the while, Martin carded a hand through Will’s hair, sometimes so bold as to tentatively hold him in place for a moment but never directing his movement.
“Will.” Martin’s voice sounded ragged. Will looked up and saw Martin gazing down at him, eyes wild. “I—just wanted to tell you I like this. I’m—comfortable.”
Will felt something warm and dangerous slither around in his chest. When he finally mouthed along the hard line of Martin’s erection, the hand in his hair went rigid. Will went motionless, waiting for a sign that this was all right. He raised his eyes and Martin nodded.
He unfastened the falls of Martin’s trousers, waited for a nod, and then lowered them a few inches, watching the flushed length of him spring free. Martin made a choked noise that sounded like begging, and Will kissed the bare skin beneath his navel, the crease where his thigh met his torso, pretty much anywhere he could get his mouth other than the erection that was right in front of him. He remembered how Martin had reacted at first to Will’s hand on his length, and supposed a mouth would not be any easier. Finally, he began mouthing around the base of the shaft, then slowly up, and by the time he had his lips wrapped around the head, Martin’s hands were tight in his hair, his body taut with tension.
“Will,” he ground out. “I need more—please.”
Will pulled off. “You’re doing so well. So good for me.” Martin made a broken gasping sound as Will drew him into his mouth. Will had been telling the truth when he said he liked this—the taste and the feel on his tongue, having to work to take it all in—but he also liked the sense that he was taking care of Martin in this way. He felt Martin’s body go tense, climax approaching, and gentled him through it, feeling like he was giving himself over to something.
Martin’s hands were on his collar, pulling him up. “Let me,” he said, his knuckles brushing the front of Will’s trousers.
Will swore and fumbled his way through opening his trousers, then groaned in relief at the pressure of Martin’s hand.
“I don’t know how you stand it,” Will babbled. “You’re incredible. I was kissing you for ages and touching you everywhere but your cock and you just waited. I’d have gone raving.” He gasped as Martin did something with his thumb. “Do that two more times and I’ll be gone.” And so he was, shaking and swearing into Martin’s shoulder.
This time it was Martin who got them cleaned up, Martin who led them into bed. Somehow the jug of ale even made it into the bed with them.
“It’s not self-restraint,” Martin said after taking a pull from the jug and passing it to Will.
“What isn’t?”
“The . . .” He gestured in the vicinity of his trousers.
Will raised his eyebrows. “Then what is it?”
“I just . . . don’t. I don’t toss myself off.” Martin spoke with a nervous tightness that made Will want to cover his face with kisses. “Is that unusual?”
Will was certain it was highly unusual, if his time living among men his own age in the navy was any indication, but he wasn’t going to say so. “Everybody’s different,” he said. “Why don’t you? You don’t seem to have any difficulty getting hard. Or coming, for that matter. Everything seems to be in, er, top form.”
“I just . . . try to make it go away.”
“Why, though?” Will remembered what Martin had told him about not wanting to want sex. He expected it had something to do with residual shame over wanting to shag men, but didn’t want to assume.
“For one, I don’t . . .” Martin snatched the jug away from Will and took a long drink. “This is enormously stupid.” He swallowed. “When you touch me, my first thought is sometimes that I don’t deserve it. No, shut up, I know you’re going to tell me that I do deserve it, but you’d also tell me I deserved the crown jewels if I had just come back from robbing the royal vault, so your opinion on this matter is not required.”
“Grumpy,” Will said, and bit Martin’s shoulder.
“The other reason, and this is even stupider, is that it doesn’t seem right to think of someone like that without their permission.”
Stunned, Will propped himself onto his elbow and looked down at Martin. “You think it might be . . . unethical . . . to toss yourself