Song of Oestend (39 page)

Was what he was about to do to Deacon any different?

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259

Yes.

It
was
different. He was sure of it, just as he was sure the Oestend wind would sing through the night. Dean hadn’t cared about humiliating Aren. He’d laughed when Aren asked with some embarrassment the next day if the other men were professors, too. And although Aren had enjoyed the sex, it hadn’t been because they’d gone to any effort to make it good for him. They’d used him for their own pleasure. Any pleasure he’d managed to find was a product of his own body, and his own mind.

What he had planned for Deacon was something else entirely. There would be no

shame involved. He wanted to give pleasure, not take it.

Aren opened the door and led Frances in. As soon as the boy’s eyes landed on Deacon,

he stopped dead in his tracks. Deacon’s back was to them. His muscles were taut and

accentuated by the lamplight. He looked unbelievably erotic tied to the bed, with his long dark hair hanging loose down his back. “Holy Saints,” Frances breathed.

Deacon jumped. “Aren?” he asked, his voice suspicious.

Aren went to him. He climbed onto the bed as he’d done before so he could face Deacon, even though the blindfold prevented him from making eye contact.

“You trust me, right?”

“I trust
you
,” Deacon hissed. “Nobody else.”

“It’s Frances,” Aren said. “And he won’t do anything without my permission.”

“That ain’t the point! I can’t have him see me like this!”

“You
can
. He’s leaving tomorrow. You’re not his boss anymore.”

“What about the other men?” Deacon asked, his teeth clenched.

“Do you really think he’d tell anybody?” Aren asked. “What would he possibly have to

gain by doing such a thing?”

Deacon seemed to think about that for a moment, and Aren saw the tension go out of

him. He sighed. There was still suspicion in his voice when he asked, “Why did you bring him up here?”

“Because he’s going to help me,” Aren said. He put one arm around Deacon’s neck. He

kissed him, and with his other hand, he grazed Deacon’s half-engorged cock. “We’re going to work together,” he whispered as he kissed Deacon again. He ran his fingers over Deacon’s foreskin, causing him to moan.

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“Are you going to let him fuck me?”

“No,” Aren said, and even with the blindfold, he sensed Deacon’s relief. “I might let him do other things, though,” he said. “I might have you do things for him.” Deacon’s breath caught, and Aren continued to stroke his lover’s cock, which was fully erect again. He flicked his tongue over Deacon’s lips. “I think we’ll use your mouth,” Aren said, because he knew it turned Deacon on to be used in that way. “We’ll use our hands.” He nipped at Deacon’s lips.

“I might fuck you,” he said, “or just use my fingers.” Deacon whimpered, straining against the ropes that bound his wrists. “Don’t worry about anything,” Aren said. “Just relax. I’ll make it good. I’ll take care of you. Let me show you something new.” Deacon moaned again, thrusting his hips out, pushing his cock through Aren’s hand. “Do you trust me?” Aren asked again.

Deacon went limp in his bonds, breathing hard, and even before Deacon spoke, Aren

recognised it for what it was—a surrender. “Yes,” Deacon said, and the word came out a groan.

Aren smiled as he kissed his lover one more time. “Oh, honey. We’re going to make you feel so,
so
good!”

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Aren climbed off the bed and quickly stripped out of his clothes. Frances watched him, his eyes occasionally darting over to where Deacon stood, bound to the bed. The boy’s eyes were wide, his cheeks flushed, his pants tented over the bulge at his groin.

Aren went and stood behind him, pushing up against his back, and he heard Frances’

breathing speed up. He looked over Frances’ shoulder at Deacon. “Isn’t he gorgeous?” he asked quietly.

Frances nodded. “Amazing,” he said, his voice thick with arousal.

“Don’t you want to touch him?” Aren asked. Frances nodded again, but he didn’t

move. Aren reached around Frances’ waist and unbuttoned his shirt. The boy held perfectly still as Aren pulled it backwards off his shoulders. On Frances’ right shoulder blade was a familiar symbol, the BarChi brand. It was beginning to heal but still looked tender and pink.

Aren guessed the brand was less than two weeks old.

He reached around Frances again and began to untie the boy’s pants. Frances pushed

his hips out, thrusting his groin towards Aren’s hand, but Aren didn’t caress him. He merely opened the boy’s pants to free his erection. “Take them off,” he said.

