Soaked

A butler and his gentleman seek respite from a demanding morning.

It was very early, only a little after dawn. Don was only awake because it had been raining so heavily the night previous, and still was.

The raindrops were coming down in such fat, heavy drops that it almost sounded like hail when it hit the roof tiles, and he could hear it gushing in the gutters and pouring down onto the stone, too.

“You ought return to bed,” murmured Mead in his ear, even as he pushed Don over at the waist, Don’s hands gripping the edge of the bath. Mead’s body was hot against his — he was already dressed for the day, of course, but had unbuttoned his trousers, and his cock slid into the tight channel between Don’s pressed together thighs, and against Don’s own cock, too. “You’re exhausted — you look dead on your feet.”

“I don’t feel dead when you touch me,” mumbled Don, and his yawn stuttered when Mead snapped his hips forward and made him quietly moan his back arching. He pressed his body up against Mead’s chest and his belly, wished they could be skin to skin, wished he could take the whole of Mead to bed with him to keep him warm and lull him off to sleep.

“Flattery will get you everywhere with me, you know,” said Mead, “but I’m afraid you remain at the mercy of your body.”

“Can’t you bring it in line, Victor?”

“I do try my best,” said Mead, and pressed a kiss to the back of Don’s shoulder before beginning to rock his hips. “But without sleep, sir, my powers are limited.” His cock, fat and heavy and the source of rather a few good things, ground slickly against Don’s own as Mead thrust between his thighs, and Don squeezed his legs as tightly as he could, the better to pleasure him.

His skin was soaked with sweat, no doubt as wet as the stone outside, and Mead hushed him quietly, kept layering hot, open-mouthed kisses over the backs of his shoulder, his neck. Don’s skin was tingling, and he gave himself over to the weight of Mead’s body over his, Mead’s strength holding him up, Mead’s heat, his strength, his gentle hands.

He whined when he came, a soft and sharp sound and Mead said, “There you are, sir,” and fucked his cock between Don’s arse cheeks instead — he didn’t fuck him properly, didn’t sink inside him like Don ached for him to do, but he pressed Don’s buttocks together and thrust between them ’til he spattered hot over Don’s lower back.

“I wish you could come back to bed with me,” Don mumbled as Mead picked up a cold washcloth and ran it over his body, made him shiver with its cool wetness, the silent command of Mead’s hands as he moved Don’s body one way and then the other.

“You echo desires I have myself,” said Mead. “Unfortunately, I am to serve as butler today, not as bedwarmer.”

Don caught his wrist before he could run the cloth over his back. “Leave it. Rub it in. I’ll sleep with your mark on me.”

“You need my mark on you to remember me?” asked Mead quietly, but he rubbed in the wetness with the palm of his hand, a slow, firm movement of a hard and calloused palm.

“No,” said Don. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want it. I want you, after all. You’re a butler every day. Don’t you ever want a change? Just want to stay with me?”

Mead tipped his chin up, and brushed their lips against one another. There was a soft look in his eyes, a warmth there, that made Don want to melt in them.

“Back to bed with you,” he said. “I’ll tell the household you’re ill and see if I can’t bring you your breakfast myself.”

Don nodded reluctantly, and let Mead gently herd him back to his bed to sleep.