Page 4 of Club Royal: Calendar Collection

Freddie threw his hands in the air. “Damn it! I thought that would slip by you,” he added with a grin.

“There’s a reason I’m the king.” Andrew winked.

“Yeah, you’re the oldest,” George said, and they all gasped and then burst out laughing again.

“For that, I’m sure Kendal has some things for you to do.” Andrew smirked, and George groaned.

“That’ll teach you,” Douglas said, wiping his hands across the flour-covered island to clear some space.

They worked side-by-side, following their mother’s recipe as they had done for years, and eventually, they had heart-shaped pancakes to take for their partners or husbands.

Putting them on trays, they added syrups, fruit, yogurt and whatever else they thought their other halves or thirds might want. Douglas and George headed for the door.

“Don’t forget to come back and clean up,” Andrew said, carrying his own tray.

“I’m going to leave a note in case Esme comes in before we get back. I don’t want her to have a heart attack,” Freddie said, grabbing the notepad from the fridge door, something that was always there in case the kitchen staff ran out of something and needed to add it to the shopping list.

To whom it may concern,

We apologise for the mess, but I promise, we will be returning to clean up. Please don’t tidy up for us. We will do it before the morning.

Thanks.

Freddie, Douglas and George.

He propped it up in the middle of the island so that whoever came in would see it straight away. Well, after they’d had a heart attack at the mess.

Picking up his own tray, he left the kitchen, chuckling at the flour trails leading down the corridors. They’d have to tidy that up as well.

Damon

Damon sat up in bed, checking the clock for the hundredth time.

He’d noticed Freddie getting out of bed at just before midnight and watched him dress in joggers and a T-shirt before slipping out of the room.

Sometimes, when he was unable to sleep, Freddie would do the same, but he’d seemed excited about something.

Deciding to give him his space for a little while, he clicked on the bedside light and pulled a book from the table.

But after an hour and a half, he was ready to look for him.

Just as he threw the covers back, he heard the outer door open and close, so he covered himself over again.

There would be no denying he’d been awake, so he didn’t try.

What he hadn’t expected was a dusty-looking Freddie to come into the bedroom carrying a tray.

“What in the world happened to you?” he said, his brain unable to come up with any ideas.

Freddie cleared his throat. “There might’ve been a flour war.”

Damon blinked. That hadn’t been what he’d expected him to say. “Come again?”

Placing the tray over Damon’s legs, Freddie went to sit on the bed but paused, looking down at himself. “I should maybe change first.”

Damon, gaze focused on the heart-shaped pancakes in front of him, said, “Get on the bed, Freddie.” When the bed bounced, he added, “What’s this?”

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Freddie said.

Damon smiled over at him. “Thank you. These look great.”

“These were the second batch. The first went cold.”

“You could’ve reheated them.”

Freddie scrunched his face. “And they were covered with flour.”

“Aren’t they made with flour?”

“Okay, they were buried under tons of flour.”

“Ahh,” Damon said, as if he understood what Freddie was talking about. “The previously mentioned flour war.”

Freddie nodded. “Yep. The first batch were the casualties.”

Damon laughed, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “Do I want to know?”

Freddie’s cheeks coloured. “Probably not. I will just say, though,” he pulled at a thread on the bedcovers, “I have to go back to help tidy up after this.”

“You better get photos.”

Freddie smiled, and Damon leaned closer, joining their lips. As they opened to each other, all Damon could taste was four, and he pulled back, licking his lips. “Raw flour. Yum.”

Cursing, Freddie wiped his mouth and chin. “Sorry. I’ll shower. You enjoy the pancakes.”

“Is there any point in showering when you have to tidy up?” Damon asked as he forked one pancake into his mouth.

Freddie paused halfway off the bed, looking down at himself. “I’m not sure. Would it be better to be covered in flour before I clean or after I’ve finished?”

Damon hid his smile by chewing and swallowing. “Maybe stay as you are and brush yourself off in the offended room before you clean.”

“Good plan.” He settled back on the bed again and grabbed the bowl from the corner of the tray. Drizzling syrup over the top, Freddie picked up a fork and shoved the contents into his mouth.

