Men of London 06 - Flying Solo (13 page)

Gibson moaned softly into his mouth, a sound that made Maxwell’s skin prickle with heat and his cock perk up from its semi-hard state to full flagpole.

“It’s not that I don’t want you,” Maxwell murmured in between sloppy, hot kisses. “I want you too much. I was in danger of flaring out, like the Human Torch.”

“Hmmm.” Gibson’s tongue licked Maxwell’s top lip. “I can feel how hot you are. Can I take your clothes off now? Cool you down?”

“Be my guest.” Maxwell had already started pulling Gibson’s shirt over his head and at the sight of pert little nipples and a smooth, toned chest he closed his eyes and imagined he was in heaven.

The impatient removal of clothes led to a few chuckles, soft sighs and breaths of awe as each man revealed the other. By the time they were both naked, any reservations Maxwell had disappeared, and it was all he could do not to jump on top of Gibson and slide into home base. His eyes ran greedily over the now supine man on the top of the bed, lying with arms raised above his head, legs splayed apart wantonly, cheeks flushed and eyes hooded with desire.

For him.

“God, Gibson,” he whispered. “You are one gorgeous man.”

Gibson’s long, swollen cock laid against his belly as he stroked himself lazily, a sly smile on his face indicating he had no doubt as to what he was doing to Maxwell. Gibson’s mouth was reddened, his cheeks pink where Maxwell’s goatee had rubbed his pale skin.

“So are you. Come over here. I want you in my mouth and I need to taste that scorpion. I want to you to fuck me so hard I lose my breath.” He frowned. “We are doing that tonight I take it?”

Maxwell nodded, the sight on the bed stealing his breath. “Definitely.”

He crawled onto the bed, straddling Gibson’s thighs then bent down to take more kisses from the sweet, willing mouth seeking his. Their cocks pressed together, skin met skin, heated and damp, and Maxwell held Gibson’s hands above his head as Maxwell plundered a hot, wet cavern of tongue and lips.

Gibson ground against him, pushing his hips upwards and making soft, breathy noises. His scent stole into Maxwell’s nostrils like fragranced steam in a sauna. Gibson pulled away his mouth, leaving Maxwell needy and disappointed.

“Come up here,” Gibson gasped as he tugged at Maxwell’s hips. “I want what you have. Feed it to me.”

Maxwell needed no urging and he scooted up to straddle Gibson’s chest, still holding his wrists prisoner, and then slowly, teasingly, painted his lips with the wet tip of his cock. Gibson’s mouth opened as he tried to take him in. Each time Maxwell moved back, until a deep, unhappy growl from his lover made his spine tingle.

“Stop teasing me, arsehole.” Gibson’s body writhed beneath Maxwell’s. “I need you.” The plea was cut off as Maxwell pushed himself in between those swollen, pink lips and Gibson smiled around him as he took Maxwell in. His eyes closed in bliss and Maxwell could only watch in hunger and a sense of awe as his most sensitive part disappeared in and out of Gibson’s talented lips.

He tried not to thrust too deep, not wanting to take liberties, but when Gibson did one particularly deep suck, causing his cheeks to hollow, Maxwell cried out, letting go of Gibson’s wrists and flattening his hands against the wall instead. Gibson obviously had no qualms about Maxwell fucking his mouth; his now free hands immediately gripped Maxwell’s hips and began pulling him forward, taking him deeper and deeper until Maxwell could take no ore. He wanted to come inside Gibson.

He uttered a throaty growl and pulled out, looking down at a wild-eyed, spunk-smeared Gibson as he panted and recovered his breath.

“Where’s your lube and condoms?” Maxwell managed to say.

Gibson reached under the pillow next to him and shoved a tube and a condom into Maxwell’s hand. Maxwell’s hands trembled as he sheathed himself. The lube he opened, rubbing it over his dick, wincing as he did so because he knew the slightest touch was going to set him off.

“Do you want me on my knees?” Gibson panted. “I don’t mind how you take me.”

“I want you face to face.” Maxwell pushed Gibson’s legs apart and dribbled the lube over his hole. “I need to kiss you while I’m in you.”

