Erotic short. A gentleman is prompted to relax by his butler.
Explicit M/M short between a gentleman and his butler, both of them cis. 1.2k, contains baths, hand jobs, hand kink, tiredness.
Donald was not, by nature, a particularly anxious man.
He didn’t drink too much, didn’t partake of cocaine, didn’t work too hard or loll about with too little to entertain him — more importantly, he had a lot of sex, and while this occasionally resulted in strained muscles, lascivious bruises, and once what he had been quite frightened was a venereal disease and had turned out to be a rash from being buggered too hard into unyielding carpet (his doctor had been less than impressed), he felt it kept him exercised and healthy.
Today, he was anxious.
There were a great many people at the house. Every guest room was full with visitors all but sleeping top and tail, many of them great aunts and aunts and less-than-great uncles and even lesser cousins, not to mention all the other relatives of varying designations.
It was his sister’s wedding, and given that his father wouldn’t be up to the task unless one of them became an expert in practical necromancy overnight, she’d asked him to be his best man.
Unless it was a prelude to some exciting group sex, Donald had never much cared for crowds, and he didn’t like churches.
“You’re shaking,” said Mead as he closed the door behind him.
“Won’t someone come looking for you?” asked Don restlessly. He was shaking, his knees poking out of the salted water and making the rest of it tremor, and sitting in his hot bath water had done nothing to make his sweat feel any less cold on his face.
“I expect so,” said Mead coolly, and Donald watched as he slipped off his jacket, hanging it on the back of the door, before walking smoothly forward.
He hadn’t had sex in four days, and were it not for the fact that tomorrow morning he’d be walking his sister down the corridor of a few thousand relatives he didn’t get on with staring at him and waiting for him to trip over, his cock would probably be hard as diamonds just at the sight of Mead’s magnificent barrel chest, his strong, heavy belly, his big shoulders.
“Where’s Sam?” asked Don.
“All the footmen are stretched thin,” muttered Mead quietly, and Don watched the way he undid his cufflinks, neatly folding back his shirt sleeves on one hand, rolling it back further and further until Don could see the whole of his heavy, hairy arm, his muscled hand. “And not, I’m sure Mr Harrison might regret, in the way he likes.”
“Are you going to tug me off?”
Mead peered down at him, hesitating a moment. “Oh,” he said quietly. “You don’t want me to, sir?”
“Don’t call me sir, Vic,” said Don quietly. “Won’t you?”
“She’ll be off on her honeymoon tomorrow evening,” said Mead, pulling his stool closer to the edge of the bath and leaning his elbows on it, looking down at Don seriously. He didn’t grab for the sponge or the loofah, but began to tug and play through Donald’s hair.
It wasn’t the sort of thing Mead usually did — he was often somewhat brisk and purposeful in touching Don, even when they were having sex, as though everything had to be justified and done by the rules. Don could see Mead was exhausted too, slight bags showing under his eyes.
“Donald,” said Mead softly, and he put his other hand gently on Don’s knee where it stuck out of the water, squeezing it gently before sliding his palm down under the water, tracing the inside of Don’s thigh. It was a smooth, delicate touch, a gentle play of Mead’s strong, meaty palm and fingers, the touch ticklish enough to make Don’s skin sing, and he shivered harder, leaning further back in the bath.
“I do love you, Vic,” said Don. “You know that, don’t you?”
“I do,” said Mead, and squeezed the inside of his thigh. It sufficed in a way a verbal return probably wouldn’t, coming from him.
“Would you ever run away with me?” asked Don.
“No,” said Mead bluntly, and Don laughed breathlessly, surprised by how much the laugh made him relax, how it dragged some of the tension out of his body, and at the same time Mead’s hand wrapped around his half-hard cock, and squeezed.
For all his stern voice, Mead was smirking slightly, and he did look tired, but he looked indulgent, too, and what made Don feel rather uniquely spoilt and really rather lucky was the way Mead’s shoulders had relaxed, the way he’d gone from his ordinarily square steadfastness to something almost akin to familiarity.
“I’m too old to be running anywhere,” said Mead. “What I want is to keep you just here with me, Mr Howard, so that I can look after your every need and desire as best I can. And I flatter myself to say, Mr Howard, I really am a very good butler.”
“You certainly pop my cork, Vic,” mumbled Don, and Mead squeezed tighter, making him hiss sharply, his hips jerking, cock thrusting into the tight channel of Mead’s fist. The water splashed and shifted, and Don was embarrassed by how immediately he felt his sac draw up, felt himself go tightly drawn and tense, felt as though he were on the verge of tears, he wanted the release so badly. “You’re really not old, you know.”
“I’m almost fifty,” said Mead.
“Well, I’m past thirty,” muttered Don. “And my hair is thinning faster than yours. Ah, Vic — ”
“I came up here to see something pretty, Mr Howard,” Mead said coolly, with a sort of crisp acidity that made Don shudder, “aren’t you going to indulge me?”
He whimpered when he came, and it ravaged his body like a storm, cock pulsing, thighs quivering: the whole of his body was wrenched hard by it, and he was aware of the mess in the water but couldn’t bring himself to care when he was so abruptly exhausted that he just wanted to sink under the water like a stone.
“Kiss me,” ordered Mead, and Don leaned clumsily to the edge of the bath, brushing their mouths together.
He knew the answer, but he still asked, “I don’t suppose there’s any way I could just sneak into — ”
“With so many people in the house?” asked Mead lowly. “So many guests, so many visiting servants, to boot?”
“I don’t mind sleeping alone, per se,” muttered Don. “It’s when one doesn’t have the choice to do otherwise that it grates on one, Vic.”
“Soon,” said Mead, pushing the wash jug through the water and managing to catch most of Don’s spend in the movement, presumably with a sort of butler’s magic, and moving to pour it away. “I’ll wash your back.”
“Will you fuck me?” asked Don.
“No,” said Mead.
“Will you let me suck you off?”
“If you earn it.”
Don smiled slightly, tired and overwrought and wanting. “I think you’ve earned it,” he murmured, and sighed as Mead gently pushed him to soak his hair in the water.
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