“So gorgeous,” he mutters, releasing my fingers. “I used to have this dream where…”
He groans as I grab his cock in my wet hand. “Go on, Ivo,” I urge. “Keep talking.”
He tightens his grip on the steering wheel, the leather creaking under his fingers. “I used to dream about you coming into my bedroom and crawling under the sheets. You’d take my cock in your hand and put it to your lips, and then you’d suck me in.”
“Wow, that’s remarkably not dirty. Come on. Surely you can do better.”
He glares. “Henry, I was fifteen. I quite often didn’t get past the image of my dick in your hand before it was time to clean up.”
I laugh and, fisting his cock, I start to pump it with one hand while lowering the other one to cup his balls gently. “Oh shit,” he whispers.
I chuckle as he shifts, and I push my hand farther into his jeans. They’re open and loose, allowing me to send a finger drifting along his balls and underneath.
“Fuck, Henry,” he says urgently. “Shit. I’m close.”
“Then come. I’ll lick it up.”
“No. Ungh, that’s too dangerous.”
“Pshaw,” I scoff, increasing the speed of my hand. “Don’t be such a ninny.”
Ten minutes later we stand by the side of the road looking at the car and the bonnet which is steaming gently from the impact with a tree.
“Did I, or did I not say that it’s dangerous to come when you’re driving?”
I shake my head. “Please. That’s just you. Everyone else manages it.”
“You sound like you took a straw poll,” he snipes.
I glare at him. “It’s alright for you. You came out with no scratches. I, on the other hand, have a sprained wrist.”
“Boys who jerk other boys off in a moving vehicle never have a happy ending,” he says in my father’s voice.
I shake my head. “Your happy ending was the start of the trouble.” I push him. “And don’t use my father’s voice when talking about sex.”
He laughs and takes my wrist gently in his hand. “Is it okay?” he asks softly, and I smile.
“It’s fine, babe. It’s like a war wound.”
He shakes his head. “Henry, there are no war wounds like this.”
“And still you rain on my parade,” I say in a tone of dramatic dismay.
He laughs and drags me in for a hug. “The RAC will be with us in about an hour. They’ll give us a lift to the hotel, and I’ll book a hire car tomorrow.”
We stand for a minute hugging each other and enjoying the warmth of our bodies until he loosens his hold and looks up at the sky. “Look at the stars.” He sighs. “They’re never as bright in London because of the light pollution.”
I nudge him. “Light pollution and shops and taxis. Don’t throw the baby out with the bathwater.”
“What does that even mean?” he says, instantly looking aggrieved. “What sort of parent does that ever happen to? You’d have to be unbelievably forgetful to misplace your child down a drain. Not to mention they wouldn’t fit down a plughole.” I laugh loudly, and he hugs me tighter. “What was I talking about?”
“The stars,” I prompt.
He grins. “I remember camping out in Afghanistan once.”
I cock my head back to look at him. “You camped in Afghanistan? When I thought about you abroad, I imagined you dodging bullets and slinging down whisky in a dive bar. Not sitting around the campfire eating hot dogs and singing ‘Ging Gang Goolie.’”
“I think you have a perception of my old job that’s been formed by films and Ernest Hemingway. I didn’t do a whole lot of slinging down whisky shots with glowering locals.”
“Well, you weren’t particularly good about dodging bullets either,” I say tartly. “And you’re making the country sound like Butlin’s.”
He chuckles but gives a funny sort of sigh. “Not Butlin’s, but it was incredibly beautiful in places. People forget that in the haze of war. I remember sitting around a campfire talking while the stars seemed to bear down on us. Like the sky was too full to hold them up.”
I hug him close. “I think that’s one of the few times you’ve spoken about that time affectionately.”
He shoots me a startled look as if he’s forgotten I’m here, and something like worry unfurls in my belly. It’s like he’s far away from me all of a sudden. As if he’s transported himself to that faraway country and left his body behind as a shell. I swallow