Tary stops trying to think in terms of linear time and kisses Lawrence back, hands lifting to sink into Lawrence’s perfect hair, just long enough to wind his fingers in. The front of Lawrence’s tunic brushes against Tary’s cock and he lets out an involuntary sound of pain.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” Lawrence lifts up off him and looks down at his cock. “Oh, darling, you really are hurting, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” Tary admits, although he doesn’t want this to stop.
“Oh, Tary.” Lawrence kisses him again, dialing it back a notch to make it softer, sweeter. “It’ll be all right.”
Tary’s not quite sure what that’s supposed to mean, but then Lawrence’s mouth moves from his lips to his neck, kissing and licking. Down to his chest, one hand spreading the shirt all the way open, and when Lawrence sucks one of Tary’s taut nipples into his mouth Tary gasps loudly. Lawrence lifts up long enough to shed his tunic and comes back down to press his bare chest against Tary’s. They’ve gotten this far before, albeit with Tary’s trousers still on; from here on out it’s unfamiliar territory.
Except Lawrence knows the way.
His mouth blazes a hot trail down Tary’s body, kissing his chest and the small curve of his belly and each of his thighs. He moves to lie between Tary’s thighs, and his cheek brushes against Tary’s cock, making Tary’s body shiver harder than ever.
“All right?” Lawrence asks, breath tickling Tary’s cock like a promise.
“Be gentle,” Tary says, feeling foolish and younger than ever.
“Of course.”
Lawrence keeps kissing his thighs for a good while longer, coming closer and closer in until Tary lets out a whine not of pain but of impatient desire. He feels the curve of Lawrence’s smile against his skin, the push of Lawrence’s nose through the tight golden curls around the base of his cock, and hears the sound of a lengthy inhale followed by an appreciative, “Mmmm.”
Then Lawrence’s tongue is on him, tracing the underside of his cock from base to head, gathering the taste of him up, and Tary is gasping for breath almost immediately.
“Oh! Oh, gods—”
Lawrence licks him again and then begins dotting small kisses over his hot skin. Tary can hardly stand it, so gentle and so powerful at the same time. He can feel the drawing in of pressure signaling his impending climax.
“It’s quite all right if you come fast the first time,” Lawrence remarks quite casually between licks and kisses. “Just warn me.”
“So you can move away?”
“No.” Lawrence looks up and winks at him. “So I can do this.” And he takes Tary’s length into his mouth, all the way in a practiced prolonged suck.
Tary doesn’t have time to warn him, but he has the feeling that Lawrence knew all along.
“There, now.” Lawrence licks his lips and moves to lie alongside Tary, curling an arm around his shoulders. That he can do this without bumping into Doty is a reminder of the bed’s enormous size. “Next time will be slower, but that was lovely.”
“Next time,” Tary echoes with an idiotic grin. And then: “Lovely?”
“For me, yes,” Lawrence says. His erection is pressing against Tary’s hip. “So lovely to feel you come all the way apart for me at last. I’ve been longing to do that to you for months and months.”
“Can I—should I do it back?”
“I think we should stick to things you’re more familiar with, first.” Lawrence guides Tary’s hand to the front of his trousers. “Like—yes.” Tary’s palm moves knowingly to stroke Lawrence through the frankly quite flimsy linen. “Oh, yes.”
“Take them off,” Tary says, voice shaking but certain. “I want to see.”
Lawrence is only too happy to shed his trousers, kicking them off the bed. Tary moves back enough to get a full view of Lawrence’s body. The hair on his chest and around his cock is darker than the hair on his head, and the trail between his navel and the thicker triangle of hair below draws a clear arrow that Tary’s only too happy to follow.
He only barely has his hand around Lawrence’s cock before Lawrence groans loudly.
“Is that—did I do something wrong?”
Lawrence’s hand closes around his and squeezes. “No. Not at all. Just been thinking of this a long time. Don’t stop. Please.”
Tary begins moving his hand, the angle odd as they’re face to face but otherwise it’s not an unfamiliar gesture; he’s spent plenty of nights alone in this bed in the company of his own hand. He lets Lawrence’s moans and the way that his body moves guide him in terms of the best places and speed and so forth.