As he prepared the wriggling, moaning man beneath him, both kissing and twisting fingers inside him, Maxwell acknowledged this was the closest he’d been emotionally to another man. Gibson was everything he’d ever wanted.

“Enough prep already,” Gibson gasped. “Do me, for God’s sake.”

Sliding inside a tight, heated channel, hearing Gibson’s cries of both pain and pleasure, feeling his muscles tighten around him as Maxwell gained momentum and thrust in a paroxysm of want and lust—it was as if Maxwell had been waiting for this moment all his life.

For this intimate act, with this man.

Maxwell struggled to control himself from coming too soon, and he damped down the rising emotions in his body making him want to blurt out stupid things too soon. Cheesy, sentimental things like, ‘I want to keep you forever. Please don’t ever go away.’ And, ‘I think I’ve been waiting for you all my life.’

The dual act of fucking Gibson’s mouth with his tongue and being inside him was almost more than Maxwell could bear. The smell of sex permeating the room together with the smell of sweat, the sound of their flesh slapping together and the overwhelming pleasure in his groin—Maxwell fell long and hard when he came, jettisoning into the condom with a strangled grunt. A prickling sensation flooded his skin, and there was an exquisite tightness in his groin and backside as he clenched muscles already aching from his exertion.

Gibson gave a soft cry as Maxwell collapsed on top of him and his hand moved faster as he pleasured himself, something he’d been busy doing while Maxwell was ploughing into him.

“No, let me,” Maxwell gasped as he pushed those frantic hands away. He slid down and sucked Gibson’s pretty cock in, sucking hard and teasing his balls and taint as he did so. Gibson’s hands clenched the sheets as he muttered expletives and curses and entreaties for Maxwell to finish him, take him deep.

When Gibson cried out he was close, Maxwell moved off and watched as Gibson’s spunk covered Maxwell’s belly and chest. When Gibson was spent, Maxwell licked his cock clean, and then crawled up to lie beside his lover.

The two men lay replete in silence for a while, both getting their breath back. Maxwell turned to lie on his side and watch Gibson, who looked as if he was dozing. Maxwell wasn’t sure what to do next. Was he expected to stay? Should he leave? He knew they’d agreed to date but how far was that being taken?

“I feel you watching me,” Gibson murmured, opening his eyes. His hand came out to gently caress Maxwell’s sweaty chest. “You’re wondering what happens next, aren’t you?”

He turned on his side to face Maxwell. Gibson’s face softened. “We crawl under the covers and get some sleep,” he whispered. “In the morning, maybe I’ll get to taste your scorpion like I wanted to. We can go to breakfast at this little roadside cafe down the road makes the best hash browns. Then maybe we can come back here and
I
can fuck
you
.” He swung his legs off the bed and stood up, motioning to Maxwell to do the same. Gibson drew back the duvet, wrinkling his nose at the mess on the top then motioned to Maxwell to get back in bed. Once they were both in, he drew the cover over them both and snuggled into Maxwell’s side, resting his head in the crook of his shoulder.

“This okay?” he asked sleepily.

Maxwell couldn’t answer. The simple and unexpected pleasure of having Gibson’s warm body snuggled next to him like a warm puppy was playing havoc with his vocal chords. Instead, he tightened his arm around him, placed a soft kiss on the blond hair tickling his nose and settled into sleep.

“Sooooo…” Then “Soooo,” even louder again. Finally, “Hey, dick breath!”

Gibson looked up in irritation from his workstation to see Jack staring at him, contemplation on his face. “What? You realise you interrupted me at a critical moment when I’m drawing? What the hell is so important?” He had a bit of headache and wasn’t in the best of moods.

“When do I get to meet Maxwell?” Jack leaned back in his chair, closed his laptop and slid his feet onto his desk. He slid a piece of gum into his mouth and chewed.

Gibson’s temper flared. “You interrupt me to ask me that? Jack, what the hell is wrong with you?”

Jack chewed noisily, knowing how much it annoyed Gibson. His friend had a thing for pushing him lately on the subject of Max. “I want to meet the guy,” Jack whined, then popped a bubble. “I mean, you’ve been seeing him ages now and I still haven’t met the dude.” He squinted fiercely. “Has the tiny Spaniard met him yet? Because, if he has, I’m challenging him to a duel. I’m your
best
best friend so I get to see this Maxwell dude first.”

