Annoyance flared, mostly with me. Why the hell had I spent the last six weeks navel-gazing, giving this guy a clear run at things?

  The firefighter shook hands like a pro wrestler. He stood as broad as me, but I was, satisfyingly, a fraction taller. “Hi, I’m Simon,” he said, in what I now decided was a fucking annoying gravelly voice. “Nice to meet you.”

  “You too. Just here to help your brother pack and move out, huh?”

  “Yeah, something like that.”

  “I can give you a hand getting that stuff into the car, if you like. So it doesn’t take up too much of your time?”

  Was I being obvious? I wasn’t jealous; I just needed to show the front door to anyone whose eyes lingered on my man for longer than two seconds.

  Milo stared at me oddly, like I’d spouted poetry, and made up his mind to get me out of there. “Everybody, we’re going upstairs for a while,” he announced in a clear voice. “I’m showing Mungo where he can put his things.”

  Reuben cackled. “I bet you are.”

  “Is that what the middle-aged are calling it these days?” added Danny.

  “God that was so hot, Mungs.” Milo crawled up my body. “Two alphas, battling for me. Your eyebrows facing off against his eyebrows, his scruff squaring up to your fucking monumental beard, like warring stepbrothers, like you were going to fight a duel in...”

  I shut him up with a kiss. “You know he’s gay, right? Or bi, or… something.”

  “Is he?”

  “And that he salivates every time he looks at you?"

  “Does he? I mean, he’s decent-looking and buff; a Benedictine monk would have noticed that. But I hadn’t given him much thought in between his visits to check on Danny. Why would I?”

  I laughed around Milo’s mouth at his genuine astonishment. If ever I needed proof my Milo only had eyes for me, he sat in the lounge below us. All this time, the type of bloke he used to make a beeline for had been drinking tea in his kitchen while ogling his tiny tush, and my lover hadn’t even picked up on it.

  I tugged off his sweatshirt. “I don’t want you to give him a moment’s thought, ever.”

  He melted again as I lapped my tongue against his. So fucking pliant and… treacly. Each brush of my tongue, like each sweep of my hands, filed down his sharp edges, dissolved them to warm honey so he could pour himself into me. Or like I could mould him however I chose. And, right now, I chose to mould him as mine.

  His nimble fingers were already on the buttons of my shirt. He pressed his lips against each piece of exposed chest, nuzzling his nose into the whorls of hair. “I’m going to have to kneel to undo this belt.” Grinning up at me, he sank down, and his hands worked the buckle. “It might take me a while.”

  He rubbed his cheek along my denim-covered shaft and hummed. “There’s a hell of a lot to unpack down here.”

  Milo sucked cock like he sucked gin and tonic through a straw to tease out closeted hedge-funders. As innocently as an altar boy. On his knees and with his hands clasped behind his back. Blowing my mind as well as my cock. Stretched tightly around my shaft, his lips glistened, and two thickly fringed devil blue eyes hooked onto mine, daring me to look away. I couldn’t if I had a gun pointing at my head.

  I gave a rough groan, and his mouth split even wider. Briefly, he released his hands from behind his back, but only to grab my wrists and clamp my own hands into his hair, silent permission to fuck his throat.

  “Oh fuck, Milo.” Hopeless and helpless, I groaned again, my balls tightening as he laved my shaft like it was the only reason he’d been born. White heat shimmied along my spine. “I’m not gonna…”

  Right on the edge, he pulled off. “Get on the bed.”

  As I fell on it, he stood over me, panting through his reddened lips. He peeled down his shorts. Once his sweet little cock bounced out of them, he gave it a lascivious stroke and wiped spit from his chin. “Welcome home, Mungs.”

  “I’m absolutely bloody delighted to be here.”

  Heavy on my belly, my own cock throbbed for attention. He eyed it hungrily. “I can see that.”

  Shooting me a naughty look, he crawled into the triangle between my legs, then pushed my knees up, hand firmly underneath, spreading me open. He tongued my inner thigh, tickling over the hairs. He sucked into the crease of my groin, nudging at my balls with his cheek, then tilted his head to suck one into the wet heat of his mouth. A raw sound escaped my throat. When he tasted the other one, I dug my heels in, my legs flopping open wider still. Lifting my balls aside gently, the tip of his tongue flickered over my hole, like a hot gust of wind, and I nearly climbed off the bed.

