Belle Morte Bites (Belle Morte 4.3)

Jerry: Part Two

Jerry took Gideon to the cloakroom, a small room that branched off from the main area of the club, where coats and jackets and shawls hung from metal racks, and a sturdy desk sat in the middle of the room. Jerry pushed Gideon against the desk and kissed him again, like he was trying to devour him.

"Someone might come in," Gideon said, leaning back.

"Then they'll see that this room is occupied, and they'll leave. They won't care about anything else," Jerry said.

"You've done this before?"

Jerry hesitated. "Never this fast, but . . . there's something about you, Gideon. From the moment I saw you, I knew I had to have you."

"I've just . . . I haven't done this in a long time," Gideon admitted.

He couldn't tell Jerry that it had been ten years – Gideon might have been born in 1820, but he still only looked twenty-one, the age he'd been when he died.

"But you have done it before?" Jerry checked.

Gideon nodded.

Jerry kissed him again, his hand sliding down to where Gideon wanted it the most, and yet he found himself pulling away again, simultaneously torn between desperately wanting this and being afraid to go after it.

"Sorry," he said, scrubbing his palms over his face.

"Hey, don't apologise." Jerry cupped Gideon's face. His fingers were slightly rough, maybe from some kind of manual labour. "We don't have to do this."

"But I want to."

Jerry gave a little nod. "Turn around."

Gideon did, bracing his hands on the desk, a small shiver running over his skin. Jerry ran his hands over Gideon back, and then down to his hips, sliding around to flick open the button on Gideon's trousers. He slipped one hand inside, brushing bare skin, and Gideon closed his eyes.

He'd forgotten how good it felt to be touched.

Gently, Jerry eased Gideon's trousers down, and made a small noise of appreciation. "As perfect as I thought," he said, kissing the back of Gideon's neck.

His mouth was warm and soft, and the heat of his body pressed against Gideon, and his breath ruffled the hair that curled over Gideon's ear.

Gideon hadn't realised just how much he needed this until it was happening. He waited, listening for the rustle of Jerry's clothing, but it didn't come. Instead, he felt the careful pressure of Jerry's fingers, stroking him before slowly pushing inside, and he hissed between clenched teeth, a sound that Jerry echoed.

Jerry gently pumped his fingers, leaning over Gideon, his chest against Gideon's back, his breath warm on Gideon's neck as he pushed him closer and closer to that moment of release.

"Let go for me," he whispered, his fingers moving and moving until Gideon broke apart, slumping over the desk with a deep, desperate groan.

Jerry kept one hand on the back of his neck, as if he needed that physical contact.

As the blissful aftershocks faded, Gideon cracked his eyes open. He pushed off the desk and faced Jerry, who was looking extremely pleased with himself.

He was also still fully clothed, and Gideon frowned, confused.

"I thought you wanted to . . ." He vaguely gestured.

"I wanted to make you come, and I did," Jerry said, smiling smugly.

"But you didn't."

Jerry glanced down at himself. "Well, no, but that's okay."