t—” But it didn’t matter, because Giles could feel the splash of wet heat over his hand. Waves of contractions around his dick pulled his climax from him. It rushed from his balls to ripple out through his whole body, every last nerve ending burning with joy.

Giles babbled. Something he didn’t want to remember. Something about wanting to stay there forever. Something inappropriate.

He buried his face in Smutty’s neck. Let his breathing slow. Let the shudders subside.

Eventually Smutty spoke up. “You know, I’d be happy to do that every day too, Giles, but I reckon it’s a bit soon to start proposing marriage.”

Giles flushed. “I didn’t mean—”

A finger to his lips stopped him. “It’s fine. Chill. Christ, you’re easy to wind up. Now, I’m gonna need that shower or your whole bloody house’ll stink.”

Smutty sauntered out of the room with a wriggle to his walk. Giles followed, helplessly drawn after him. He needed a shower too. It wasn’t like he couldn’t bear being apart for a few moments, was it?

***

Chapter Ten

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