Page 73 of Love Beneath the Guillotine
“Oh, Ange.” Henry’s voice carried such a sharp shard of tender horror that it just about split Léon’s heart in two.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to do. I tried…” His words were constricted, his throat tight with another wave of tears. He leaned his head back against the wall, squeezing his eyes shut against the first drops that coursed down his cheek regardless, some unbearable mix of sorrow, and relief, and grief for all of it. For the trial and the last few awful days, and now he was here, with Henry, and he couldn't take any more of it. His lungs screamed for air, but he kept very still, willing the emotions to go—to leave him in some peace. Willing Henry to leave and let him cry and have done with the lot of it.
“Ange?”
Henry’s hand on his cheek, his palm by his very lips, and Léon wanted to kiss it. He turned his head, eyes still closed, lips brushing that dear skin, but he dare not kiss him.
“For me?” How could Henry’s voice sound so calm? So calm in the storm inside Léon, in the tower, all about the city and the whole ridiculous country, the lot of them screaming for blood. Henry’s voice in the middle of it all, like an anchor, when he was so close to being dashed to pieces.
Henry’s thumb ran across Léon’s cheekbone, firming his grip, the tips of his long fingers sinking into the hair at the back of his neck. That voice, so soft and calm. “I need to know.”
Léon shook his head, barely perceptible in the meagre light, and a small whimper was the only sound he could form. A tear stole hot and stinging from beneath his long eyelashes. Down his cheek. Down and down, slowly, until it was caught by soft lips and kissed away.
He leaned into those warm lips. A shiver trailed down his neck, and his body turned limp. He felt Henry’s other hand press to his cheek. Felt another kiss, a little closer to his lips. Then Henry kissed him full on the mouth. His lips came gentle, like a dream, and Léon’s met them with equal grace, soft, begging, please, for this to be true. For there to be no mistake, no misunderstanding between them, for the first time since the day they’d met.
“Ange,” Henry whispered, redoubling his grip, kissing him harder, stepping forward, his precious body flush with Léon’s there in that dark, fetid cell. “All this time?”
Léon’s head tilted back with the tingle of the kiss that moved to his neck. “Yes,” he whispered. “Henri…” His name broke out of Léon like a prayer. A plea to pause the moment, because Léon was sure, if he opened his eyes, even for one second, the lot would shimmer and dissipate, like a mirage on a hot day, nosubstance, no solidity, barely even a memory of the apparition he held so dear.
Kisses on his lips, and the words laughed out on a beautiful breath, “I never thought I had a chance with you.”
Léon’s eyes fluttered open and met Henry’s, smiling, sparkling. Only now did Léon feel the shake of Henry’s hand, the tremble in his chest. He was as nervous as Léon was. “Do you mean it?”
“Yes. God, yes. Why do you think I came to you, of all people?” Another kiss, shutting off any response he might have made, then, “Ange, I’m obsessed with you. I’ve been obsessed with you since the night we met.”
Henry’s thigh slid between Léon’s, his other thigh enclosing one leg, his hips grinding into Léon. His tongue lashed out, and Léon opened his mouth to meet it. He wanted to devour him. To eat him whole. And so he would. Just as soon as they escaped. He pulled back, as much as he could with his back pressed into the hard stone of the prison wall. “You should probably unchain me.”
A flash of Henry’s sharp eyes ran to the hooks on the wall that held Léon’s arms out long, tightly suspended. “Three hours till they come?”
On an urgent nod, “Even less now.”
“Huh.” Something wicked came over Henry’s face then. A glint of moonlight hit his smile with a flash of bright white, and a pulse of excitement sparked in Léon’s brain and body. Henry didn’t unchain him. Henry pressed both hands to Léon’s chest, ran them up and over his shoulders, and out along his muscular arms, setting every nerve in Léon’s skin to taut attention, until his hands found Léon’s, and he curled his fingers over them, helpless in their binds. “You’re beautiful.” Henry tilted his head and sank his teeth into Léon’s neck.
“Oh, God,” Léon gasped out before he caught himself—caught the sound of his own desperate cry ricocheting off the dank walls. “Come on,” he pleaded, barely audible now, well aware of the press of Henry’s hip against his hardening dick. “We need to go.”
But Henry’s hands had drifted down to his waist. “Do you know how much I’ve wanted your body, Léon?” He slipped a hand beneath Léon’s shirt, running it over his stomach, his chest, right up to his shoulder, taking the fabric with him, fingers curling into Léon’s flesh, his other hand squeezing his waist. Head tilting, he took the other side of Léon’s neck, sucking at the skin as though Léon’s flesh was meat on the bone and he was starving.
Léon’s dick was full and firm now, straining against his breeches, pushed hard into Henry as his pelvis rolled forward, grinding into him. Fingers slid beneath Léon’s chin, lifting it, and Henry’s lips kissed a trail down his neck, down, down, to his Adam’s apple, and that same firm suction caressed him, made his hips jump forward, until Henry let out a rakish laugh, then licked, all the way up the soft flesh of his throat, over his chin, and slipped his tongue back into his mouth. Léon met it with equal fervour. Henry grinned against his lips, and Léon took his lower lip between his teeth and pulled.
The fingers that wrapped firm around Léon’s cock forced him to let Henry’s lip escape with the gasp that ripped out of him.
“Fuck me,” Henry breathed, the heat of lust ghosting across Léon’s cheek. “You are one pretty boy.”
Why did those words just about turn Léon’s legs to pulp? He shuddered out something approaching a whine, closing his eyes and sinking into the sensation of Henry’s firm stroke.
“You wanted me?” Léon begged. “That whole time?”
“Since I saw you, Ange. Since I first laid eyes on you.” Sharp teeth against his neck, the words like fire on the shell of his ear.“I took one look at you, and I thought to myself, I’m not going to be satisfied until I fuck that pretty boy raw.”
Léon’s mouth dropped open. What the fuck was happening? Léon was an executioner. He was a killer. He was all the things strong and brave that he’d always needed to be to survive, but in Henry’s hands, everything,everything, drifted away. He was beautiful and desired, like he never thought he could let himself be. Every word that drifted from Henry’s gorgeous mouth, on his chest now, on his nipple, and he bit it, andoh fuck!
“I don’t know how I knew, but I knew…” Henry dropped to his knees, his hands working the fastening of Léon’s breeches. “You have the most beautiful soul, Ange. You have the most gorgeous body.” Tongue tracing up his belly so his back arched against the rough stone. “You have the most beautiful…” He felt Henry’s breath, cool on the trail his tongue had left, tense with anticipation. Two strong hands ripped his pants open, Léon’s cock sprang free, and Henry let out a ravenous groan that strangled the words from him. He kissed the crown of Léon’s dick right on the edge of the ridge, his warm lips encompassing almost half his cock, a flicker of his tongue making Léon desperate for more.
Léon’s hands curled around his chains with a jangle, and Henry’s eyes followed the sound, even as his lips remained. He let out a soft chuckle, heated, in the back of his throat. “Look at you,” he whispered. He kissed the centre of his dick, and it thrust forward desperately. “All done up for me. Such a pretty, pretty boy.”
“Henri, please.” Some drowning spark of intelligence screamed at Léon that they needed to go—that people would soon wake, intent on burning the flesh of this beautiful man to a crisp.
But Henry’s tongue licked its way, from the base of his shaft to the slit, his head rolling back, tongue out to enjoy the taste of him. He stared up, fire in his eyes. “Did I hear you beg?”
