Simon and the Christmas Spirit (5 page)

Christopher swallowed hard. This was
not at all how he’d expected the evening to go when he’d entered
the club tonight, but oh, this was a million times better than
winning a few hands of cards.

Simon brought the tip of Christopher’s
cock to his lips and remained that way, poised so close, his breath
warmed the head. The mere sight of that well-bred face an inch away
from kissing his swollen purple tip sent a fresh burst of arousal
through Christopher. He wanted to push forward or beg aloud for
more, but he remained quiet and still, waiting.

At long last, Simon’s
tongue flicked out to dart softly over him, and then he opened his
mouth and slowly, lovingly drew Christopher in.
Comfort and joy
, Christopher
caroled, the words of the old tune repeating foolishly in his mind
as he sank into heat and wetness.

He relaxed back onto his elbows on the
bed, but continued to watch through half-closed eyes the glorious
sight of Simon’s head bobbing up and down on him.

“
That’s lovely,” he
encouraged. “Ah yes. Just that way.”

Simon shot a quick glance up at
Christopher’s face, as if he were not used to a vocal partner. But
Christopher couldn’t help himself. Words were his life, and they
tended to spill out all the time, and especially when he was
enjoying himself.

“
Beautiful. Hold my… Yes!”
For Simon was already cradling his sac and gently fondling his
balls. A moment later, his finger crept up the tender track from
scrotum to arsehole and skated around the rim. Simon certainly knew
what he was doing.

Christopher groaned and arched toward
the source of all pleasure. Sucking heat continued to bathe his
cock, and that bliss was compounded by the penetration of Simon’s
finger into his rear. “Yes. Yesss. You’re good. Give me
more.”

Simon obliged, moving his fist more
briskly and pushing in and out of Christopher’s body with that
clever finger. Christopher would’ve gladly flipped over and offered
his arse, but then, long before he expected it, his climax came
upon him. He cried out and rose off the bed…through the ceiling and
into the atmosphere, it seemed. He rocketed out of himself to
explode in a million sparkling fireworks that showered back down to
earth.

Opening his eyes after that beautiful
vision receded, Christopher looked down at the man who wiped his
mouth with a proper pocket handkerchief. “That was simply
wonderful. Thank you.”

Simon patted his lips before tucking
the handkerchief deep into his jacket pocket. “I’m glad you enjoyed
it,” he said stiffly.

“
Not used to talking much
about the act, are you?” Christopher asked bluntly. “Me, I can’t
seem to stop. I’m afraid I always have something to
say.”

“
Does it ever get you into
trouble?” Simon asked dryly.

“
Oh yes. Quite often, in
fact.” Christopher laughed as he stood, offered a hand, and helped
Simon to his feet. He began to undress him while continuing to
talk, guessing his patter would put stiff Simon more at ease. “Once
I made the mistake of telling a man he was like an ox. I meant it
as a compliment in that he was large and powerful and made his
presence known. Unfortunately, he took it as an insult, as in ‘dumb
as an,’ and plowed a fist into my face without awaiting an
explanation.”

He shook his head ruefully as he
finished removing Simon’s outer layers and helped him take off his
undershirt. “My sore nose reminded me for weeks to think before I
speak. But it’s a lesson I can never seem to retain.”

He’d talked Simon right out of all his
clothing, not giving him any time for anxiety over stripping nude
for a stranger. And now Christopher let his hands roam over the
man’s trim body, feeling every muscle as if he were a sculptor
shaping clay, or a tailor with a brand-new way to take a man’s
measurements. Christopher smiled at the thought.

Simon stiffened underneath his hands,
and not in a pleasured way. “You’re amused. What is it?”

“
Just a bit of whimsy,”
Christopher assured him, stroking the length of Simon’s sides
before clasping hands on Simon’s hips. “I was imagining if tailors
used their hands rather than measuring tape. How would the
gentlemen of the
ton
react to such treatment?” He adopted a nasal upper-crust
tone. “I say, my good man. Is that absolutely
necessary?”

