Page 18

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

GOD’S FUCKBOY

P ercy watched Joe from his window. Ever more distant. Smaller and smaller. And gone.

And just as lovely as ever.

He opened a bottle of brandy and paced the large room for some time.

He’d never, never meant to speak to Joe like that. Not ever. The ridiculous question had thrown him was all.

He wasn’t in love with Anna. He loved her, certainly. Adored her. But he was absolutely not in love with her. It just so happened that the exact second Joe had asked him, Percy was experiencing the vile and irrepressible memory of being possessed and slamming his fist into her stomach so hard he’d knocked all the air out of her. And the thought of that—anyone or anything doing that to her again… He’d felt he might vomit. He had momentarily felt incredibly ill, and panicked, because he couldn’t trust that she would call him if she needed him. If they needed him. Not after everything. Not with his brother and Joe involved, and all their feelings on the line.

Then, right in the middle of that memory, that galling question.

He’d reacted with his habitual defensiveness that invariably took the form of attack, and now the damage was done.

And Joe, who accused Percy of harbouring secret feelings that Percy didn’t remotely harbour, had run off to be with that bastard, God.

It was incensing, to say the least. Percy here, left alone, with no choice but to drink this very good brandy by himself and ruminate on unpleasant feelings. And Joe, over there, probably sharing his feelings with that prick. Talking about what an asshole Percy was. Wearing that nice outfit that he knew Percy liked so much…

But Percy would set it right soon enough.

He dropped into the seat by the desk and doubled his effort writing the letter Joe had asked him to write to Aubrey.

He didn’t write one to Evelyn or Anna. He would ask Joe to write those instead.

When he finished his letter, he set to pacing some more.

It took hours.

Whatever was keeping Joe so long with his stupid religion was taking forever.

That stupid bearded bastard… What were they even talking about?

Percy searched the inn and failed to find shovels to dig graves. He did find a nifty crowbar, though, and this he took up to their room to present to Joe later.

He sharpened his knife.

He tried to think up something extravagant to make for dinner.

Finally, he caught a flash of Joe through the window and readied himself as best he could.

Upon Joe’s return, the first thing he saw was Percy reclining in a high-backed red-velvet chair, long legs crossed and thrown to one side, arms languid on darkly varnished mahogany supports, except the one lazy hand, upturned, with Percy’s good brandy in the correct glass, warming and unfolding in the heat of his palm.

He was just about dressed. Pressed grey trousers down to his beautiful bare feet, his leather belt pulled tight, cinching in his white shirt. The tie, he had forgone, and the shirt folded open three-buttons down, giving just the right sort of glimpse of skin. His cuffs were undone, loosely rolled past his elegant wrists, which would have felt so nice pressed against Joe’s instantly desirous lips.

Desirous, but wary.

Joe threw his key down on the side table, leaned his shoulder against the door to shut it, and slid his hands into his pockets to await Percy’s welcome.

The voice came bitter and acidic, like a bad Scottish coffee. “You’ve been with Him again, haven’t you?”

Joe burst out laughing then leaned his head back against the door.

Percy swished the brandy around in faux irritation. “What’s He got that I haven’t?”

“I don’t know.” Joe shrugged. “Magical powers?”

Percy’s sulky reply swept over a handsome pout. “I’ve got magical powers.”

“Billions of followers?”

Percy rolled his blue eyes up to the ornate ceiling. “Sycophants, the lot of them.”

“Mostly true,” Joe conceded.

Percy dipped his head to the side, thick dark hair tumbling across his left cheekbone as he settled his gaze on Joe. “Is He as good looking at me?”

Joe’s delectable lips drew into a smile. “Not according to any depiction I’ve ever seen.”

“What if I grew a beard?”

“Don’t you dare.”

Percy’s smile mellowed to penitent adoration. “I’m sorry.”

Joe’s eyes softened to their usual state of ardour. “Me too.”

“Come here.”

Joe kicked his shoes off, Percy placed his brandy down on a nearby table, and lifted his arms in time to catch Joe’s hips as Joe leaned over and placed a long, absolving kiss on his lips. Percy held him there with one hand drifting up to caress his cheek, his sincere blue eyes searching Joe’s. “I love you. And I won’t be difficult if you want to go to church again.”

Joe kissed him, then let his head rock back to make way for Percy’s lips on his neck. “It’s kind of messed up, you know. Being jealous of God.”