  A soft giggle snuffled against me. “Someone likes me licking down here.”

  Both hands were on my thighs now, his thumbs spreading me even wider as his tongue dipped down again, licking at the rim, blowing on it hot and cold, toying with my opening. On his belly, with his head buried shamelessly right in there, lapping between my legs, each flick of his tongue in and out of my entrance tunnelled deeper, higher. A steady stream of grunts filled the room, coming from me. Fires set up my spine; my balls clenched furiously.

  In desperation, I palmed my cock. “You need to stop. I’m going to come.”

  He heard the first part and ignored the second. For the shortest of moments, my softened hole was abandoned, but only so he could bat my hand away and swallow down my cock again. Plugging me with two wet fingers, he fucked me with them in time to throat-fucking my cock. Like his fingers and mouth were meeting in the middle.

  A sweet burning rippled through me; every nerve ending sang to his touch. Something fucking delirious tore from my lungs, as, in a melting rush, my balls emptied of every fucking molecule of spunk and their yet-to-be-born cousins, swallowed in the heat of Milo’s mouth.

  As the echoes of my roar faded to laboured breaths, Milo landed on my heaving chest to cover my body with his. He thrust his busy tongue into my mouth.

  “I’m…” I panted, half laughing and half wondering if I would ever get my breath back. Pushing him off, I rolled with him and buried my face into his neck. “You are… so fucking good at that, Milo. I’m… I think I’m dying.”

  “Everyone downstairs thinks the same.” He laughed delightedly. “You certainly sounded like you were in your death throes.”

  With effort, I heaved myself up onto my elbows to gaze down at his wickedly laughing face. I wanted more. “You’ve created a monster. I’m going to be demanding this every day from now on.”

  Shrugging, he simply carried on smiling up at me. He stroked down my back, bringing a hand to rest on my arse. “If you like. I told you—I’ll do anything for you. I’m yours. Take your pick.”

  Was the rest of my life really going to be that fucking simple? I kissed the end of his nose. “Are you for real?”

  “Yeah, I am.” He pulled my head down and kissed me properly, tenderly, exploring my mouth. “I’m yours, Mungs, and I’ll give you whatever makes you happy.”

  He tasted of sweet and salt and everything I’d always known he would. Just like I’d always known everything and everyone before him had only ever been good enough. But here, lying in his arms? That would only ever be perfect.

  Underneath me, he was still hard. I rolled against him, my cock valiantly stirring. “I want to return the favour.”

  “You don’t have to.” He smiled sweetly. “Being in love doesn’t work like that.”

  “You’re an expert now?”

  “In everything.” Reaching up, he nibbled my ear. “But my specialist subject is Mungo White.”

  I rolled against him again. “I’d like to fuck you, when I’ve got my breath back. But I also want to just lie here, like this, kissing you. Talking to you. Getting to know you.”

  He laughed. “I think we’ve already covered the 'getting to know you' stage.”

  “Yeah, well, I thought so too. But hidden inside my oldest friend, a man I thought I knew really well, is someone I didn’t know at all.”

  “Do you think he’s someone you’re going to like?”

  I pressed my lips against his. “I’m already totally besotted with him.”

  CHAPTER 24

  MILO

  With the taste of Mungo’s seed still in my mouth and my dick hard enough to direct traffic, I stretched underneath his heavy warmth and let the beard do its thing. He ran it down my body, unhurriedly, grazing it across my nipples. Wrapped in his hand, my dick pulsed. He wasn’t working it, simply holding me, but now he swiped a thumb across the tip, glistening with precum.

  “I felt all this coming out.” He dipped his head lower to run his tongue over my slit. Obligingly, it pulsed again. “Seems I’ve found myself a full-time job.”

  “I swear the beard makes everything wetter.”

  Softly, he chuckled, lightly directing my dick to and fro across his chin, leaving a snail trail.

  “I want the smell of you in it.”

