Read Online Bone Idol by Paige Turner - Free Book Online Page B

his makeshift seat.
    “Tired.” Albert smiled. “Cold. Wet.” He pushed each boot off with the opposite foot, not bothering to unfasten them first, then stripped his waterlogged socks off and left them balled on the floor.
    Henry hauled himself tiredly to his feet and went over to his trunk, where he rummaged for a while among books and neatly folded clothes before coming out with a three-quarters-full bottle of brandy that glugged appealingly as he tipped it from side to side.
    He returned to his seat and took a healthy swig of the potent liquor, then wiped the neck of the bottle on the lap of his shirt and offered it to Albert. He smiled at Henry’s fastidious gesture, when they were both wet through and caked in red mud almost to the knees, when, never mind a shared bottle, Henry had had his tongue in his mouth only an hour before.
    Henry’s tongue, strong and slick and muscular, swiping his lower lip, playing gently against the ridges of his palate, sliding against his tongue with long, slow, thrusting languor…
    Albert fumbled and almost dropped the brandy bottle as he took it in rain-slicked fingers. The liquid was strong and fiery and burnt his throat, but it did make him feel a little warmer.
    They drank in silence for a while, drying out, tired from the events of the afternoon, passing the bottle back and forth between them. After a while, Albert leaned his head sleepily in Henry’s lap.
    “Albert…” Henry said in warning tones.
    “Shhhh,” said Albert, and sat in silence for a moment longer, savouring the heat of Henry’s thigh against his cheek. Then he said, “What happened this afternoon—”
    “Should not have happened,” Henry interrupted, but he did not move to rise, or to move Albert’s head from his lap.
    “That’s not true.” Albert was surprised by how strong and sure his voice sounded.
    “You’re saying that because you think it’s the proper thing to say—the proper thing to do.
    But it isn’t.” Greatly daring, he reached up and softly stroked the bulge of Henry’s cock with the back of his forefinger. “You’re a proper man. A good man. And you published against my father because you thought it was the proper thing to do.”
    Henry shifted slightly and started to speak, but Albert said, “Shhhh,” again. “You were right,” he continued, “it was the right thing to do. You were standing up for truth. You were working for the good of science. But pushing me away, when it’s what we both want, isn’t the right thing to do. It isn’t truth—it’s lies. You aren’t standing up for anything—you’re working against love.”
    “Love?” Henry said it in a choked, wondering voice.
    “Love.” Albert stroked Henry’s cock again, and turned his head into his thigh to suck the rainwater from the still-sodden fabric of his inseam. He felt Henry tense and quiver, and he reached to unbutton the other man’s fly and release his half-hard cock from the confines of his trousers.
    “Albert, no…” But Henry’s voice was barely more than a whisper, and his cock stirred and stiffened as Albert took the darkish, silken tip into his mouth and sucked softly on it.
    * * * *
    Albert licked Henry’s cock with tentative, kittenish strokes, lapping up the sticky fluid gathering in his slit.
    Henry knew he shouldn’t allow it, but it felt so good…so good…
    Then Albert took Henry’s cock into his mouth, suckling gently, uncertain, and Henry ached . He buried his fingers in Albert’s brown-gold curls and voiced a sigh, trying not to thrust into the soft, willing mouth. Albert sucked harder and ran his fingers up the inside of Henry’s thigh, sending electric shocks of sensation into his balls and up his spine.
    “No!” Henry said. “No! No…” and he fisted his fingers into Albert’s hair and wrenched his head up, to be met with a gaze that was hurt, and bleak, and pleading. “No. Not here.”
    And he brought Albert to his feet, took him over to the cot and laid