Men of London 03 - Suit Yourself (9 page)

Leslie’s face lit up and he laughed as he
placed a warm hand on Oliver’s. “Oh God, that is so damn sweet. My
protector. No, sometimes it got a bit hairy balls and I had to make
a swift exit, but I was always careful.” His face fell. “Well,
apart from this one time I already mentioned, when a friend saved
me from a fate worse than death because he can see things. He knew
I was in trouble and came to find me.” He smiled wryly, holding up
his thumb and index finger only slightly apart. “I was this close
to being mauled by a couple of guys who I still think slipped me
something in my drink, but my friend Taylor found me. He’s a
psychic.”

That offhand comment left Oliver curious.
“Really? A real one?” He’d never met someone with that particular
talent before.

Leslie nodded, eyes sparkling. “Oh, yeah. He
saved Eddie’s cousin Luke when he tried to kill himself, and he
helped solve a suicide, and he even helped Draven’s little brother
move onto the other side when he managed to contact him somewhere.”
He flapped a vague hand. “Somewhere in between here and heaven I
suppose, and Draven turned off Jude’s life support and we all hope
he’s gone somewhere really cool to be with his parents. They’re
dead, too.”

Oliver was reeling from all the names and
information thrown at him in this rather surreal conversation.

“Taylor is amazing,” Leslie sighed, a faraway
look in his eyes. “My bestest friend, really. I love Eddie, but
Taylor and I, we just click together. He’s awesome.”

Oliver was beginning to take a distinct
dislike to the paragon of virtue who was Taylor. “Are you and he,
you know, partners?”

Leslie broke into peals of laughter. “Oh no,
we’d kill each other. We’ve jerked each other off now and then and
shared a bed a few times, but that’s about it. God, Draven would
kill me if I touched Taylor. ” He winked at a slightly mollified
Oliver. “And you don’t want to get on Draven’s bad side. He can be
a real grouch and he has wicked self-defence skills and boy, can
that man drive a car.”

Oliver began to wonder if he was man enough
for all these super hero he-men characters that Leslie seemed to
know.

“So what does Eddie do then?” he asked
snarkily. “Toss dwarves, fight rabid wolves, maybe slay a dragon or
two?”

Leslie collapsed into snorts of laughter then
raised a hand to his mouth. “Sorry, you got me snorting again.
You’re the only man who can do that, I swear.” Oliver was gratified
that there was something he could do that the Marvellous Avengers
couldn’t. “Nope, Eddie is a chef. An award-winning one. He just won
the London Chef of the Year award a couple of weeks ago. “

Oliver wanted to roll his eyes, but that
would have been rude. Now he had to contend with super chefs as
well. He couldn’t help feeling a little put out. “Oh, well, that’s
cool I suppose. I—”

Leslie nodded eagerly as he butted in. “He’s
one of the chefs at the restaurant I want to take you to. Eddie’s
boyfriend, Gideon, he owns Galileo’s in Soho. He’s a chef, too,
only he’s just starting to cook again because he got burned in a
fire and lost a couple of his senses. Now that he’s starting to get
his smell and taste buds back, he’s returned to the kitchen again.
You’ll enjoy meeting them, and Galileo’s is like, the best place
ever.” He stopped to take a breath and Oliver saw his chance to
actually participate in the conversation.

“Okay, that sounds like a plan. I can meet
these two friends of yours and try out one of my suits and get a
good meal, too. Win-win situation, I’d say. Any idea when you want
to do this da—this dinner?”

Leslie pulled out his really fancy phone and
flicked through it, muttering to himself. Oliver sighed. He should
have known a guy like Leslie had a heavy social calendar and
probably had to book his events weeks or months in advance. He was
about to tell Leslie that it was fine and to forget dinner if he
was that busy when Leslie waved his phone at him and beamed
brightly.

“How about next Friday, the thirtieth? That’s
only eight days away.” His face fell. “I’d like it to be sooner,
but this weekend I’m working at a fashion show, helping them out
with the setup and organising, and Laverne will have my balls if I
cancel. Plus, I could use the overtime money she’s paying me.”

It seemed a bit far away, but Oliver tamped
down his disappointment at having to wait over a week to see Leslie
again.