Christopher shifted to the
role of an obsequious tailor. “All the
best
society wears suits measured
strictly by hand these days, but if you’d rather I pulled out my
dusty old measuring tape…” He resumed the gent’s role. “No, no.
That’s quite all right. Carry on.”

Christopher held his arms wide and
took a stance with his feet spread. “And so our gentleman submits
to having every inch of his body stroked and kneaded and caressed,
all in the name of fashion.”

Simon gazed at him in seeming
bafflement for a moment, then said, “Like ‘The Emperor’s New
Clothes.’ That does describe many men—and ladies—of my
acquaintance. They’d wear dead dogs as hats if society decreed it
this year’s style.”

Christopher burst out laughing at
Simon’s unusual descriptive barb. Here was a man he would quite
enjoy spending more time with. Too bad that tonight was probably
all they’d ever have together.

Simon’s smile lighted his pale, pretty
eyes. His best feature, Christopher decided. He stepped forward and
stroked a fingertip over the other man’s eyebrow and around the
socket, making Simon blink. Such long, thick lashes. Christopher
trailed his finger down Simon’s cheek to his mouth, stroking first
the upper, then the plump lower lip until Simon opened. He slipped
his finger in to touch the tip of the other man’s tongue, this
tongue and mouth that had given him such pleasure only minutes
before. Christopher pressed his finger in and out, then leaned in
to replace finger with mouth, giving a long, sucking kiss that made
Simon whimper.

He pulled back enough to whisper, “Now
for your Christmas treat. Lie down on the bed.”

Simon did as he was bid. For a moment,
Christopher merely circled the bed, gazing at him from all angles,
allowing time for Simon’s anticipation to build. The pale-skinned
man flushed rosy at being surveyed in this way. But he didn’t try
to cover his nudity. He lay perfectly still, arms at his sides, and
returned Christopher’s stare without giving an inch.

“
Well, he was clearly a
dunce.”

“
What?” Simon
frowned.

“
That man who only wanted
money from you. What an idiot. He had all
this
in his grasp”—Christopher swept
his hands theatrically, indicating Simon’s body—“and he cared only
for foolish things. The man deserves to die alone of the
pox.”

Simon gave a weak smile. “No. Not
that. He wasn’t utterly horrible. We had some rather lovely
times…”

Christopher shrugged. “You’re a better
man than I. Clever of you to take away the good from it. Even the
worst involvements generally have some good memories.” He’d circled
the bed until he stood at the foot, and now he tickled Simon’s
soles until he jerked away. “There was one man I used to know. A
Russian wrestler. Body like a bear. The gentlest giant you could
ever hope to meet, and an enthusiastic lover.”

Christopher grasped Simon’s left foot
and began to knead and press the heel, the arch and every toe.
“But, like a bear, which might appear cuddly, Yevgeny suddenly
turned into a growling dangerous beast.” He stroked Simon’s foot
before putting it down on the bed, then went to work massaging the
right. “It was quite some time before I could get past the broken
arm enough to recall the good in my memories of him.”

Simon clicked his tongue. “I’m sorry.
That’s terrible and makes my disappointment seem minor.”

Christopher moved around to the side
of the bed and sat. “No. Everyone’s heartbreak is his own. You have
a right to your pain and little choice but to experience it fully
until it finally begins to fade.” He put his hand to his heart as
if declaiming. Perhaps it had come from some production he couldn’t
recall. It didn’t seem the sort of lines he’d invent on his own, no
matter how much he meant it.

“
Will it?” Simon sucked in
a breath as Christopher rubbed a hand up the inside of one leg from
knee to groin. “Actually, I believe the pain may be fading already.
I never imagined when I came here tonight that it would be
possible.”

“
Then I’m glad I have been
of some help to you.” Christopher offered his most sparkling smile,
then lowered his face to Simon’s body.

* * *

Glo-o-o-ria, in excelsis
Deo
. The damnable song wouldn’t stop
ringing in Simon’s head as his own personal angel spread kisses
like honey all over him. Christopher didn’t go right for his cock
and suck him quickly and efficiently as Millard used to. He took
his time, allowing his hands and mouth to roam everywhere: Simon’s
shoulders, arms, sides with tickling little nibbles that made him
squirm, chest, nipples, stomach and—oh Christ in heaven about whom
the song was sung—groin. Simon groaned.

