Page 90 of Love Beneath the Guillotine
“Henri…”
“Say it. Please say it.”
Léon’s head dipped against Henry’s, defeated and exhausted. He wanted so much to speak the words Henry wanted to hear. For Henry. But for himself, too. As though saying it might make it real. “I’ll stay, Henri,” he whispered. “I’ll stay with you in Paris. And, oh—” His words were cut off by a sharp thrust, fingers etching bruises into his flesh, the feel of Henry inside him so protective, so powerful, so dominant over his every fear and every horror. As though Henry could ever fix any of it. “I’ll stay with you.”
“That’s right,” Henry rasped against his ear. “More.”
“You’ll take care of me.”
“I will.”
“And I’ll be yours.”
“Forever, Léon. You’re mine. And I’m yours, and I will never let you go.”
Léon curled his head against Henry’s shoulder, wrapping two grasping arms around him, sinking fingernails into his back, and kissed him. His cock thrust up against Henry as he rode him, Henry never once loosening the hold he had on him now. “Promise me,” Léon whispered.
“I promise. I won’t let you go.”
“Make me,” he whispered. “Make me.”
Henry brought gentle fingers, like a shock, to Léon’s desperately overwrought cock. “Harder, Ange. More.”
Léon rode him faster, thrusting his cock into his hand.
“More. Don’t stop.” Henry forced him with his other hand on his ass, an iron grip of control versus the tender lips that kissed his jaw, the powerful force of his chest clinging to him, the pleasurable invitation of his hand, against the denial of his reality…
Léon closed his eyes. Desperate for him, falling to pieces in his arms, he was a wreck for all the promises, all the smell and sound and romance of Henry. How like a painting on a wall, a view into another world, more beautiful and wonderful than his own. A lovely mirage. A chimera that felt as though it were breathing, alive beneath his grasping fingers.
“Look at me.”
All the ideas, all the world, all the sad imaginings, tumbled into one pin prick of light. Henry.
“This is it,” he said. “We’ve found each other.”
A wide, luminous, and deeply genuine smile broke from Léon. It was mirrored exactly on Henry’s adoring lips.
“Beautiful boy,” he whispered. Léon’s lips quivered, his head tilted back. Henry could feel him, so full and ready in his hand. “You can let go now. I’ve got you.”
A shaking gasp ripped out of Léon, exactly as though he’d been waiting his whole life for Henry to say those words. A burst of cum painted his straining abs, Henry’s chest, warm and sensual, and at the sight of Léon coming, his open lips and his entire body given over to Henry… Henry couldn’t hold on a second longer. He spilled his orgasm deep inside Léon, hot and tight and intolerably pleasurable. His body racked with ecstasy, he clamped down on the gorgeous man that held him so close, arms wrapped around him, both of them lost in each other, all rapture, all promise, all hope, and all fire.
He took Léon’s face and kissed him, and he didn’t ever want to stop. And neither did Léon.
But it was Léon who eventually drew gentle fingertips across Henry’s brow, tracing his mussed and sweaty hair back from his temple. Léon who broke the kiss with a melancholy stroke of fingers over his chest, then settled down next to him.
‘Bereft’ wouldn’t have covered it. Something closed in Léon, locked away, and just as fleetingly as Henry had found it, it was gone. He could sense it in the very air, even as Léon lay beside him, pressing his gentle head to his chest, even as Henry’s arm closed around him, fingertips ghosting across his precious skin.
“Don’t,” he said softly.
Léon shook his head, burying his face in Henry’s chest. He almost expected him to turn to ashes, or water, to sink into the sheets, gone forever. He slid a hand across his waist, where Henry caught it, brought it to his lips to kiss it.
Henry shifted down, rolling onto his side, eye to eye. “Please stay with me.” This time, he didn't mean Paris. He didn’t mean an apartment and a future. He wantedLéonback, free and his, and unburdened by sadness.
Léon knew. His eyes watered, but he blinked it away, made himself smile and said, “Tell me about Paris.”
Henry swept a wheaten lock behind Léon’s ear and, unwilling to upset him by talking about anything else, said, “You’ll love the house. We’ll have it all to ourselves. It’s spacious and pretty and…” He watched Léon’s eyes dull, a distance growing between them, so he changed tack. “And… in Paris, it’s beautiful. Winding streets, down every one, a hidden treasure of a bar or a restaurant. And the people… They’re civilised. Smart and well-dressed and witty and brave.”
Léon smiled, sinking into Henry’s well-worn daydreams.
