Men of London 03 - Suit Yourself (17 page)

He gave a quick look at himself in the
mirror, satisfied himself he had nothing stuck in his teeth and he
looked good enough for Skype. Then he got back onto the bed and
pulled his laptop onto his lap. He hastily clicked the video icon
to reveal himself then finally focused on Oliver’s profile. When he
saw his boyfriend, he definitely needed that paper bag.

Oliver sat in the armchair in his bedroom.
His tanned legs were stretched out in front of him, sprawled open
and he was naked. One large hand was wrapped around his jutting,
pink cock and he grinned sloppily as he saw Leslie. “Hi, sexy. What
took you so long? I was thinking about you.”

“I love what you’ve done with that thing.”
Leslie motioned toward Oliver’s cock as he peered closer at the
screen. “You’re a little drunk, aren’t you?”

Oliver nodded vigorously. “Yep, and horny as
fuck.”

“I can see that.” Leslie laughed as he
scooted back up to rest against his satin pillows then arranged the
laptop strategically just beyond his heeled feet so he could be
seen at his best advantage. Luckily it was a nineteen-inch laptop
screen—HD to boot—and the picture was excellent.

In the small frame at the corner of the
screen he saw himself laid out languidly, his dick bulging in the
skimpy thong. Unconsciously, he let his legs fall apart, revealing
his arse cheeks. His face flamed with the wantonness of it. He was
a slut putting himself on offer and he loved it. He especially
loved Oliver’s lick of the lips and the hungry expression in his
eyes.

“Hell, you look beautiful. That arse…” The
longing in his lover’s voice made Leslie’s skin prickle. Goose
bumps formed on his skin.

“Thank you. I aim to please.” He palmed his
dick and closed his eyes at the feel of the fabric on his swollen,
heated skin. “So, you want me to jack off for you to see?”

He squinted his eyes at the screen, thankful
his eyesight was 20/20. He saw Oliver stroking himself. The sight
spurred him on to wriggle on the bed and touch himself a little
faster.

Oliver’s throaty growl had him harder in
seconds. “Yes. First I want to see you take that thong down,
slowly. Then I want to see you get off. I want to see that gorgeous
hole, too. Spread your legs more. Imagine me with my tongue in
there, licking you, getting you wet, ready for my cock.” The
commands were softly spoken but there was no doubt who was in
charge. Nicky Starr was in the house.

Leslie’s whole body was aflame and, as he
lifted his legs, he heard a stuttered moan from the other side of
the screen. He peeled the thong from his backside, making sure he
opened his legs wide, stretching his cheeks apart for his voyeur
then lay back again. He was wet, but not enough. He reached over
and took out the lube from under the pillow, squeezing some into
his hand. Then he slid his fingers up and down his cock, uttering
little sighs of pleasure, his eyelashes fluttering as he succumbed
to the sensation.

“This feels so good, wish you were here with
me. Want to feel your mouth, taste your cock, feel you inside me,
filling me…” He opened his eyes and blew a kiss at his lover.

At the foot of the bed, Oliver’s breathing
quickened, his eyes never leaving Leslie’s hand. “God, you look so
damned gorgeous doing that. That pucker of yours….I want to be
buried so deep inside that you taste me. Want to fuck you so hard
you feel me forever. Make you mine and leave my mark.”

The dirty words and the soft slapping of
Oliver’s hand on his cock drove Leslie crazy. He had no doubt
Oliver was hearing the same thing on his side. He couldn’t stop the
grunts and moans that rose and fell from his mouth as he pleasured
himself. For a while, he was lost in the feeling of his aching and
heated groin and the knowledge Oliver was there with him.

When he opened his eyes, the expression of
bliss on his boyfriend’s face sent Leslie into a tailspin. He loved
to see those half-closed eyes; that look of concentration as Oliver
worked himself, and the white teeth that bit into lips he wished he
could kiss. The faint sheen of sweat on Oliver’s body triggered
memories in Leslie’s mind of his man, that strong, unique scent
that remained embedded in his brain. He breathed in deeply, trying
to
will
the smell stronger.

“God, Oliver, I’m ready. Try and come with
me.”