Before too long—although longer than Tary himself lasted—Lawrence is unmistakably close to coming: he’s biting his lip, his face and neck and chest flushed red, and his cock is dripping over Tary’s hand.
“Stop, Tary.”
Tary gives him a bewildered look but lifts his hand away immediately. Obeying orders comes readily to him.
“How are you feeling inside?” Lawrence asks.
“What do you—oh. Oh.” Tary considers the question and its implications. His cock expresses its interest, growing to half-hardness. “I think I’m all right.”
“Are you sure? Because if you’re just saying it to please me—”
“I’m not,” Tary interrupts. “I’m not saying it just to please you and I’m not sore and I feel all right and I really really want to feel you inside me. Please,” he adds belatedly.
Lawrence smiles, this time almost shyly, and rolls onto his back. “Then I trust you know what to do.”
Tary reaches for a second vial of oil, the first almost exhausted, and pours some into the palm of his hand, letting it warm a little as he would if he were using it for his solitary pleasure. When he begins stroking it onto Lawrence, Lawrence’s whole body goes rigid and he lets out a deep groan.
“I won’t last long if you tease.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
Lawrence’s eyes are half-lidded with desire. “Perhaps you should tend to yourself next. You do have to take me as I am; I can’t slim down to fit inside you.”
Tary’s cock jerks hard at the words, and harder still as Tary pushes two fingers inside himself. He’s still somewhat wet and open, but Lawrence clearly enjoys watching him, so he drags it out a little longer, closing his eyes and letting out a few breathy sounds as he finds the sweet spot inside himself and circles it with the tip of one finger until his cock is fully hard once more.
Lawrence shifts up the bed, leaning against the pillows, squeezing the base of his cock with encircled thumb and forefinger. “Gods, you’re beautiful.”
“No, you are.”
“Both of us, then. Come up here.” Lawrence doesn’t need to pat his lap suggestively for Tary to go to him, but he does it anyway.
Lawrence is right; he can’t slim down to fit inside Tary. He’s not as thick as Tary has sometimes ordered Doty to be, but he’s not small either, and his flesh shifts and slips annoyingly in a way that Doty’s sturdy shaft doesn’t. Tary lets out a small sound of frustration, and Lawrence laughs softly.
“Here.” His hand reaches under Tary’s buttocks, squeezing one briefly before—oh, like that, Tary feels the head of Lawrence’s cock press against and then into him and—
Lawrence’s hands go to his hips, guiding him, and Tary sinks down onto warm, willing flesh, feeling the aliveness of Lawrence’s cock inside him.
“Easy, easy does it,” Lawrence is saying, but now that Tary’s taken a little he wants it all and moves his hips greedily, and Lawrence stops telling him to be careful in favor of gripping his hips tighter and thrusting up into him.
“Oh gods. Oh, that’s what I want,” Tary babbles. “He can’t move like this but you can and oh, fuck, Lawrence, more.”
“More,” Lawrence agrees, and he holds Tary tighter still, fucking up into him, making Tary squeal at the sudden intensity. “Like this? Yes, like this… I can see on your face how much you like this, you gorgeous man. You going to come from this?”
“Oh—uh—maybe?”
“I’d love to see you…” Lawrence releases Tary’s hip for a moment and takes Tary’s right hand, guiding it to Tary’s cock—not that he needs much guidance once he realizes Lawrence’s intention. “Go on… let me see how you get yourself off at night when you’re thinking about me.” Then both of his hands are on Tary’s ass, holding him close as he continues thrusting up into Tary. His movements are both smoother and more unpredictable than Doty’s, and Tary feels quite delirious.
Tary cautiously strokes his cock from base to head, wary of his earlier entrapment, alleviated as it was by Lawrence’s delightful mouth. Now it feels nothing but pleasurable.
“That’s it.” Lawrence’s voice is uneven. “That’s my Tary.”
