“All right,” Yuri said quietly. His expression, though, had softened, and that lightened Angelo’s heart.
When they got back to Yuri’s room, the bed had been made and a note sat on one of the pillows. Yuri snatched it up and read it, then crumpled it and threw it in the trash. “So much for not putting Philippe to more work. He’s changed the bed linens for us.”
Philippe knew. Then Angelo shook himself. Of course Philippe knew. Servants and security always knew everything. It was inescapable. He wondered if the valet approved, and if he would inform Angelo’s parents. The answer to that was possibly. He wondered what his parents would make of it, then decided he didn’t care. If his father, in particular, didn’t want Angelo having sex with a man, he shouldn’t have gone along with the betrothal. His father had gotten his trade agreement. It was hardly Angelo’s fault that he’d decided to make a sham into the truth.
“That’s nice of him,” Angelo said.
Yuri snorted. “It’s him being passive-aggressive. But it’s also given us a clean bed, so I can live with that.” Yuri slid out of his robe then put on the pyjama bottoms and t-shirt Philippe had folded neatly and left on the end of the freshly made bed. “I don’t have anything big enough for you to wear to bed, I’m afraid.”
“I generally don’t sleep in much more than my underpants.”
Yuri nodded tightly and pulled back the covers on his side of the bed. “If you want, you can take a shower now.”
“Thanks.”
Under the hot spray, Angelo pondered Yuri’s mood. He seemed stiff and uncomfortable. Maybe he’d been disappointed by sex with Angelo. He wanted to march out to the bedroom and announce that he could and would learn to be better. Sex required practice to get it right. Although it had felt pretty damn right to Angelo.
As Angelo cleaned himself and thought of all the things he wanted to do with and to Yuri, his cock grew stiff. Embarrassed by the idea of going to bed with an erection, Angelo slicked his hand with soap and quickly jerked himself off. Afterward, he felt better, but a little hollow. He wished Yuri had been in the shower with him, on his knees, mouth open to catch Angelo’s cum. That thought sent an aftershock through Angelo and made his dick jerk inside his slackening grip.
It was ironic as hell that Angelo had finally given in to Yuri’s silent, and not-so-silent, pleas and they’d fucked. Now Angelo was the one who wanted more and Yuri, it seemed, did not. This was probably karma, or something equally as annoying.
After he’d dried off, gotten ready for bed, and opened the bathroom door, the bedroom was dark. Angelo walked blindly to the bed, hoping he wouldn’t trip on something, and got in. The sheets, while fresh, still smelled like Yuri. If not for coming in the shower, his cock would’ve gotten hard at that scent alone. Angelo lay on the supremely comfortable bed, his head cradled on the softest of down pillows, and felt more alone sharing a bed with Yuri than he had in more years than he could remember.
Angelo woke with something hot pressed against his side. He tentatively put out a hand and found it was Yuri, asleep, curled into him. He longed to shift and pull Yuri more tightly to him.
He imagined kissing along Yuri’s jaw and throat while his hand explored Yuri’s lithe body. His hand would settle on Yuri’s cock and he’d slowly bring his prince to the edge of orgasm. Angelo wanted to hear Yuri beg Angelo for release, to plead for his cock or his mouth or whatever Angelo would give him. Maybe he’d spank Yuri, then bring him to the edge over and over until he couldn’t take any more. Then Angelo would let Yuri come after he’d begged very prettily for it.
Angelo’s cock, already morning stiff, twitched hard at that fantasy. He wanted to pleasure Yuri so thoroughly that he never wished to look for another lover. They’d agreed, informally, to seek out sex in others after they’d been married long enough and it felt safe to do so, but the idea of Yuri being touched by any other man filled Angelo with a combination of disgust and rage.
Well, hell, he thought. This was not something I’d planned on. At all.
The train ride back to London with Roger was largely silent, much like Angelo's breakfast of toast and eggs with Yuri. Going to Oxford had been a mistake. A huge mistake. Not one he regretted in and of itself, but he hated the fallout that he should’ve anticipated. No man could live up to Yuri’s active imagination. Perhaps this was better done now, though, than later. The worst was over. Both knew what to expect. Yuri, now that he realized sex with his straight—or mostly straight—betrothed was not all he’d anticipated it to be, would willingly go back to the old plan. They’d seek out separate lovers when it was safe to do so. It would be utterly civilized. He and Yuri would remain friends, or whatever it was they were to each other. Only minus the sex.
“Sir. I think that newspaper has suffered enough,” Roger said.
Angelo looked down and saw he’d rolled and twisted it until it had begun to rip. “Oh,” he said, and dropped it beside him on the train seat. “Sorry.”
“Better the paper than something else, I suppose.”
Angelo looked at Roger’s face, which was solemn but still seemed to hold the trace of a smile. He sighed. “I think I’ve buggered it all up,” Angelo confided.
“Maybe,” Roger said, making Angelo’s spirts dip