His arse clenched and his heels dug into the
covers as he gasped loudly, and the prickling that started in his
toes and ended in his groin and ultimately his dick, intensified.
He shouted Oliver’s name as he climaxed, his spunk streaming forth,
covering his hand, his thighs and his belly. His trembling legs
spasmed as his body did the same and from haze-filled eyes, he saw
Oliver fisting his cock and spraying his semen in jets that seemed
to never end. Oliver’s panting and loud expletives made Leslie
smile. In true porn style, Oliver was always vocal when he came.
Leslie couldn’t help chuckling when he saw a blob of spooge sliding
slowly down the screen.

“You have some reach, there, cowboy,” he
gasped out, in between laughing. “Like a damn jet stream.”

Oliver’s lazy and satisfied smile made his
heart beat faster. “Imagine if we ever did it without condoms,” he
murmured. “You really would taste me. It’d be better than a protein
shake.” His half-hard cock lay against his thigh as he leaned back
in the chair and closed his eyes.

Leslie looked around for something close to
hand to clean himself up. Seeing nothing, he huffed and went to the
kitchen to pick up a roll of Kleenex and take it back to the bed.
Oliver looked as if he were sleeping, slumped in the armchair with
a beatific smile on his face.

Leslie watched him, feeling a warmth inside
that he knew was far more than simply sex. “Don’t you go to sleep
on me,” he warned. “You know we always talk after sex.”

He began to wipe the sticky fluid off his
belly and legs.

Oliver opened his eyes and his beautiful
amber stare filled with affection nearly made Leslie blurt out the
words he really wanted to say. He refrained, not wanting to scare
his boyfriend away.

“Not just sex. Making love. Even when we
Skype and say dirty, sexy things to each other, we’re making love,”
Oliver rasped.

Leslie bit his tongue. Now wasn’t the time
for a declaration of love. Not right after
making
love. He didn’t think it had the same impact.
“I like making love with you. Now you look tired and I have to be
up early for the show prep,” he said softly. “Go and get some
sleep, Oliver. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

Oliver nodded sleepily. “Okay. I really
enjoyed this little session. We should do it again soon.”

“’Kay. Good night. Be sure and wear that suit
I picked out for you tomorrow. You look damned fabulous in it.”

“I will. Night, love.” The screen went
black.

Leslie put his laptop back in its customary
place on top of his dressing table and got into bed. He snuggled
into his pillow with thoughts of Oliver, his warm body and the
opportunity to show him to the world tomorrow night.

* * *

Leslie hummed as he straightened the fabric
around a rather well-endowed Greek statue and couldn’t resist the
urge to run his fingers up the stone cock.

“You like that, hmmm?” he murmured as he did
it again. “You’re as hard as rock; you must do.” He sniggered. “I
have no idea where Laverne got all of you, but I want one for home.
Then when Oliver’s not around, I can play with you instead.”

“Oh you are one dirty, dirty, boy.” Laverne’s
laugh echoed through the hall. “I might have known you’d be here
fondling the men.”

Leslie turned and bowed low. “I live to
serve. Even statues need a little Leslie-love.”

He turned and looked around at the display
hall. “It’s looking amazeballs, boss. This event is going to be a
smash hit.”

Laverne scratched her cheek. Leslie grinned
at the move. She only did that when she was nervous. “Thanks to you
and everyone who got it ready.”

The hall did indeed look superb. The models’
catwalk made up the centre of the room, and around it were
scattered tables and chairs, ready for people to sit down for
dinner. One section of the room was cordoned off for press, and the
Grecian theme had been lavishly applied wherever possible. Grapes
and vines hung from the roof; the statues stood, richly decorated
with colourful fabrics from the store room. Huge, mock white
pillars stood firm against the walls, and elsewhere, Grecian art
and sculptures framed the room on trestles covered with white
chiffon. It looked elegant and very posh, indeed.

The best thing about the space, though, was
the small two-person table set back from the rest, almost in the
eaves of the room. That was for Oliver when he arrived in about an
hour. The lights would have been dimmed and although his boyfriend
was psyched up to come—he’d talked about nothing else this
week—Leslie wanted him to feel comfortable. He knew this was a huge
step forward, appearing in public where probably he would be
recognised.

“He’s going to be fine, Leslie,” Laverne
murmured when she saw his glance towards the table. “Oliver is
really trying so hard to be here for you. He’s a brave soul. He
must care about you very much.”