“Yours,” Tary agrees dizzily. He rests his forehead on Lawrence’s, both of them looking down at Tary fisting his cock, at where Lawrence’s length is buried inside Tary. “Yours, Lawrence, at last—”
“Did you think about me like this?”
“Yes.”
“What else?”
“Desk in the study,” Tary gasps, feeling Lawrence’s rhythm falter and then resume faster. “You bending me over it.” Lawrence curses under his breath. “Leaning hard against me to keep me steady so you could—you could—”
“Fuck you.”
“Yes. That.”
“Like right now.” Lawrence’s eyes have a wild light in them, a light of which Tary has only seen the briefest spark before. “Fucking you good right now.” His scholarly eloquence is gone. “Going to come in you… he can’t do that for you.”
“No—he can’t—Lawrence, please—”
“For you, Tary,” Lawrence says in a comparatively gentle tone, even as his fingers tighten to the point of pain in Tary’s buttocks and his cock pulses deep inside Tary, most assuredly a sensation that Doty cannot replicate. Tary’s own cock jerks and stripes his hand and Lawrence’s chest with his seed, and the two of them cry out together, Tary collapsing against Lawrence’s shoulder.
And that is when Howaardt Darrington opens the still damned unlocked door.
“Taryon!” His voice cracks across Tary’s bedchamber. “Lawrence! What are you—”
His gaze lands upon them, turning from mild anger to profound anger, and then turns to Doty, metal phallus currently spearing nothing but air, and Howaardt’s face goes apoplectic red.
“You filthy perverts!”
Tary cringes. Lawrence shifts Tary off him with remarkable ease and puts himself between the two Darringtons, clad in nothing but his skin. Tary admires his courage (and, admittedly, his ass).
“Homosexuality is a perfectly natural state of being for a human, sir, and—”
“I could not care less about the two of you. Aside from the broken promises and the inherent violation of the trust I put in you as a teacher of literature, not of lasciviousness.” Howaardt jabs a finger in the direction of Doty. “It’s that. I knew letting you build it was a mistake, you disgusting little boy.”
“He’s not a boy, he’s a man,” Lawrence objects.
“Doty’s not an it, he’s a he,” Tary says.
“I can see perfectly well why you think that! How dare you spend my money and resources to build yourself a—a sexual automaton! You told me you were creating a teaching aid!”
“He did teach me rather a lot,” Tary begins.
If Howaardt’s face were apoplectic before, now it’s a downright apocalypse. “Be quiet!” He looks at Lawrence. “You. Get out. You have fifteen minutes to be gone from my domicile forever.”
“But—”
“Taryon, I said be quiet!”
Lawrence turns to Tary, cups his face in his hands, and gives him a tender kiss. “I will find you again,” he whispers. “I’m not going to let us end here.”
“Out!”
Lawrence gathers his clothing and flees the room, leaving nothing between Tary and his father but Doty’s rigid body.
Son and father regard each other for a long moment. Tary is miserably aware of how bad he must look, streaked with fluids, hair a mess, thoroughly debauched.
“You too,” Howaardt says, his anger turned down to a low simmer.
Tary looks at Doty, bewildered. “Us two what?”
“You. Also. I want you gone, Tary. I will give you three days to pack and prepare whatever you need, and then I don’t want to see you back here until you’ve grown the hell up.”
“Father, I—”
“Shut up! Three days. Ask the kitchens for food, ask the stablehands for a horse, whatever you need, but I want you gone.”
“Can I take Doty?” Tary asks tentatively.
Howaardt boils over again. “Yes! Yes, gods damn it! Take the automaton! Is there anything else in here you’ve perverted for your own pleasure? Take the bedposts! Take the bloody fireplace poker! Just. Get. Out. Of. My. House!”
The door slams behind him as he storms out.
Tary gets to his shaking legs and stumbles to the door, finally locking it. He returns to the bed, where such a short time ago he was enjoying the profoundest pleasure of his life, and curls into a ball.
He spends the first three hours of his three days weeping into his pillow, which still smells like Lawrence’s pomade.
