Page 53 of Salt Magic, Skin Magic
“You don’t want to know,” John said, primly.
Deliberately aggravating, Thornby was sure. “I hope you realise I shall hound you until you tell me,” he said. “Can I see it?”
“What for?” John sounded suspicious.
“If it’s distressing itself trying to help me, then I should like to thank it.”
“Oh.”
The stunned look on John’s face actually made him smile. “One must always be a gentleman, John, no matter the circumstances.”
John closed his eyes for a moment, shaking his head in disbelief. When he opened them again, they were smiling, and the furrow between his brows was not so deep.
“Here then,” he said, and pulled the thing from his pocket. It was coiled tight; pale brown, fine-grained leather with those ancient-looking runes written upon it. Thornby wondered that it did not come unravelled in John’s pocket, but perhaps it did not care to.
He touched it with the tip of his finger. “Well, Mr Spancel, you have my thanks.” He felt rather a fool, now it had come to it, but at least John was smiling again. “Did it understand?”
John gave a noncommittal shrug.
“Can’t you tell what it’s thinking?” Thornby said.
“To tell the truth, it’s rather afraid. Don’t take that personally, though. It’s had a hard life. It’s afraid of everyone but me.”
“I hope it knows I wouldn’t hurt it.” Thornby gave it a wary stroke, wondering again what it was made from. “Are any of your materials afraid of you?”
“Of course not.” John frowned, perhaps trying to imagine such a peculiar state of affairs. “They like magic. Without it, they wouldn’t—well, they’re not exactly alive, but they wouldn’t feel anything.”
“But people are afraid of you. Sometimes. I nearly was, earlier. Knowing what you’d done to Father.”
John, who had been putting the spancel back in his pocket, looked up, the pain on his face so naked that Thornby put out a hand to wipe it away. He stroked John’s jawline with a finger, and ran his thumb over his mouth.
“Mr Blake, you may be one of the most alarming men I have met, but I think you’re the kindest as well. I amnotafraid of you. And to prove it, I shall take some liberties with you. Possibly some no one has dared take before. If you aren’t too tired.” He pulled John down onto the bed and began to take his clothes off. “Hmm, here’s a part of you that’s waking up. The rest of you can go to sleep, if you like.”
“Soren, the pins. I’ve done no magic for hours, apart from the light.”
“All right then, get on.”
Thornby sat back, fretful at the delay, while John pulled pins out of his pocket and did what he had to do. John didn’t get up. He handed each charged pin to Thornby, who leaned over the side of the bed and stood them on the carpet. They felt perfectly ordinary, cold and lifeless, but they balanced on their points in that impossible, gravity-defying way.
Ah, but John was good to kiss. He kissed with utter conviction, with nothing held back. He kissed as if he would, through sheer force of will, somehow transcend corporeality and kiss Thornby’s very soul—and he had not yet even removed his cravat. Thornby pulled his own nightshirt off with one quick movement, knelt astride him, and began to take Mr Blake apart, starting with his clothes.
Matters proceeded until Thornby was kneeling between John’s legs, mouth tight around his cock. After a while, John tried to sit up, to pull him down on top of him. Thornby shook his head.
“No, Mr Blake. Tonight, I’m in charge. I am an earl, you know. I have all kinds of rights over you. So, lie back and shut up. Yes?”
John obeyed. Probably not something that happened very often. Thornby smiled a little around his cock. Better make the most of it.
He was, as he had told John, quite experienced in fucking men. Certainly, he was experienced enough to know that if John had tried it and not enjoyed it, it would not do to go too far, too fast. So, he would be gentle; he would tease, and lick, and caress and press. He would take his lead from John, but there would likely be no fucking—not tonight, anyway. But perhaps he would get a finger up that very tempting arsehole.
So, he sucked John’s cock until he could taste sweet liquid, and John was groaning, head thrown back, the cords of his neck standing out. Then, still sucking, Thornby began to caress John’s thighs, balls, and the area between balls and arse. He wet his fingers and began to trail them around John’s arsehole.
“Can I touch you here?”
“I thought you were in charge?”
Thornby rubbed a fingertip down the dark pucker, quite gently, but firmly enough not to tickle. He repeated the action. John’s breathing stuttered. His cock was very hard. Thornby made sure everything was really wet and slipped his index finger inside, up to the first joint.
John shifted a little on the bed; almost a flinch, and his cock softened slightly. Thornby withdrew his finger.