  He was exploring me, not simply getting me off. Although that was going to happen. The prickling of that coarse chin hair across my swollen head fulfilled every single one of my Mungo fantasies. He tongued my barbell, then nibbled softly at the blunted, hard end of it. An exquisite joy. I hissed.

  “It’s really responsive, isn’t it?” He smoothed over the metal with a soft kiss.

  One way of describing it. “Having that piercing was the most terrible, horrible, no good, very bad afternoon of my life,” I laughed. “But so blooming worth it.”

  He paused, then looked up. “The way you and Frankie discuss stuff, I feel I should know this about you already. But have you… do you ever top?” Colour creeping up his neck, he formed the next sentence hesitantly, although it hit me like a freight train. “Because that piercing would feel amazing, wouldn’t it? Inside someone?”

  As the moment stretched, his lips still hovering an inch from my dick, I reflected that, sometimes, even people you thought you knew inside and out still had the capacity to surprise you. Mungo’s brown eyes, rich and warm, like the finest malt whiskey, didn’t waver, and I tried to read what I saw. Was he asking what I thought he was asking? Was this how we were going to christen our new life together?

  I gave a very slow nod of my head. “No, but yeah? I mean, hardly ever, but yeah. I have. Just to see what it was like. When I was around Danny’s age and super horny. But never sober.”

  “So not… um… not since this?” He dropped his mouth to my tip again, giving the barbell a gentle suck. The metal snagged the inside of his cheek, and I gasped involuntarily, imagining how that might feel buried deep in Mungo’s tight channel. Pretty fucking awesome.

  “No,” I answered carefully. “Not since. Have you ever… have you ever bottomed for anyone?”

  My budding pillow princess shook his head, that red blush creeping higher. Bashful was a good look on him. “No, I’ve never. I like being fingered, though.”

  “So I noticed.”

  He blushed harder. “I… um… I tend to get typecast. I always wondered if… Cav wouldn’t… but… you…”

  “I’d love to,” I breathed. “Although I can’t promise I’ll be any good.” Fake modesty; I was damned good at everything bedroom-related. Why would topping be any different?

  “You want… you want it now?” Needless to say, this had not been on my bingo card for the evening. Getting hammered into the bed myself, until I was mistaken for mattress filling, had been more the ticket. But why not? I was nothing if not adaptable. And hadn’t I just promised Mungo I’d do anything for him?

  “Yeah.” He said it quickly, like he’d change his mind if he didn’t. “Unless… I mean, I haven’t prepped or anything. It’s not like I planned or…”

  “I don’t mind if you don’t mind.”

  Red morphed into beetroot, which was crazy because I was the one with the erect penis a hairs breadth from my best friend’s face. With my hand around his neck, I hauled his head up to mine. “Come here and give your future top some beard burn.”

  Did I flick through Pink News on my Insta feed? Yep, pretty much daily. Did I skim over the articles on How to Worship at the Altar of his Arse and Top Tips for Tops in my rush to get to the style and gossip pages? Yep, abso-fucking-lutely. Totally ignored them. But, when all was said and done, surely, it was only a matter of ‘insert tab A into slot B’. Danny had managed to work it out pretty swiftly. So how hard could it be?

  As Mungo and I lay curled into each other, regrouping, trading kisses, and stroking, I scrabbled for what worked for me whenever I bottomed, in the hope I could replicate it. First up: radiate some no fucks given top energy. Be confident, but not cocky. Put my bottom at ease; let him guide. Be liberal with the lube—he won’t want to be reminded of his first time whenever he peels a raw parsnip. Don’t stab and jab. Go slow, go sure, put his needs first, then bury my barbell so deep inside my beloved man we’d need a metal detector to locate it.

  With that aide memoire concluded, I was ready to rise to the occasion in all senses of the word. “Roll onto your front,” I ordered like a pro, determined to put my inexperienced bottom at ease. We’d start simple. The bedroom gymnastics could come later. “We’ll begin like this.”

  I knelt up to retrieve lube and condoms from the arsenal stashed in my bedside drawer, trying and failing to recall the last time I’d covered my dick in latex. A decade ago, but some skills were like riding a bike. Meanwhile, surprisingly chilled, Mungo made himself comfy, his head cushioned on his arms. His legs were slightly spread, giving me a hint of the tight hole hiding in the shadow of his divide. Within the confines of its sheath, my dick twitched. Oh, yes, I was game.