Inclinations, Leverage, Pullulation (Tary/Doty, Tary/Lawrence, NC-17) 2/3
Tary stops trying to think in terms of linear time and kisses Lawrence back, hands lifting to sink into Lawrence’s perfect hair, just long enough to wind his fingers in. The front of Lawrence’s tunic brushes against Tary’s cock and he lets out an involuntary sound of pain.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” Lawrence lifts up off him and looks down at his cock. “Oh, darling, you really are hurting, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” Tary admits, although he doesn’t want this to stop.
“Oh, Tary.” Lawrence kisses him again, dialing it back a notch to make it softer, sweeter. “It’ll be all right.”
Tary’s not quite sure what that’s supposed to mean, but then Lawrence’s mouth moves from his lips to his neck, kissing and licking. Down to his chest, one hand spreading the shirt all the way open, and when Lawrence sucks one of Tary’s taut nipples into his mouth Tary gasps loudly. Lawrence lifts up long enough to shed his tunic and comes back down to press his bare chest against Tary’s. They’ve gotten this far before, albeit with Tary’s trousers still on; from here on out it’s unfamiliar territory.
Except Lawrence knows the way.
His mouth blazes a hot trail down Tary’s body, kissing his chest and the small curve of his belly and each of his thighs. He moves to lie between Tary’s thighs, and his cheek brushes against Tary’s cock, making Tary’s body shiver harder than ever.
“All right?” Lawrence asks, breath tickling Tary’s cock like a promise.
“Be gentle,” Tary says, feeling foolish and younger than ever.
“Of course.”
Lawrence keeps kissing his thighs for a good while longer, coming closer and closer in until Tary lets out a whine not of pain but of impatient desire. He feels the curve of Lawrence’s smile against his skin, the push of Lawrence’s nose through the tight golden curls around the base of his cock, and hears the sound of a lengthy inhale followed by an appreciative, “Mmmm.”
Then Lawrence’s tongue is on him, tracing the underside of his cock from base to head, gathering the taste of him up, and Tary is gasping for breath almost immediately.
“Oh! Oh, gods—”
Lawrence licks him again and then begins dotting small kisses over his hot skin. Tary can hardly stand it, so gentle and so powerful at the same time. He can feel the drawing in of pressure signaling his impending climax.
“It’s quite all right if you come fast the first time,” Lawrence remarks quite casually between licks and kisses. “Just warn me.”
“So you can move away?”
“No.” Lawrence looks up and winks at him. “So I can do this.” And he takes Tary’s length into his mouth, all the way in a practiced prolonged suck.
Tary doesn’t have time to warn him, but he has the feeling that Lawrence knew all along.
“There, now.” Lawrence licks his lips and moves to lie alongside Tary, curling an arm around his shoulders. That he can do this without bumping into Doty is a reminder of the bed’s enormous size. “Next time will be slower, but that was lovely.”
“Next time,” Tary echoes with an idiotic grin. And then: “Lovely?”
“For me, yes,” Lawrence says. His erection is pressing against Tary’s hip. “So lovely to feel you come all the way apart for me at last. I’ve been longing to do that to you for months and months.”
“Can I—should I do it back?”
“I think we should stick to things you’re more familiar with, first.” Lawrence guides Tary’s hand to the front of his trousers. “Like—yes.” Tary’s palm moves knowingly to stroke Lawrence through the frankly quite flimsy linen. “Oh, yes.”
“Take them off,” Tary says, voice shaking but certain. “I want to see.”
Lawrence is only too happy to shed his trousers, kicking them off the bed. Tary moves back enough to get a full view of Lawrence’s body. The hair on his chest and around his cock is darker than the hair on his head, and the trail between his navel and the thicker triangle of hair below draws a clear arrow that Tary’s only too happy to follow.
He only barely has his hand around Lawrence’s cock before Lawrence groans loudly.
“Is that—did I do something wrong?”
Lawrence’s hand closes around his and squeezes. “No. Not at all. Just been thinking of this a long time. Don’t stop. Please.”