Percy uncrossed his long legs and wrapped them around Joe’s thigh, pulling him in a little closer. “Can you blame me?” His heated words whispered over Joe’s ear. “He’s the only other man you’ll get on your knees for.” Percy sank his teeth into Joe’s earlobe, and his hand moved to Joe’s belt.

“Percy,” Joe whispered, on a smitten, resigned, ecstatic, defeated breath. His fingers slipped under his white collar to pull it loose, but Percy’s hand closed over them the very same second.

“Leave it.”

Percy’s other hand was on his dick now, already leaking pre-cum against the inside of his black vestments. He closed his fingers around the thick length and ran a too-light stroke all the way up. Joe pressed into him, greedy for more, and Percy shifted his hand softly, that little bit too distant. Percy found his mouth, dragging the tip of his tongue across Joe’s lower lip, the same so-close-but-too-far temptation driving Joe mad from both directions.

He wrenched Percy’s belt open, refusing Percy’s control of the game. He fell to his knees and broke Percy’s enticingly erect cock free of his just-applied trousers. His first kiss fell right at the base of his dick, and from there he kissed a line, slow and gentle, up one side.

Percy ripped his own shirt over his head and settled a little deeper into his chair to get a better view. He knew how beautiful he was. He positively revelled in it. The only thing that could have enhanced that image of his firm and undulating muscles in the glow of firelight, of that glorious, pulsing, full erection, was the long dark eyelashes of his lover, closed in their enjoyment of his dick. The lips that were too pink for decency. The deep brown eyes drunk with lust that looked up at him when he reached the crown of his cock, and said, “On my knees like this?”

Gently, gently, he kissed Percy’s dick, his lips hot and wet and begging to be filled to the brim with Percy’s cum. “Very nearly,” Percy breathed, fully expecting Joe to follow what was closer to a direction than a hint, and slip that beautiful mouth over the tip of his cock. Instead, Joe grinned, then dipped his head to the other side, beginning another teasing, torturous, incensing climb of Percy’s long shaft.

That sensual, glorious, completely delicious bastard. Percy had a good mind to take him in hand, but after all, a priest on his knees kissing your dick in an ancient lodge on a stormy Shetland day is something that should be savoured. In theory. If you can stand it long enough.

Joe’s kisses moved all the way to the tip again, then that smile—that delectable, vicious smile as he sank back down, sending Percy close to apoplectic. “Stand up,” he said sharply, fully prepared to take Joe’s dick in his own mouth and show him how it’s done.

“Nah, I’m good down here.” And he kissed a little higher, along the centre, just as provokingly.

Percy’s dick throbbed against his nose. “You’re a troublemaker.”

Joe’s lascivious eyes rose over the gorgeous cock. “I learned from the best.”

The hotter than hot—volcanically hot—perfectly wet mouth took Percy deep. “Fuck,” he sighed out. Joe was wonderful. So wonderful. The best fiancé a man could ever ask for. The best fiancé whose fingers needed to explore Percy’s sculpted abs even as his flat and firm tongue traversed Percy’s length. The best fiancé who it was impossible to stay mad at or argue with for more than five minutes because he was too, too sweet and entirely too beautiful.

Then why this niggling doubt in the back of Percy’s mind? Why this something, even now, when he was halfway down Joe’s throat, that seemed to sit between them?

That something, he knew, was the relentless and harrowing question that would not budge from his mind: what would God’s dick be like? Would it be longer, or wider, or more glorious than his? He wondered if Joe would make that satisfied rumble in the back of his throat if God was fucking his mouth. He wondered if God would have half the self restraint he had to let Joe take his time and wind him up to the point of explosive insanity, or if God would take a grip of Joe’s hair and plunge his cock so deep Joe would have trouble deciding whether dick or air was more essential for survival.

The thought of it, of God fucking Joe, drove Percy mad. Madder than usual. Which is saying something, because Percy, an atheist, should have been above such speculation, but that day, he discovered he was not.

Joe’s lips were tighter around his dick, his movement was swifter and even more exquisite, and under normal circumstances he would have had Percy on a hair trigger by now.

But what did God’s cum taste like? Better than his?

He couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Darling.” He lifted Joe from his dick, his bewildered, slightly panicked eyes at having been thus torn away from the object of his desire, adding a spark of regret to Percy’s uncontrollable jealousy. He soon extinguished it by leaning forward to meet the lips he turned up. “How much do you love me?”

