[Adult] A Stitch in Time

[Cassius Boone]

[continued from this thread.]

The slip of Arthur's hand drew neither flinch or complaint from Cash. He'd been enjoying the shave, yes, and this was hardly any worse than he often gave himself. Still, rather in spite of himself his lips curled in a grin at the apology. "Ain't no bother. Still the best shave I've had in quite a while."

Of course, the following explanation sorely tempted his patience and his commitment to sitting through the entire shave. If Arthur's hand hadn't already slipped, the American would've let his own hands wander. As it was, he relaxed in the seat and rather smugly accepted the compliment – such as it was. Almost done, anyway, he cautioned himself. Besides, if Arthur had insisted on a shave first, there was little chance he'd be willing to fuck Cash with only half his face bare.

Absolutely no guilt nor remorse was produced in answer to his earlier confidence. "I'm less concerned about the room, and more about the man in it," Cash admitted easily, pointedly letting his eyes drop just to drag them up Arthur's body, to meet his gaze again. "Though I'd bet your bed's real comfortable."

[Arthur Beckwith]

"I've been in better, but it gets the job done," said Arthur, and it was, to his credit, neither seducing purr nor cheeky quip. Despite the temptation made by Boone's spread thighs, he did not wedge a knee on the edge of the chair between them to steady himself. That his cock was beginning to make itself known against the slim fit of his trousers, however, he could not help.

They were on the precipice now; any step forward would be a step into action, and he was too much a professional to leave a man half-shaved no matter how picturesque his prick. The blade drew smoothly across skin; was rinsed; they two waited. When the shave was finished, the job was not complete — Arthur cleaned the razor and tidied the desk, and dabbed the lingering soap from Boone's ears and under his chin. Only then, only when Arthur's fingers had been rinsed and the towel neatly folded beside the sudsy bowl, did he circle around to the front of the chair and sink to his knees with fluid efficiency.

Hands spread over the tops of Boone's thighs, he tipped his head up with a blithe, satisfied smile. His gaze dropped to the other man's mouth, then lifted again to stare steadily back.

"Much better."

[Cassius Boone]

Patience, as it turned out, was something of a virtue after all. Not that Cash was entirely patient; as Arthur busied himself with cleaning up, a hand dropped down to rub himself through the front of his trousers. It was a poor substitute for what he wanted, though, and he readily enough let his hand fall away as the valet returned to kneel in front of him.

God, this man was made to kneel.

It wasn't a particularly kind thought, but it was a compliment at least by Cash's way of measuring things. Besides, with the way Arthur was staring up at him, he didn't think it would be taken as much of an insult.

Rubbing a rough hand over his very smooth cheeks, he shrugged. "You've made me a whole new man, Mr. Beckwith," Cash announced with a tease in his voice, hand abandoning his own face to instead take Arthur firmly by the chin, holding him in place so that the American could bend to place their faces nearly close enough to kiss. "But you've given me another problem that needs solvin'." His other hand laid over one of Arthur's, dragging it the fairly short distance to his groin, and the firmness of his erection.

Not content with that alone, he finally closed the slight distance between them, kissing the other man hungrily. Cash's appetite had been sharpened by the time he'd spent sitting obediently; now that his cheeks were clean, and the razor set away, he had little plans to be so idle for the rest of his time in Arthur's bedroom.

[Arthur Beckwith]

Arthur was already hard — Had been hard for the duration — and his cock now twitched against the front of his meticulously-tailored trousers as rough fingers clamped over his chin. "I do believe I have a solution, Mr. Boone," he allowed just above a whisper, but any other reply was swallowed by the crush of Boone's hot mouth.

Swaying up, Arthur met his mouth with the urgent slide of his own tongue, and set both hands to unfastening the front of the man's trousers. As tense as he felt, want thrumming through his veins like fire, his fingers kept steady: It was but the work of a moment before he had that lovely, stiff prick against his palm and he was huffing a satisfied sigh past Boone's lips.