Frances hurried to do his bidding, and Aren bit back a laugh at the boy’s eagerness.

When he was naked, Aren stood next to him and whispered in his ear, “You don’t have to let him fuck you.” Frances looked at him in confusion, and Aren smiled. He’d understand when he saw how large Deacon was. “Come on,” Aren said. He took Frances’ hand and led him over to Deacon.

Frances eyed the big man in front of him. His excitement was obvious in his eyes, but there was a cautious wariness there too. He didn’t move. Aren smiled at the boy’s hesitation, but he was glad for it, too. There was no doubt in Aren’s mind that Frances would follow his lead.

Aren stood behind Frances again, allowing his erection to push against France’s small, firm ass. He took Frances’ right wrist and guided his hand up to Deacon’s back.

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Deacon jumped when Frances’ fingertips made contact, and Frances jumped too,

pulling his hand away.

“Shhh,” Aren soothed, taking the boy’s wrist and moving his hand again to Deacon’s

back. “We’re all here for the same thing,” he said. “Nobody needs to be afraid.” He let go of Frances’ wrist, and Frances slowly ran his hand down Deacon’s back, then back up. He traced Deacon’s scars with his fingertips.

Aren watched Frances’ pale hand move on Deacon’s dark skin. As he did, he stroked

Frances’ hip. He kissed the boy’s shoulder and the back of his neck. Aren wanted to find the perfect line between making things good for Frances, too, but not giving more of himself to the boy than he felt he should.

Frances’ hand moved lower. He caressed Deacon’s hip, and Deacon’s breath sped up in

response.

“Do you know who’s touching you?” Aren asked quietly.

“Frances,” Deacon said.

“How can you tell?”

“Your hands are softer.”

Aren smiled. He liked that Deacon knew his touch so well.

He was still behind Frances, and he pushed the boy closer. He pushed him up against

Deacon’s back, and both men moaned. Aren ground against Frances, causing Frances to

grind against Deacon, and all three of them drew breath together.

Aren put his right hand over Frances’ where it lay on Deacon’s hip. He guided it slowly around, across Deacon’s stomach, to Deacon’s thick, hard cock. He wrapped both of their fingers around it, and Deacon gasped.

“Holy Saints, he’s big,” Frances breathed as Aren began to guide his hand up and down Deacon’s shaft. “Now I know why you said what you did.”

Aren kept Frances’ hand moving on Deacon’s cock. “Keep going,” he whispered in

Frances’ ear as he released his grip. “Go around to his front.”

Frances did, climbing around Deacon’s right side and onto the bed in front of him. Aren moved to Deacon’s left side. He could see Frances was still stroking Deacon with one hand.

His other hand caressed Deacon’s side. Deacon’s head was thrown back, his breathing

becoming fast and heavy.

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Frances glanced at Aren before leaning over to touch his tongue to Deacon’s nipple. He looked at Aren again, confirming that what he was doing was acceptable, and Aren smiled at him. It was clearly all the encouragement he needed. He shut his eyes, closing his mouth over Deacon’s nipple, sucking it between his lips as he continued to stroke Deacon’s cock, and Deacon moaned.

Aren ran his right hand down Deacon’s back and between his legs, moving his fingers

slowly down Deacon’s crack. He closed his mouth around Deacon’s other nipple, and was gratified by the sounds it elicited from Deacon. He found Deacon’s entrance. His fingers weren’t oiled, so he didn’t push in, but he massaged Deacon’s rim as he bit lightly at Deacon’s skin.

Deacon’s arms jerked against the ties that bound him, and Aren smiled against

Deacon’s dark flesh. With his left hand, he reached down. Frances was still stroking Deacon, his hand low on the man’s shaft. Aren wrapped his hand around Deacon’s crown, and they stroked together. Deacon whimpered. He tried to thrust his hips, to push into their hands, but he had no leverage, and he fell limp against his ties, moaning as Aren and Frances stroked him. Aren moved up to Deacon’s lips, although it meant removing his other hand from Deacon’s crack. He wrapped his right arm around Deacon’s neck, keeping himself off to one side so he didn’t interfere with what Frances was doing. He flicked his tongue over Deacon’s lower lip, and Deacon’s lips parted. He opened up for Aren, leaning in to the kiss, moaning against Aren’s mouth as Aren kissed him and stroked him, as Frances continued to tease the big man’s nipple. They were all breathing hard. Every moan from Deacon seemed to trigger one from Frances as well. Aren kissed his lover harder, tightening his grip on Deacon’s shaft.