  Out of consideration for my inexperienced partner, I shoved a pillow underneath him, then settled on top and grabbed a generous handful of lube. His broken moan as my first finger slid to the second knuckle slayed me. I inserted another, and he moaned again, all kinds of hot. Peppering his shoulders with reassuring kisses, I sent up a prayer to the gods of premature ejaculation. Giving him the best three seconds of his life wasn’t on my bingo card tonight, either. I was planning on lasting at least thirty.

  As if deliberately teasing me, he made the same blissful sound again, and I rutted against his hip. Mungo made a few answering humps against the pillow. “I feel ready to come again already,” he groaned, arching up onto my fingers. “I thought I’d be too nervous.”

  I laughed. “Nervous? It’s me, Mungs. And my pencil dick.”

  Said no self-respecting top ever.

  He twisted his neck and our lips met in an open-mouthed kiss. “Love you, Milo,” he whispered. “So fucking much, you know?”

  “I do know. And I love you too. Are you ready?”

  “Been ready for years.”

  I sat back up, admiring the planes of his big broad back and shoulders, his meaty cheeks, and the darker crease between them, wet with lube, dribbling down to his balls. His hole open and waiting for me. Christ, he looked magnificent. Three seconds was sounding increasingly optimistic.

  As I lined up, I gave myself a firm squeeze, reluctantly screwed up my eyes, and pictured having sex with Mrs Erdogan. Always worked a trick. Until it didn’t. Fuck. I was gonna have to invent a new anti-fantasy and pretty damned sharpish.

  Because, when I pushed my crown through his tight ring, when that hot, velvety pressure bore down on my barbell from all sides, I lost my cool entirely. Mungo let out a marrow-deep, guttural cry, destined to echo around my head for the rest of my days. Whereas I actually fucking screamed, then stilled, half in and half out.

  Urgently, Mungo craned his neck to peer up at me. “You okay, sweetheart? You want to stop?”

  I shook my head rapidly and screwed my eyes up again. That question should be asked the other way around, to the man bottoming for the first time, but nope, here I was, making everything about me. I nodded again, panting.

  “No, I’m good. I’m… ungh…” Bravely, I shifted further forward, at least a big fat millimetre, and screamed again. I swear someone had applied a taser to my balls. “It’s… ungh.”

  “Use your words, sweetheart,” Mungo ordered, calm and… um… exactly like a reassuring top should. “Tell me what you’re feeling.”

  “Okay, I’ll try.” I whimpered, gripping Mungo’s hips so tightly I was surprised I hadn’t drawn blood. Not that he seemed to care. “It… it’s hot and hot and squeezy and… I’m… and…”

  He chuckled softly. “Well done, sweet, you’re doing such a good job. And you feel fantastic, Milo. I love the feel of you inside.” As if to prove it, he clenched around me. Oh God, he fucking clenched. I swear my barbell melted.

  “A little bit more now,” he coaxed. “Come on. I can take it.”

  “I’m trying,” I whined. “I need a minute to just... ungh.”

  Christ, who knew topping was so blooming exhausting? Dropping to my elbows, I rested my damp forehead between his shoulder blades. My dick slipped in another couple of millimetres, with the accompanying sound effects. I hoped to God the crew downstairs still had the telly on.

  Mungo let out the slightest of gasps. “You’re so good at this, Milo, so good,” he purred. A little voice inside me suggested that should have been my line, but, frankly, I was beyond caring about anything except the mounting pressure on my dick.

  “So good, Milo. You can do it. You can do it.”

  Long story short, I discovered a praise kink. His encouragement pulled me back into the present, anyhow. Spurred on, I counted to ten, took a deep breath, and pushed in more. Then waited until I got my shit back together and repeated. By now, my thigh muscles had also joined the screaming.

  “Christ, Mungs, if I’d wanted to hold a plank for three minutes, I’d have gone to the blooming gym!”

  Note to future self: never make him laugh while my dick was in his arse. Every part of him rippled, including the part clamping my dick.