Breaking one kiss for another, Arthur ducked and without preamble took nearly all of Boone's cock into his waiting mouth with a low, throaty hum. He went to work with the enthusiasm of a man with a passion for his employment, cheeks hollowing on each upward pull over the thick shaft. Alongside Boone's hips, he curled fingers into the top of trousers and pants both, and tugged impatiently on the fabric as a signal for how hastily they needed removed.

[Cassius Boone]

Any thought of playing the stoic was thoroughly erased at the ease with which Arthur swallowed his cock. Cash swallowed a mouthful of his own – a harsh swear that he didn't think would be entirely to the valet's prissy liking. Instead it came out as a wordless grunt, his hand running through the other man's hair even as he obediently lifted his hips to shove the trousers off of himself.

"Jesus," he allowed himself softly, head falling back a moment before he lifted it again to watch the magic trick repeated over and over, Cash's length disappearing and reappearing at the other man's whim. Reluctant to play such a passive part, his fingers again ran through Arthur's curls before tightening into a fist, setting a faster pace. He didn't want to come like this – and certainly not yet – so after enjoying that warm mouth and throat for a few minutes, Cash pulled Arthur back by the hair.

He looked a picture: Lips slightly swollen and slick with spit, looking up at Cash from his knees. It was impossible to resist kissing him again, still holding him by the hair, the American's other hand grasping either side of his chin to hold him exactly how Cash wanted him. "Get naked and on the bed," he ordered with a low growl, taking a last kiss from the other man before releasing him to allow him to do as ordered. For his own part, Cash was quick to shuck off his trousers, stroking his slick cock as he followed the other to the bed.

[Arthur Beckwith]

The fingers in Arthur's hair might as well have been wrapped around his cock, for all that the sting of his scalp shot directly down to that near-aching appendage. Dazed, swollen lips parted, he stared back up at Boone, and then muffled a soft moan against his descending mouth.

He stood as smoothly as he'd knelt, not so much as a twitch in lean thighs, but at the foot of the bed he stopped. Arthur was expert at dressing and undressing with astonishing efficiency, but he had and would never be the sort to give in to even the most reckless abandon and allow his suit to be relegated to a pile on the floor. Not even six years waiting for Archibald Seymour had diverted that instinct.

And so after he shrugged his shirt from slender shoulders, he shook it out as he'd done Boone's earlier, and laid it with care on the same chair as the suits in progress. Shoes were wiggled free and lined neatly under the edge of the bed frame, and trousers folded along crisp seams. Only when he was stripping free of socks and garters, and then shimmying from his drawers, did he allow those articles to fall to the floor.

Biting against his bottom lip, he dropped his gaze to Boone's waiting cock, and then sauntered past to crawl into a prone splay across the mattress. "The necessary is in my inside jacket pocket," he said as he cast a look back to the other man over his shoulder. "I hung it in the wardrobe."

[Cassius Boone]

At first Cash thought it a joke, or a tease; something to keep him on edge, in the same teasing manner that the valet had the entire length of this meeting. But no, he realized with an odd sort of amuse fascination. The man really was that fastidious. He could do nothing but shake his head and snort a laugh at the sight of it all. In a way, though it was clearly not intended to be a show, it very much was. It certainly didn't hurt Cash's erection at all.

Before attending to the wardrobe, and the necessary within it, the American couldn't resist the very shapely ass tempting him so. His palm fell heavily on one rounded cheek, and then the other. That alone brought the slightest blush of pink to it, and there came the sudden and strong desire to see it even more reddened. Instead he reluctantly abandoned it for the suit that Arthur had so primly hung in his wardrobe. The tin was exactly where he expected to find it. Opening it as he moved to the bed, he briefly sniffed it, and found only the scent of almond greeting him.