Christopher took his time there,
teasing Simon as he drew near his target then retreating to nip at
hipbones and lick inner thighs. He even kissed a trail down Simon’s
leg and spent time making love to his feet and toes before gliding
back up the other leg. There wasn’t an inch of Simon’s body that
hadn’t been touched, kissed, or licked.

Perhaps one. His cock
ached and wept pearly tears, indignant at being kept waiting. And
at last Christopher bestowed his miracle on it, sucking the length
deep into his hot mouth and wide-open throat. Simon squeezed his
eyes shut at the powerful sensations coursing through him, then
popped them open because he had to
see
the amazing man engulfing his
cock completely.

Dark brown hair fell over
Christopher’s forehead. His hair needed a trim, but Simon liked the
unfashionable length that curled just a bit at the ends. He
imagined it even longer and beginning to curl all over. Then he
pictured Christopher wearing a gown in a pantomime as he said he’d
liked to play. Ah, but no, it was better seeing him naked exactly
as he was. What muscles the man had, no doubt developed from his
acrobatic routines. And how acrobatic his tongue was in the way it
swirled around Simon’s cock. Those juggler’s hands cleverly
manipulated Simon’s cock, balls, and arse with such dexterity, it
left Simon breathless and moaning.

It had been months since he’d last
lain with Millard, the very same day, in fact, that Simon had read
that letter and learned what his lover truly thought of him. Boring
Old Simon. Dull as paint drying. He didn’t feel uninteresting now.
Everything Christopher did seemed new and fresh and unlike anything
he’d felt before. It couldn’t merely be because the man was
talented at lovemaking. There must be something more.

In an instant, as Simon’s climax drew
near, his body tensed and prepared to let go, he realized what that
something more was. He very much liked Christopher, who was
charming, smart and funny.

How was it possible to have such a
strong feeling about a person he’d only just met, a man of low
station and with a tendency, by Christopher’s own admission, toward
confidence tricks and playacting? Simon decided his reaction was
due purely to the pleasure he was receiving. He was in an emotional
state after seeing Millard again and had allowed himself to confuse
pleasure with caring. Then he stopped thinking at all as his peak
overcame him and orgasm shuddered through him. Such bliss, such
joy. Gloria indeed!

Sometimes when the sexual act was
finished, Simon experienced shame. The world’s expectations crept
into the bedroom and destroyed the illusion that what they were
doing was acceptable. The larger world with its laws and moral code
would never forgive or relent. But here and now, as he melted into
the mattress of a strange bed in a strange room, Simon continued to
feel nothing but bliss. He’d enjoyed himself thoroughly. And he
looked forward to hearing more of the man’s blather nearly as much
as he’d enjoyed having Christopher’s mouth on his cock.

Simon stretched luxuriously while
Christopher crawled up to lie beside him, chin propped on hands.
“Happy Christmas,” the man said with a grin.

“
And to you.” Simon
studied Christopher’s features, the bright eyes, straight eyebrows,
and slightly crooked nose. Had that break had something to do with
the Russian bear? “What is your plan for the holiday itself?” he
asked.

“
Spend it with my family.
We are a riotous lot. There will be no great feast, but plenty of
entertainment to dine on. Kyle is a clown. Not on par with me, of
course. My brother Will’s quite the singer, has a voice to rival
the angels. Pap will get drunk and recite Shakespeare, and Mum will
jig if she’s in the mood. She was a Parisian can-can dancer in her
day. You should see my sister Lilah throw knives and Sally turn
cartwheels. And there are the outliers, as well.”

“
Outliers?”

“
Lured in by warmth, I
suspect. And a good show.” Simon could hear the pride and love for
his family in Christopher’s voice and wondered what such a
Christmas day would be like. He had a few friends he might visit,
but Lucinda was on her honeymoon