“How are you the heir to the throne?”

Freddie paused and stared at him, syrup on his chin. “Huh?”

He gestured to Freddie, covered in flour from head to foot, syrup on his face, hair scruffy. If anyone but his family saw him right then, they wouldn’t have a clue who the guy was.

“Never mind.”

He’d love a photo of Freddie looking like that, but he doubted his husband would let him. Maybe he could sneak down the corridor after him and catch him in the act. After all, photos were worth a thousand words.

He dug into the pancakes, which, yes, were a little cooler than usual, but they had been talking. They were delicious, though.

“Your mother’s recipe?” he guessed.

Freddie smiled and nodded. “Of course.” His smile softened. “We invited Father to join us, but only after he caught us.” He sighed. “We should’ve invited him before now.”

“I’m sure he understands.”

“He does, but we still should’ve done it.”

Damon squeezed his flour-covered thigh. “Well, you have now. So let’s celebrate new traditions.”

Freddie covered his hand with his own. “Thanks.”

They chatted while Damon finished the food, and then Freddie removed the tray from his lap. He leaned down, kissed Damon, chastely and with a lot less flour, and headed out the door.

“I’ll be back soon.”

Damon waited for the outer door to close and then crept out of bed.

He pulled on joggers and a T-shirt, slipped his feet into slippers and headed to the door of the suite.

Pulling it open as quietly as he could manage, he looked both ways down the corridor and waited for Freddie to turn the corner before dashing after him.

He muffled his chuckle at the flour footprints that gave away his route and was immensely glad for his bodyguard training that helped him to keep quiet and unseen.

He paused at the next corner, glancing around it before continuing. The kitchen was Freddie’s destination, he knew, but he wanted to stop anyone else from seeing him, too. His gig would be up if anyone caught him.

When he finally arrived at the doors to the kitchen, he could hear murmuring inside.

Luckily, the kitchen doors were oiled within an inch of their life before Esme hated squeaking hinges, so he pushed the door open slightly and peered through.

Freddie, Douglas and George were wiping the island, the counters and the floor respectively, and Damon lifted his phone, trying to get all three in shot.

Just as he pressed the button, Douglas glanced up and saw him.

“Fuck you, Damon! No way!” He charged for the door, and Damon turned and ran, laughing as he went.

“It’s just another photo to add to your collection!

” he shouted back as he ran for his life.

The floors were slippery beneath his slippers, and he crashed into a wall as he tried to turn a corner.

It was lucky he did; otherwise, he would’ve knocked over Andrew.

“Evening, Your Majesty!” Damon called as he continued on his way. “Watch out!”

“Get back here!” Douglas’s voice sounded closer than it had been, and Damon put on another burst of speed as he hit the corridor leading to the security room. “Don’t you fucking dare, Damon Sutcliffe.”

Despite the surprise of hearing his married name—something he still hadn’t got used to—he laughed and skidded to a stop in front of the security room door.

He knocked, barely allowing himself that acknowledgement.

The door opened, and Felix’s surprised face registered with him before he slipped inside and closed the door.

“What’s wrong?” Felix asked, and Damon laughed.

“All good. I promise. I need you to get the last photo from this, though. As quick as you can before—”

Douglas pounded on the door. “Don’t you dare, Damon.”

Damon laughed and gestured to Felix. “Quick!”

Felix blew out a breath but did as he asked. “If I get into trouble for this, I’m pointing them in your direction.”

“Understood.”

The pounding continued, and Damon breathed deeply, trying to get control. As soon as that photo was somewhere else, as well as on his phone, he was free and clear.

“Head’s up,” Felix said, and Damon snapped his gaze to him just in time to see his phone flying towards him. He caught it. Just. “Nice photo. Dare I ask?”

“I wouldn’t. Not yet, anyway. Keep it safe for me?”

Felix sighed again. “You know my terms.”

Damon nodded once and opened the door, Douglas almost falling into the room. “Yes, Douglas. How can I help?”

“You fucker.”

Damon brushed past him with a chuckle. “I don’t know what you mean. Don’t you have some cleaning to do?”