"You just carry this around all the time?" A generous dab was smeared on Cash's stiff prick, another on Arthur's hole. Tossing the tin aside, the American multitasked with easy familiarity, fingering the valet even while he rubbed the lubricant over his cock with his other hand. "Guess there ain't a reason to be real gentle then, hm?" And, indeed, one rough finger very quickly became two, and then the blunt head of the cowboy's thick cock. There didn't seem to be much of a reason to go slow; instead he pressed forward steadily until he was seated entirely in the warm embrace of the other man's ass.

Cash laid his body over top the valet's, a hand again running through Arthur's hair and taking it into a fist. Gently rocking his hips at first, willing to pause at any sign of distress, he let out a low groan and pressed a kiss against the valet's throat. "Fuck," he moaned against the delicate skin, "You feel fuckin' amazing."

[Arthur Beckwith]

If the hearty smack to his bare ass was preamble, Arthur suspected he was going to have a most excellent afternoon indeed. "I presume you've no complaints about having it close to hand," he called back as Boone prised open the lid on the tin. The other man's own presumptions about Arthur's perpetual readiness was like a hot jolt beneath his skin before fingers ever began slicking his hole. That Boone followed so quickly with the stiff length of his not-inconsiderable prick sent him fairly reeling. The pain was an exquisite counterpoint to the gasping pleasure of being so abruptly filled.

Arthur palmed against the headboard and curled fingers around one of its slender spindles. Head pulled back, a rich moan choked from his throat, and he could only move so much like this, but he pressed back what little he could, arse notching into the sweet cradle of Boone's thrusting hips.

"Fuck me," he managed into a low, throaty hum as he further tipped his head aside to allow the other man more ready access to the column of his neck.

[Cassius Boone]

He'd already had the thought, but every further second with this little tart confirmed it: It was a goddamned shame that they couldn't take the carriage to Stourhead together. The thought of this prim creature messy and delirious with want was intoxicating. Normally Cash wasn't one to dally overlong in denial – certainly not his own. But for Arthur, an exception would have to be made. The man was simply too receptive, played the needy whore far too well.

There would be no denial for either of them right now, though.

Cash's hungry lips and teeth worried the soft skin of the valet's throat; it was fully his intention to mark the man, but he wasn't quite so reckless to do so where it would be found too easily. Ostensibly he knew that Arthur was a fuck of convenience and access. In the heat of his arousal, though, the only thing he could think was to mark an ownership that existed only in the privacy his lust-driven mind.

With the closeness of their bodies like this, he couldn't manage more than slight thrusts, given by the rolling of his hips flush against that delectable ass. Cash had already decided that the proper fuck couldn't begin until he'd seen how pretty that long neck looked reddened and bruised, but it would certainly be forthcoming. Arthur was far too enticing not to give a proper fucking. "Ass like this don't belong anywhere but under a man," he growled between the kisses and nips he favored the other with, rocking hips gradually becoming that proper fuck as his wants shifted, until he finally abandoned that sweet throat to straighten, both hands holding the valet's hips to set a quick pace.

[Arthur Beckwith]

Had Boone's teeth strayed too far north, too near the invisible line on Arthur's neck that marked the top of his shirt collar, there might have been some protest, but as that rough, needful drag across his skin remained well below the mark, Arthur was free to moan his full-throated encouragement. Some men liked to bite a little, but this was different — This was a visceral claiming, and that they'd only just met didn't change the intensity or the way each scrape or suck of pale skin traveled directly down to Arthur's prick. Boone's fingers still knotted in his hair, mouth at his throat, Arthur's eyes fell closed with a keening hum that shivered all the way to his fingertips.

He did protest when Boone released him, a mew of disappointment to accompany the fitful writhe of his body against that lovely, large cock, but the backward hitch of his hips more than made up for the loss. Curling his free hand against the headboard, he braced himself and smiled against the cool linen of his pillow as he angled his ass further up, knees pushing into the mattress along the outside of Boone's own. "Fuck, oh fuck," he choked out, fingers white-knuckled as the other man rocked into him, the bed protesting every swift thrust.