Gibson rolled his eyes and huffed out a breath. “No, Cruz hasn’t met him. He only saw him at the club the night we met. But he and Craig have gone to South America now on a backpacking trip and I have no idea when they’ll return. Some sort of sabbatical,” he said gloomily. He missed Cruz but they texted every now and then when Cruz remembered to keep in touch.

“And the reason you haven’t seen Max yet is because we normally come here when you’re flat-out asleep in bed, and you don’t get up until like, eleven o’clock in the morning, and by then he’s gone. And his work roster is crazy so to be honest, I haven’t even seen him much either.” Gibson scowled, remembering their last fight about that specific subject.

He and Max were into their fifth week of ‘seeing each other’ and in that time, they’d probably been together less than the number of fingers he had.

Jack chuckled. “Oh yeah, I remember the fight you two had on the phone. You were like a little spitting kitten. Very entertaining to watch, I have to say.”

Gibson grinned wryly. Yes, it had caused one bitch of an argument when Gibson had pitched a hissy fit. Gibson hadn’t thought he was getting as many happy times as he should with a dedicated ‘boyfriend’ and it had royally pissed him off. He enjoyed his alone time, but in all honesty, he’d come to depend on Max’s solid presence, his warmth and humour and his sexy body. He never thought he’d have admitted that fact. The matter had resolved itself a few days later after they’d realised they were both being wankers. The make-up sex had been awesome.

Gibson had even managed to meet Oliver Brown and his spitfire of a boyfriend Leslie a couple of times. Gibson had been awestruck at the thought of meeting
the
Nicky Starr. He’d hardly been able to get a word out, and been so tongue tied that Leslie had roared with laughter and whispered to him that Oliver was just an ordinary man, and to ‘breathe, honey, breathe.’

“Where is Maxwell today then?” Jack popped another bubble.

Gibson gritted his teeth, wanting to poke his eye out with his shading pencil. “Probably up over the sea, somewhere,” he muttered. “Flirting with a passenger.”

He’d heard all about the stories of Max’s past airline antics—the layovers with call boys on tap for discreet hotel visits, the quick shags in toilets and blowjobs in the less-populated sections of the aircraft. Gibson had even seen Max’s
Sexcella
worksheet. He’d been playing a game on Max’s laptop, seen the sheet, and with no respect for his man’s privacy, he’d taken a peek. He’d been amused at what he’d found.

When Max had found Gibson ogling over the varying attributes of the men he’d slept with over the years, he’d quickly shut it down and moaned at him for his invasion of privacy while hastily telling him there’d been no additions since meeting Gibson.

Max’s ire hadn’t lasted long; honestly, all Gibson had to do was kiss him to shut him up and he was a goner. Gibson smirked at the fact he
did
have the power. And when he licked long slow trails down Max’s scorpion tattoo…it drove the man crazy with lust.

“Dirty little bugger,” Jack chuckled. “What are you thinking about with that look on your face?”

Gibson waved his pencil. “None of your beeswax.” He hunched over his laptop, back in the land of
Camp Queen
and Phoenix.

“Sooo…”

Gibson hurled his box of paperclips at Jack on the other side of the room—it was a small room, only big enough for the two desks—and swore, “Hell, Jack, what now?”

Jack blew another gum bubble as he frowned. “You have this nasty little imp temper,” he mused. “You look all sweet and tiny but inside you’re nothing but an itsy, bitsy demon child.”

Despite his impatience at his friend’s interruptions, Gibson’s mouth curved in an unwilling smile. Max had said much the same thing last week when Gibson had chucked a pair of highlighters at him. Max had made the comment about Gibson being like a cupcake with vanilla icing: sweet and pretty. Gibson thought it had emasculated him so he’d tossed his stationery. After the highlighter had hit Max on the cheek, Gibson had been relegated to being a spicy devil cake with a forked tongue. He preferred that description.

“Beth wants to cook dinner for us all here,” Jack said with an injured tone. “Maybe you can ask Mr High Flyer when he’s available for it.”

Gibson sighed. “Fine, I’ll ask him when I see him. He’s flying out tonight and only back the day after. He has a layover in Venice.”