“You’ll pay for this,” Douglas warned.

“I look forward to the day.”

He headed back to the suite he shared with Freddie and kicked off his slippers, climbing back into bed.

He was sweaty after all that running, but the bed already needed changing from Freddie’s flour-covered clothes, so he didn’t care.

He opened his phone and pulled up the photo.

He’d managed to get the three of them perfectly in focus, and he smiled.

The thing he noticed the most was that they all looked so serene. Like nothing bothered them at all.

The outer door opened and closed again, and Damon couldn’t contain his grin when Freddie entered the bedroom, still covered in flour.

“He’s going to make you pay for that, you know,” Freddie said, stripping off his T-shirt and throwing it in the laundry basket.

“Oh, I know. It won’t be the first and it won’t be the last. We’re family, after all.” Damon smirked.

Freddie shook his head and yawned. “I need some sleep. And a shower.”

“So do I.”

“Imagine that.” Freddie jerked his head towards the bathroom. “On your knees in the shower. Naked. Now.”

Damon’s blood heated, and he jumped from the bed, stripping off his clothes as he went.

What would Freddie do to him this time? He switched on the shower and waited a few seconds before climbing in and kneeling.

The tile flooring was harsh on his joints, but he loved the feel of it because he knew something amazing was coming.

Just having Freddie’s hands on him was amazing.

The pounding of the water on his shoulders lulled him, and when Freddie finally entered the bathroom, he lifted dazed eyes to him. As he moved closer, he saw nothing in his hands, and he frowned. Freddie’s mouth quirked on one side, and he stepped into the shower.

“Your penance will be servicing me,” Freddie said. “With no release for you.” Damon swallowed down his argument. “Yet,” Freddie finished.

Damon knew better than to let out a sigh of relief, so he kept it in.

“Open.”

He did, and Freddie slid his already hard cock into his mouth, the scent and taste of flour quickly disappearing under the spray—though how he got flour on his cock was anyone’s idea.

Freddie gripped Damon’s hair, keeping him still while he thrust in and out, taking no prisoners.

Damon relaxed his throat as Freddie drew closer to the edge, swallowing whenever Freddie the back.

Grunts and groans were all he could hear above the water, but he watched his husband as he used Damon’s mouth for his own pleasure.

He hadn’t been told he could use his hands, so he kept them on his knees.

“That’s it,” Freddie growled. “Take it all.”

Tingles shot down Damon’s spine to his groin, tightening his balls even without any friction.

Just the idea of Freddie could put Damon on the edge of coming, and he worked to stop himself.

But when Freddie slid forward and held himself deep in Damon’s throat, his eyes watered as he fought the need for air, gaze locked on the man who could give him everything and never hurt him.

Bruise him, bleed him, bind him. Yes. Hurt him. No. Never.

Freddie pulled back when Damon’s head spun, and he gulped in air, his throat raw. “Again.”

Damon opened, relaxing, and Freddie slid deep. As his lungs complained, the pool of desire in his groin exploded, and Damon came, his eyes widening at the surprising orgasm. Freddie pulled free, and Damon’s body trembled with aftershocks.

“I’m…sorry, Sir,” he gasped, both from the lack of oxygen and the climax.

Freddie narrowed his eyes. “Again.”

Damon inhaled and opened his mouth, Freddie sliding into his throat and stopping before grunting his release.

He withdrew a little, the last jerks of his release filling his mouth, and Damon licked around his cock, needing everything and ignoring the impending punishment for coming without permission.

Then Freddie dropped to his knees, cupped Damon’s cheeks and kissed him, tongue exploring every inch of his mouth. “As much as you disobeyed me, that was fucking hot.”

“Sorry, Sir. I had no idea I was so close. It surprised me, too.”

Freddie grinned. “Glad to see I still do it for you.”

Damon chuckled, his throat aching. “That you do. Sir.”

Freddie kissed him again. “I really need to get rid of this flour,” he muttered, and Damon snickered. “Flour and water definitely make a mess. I guess you’ll need some help.”

“I definitely do.”

****