Page 71 of When London Snow Falls

The only appropriate response is to kiss him raw like we had done on the platform at Gatwick. This time, there truly is no one around but us. Ben gasps with the suddenness of me, of my burning mouth claiming his as mine. In my arms, he shudders, body taut.

“Mmm,” I manage between kisses. I’m desperate with longing after the days apart, the tease of having Ben so close. I could do a million filthy things to him. I’d love to try, at least. In this room, my plan is to work through the list, till neither one of us is coherent.

Ben grips my jaw, just as hungry. He’s stiff against my hip as he rubs himself on me, eager.

Between the greedy kisses, between the thrum of our bodies reverberating like guitar strings, our urgent fingers fumble with buckles and buttons that don’t easily give way.

Both of us are so desperate that we won’t last long, even so.

“Fucking hell. What sort of belt is this?” I gasp. I stop kissing Ben long enough to release his buckle, yank his jeans and boxers down to reveal his hard-on in all of its fantastic pre-cum glory.

Ben moans as I rub his hardness, leaning his forehead on my shoulder, hanging on to me. Meanwhile, he’s left me with my shirt untucked, jeans unbuttoned.

I catch his jaw to kiss him rough, to kiss him so he can feel what he’s done to me. How he’s gotten under my skin. How can it be like this after only a few weeks of knowing him?

It’s the last real coherent thought I have.

Then, I release my cock with a groan as it reaches for my belly. God, I’ve been hard since forever. I swear since I saw Ben at Arrivals, teased by the vibrations of the train and Ben till Brighton.

Rubbing myself against Ben’s arse, I tease him with my finger. He cries out as I press into him. Every twitch and gasp only spurs me on.

“You want me?” I work him with my fingers. Ben shakes with pleasure.

“God—yes. Fuck, yes. Fuck me. Now.”

My cock takes over where my fingers left off. Spit isn’t the best lube, but it’ll do in a pinch. I pause long enough for a lubricated condom, retrieved from my wallet. He shudders hard and I wrap my arms around him tight. I press and press, till he’s taken me, all of me, and we both sob out at our union.

I press my face into the nape of his neck for a moment, reaching to work his cock as I ride him. Ben presses back, cries out, whimpers and begs. And oh, I want him begging. I want him needy. I want him to know what he does to me.

Caught rough together, I thrust and bite while he bucks and sobs. His skin is intoxicating under my tongue, the want of him. His cock is so hard in my hand. Ruthless, I jerk him without mercy. Fuck without mercy, too.

“Fuck yeah—oh God—oh Charlie—ohhh—you’ll—”

And Ben spasms in my arms. He spurts wildly, all over the gray blanket he’s bent over at the foot of the bed, searing hot as his belt jangles. I keep going till he bucks and cries out, legs shaking.

So I ride him, ride till I sob out too. I come soon after Ben, while he does his best to grip the bed. My hips lock with him, ride him till I can’t see straight, till the room reels, till the sea beyond our window threatens to take us in a king tide.

Fucking Ben is like fucking no other man. It’s wild and impulsive. It’s like he performs on stage—no holding back. He’s so raw.

The best high ever.

Gasping, I collapse on him as we sag onto the bed. I thrust again. Ben groans. I entwine my fingers with his, my chest pressed into his back. I lick the sweat from the nape of his neck.

God, if anyone walked in on us right now, they’d think us a ridiculous sight, Ben still in his leather jacket, me in my wool coat. Too desperate to undress. We’re left with jeans and boxers around our thighs.

When I soften a while later, at last I withdraw from Ben, wanting to stay joined with him as long as I can. We shift and roll together onto the bed. I’m behind him, my arm over him, curled together.

“Fuck, that was hot.” Ben’s drowsy.

“You’re fucking hot.”

He laughs sleepily. I kiss his neck again. Nestled together, we somehow fall asleep like that, comforted in each other.

Chapter Thirty-Three

When we wake before the evening gets on, a bit sticky, we clean up only to end up with another quick tryst, this time in the steam of the shower. Truly, we’ve made ourselves at home in this hotel room and claimed it as ours. But how could I resist the glorious sight of Ben naked under hot water? I did what any reasonable queer man would do and seized the moment. For his part, Ben was all too happy to reciprocate.

After opening Christmas gifts—he gave me posh cologne and I gave him a set of small rainbow skeins of yarn from his wool shop—we head out into a drizzle. Hunger strikes us hard, so we venture out to find a pub dinner. Most restaurants are serving a set menu tonight. The well-dressed are out on the town for the evening. Ben and I have neatened up to smart casual attire, with shirts and nice jeans, polished boots and belts. Neither one of us is the overly fancy sort, but I have to say Ben does clean up nicely with some eyeliner and my yellow gold scarf, which he’s stolen, so I take his in return.

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