“Aren!” Deacon gasped against Aren’s lips, and Aren knew it was a warning.

Aren released Deacon’s cock, pushing Frances’ hand away from it, too. Frances took his hint, although he continued to caress Deacon’s body as he kissed his chest. Aren pulled back and eyed Deacon’s soft, moist lips. “I think I may have to make you work a bit,” he said to Deacon. “Earn your keep.”

Deacon moaned again. He strained against the rope that held his wrists. “Yes,” he

moaned, his voice a mere whisper. “Aren, please.”

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Aren moved away from him, grabbing Frances as he did, pulling him away from

Deacon, too. Frances looked at him with fevered eyes, his lips moist, his breathing heavy.

Aren guided him to his feet. He stood behind him again, pushing against his back, urging him closer to Deacon. He guided the boy’s hands to the canopy frame above them and Frances took his hint and grabbed hold. Aren pushed harder against Frances’ back, grinding against his backside, granting himself the tiniest bit of release as he did, the first real touch on his own cock. With his right hand, he reached around Frances. He hooked his hand behind Deacon’s head.

Deacon knew what that meant. He opened his mouth, and Aren guided Frances’ cock

into it.

He thought for a minute the boy was going to come right then. Frances cried out. He

tensed, thrusting his hips forwards, thrusting his cock deep into Deacon’s mouth. He froze there, and Aren waited, but then Frances took a deep, shaking breath. “Holy Saints, that feels good,” he breathed.

“Keep going,” Aren said as he released his grip on Deacon’s head and stepped back,

away from Frances. He watched as Frances started to thrust. “Don’t come yet.”

Frances made a sound—not quite confirmation, not quite protest—but he was too lost

in pleasure to do anything else.

Aren went to the bedside table and grabbed the salve. They were getting low, and he

smiled as he thought about having to ask Olsa for more. He spread some on the fingers of one hand and stepped up behind Frances. “Don’t come,” he warned again. Then he slowly pushed his fingers into Frances.

The boy cried out, and Deacon, who seemed as lost in the pleasure he was giving as

Frances was in receiving, moaned in response.

“Aren!” Frances cried, and Aren recognised the desperation in his voice. Aren used his other hand to grab Deacon’s hair, pulling him off Frances’ cock, and both men groaned in frustration. “Not yet,” Aren whispered in Frances’ ear. He moved his fingers in and out while Frances panted and moaned. Aren was careful not to touch the sensitive spot deep inside the boy. He didn’t want to trigger an orgasm. He was only getting Frances ready.

He slowly removed his fingers, and Frances sighed. He was still hanging on to the

frame of the canopy, trying to catch his breath. Aren nudged him gently to the side, and used SONG OF OESTEND

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his hand in Deacon’s hair to turn Deacon’s head towards him, towards his own groin.

Deacon moaned and buried his nose in Aren’s hair.

“Aren,” he said quietly. He put his tongue out, on the base of Aren’s shaft, and licked up to his crown.

“How do you know it’s me?” Aren asked.

“I know the way you smell,” Deacon said. His tongue moved again up Aren’s length. “I

love the way you smell.”

Aren had meant to make Deacon do for him what he’d done for Frances, but his lover’s

words triggered something in him that was more tender. He dropped to his knees and kissed Deacon hard. As he did, he reached down and began to stroke Deacon’s cock. Deacon gasped, arching his back, throwing his head back even though it meant breaking their kiss.

“Aren,” he breathed. “More, more, more…”

“Soon,” Aren said, smiling at Deacon’s impatience. He moved off the bed and went to

stand behind Deacon. He looked up at Frances who was smiling down at him, having finally caught his breath. “You’re going to suck Frances again,” Aren whispered in Deacon’s ear.

“Would you like that?”

“Yes,” Deacon said.

“If I untie one hand, you can use your fingers on him.”

“Yes.”

“And I’m going to use my hands on you.”

Deacon groaned, a sound that came from deep within his chest. “Yes.”

“Frances won’t last long,” Aren whispered. “You don’t get to come when he does.”