“Sure,” he agreed nonchalantly. “It’s not
like I have many other plans. Except, maybe drinks with my friend
Katie. You’ll have to meet her. I think the two of you will get
along really well. She’s crazy, too.” He flashed a grin at Leslie
who grinned back.

“I’d love to meet her, just as long as she
isn’t one of those women who insist on telling me all about her
girly bits. I get enough of that at work, thank you very much.”

“I think I can safely say that’s not
something you have to worry about.”

Oliver was truly gutted when the afternoon
came to an end. He stood up as Leslie collected his belongings,
which had been strewn across the table like debris from a rock fall
and stuffed everything into his fancy man-bag. For a moment, the
two men looked at each other awkwardly. Finally Leslie stepped up
and placed a soft kiss on Oliver’s undamaged cheek and hugged him
tightly.

“Thanks for this afternoon. I really enjoyed
it. I’ll text you the details of where to find Galileo’s, unless
you’d like me to pick you up? I can always borrow the work
car.”

Oliver shook his head. “No, it’s fine, I’ll
tube it. I quite like the trains. All anonymous and no one really
cares who you are.”

Leslie nodded. “Okay. Well, I look forward to
next Friday then. Enjoy your weekend. Tell your friend Katie I say
hi.” He slung his bag across his shoulder and with one last wave,
he turned and walked away.

Oliver watched him go with mixed feelings.
One part of him wanted to grab the man and take him home and pound
the hell out of him. The other, a warm fuzzy feeling, told him he’d
just made a friend and not to fuck it up.

He sighed as he put on his jacket. Oh well,
he had Friday next week to look forward to. In the meantime, he’d
use the image of Leslie’s pert arse as his masturbation material
for the coming week. He might even give Maxwell a call, see if his
friend was in town. Maybe getting laid would rid him of this ache
he had inside, the dread that coiled persistently in his stomach.
It had been with him as long as he could remember.

Sex would help him forget, let him enter the
zone where he could switch off and just enjoy the physical
exertion. Yes, he’d definitely be giving Max a call.

Chapter 7

In bed that night, Leslie lay on top of the covers,
clad in his favourite pair of red satin boxers and a pair of
matching Christian Louboutin heels. His hand was inside his
underwear and wrapped firmly around his dick. He loved the feeling
of silk on his hands as he jerked off. It also made clean up less
messy, although the laundry bill took a beating.

The room was warm and cosy, with just the dim
bedside light highlighting the activity on the TV screen. Leslie
watched from beneath half-closed eyes as Nicky Starr disrobed
slowly, stripping off the suit he wore bit by bit until only his
shirt and tie remained, the tie loose and strung around his neck
like that of a naughty schoolboy flouting authority. Nicky’s hard
and rather pleasing cock jutted upward and Leslie imagined taking
it in his mouth, licking it from root to tip, then swallowing it
whole. The thought raised goose pimples on his skin, and he could
almost taste the man in his mouth, the rich scent that Nicky would
exude on his tongue, and smell the man’s cologne in his nostrils.
Oliver had been wearing Hugo Boss and the smell of it still
lingered in Leslie’s imagination.

“Oh God, yes,” he whispered huskily as he
stroked his lubed cock, and his body embraced the rising pleasure
that was unfolding. He opened his legs wider, planting his stiletto
heels deeper into the bed cover. “God, Leo is so damn lucky.” He
watched Nicky move onto the bed like a panther, still half dressed
as he loomed over the waiting man on the bed. This film, a
nautical-themed dalliance called
Scent of
Semen
was one of Leslie’s all-time favourite Nicky Starr and
Leo Loving performances. The two men had on-screen chemistry and
Leo’s slim, lithe frame currently writhed in pleasure on the bed as
Nicky lowered his head and took him deep into his mouth. Leslie
imagined those lips around his own cock, sucking and licking and
teasing and he twisted on the bed as his hands grew firmer on his
dick. The action on screen got intense as Leo turned over and got
on his hands and knees then sank down to the bed on his elbows and
looked back at Nicky with a cheeky grin.

“Go on,” he murmured, “Eat me out. I know you
want to. Want to feel your tongue in my hole, stretching me, then
your beautiful cock inside me, making me scream. Fuck me,
Captain.”