Brief enamoured confusion swept over the handsome brow. “More than anything.”

“That’s what I thought.” Percy stood, Joe’s chin still in hand, pulling him to standing with him. He slid a palm behind Joe’s belt and grabbed a hold of his dick, just as Joe took his in hand. Percy worked at the belt with his other hand, their lips pressed together, then Percy turned Joe, who backed away easily enough towards the bed, which was not at all where Percy wanted him.

A quick shift in a new direction, and Joe found himself spun around, tripping with one shove from Percy to land in the soft, cool confines of the window seat. His back was against the glass with a firm press of Percy’s hand, and Percy had Joe’s dick in his mouth a second later. Immediate, scalding, fast, it was enough to make him come within seconds, but Percy pulled back when he felt the familiar sensation of Joe’s orgasm on the way, and Joe caught himself, right on the edge, in unprecedented confusion. “What are you doing?”

Percy’s mouth again, deliberate and fast and hot for perhaps a minute, and Joe so close, and then gone again. “Percy!”

Percy was up, Joe was up, and Joe was turned and thrown against the glass, smooth and icy against his burning hands and cheek. Percy, always prepared somehow, had lube from god only knew where, kisses on Joe’s shoulder, and a hand on Joe’s cock. Joe’s cock, wild and erect, displayed for anyone who should happen to walk past the inn at that moment, being worked by Percy’s devilish hands as his ass was invaded by the most divine dick known to man.

“We can’t do this here,” Joe managed to whisper as he felt the first welcome inch of Percy.

“Why not?” Percy sighed against his ear. “Are you worried someone’s going to see?” Because there was no one. The pub wouldn’t open for hours. They were surrounded by wild nothingness, only sheep and green hills and all the low grey sky and Joe being fucked up against the vaulted window of his sumptuous bedroom. No people there to witness the way Joe’s hips bucked back against Percy, the way his body pleaded for more, the smooth strokes that Joe loved and indulged in and tried to deny, so he, maybe, could return the favour for Percy. No people to comment on or notice the compelling sight of a naked adonis defiling a priest in the window.

But Percy wasn’t looking for people.

His dark, cool, jealous eyes fell on the huge black cross of the church across the way—the only building in sight—the only witness, other than Joe, of his physical and spiritual supremacy. “Who do you love?”

“You, Percy,” Joe gasped out as Percy drove into him, fingers deep in his hair, teeth in the skin of his neck, that hand running over his dick as if it were his own.

“Me, and who else?”

“Nobody,” Joe groaned, half in perplexity, half in ecstasy. “Only you.”

Percy held Joe’s hand to the glass, fingers entwined with his, his other forearm guiding the movement of Joe’s hips, fucking him harder and harder, and always, always those relentless fingers fucking his dick at the same time.

“I’m not going to last much longer,” Joe rasped.

He needn’t have. Percy knew it for a fact because he knew Joe’s orgasms as well as he knew his own. He knew exactly how desperate he was, how needy he was, and how much power he had over Joe when he stopped, halted the movement of his fingers, his thumb pressing on Joe’s slit, the very tip of his own dick hard up against Joe’s sweet spot, when he said, “Then who’s your god now?”

“What?” A flooring clarity hit Joe as he turned his head, and saw Percy’s molten gaze aimed straight out and across the barren landscape, directed with burning hatred at the church on the hill. “Percy?—”

Percy took a firm hand to Joe’s shoulder and slammed his dick in hard. “Who?”

Wrong.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

So wrong.

But fuck, it was hot.

Percy’s jealousy, Percy’s love for him, Percy swiping his thumb across the top of Joe’s cum-laden dick and doubling down on the cruel bliss of his command over Joe’s pleasure. “Percy?—”

“Say it,” he hissed against the shell of Joe’s ear.

Joe’s head was wrenched back against Percy’s shoulder, a bruising kiss delivered to his parched lips, and a dick shoved so deep into him he fleetingly decided that reports of the torturous nature of death by impaling had been grossly overstated. He could no longer hold back the flow of desperately loving words that broke free. “It’s you. Percy, it’s you.”

Percy pulled back and sank his dick deep again. “Who?”

