"Forgotten? Hell no. I'll be storing that one in my special 'gentleman's boner-in-the-bathroom' time spank bank."
I couldn't help it. I snorted with laughter, shaking my head. "Jesus. You really know how to spoil the mood, don't you?"
"I prefer to call it breaking the ice."
"Even when I've already had my cock in your mouth."
James rolled his shoulders, not in a proper shrug, and I got the impression he was trying to convince me of his innocence without throwing my hands off him.
I was more than happy to keep them exactly where they were. For now. Later, on the other hand...
"You're in my home now. Not exactly a level playing field. Non-neutral territory. You're playing an away game."
"This is a soccer reference, right?"
"Football. " He rolled his eyes. "Honestly; don't you Yanks know anything?"
"We already have our own kind of football, thank you."
"Yeah, a bunch of nancyboys --- "
"You what?"
"Okay, jessies."
"I'll never get used to your Scottishisms."
"Don't worry; I'll write you a dictionary. So anyway, you've got a bunch of wimps dressed up in full body armor in case one of them breaks a nail on the pitch --- "
"Field."
"Yeah, yeah. You ought to try playing rugby. That's a game for real men. You could run over the entire team with a bus and they'd pick themselves up and get on with it. Maybe they wear a gum shield and that's about it."
"Is that in case any dastardly Yanks try to kiss them?" I asked. "No, wait, wait. It'll be because those Brits have to preserve the few teeth they have left. I know how you lot are dentist-phobic."
"Screw you, Texas. Look." He gave me a grin cheesy enough to make the Cheshire Cat jealous. "And they're all still mine. I floss."
"I can't believe I had my cock in there earlier. They're bloody fangs."
"Glad you think so." James's lips were still curved into a smirk as they met mine and the warmth of his laughter huffed into my mouth. "Come on," he murmured, barely pulling back, just an inch of air between us to make the words audible. "Follow me."
"You lead. I'll follow."
"How romantic, Texas. You make it sound like we're dancing --- Bugger."
"Forgoing the obvious punch line...try not to back into the door."
"I was trying to go around it."
"Unsuccessfully," I pointed out. It had been ajar and, distracted, he'd backed onto its edge.
"Yeah, thanks for that, Einstein." James reached around with one hand to rub the small of his back. "I'll live. Might need a lie down, though."
He arched his eyebrows, didn't even need to wink or smirk to convey his meaning.
"Not flat on your back though. Might be a bit sore." I reached for him again, clutching at his shirt this time, fumbling more as arousal kicked in. This was really happening.
He kicked the door out of the way, glaring at it as if daring it to swing back and hit him again. "How about on my knees?" Without missing a beat he pulled me close and dropped a light kiss on my lips as he walked backwards, more tentatively this time.
"Sounds good to me."
"This room here." He used his foot to tap at a door that was already halfway open. "Enter my boudoir."
"Boudoir makes it sound pink. Very girlie." And it wasn't. It screamed bachelor pad. Plain and functional. Wardrobe, chest of drawers, nightstand. No clothes on the floor. But he didn't seem the type to be so careless with any garment. Unless he's tearing them off me, I hope.
"Shag pad?" James suggested, cocking his head and looking at me in a way I assumed was supposed to be demure, but just came off as shamelessly sarcastic. I was good with that.
"I'm surprised by the coordinated bed linen."
"What's wrong with it?"
"Nothing, nothing." The duvet cover and pillowcases were all in a matching shade of blue, smoothed over and tidy. "I was hoping for an X-Men bedcover."
"I could stretch to a Wolverine poster for the wall, but that's it. In fact I wouldn't mind staring at Hugh Jackman...but duvet cover? Nah; I'd be worried about getting suspect stains all over Michael Fassbender."
"I'm sure he'd cope."
"A boy can dream." James shrugged. "For now it's just me, a copy of X-Men: First Class and a box of tissues."
"Ugh. Jesus. How about we bring you back in the room. For now it's just you, me, and a --- Fuck." I dropped my hands and for the first time in an absolute age, wasn't touching him.
"That's what I was hoping for --- "
"No, no, I mean..." I bit my lip. Unsure of why I felt reticent, I cleared my throat and said it anyway. "Condoms. I don't have any on me. When I left the house, I..."
"You were still trying to convince yourself you weren't looking for a Scotsman to toss your caber?"
"Yeah, I --- What on Earth does that mean? It sounds painful."
"It is if you do it wrong. Never mind. Highland Games. Scotsmen get drunk and play tug of war then start throwing trees at each other."
"You sure make your countrymen sound like a bunch of weirdoes."
"They are. I mean we are. I'm the Chief Weirdo of the Clan MacWeirdo. Honest. You can check it in Debrett's Peerage. God, I really need to shut up. My sense of humor has a mind of its own, really doesn't know when to stop. Sorry. You were saying?"
"Are you..." I swallowed. Gulped back the air, even. "Are you nervous?"
"Me? Nervous? God, that's just..." He waved a dismissive hand, made a face as if the idea was ridiculous. "I mean, I'm twenty-six years old; you're accusing me of...?" A pause, of no more than two seconds. "Yeah, actually. I am." He bit his lip to underline his confession, but his gaze held mine bravely.
I realized he was waiting for me to say something and let out a breath I hadn't even known I'd been holding. "Thank God for