Nicky growled, a sound that struck the nerve
endings in Leslie’s body, and he panted slowly as he watched Nicky
lower his mouth to Leo’s arse. What followed nearly made him cream
himself but he wanted to hold out just that little longer, feel
himself come as Nicky’s tongue pushed his way fiercely into Leo,
imagine that was
him
on the bed and Oliver
behind him. The image he had on his screen might have been Nicky
Starr, porn star, but it was Oliver, beautiful damaged Oliver, who
Leslie had in his mind right now. Oliver, whom he wanted to do that
to him, Oliver who would finally push inside him and make Leslie
cry out in pleasure as he came.

The noises on screen got louder as Nicky
finally lubed Leo up enough to grab his hips and ram inside him.
The sight of that perfect cock disappearing inside Leo and Leo’s
strangled cry of pleasure was enough to make Leslie frantically
jack himself off harder, all the while imagining that cock inside
him
, until he came, hard, with a
shuddering of limbs, a heaving of breath and a spurt of semen that
looked as if it was trying out for the National Semen Javelin
Championships. Unfortunately that powerful orgasm hadn’t contained
itself to his satin boxers. His belly was sticky and his treasure
trail matted with come.

“Oh my fucking God,” Leslie panted as his
body shivered and jerked on the bed, his semi-hard dick still
clutched in his hands. “That was awesome.” The pleasure suffusing
his post-orgasmic body was buoyed by the knowledge he’d actually
had coffee with the man on screen today and that in just over a
week’s time, he’d be seeing him again. And yes, Leslie knew he was
trying to be friends with Oliver first but he was also honest
enough to admit that he wanted the man to fuck him just like Leo
had been. He wanted Oliver here, in his bed, to cuddle and wake up
to, wanted the warmth of that hard body next to his, smiling
sleepily at him in the morning.

And one way or another, Leslie Tiberius Scott
was going to get that wish.

* * *

Oliver was horny. Fed up that Maxwell had
been out of the country—again—and he was left to his own devices,
he’d already jerked off in the shower soon after leaving Leslie
today. The relief had been short lived. He’d finished washing,
wrapped a towel around his waist and as he’d gone to put his shirt
into the laundry, he’d caught a whiff of Leslie’s scent. It was
some warm, spicy fragrance that had him sniffing deeply at the
sweaty shirt, and getting hard again as he imagined those soft lips
on his cheek and the taut litheness of Leslie’s body against his as
he’d hugged him goodbye.

Now, with a groan, he shoved the shirt into
his wicker laundry basket and put the towel back on the rail. He
padded naked over to his DVD collection and opened the door to one
of the cupboards. Eyes quickly perused the contents; he soon found
what he was looking for. It was one of his own performances, one
he’d done with a cute guy called Adam, who bore a remarkable
resemblance to Leslie. Oliver remembered him fondly. Adam had been
all black hair and soft chuckles, with a body that had been sublime
and the way he used it even better. Oliver had never been ridden
like that before in his life, and truth be told, Adam had the knack
of making a man feel like a prime stallion. Especially when he’d
worn his heels, something Oliver was partial to in a man.

With a sense of anticipation, he put the DVD
into his player and got comfortable on the couch. For these
sessions, he tended to put down a towel first to keep the couch
clean from sticky fluids. Even though he didn’t get many visitors,
Oliver was house proud. Dried semen on the seats tended to be
off-putting to guests.

The film, titled
The War
Whore
, started and Oliver wondered if he was a narcissist
watching his own movie. However, he wanted to see Adam in action,
imagine it was Leslie above him, see those cobalt blue eyes staring
into his as he fucked him. His cock rose and Oliver sighed in
satisfaction as his hands got busy. There was something to be said
about living alone and having the privacy to jack off in your own
living room using the lube that was scattered around the place.

Through lazy eyes, he watched himself lying
on a medieval divan, dressed in an opened leather waistcoat, chest
hair showing. He remembered that those pants had been the most
uncomfortable leather ones he’d ever worn. They were opened to show
his cock upright and purpled, already glistening and definitely
ready for the slave who stood in front of him. Adam smiled
invitingly on screen and dropped his tunic to reveal an impressive
dick and a slim, muscled body. He also had a backside that you
could bounce coins off. The man’s arse had been bite-worthy, and
Oliver’s mouth filled with saliva as he imagined what Leslie’s
would be like. From what he’d seen today, the man had a tight,
bubble arse and Oliver really wanted in.