Tary begins moving his hand, the angle odd as they’re face to face but otherwise it’s not an unfamiliar gesture; he’s spent plenty of nights alone in this bed in the company of his own hand. He lets Lawrence’s moans and the way that his body moves guide him in terms of the best places and speed and so forth.
Before too long—although longer than Tary himself lasted—Lawrence is unmistakably close to coming: he’s biting his lip, his face and neck and chest flushed red, and his cock is dripping over Tary’s hand.
“Stop, Tary.”
Tary gives him a bewildered look but lifts his hand away immediately. Obeying orders comes readily to him.
“How are you feeling inside?” Lawrence asks.
“What do you—oh. Oh.” Tary considers the question and its implications. His cock expresses its interest, growing to half-hardness. “I think I’m all right.”
“Are you sure? Because if you’re just saying it to please me—”
“I’m not,” Tary interrupts. “I’m not saying it just to please you and I’m not sore and I feel all right and I really really want to feel you inside me. Please,” he adds belatedly.
Lawrence smiles, this time almost shyly, and rolls onto his back. “Then I trust you know what to do.”
Tary reaches for a second vial of oil, the first almost exhausted, and pours some into the palm of his hand, letting it warm a little as he would if he were using it for his solitary pleasure. When he begins stroking it onto Lawrence, Lawrence’s whole body goes rigid and he lets out a deep groan.
“I won’t last long if you tease.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
Lawrence’s eyes are half-lidded with desire. “Perhaps you should tend to yourself next. You do have to take me as I am; I can’t slim down to fit inside you.”
Tary’s cock jerks hard at the words, and harder still as Tary pushes two fingers inside himself. He’s still somewhat wet and open, but Lawrence clearly enjoys watching him, so he drags it out a little longer, closing his eyes and letting out a few breathy sounds as he finds the sweet spot inside himself and circles it with the tip of one finger until his cock is fully hard once more.
Lawrence shifts up the bed, leaning against the pillows, squeezing the base of his cock with encircled thumb and forefinger. “Gods, you’re beautiful.”
“No, you are.”
“Both of us, then. Come up here.” Lawrence doesn’t need to pat his lap suggestively for Tary to go to him, but he does it anyway.
Lawrence is right; he can’t slim down to fit inside Tary. He’s not as thick as Tary has sometimes ordered Doty to be, but he’s not small either, and his flesh shifts and slips annoyingly in a way that Doty’s sturdy shaft doesn’t. Tary lets out a small sound of frustration, and Lawrence laughs softly.
“Here.” His hand reaches under Tary’s buttocks, squeezing one briefly before—oh, like that, Tary feels the head of Lawrence’s cock press against and then into him and—
Lawrence’s hands go to his hips, guiding him, and Tary sinks down onto warm, willing flesh, feeling the aliveness of Lawrence’s cock inside him.
“Easy, easy does it,” Lawrence is saying, but now that Tary’s taken a little he wants it all and moves his hips greedily, and Lawrence stops telling him to be careful in favor of gripping his hips tighter and thrusting up into him.
“Oh gods. Oh, that’s what I want,” Tary babbles. “He can’t move like this but you can and oh, fuck, Lawrence, more.”
“More,” Lawrence agrees, and he holds Tary tighter still, fucking up into him, making Tary squeal at the sudden intensity. “Like this? Yes, like this… I can see on your face how much you like this, you gorgeous man. You going to come from this?”
“Oh—uh—maybe?”
“I’d love to see you…” Lawrence releases Tary’s hip for a moment and takes Tary’s right hand, guiding it to Tary’s cock—not that he needs much guidance once he realizes Lawrence’s intention. “Go on… let me see how you get yourself off at night when you’re thinking about me.” Then both of his hands are on Tary’s ass, holding him close as he continues thrusting up into Tary. His movements are both smoother and more unpredictable than Doty’s, and Tary feels quite delirious.
Tary cautiously strokes his cock from base to head, wary of his earlier entrapment, alleviated as it was by Lawrence’s delightful mouth. Now it feels nothing but pleasurable.
“That’s it.” Lawrence’s voice is uneven. “That’s my Tary.”
