He hadn’t thought he’d feel self-conscious. He’d been undressed amongst other fellows hundreds of times, for sport, and several of his casual encounters while at university had been sufficiently leisurely to involve undressing and the use of a bed. And he’d been naked in front of Edwin before, for goodness’ sake.
Even so. It felt different: larger and smaller, more profound and more intimate. Edwin’s gaze travelled across his body and reached his face, where it stuck. Edwin had removed his trousers, though he was still in his linen drawers. The effect of Edwin’s erection, the flush of it only just visible where it strained against the delicate fabric, was glorious.
“What is it?” said Robin. “What are you thinking?”
Edwin’s precise chess-master voice said, “I’m thinking about anticipation. Imagination. I am—wondering if reality can ever truly match them.”
“Not for safety,” Robin said. Because that was what this was about, wasn’t it? “I wouldn’t do a thing you don’t want, Edwin. I swear it.”
“I know.” Edwin went to the sideboard and retrieved his drink, which he’d only sipped at. He said, eyes once again intent on Robin, “I need to tell you this now because I know myself, and I know once we get started I may be—unfocused.”
“Unfocused?”
“Incoherent,” said Edwin, little more than a breath.
Most of Robin’s self-control turned to hot air in his lungs, desperate to escape. Edwin threw back the drink, an elegant motion that made light play on his bare collarbones. He set the glass down. “I want you to fuck me,” he said. “I want to feel like I can’t get away from it. I want everything you have to give.” He looked surprised to still be whole once the words were out.
Robin said, mildly strangled, “I told you that you were brave.”
“Well?”
“Well—oh. Yes. Yes.”
The bed was unnecessarily large. Robin could nearly have lain sideways on it and had an inch to spare at both head and feet.
It was the perfect size, as it turned out, for laying Edwin Courcey out like a feast and tracing every perfect angle of him, every prominence at ankle or elbow or hip bone that begged to be touched.
And by God, did the man’s body beg. He was the most sensitive partner Robin had ever had. Some men had spots beneath their jaws that drove them wild, or reacted as though a tickle behind the knees was a caress of the prick. For the most part Robin had discovered these by accident, and enjoyed bringing someone pleasure once he knew they were there, but he’d seldom had the chance to use the knowledge during a second encounter.
Edwin seemed composed entirely of sensitive spots. He shivered when touched. His breath hitched. He made soft, broken noises of enjoyment when Robin finally allowed himself to take each of Edwin’s fingers into his mouth, one by one, and suck hungrily on them with pulses of his tongue. It was as though someone had taken a patch of skin that was finely attuned to the drag of fingertips or the teasing brush of lips, and stretched it out thin so that it could cover someone whole. Like bookbinding, Robin thought in a rush of dizzy fondness. Like he could brush his fingers down Edwin’s spine—so he reached out and did it, one finger dancing down over knob after knob—and hope that he would splay open and reveal his secrets.
“Come here,” Edwin murmured, and tugged Robin closer, turning onto his side so that he could drape a leg across Robin’s and push into the side of Robin’s hip, the thickening length of him dragging against Robin’s skin. He tangled his hand in Robin’s hair and used it to command a tilt of Robin’s head so that he could nestle his face where Robin’s neck splayed out into shoulder.
Robin reached across their bodies and filled his hand with the curve of Edwin’s arse, just enjoying the feel of it, as Edwin rocked gently. His own nose was tickled by Edwin’s silky hair. When the hardness of Edwin’s cock became urgent, Robin pulled away so that there was distance between them once more. Edwin let him do it; he was clumsier now, his movements less defined.
Robin thought about what Edwin had done during the first time they’d been together, when Edwin had draped himself over Robin’s shoulder and brought him to climax, then insisted on it fast and hard for himself. He wondered if it was too much of a leap to assume that Edwin’s stubborn self-protectiveness had made him ask for the opposite of what he truly needed, and decided it wasn’t.
Best, though, to ask.
“Edwin. Do you want me to—draw it out? If I can?”