Leslie couldn’t stop the smile that formed.
He and Oliver hadn’t ever said anything concrete about how they
felt, but he knew there was something there, something deep and, he
hoped, lasting. “I think he likes me a bit,” he said carelessly.
“But then, you know, I’m a likeable character, me. Who wouldn’t
like this sexy package?”

He gestured down toward his Debussy suit, a
slim-fitting, pastel blue worn with a matching waistcoat, a
blue-and–white-striped formal shirt and a deep blue tie with white
polka dots. He even had his favourite tie pin on, a small silver
panther Oliver had given him. Apparently it had been his and he
thought it suited Leslie as he was
lithe, mean
and sexy.
Leslie wasn’t sure how a panther could be sexy,
but he loved it anyway.

“You look very handsome, but then it’s one of
my suits, so I’d expect that,” Laverne acknowledged as her eyes
dated around, checking the room. “Have you seen Dasher or Bruce? I
thought they might be here. I couldn’t find them in the dressing
room.”

Leslie’s heart sank. “They are here, though,
aren’t they? You’re not going to make me go down there again and
help, because, you know, the trauma last time was enough for me to
claim workman’s compensation.” He knew he was laying it on a bit
thick but he had no desire to be at the beck and call of ladies who
wanted unmentionable things done again.

Laverne guffawed. “No, Leslie, I won’t send
you there tonight. Yes, they’re both around somewhere. I need to go
find them. Camilla was pitching a hissy fit earlier about some
fitting not being quite right.” She moved away, her mind already
occupied with other things from the look of her expression. “Later,
Leslie.”

Leslie gave a sigh of relief that he wasn’t
being summoned to the bowels of hell and glanced at his watch.
Oliver should be arriving any time, as well as all of his friends.
They’d all bought tickets tonight in support of the fashion show to
support the Franklin Moore Trust for Homeless LGBTQ Youth, a
charity Laverne patronized. He took one last look around the room
and nodded in satisfaction. Everything looked superb and he was
ready to rock and roll.

“Bring it on,” he muttered. “Let’s show my
boyfriend how we do things in the fashion industry.”

* * *

Oliver sat in his chair at the back of the
room and watched the crowd around him swell and surge as people
greeted each other. It was loud and busy, and he was totally out of
his comfort zone. He took another large drink of his red wine and
glanced around anxiously. Leslie had promised him he’d be back in
fifteen minutes and now it was more like forty-five. The show had
been a huge success, the runway models perfection personified and
Oliver had to say, he could see a few more suits being purchased
based on what he’d seen tonight. He grinned at the thought of what
Katie would say about that. She’d been supposed to be here tonight,
too, but she’d gotten stuck in Bristol when her plane was delayed
and been spitting mad that she wouldn’t be there to support
him.

He had to admit that putting a suit to go on
the town for the first time in a long while had given him a
newfound confidence. Leslie had picked it out, fussing through his
‘dressing room’ (which was simply his spare room kitted with
wall–to-wall closing cupboards) and exclaiming in delight every
time he found a Debussy. He’d also been delighted when Oliver had
pushed him into one of the large cupboards, pulled the door closed
and given him a blow job right there.

The deep dove grey suit with the
blue-and-white-striped shirt and electric blue silk tie was one of
Oliver’s favourites and wearing it with a paisley scarf in the top
pocket tonight, it looked very dashing, indeed. Leslie had
certainly liked it from the smouldering look in his eyes when he’d
seen Oliver all dressed up and given him a murmured promise to peel
it off him later.

Leslie’s friends were über cool. They were
all out in force tonight and seemed to be taking turns to check
upon him. Gideon and Eddie had wandered over earlier and chatted,
and he’d waved at Taylor and Draven as they walked past. It looked
like all Leslie’s housemates were dutifully love-birded up with
only the one stray member of the flock to find his mate. Oliver
wished he could say he was Leslie’s forever, but his old
insecurities were kicking in. Public gatherings like this one
certainly triggered his vulnerabilities. However, so far everyone
had practically ignored him, apart from a careless glance or quick
hello, and he was grateful for that. Perhaps his career as an ex-
model and porn star wasn’t quite as widely known as it used to
be.