“Yours,” Tary agrees dizzily. He rests his forehead on Lawrence’s, both of them looking down at Tary fisting his cock, at where Lawrence’s length is buried inside Tary. “Yours, Lawrence, at last—”
“Did you think about me like this?”
“Yes.”
“What else?”
“Desk in the study,” Tary gasps, feeling Lawrence’s rhythm falter and then resume faster. “You bending me over it.” Lawrence curses under his breath. “Leaning hard against me to keep me steady so you could—you could—”
“Fuck you.”
“Yes. That.”
“Like right now.” Lawrence’s eyes have a wild light in them, a light of which Tary has only seen the briefest spark before. “Fucking you good right now.” His scholarly eloquence is gone. “Going to come in you… he can’t do that for you.”
“No—he can’t—Lawrence, please—”
“For you, Tary,” Lawrence says in a comparatively gentle tone, even as his fingers tighten to the point of pain in Tary’s buttocks and his cock pulses deep inside Tary, most assuredly a sensation that Doty cannot replicate. Tary’s own cock jerks and stripes his hand and Lawrence’s chest with his seed, and the two of them cry out together, Tary collapsing against Lawrence’s shoulder.
And that is when Howaardt Darrington opens the still damned unlocked door.
“Taryon!” His voice cracks across Tary’s bedchamber. “Lawrence! What are you—”
His gaze lands upon them, turning from mild anger to profound anger, and then turns to Doty, metal phallus currently spearing nothing but air, and Howaardt’s face goes apoplectic red.
“You filthy perverts!”
Tary cringes. Lawrence shifts Tary off him with remarkable ease and puts himself between the two Darringtons, clad in nothing but his skin. Tary admires his courage (and, admittedly, his ass).
“Homosexuality is a perfectly natural state of being for a human, sir, and—”
“I could not care less about the two of you. Aside from the broken promises and the inherent violation of the trust I put in you as a teacher of literature, not of lasciviousness.” Howaardt jabs a finger in the direction of Doty. “It’s that. I knew letting you build it was a mistake, you disgusting little boy.”
“He’s not a boy, he’s a man,” Lawrence objects.
“Doty’s not an it, he’s a he,” Tary says.
“I can see perfectly well why you think that! How dare you spend my money and resources to build yourself a—a sexual automaton! You told me you were creating a teaching aid!”
“He did teach me rather a lot,” Tary begins.
If Howaardt’s face were apoplectic before, now it’s a downright apocalypse. “Be quiet!” He looks at Lawrence. “You. Get out. You have fifteen minutes to be gone from my domicile forever.”
“But—”
“Taryon, I said be quiet!”
Lawrence turns to Tary, cups his face in his hands, and gives him a tender kiss. “I will find you again,” he whispers. “I’m not going to let us end here.”
“Out!”
Lawrence gathers his clothing and flees the room, leaving nothing between Tary and his father but Doty’s rigid body.
Son and father regard each other for a long moment. Tary is miserably aware of how bad he must look, streaked with fluids, hair a mess, thoroughly debauched.
“You too,” Howaardt says, his anger turned down to a low simmer.
Tary looks at Doty, bewildered. “Us two what?”
“You. Also. I want you gone, Tary. I will give you three days to pack and prepare whatever you need, and then I don’t want to see you back here until you’ve grown the hell up.”
“Father, I—”
“Shut up! Three days. Ask the kitchens for food, ask the stablehands for a horse, whatever you need, but I want you gone.”
“Can I take Doty?” Tary asks tentatively.
Howaardt boils over again. “Yes! Yes, gods damn it! Take the automaton! Is there anything else in here you’ve perverted for your own pleasure? Take the bedposts! Take the bloody fireplace poker! Just. Get. Out. Of. My. House!”
The door slams behind him as he storms out.
Tary gets to his shaking legs and stumbles to the door, finally locking it. He returns to the bed, where such a short time ago he was enjoying the profoundest pleasure of his life, and curls into a ball.
He spends the first three hours of his three days weeping into his pillow, which still smells like Lawrence’s pomade.