“Percy, it’s you,” Joe all but begged, the unrelenting beat of Percy’s hand almost choking his pulsing cock. “It’s you. I love you so much. You’re my god now. It’s you Percy. Percy—” A silent scream of pleasure cut the words from his mouth. Long ribbons of cum painted the window, obliterated the church from view, drew a whimper from Joe and doubled him over until he could barely support himself with the intensity of his full body orgasm. Percy, meanwhile, redirected the stream of Joe’s cock, coating his religious garments in his own spunk, which Percy ran his hand through, smearing it all over his shirt, his collar, his neck, then, satisfied, he really let loose. He took a hold of both hips and fucked Joe just as hard as his pride demanded, his heart aglow at being the chosen one—at being everything to Joe.

Joe’s dick was so sensitive, so tender from its thorough use, that a short time later he flinched pleasantly at the gentle hand that found his balls. “Percy, I can’t.”

“I know you can.” And Percy fucked him. And he didn’t stop fucking him until he’d wrung a second, miraculous, celestial, exultant orgasm from Joe, before his hazy, sex-drunk brain could allow him a moment to think. Only then did Percy let go, with the air of a victor, convinced of his permanent place in Joe’s heart and mind—convinced that even God couldn’t fuck Joe half as well as he just had. He indulged fully in his pleasure, anointing Joe’s skin with cum, confident the last boundary between the two of them had been obliterated, as he fell shaking against Joe’s back.

Beautifully spent, he kissed Joe’s cheek, pulled out, slapped Joe’s firm ass, and went to clean up, perfectly satisfied with the way the morning had eventually gone.

Joe, meanwhile, watched his cum drip and thin and evolve into a milky, misty vision of the church. He was assailed by a mingled shock of shame and self-reproach, augmented by the all-too-familiar sensation of not really knowing why he felt that way. His hand went to his wet collar, and in half a second, he had wrenched his trousers back up over his hips. “What did you do?”

“What’s wrong, handsome?” Percy virtually sang from the bathroom.

Joe was in the doorway, eyes aflame, lips tight. “Did you deliberately fuck me in front of the church?”

Percy’s eyes cut from his handsome reflection over to Joe. “Yes. I wanted Him to see.” He skipped past Joe and picked his crumpled trousers up from the floor, inspecting the creases regretfully.

“I’m sorry, what? Who? God ? You wanted God to see you fuck me in the window?”

That grin was straight back on his happy face. “Yes.” He threw the trousers down and moved to the wardrobe for a fresh pair.

“You don’t even believe in God!” Joe yelled.

“Technically, no, I don’t,” said Percy, sliding his legs into the immaculately pressed trousers, ripping a new shirt off its hanger. “But just in case, I want to be sure. We’re probably both destined for Hell, but should I end up in purgatory, you’re coming to keep me company. Best He knows now, so He doesn’t get any ideas about keeping you as his fuckboy.” He dropped a swift kiss on Joe’s lips, retaining his grip on Joe’s chin, his eyes loving, authoritative, hypnotic, as he said, “I’m yours and you’re mine. There’s no one else. Ever again. Don’t you agree?”

Joe, heart in his throat, whispered a bewildered, “Yes.”

“Then let’s get ready and go investigate these dead teenagers.” And off he wandered, like a happy, sexy, bouncy golden retriever puppy, to swill brandy and clean windows and do it all, seemingly, without a care in the world.

Joe would have been appalled—more appalled—if not for that last flippantly made comment.

Percy’s heart, deep, deep down, below the layers of possessiveness and thoughtlessness and impulsivity, beat good and true and strong. Joe knew the turmoil that was, and would always be, just beneath the surface.

And Joe loved every ludicrous inch of him.

And Joe, despite what he thought he should feel at having been thus manipulated into renouncing God in favour of Percy Ashdown, was, in fact, all aglow inside.

It was a nasty emotion, jealousy. Yet the taste of Percy’s filled him with a reassurance not quite as good as, but on the way to as good as, that gold band that he had begun to dream of.

What did it matter if Percy needed to know he was Joe’s most loved before he stepped into the waiting horror? If, before he put himself on the line, again, to do the best he could to make the world slightly less shit, he needed Joe completely?

It may have been all manner of wrong, in theory. Yet somehow Percy always found a way, no matter what, to make even the worst things feel exactly right.

And what god wouldn’t understand that?

Not one Joe could ever put his faith in.