An Excerpt from Jules Jones & Alex Woolgrave's The Syndicate: Volume 2
They didn't have to go very far to find a good hotel. It was full of all those little luxuries one didn't get in normal shipboard life. As for what it lacked, well, it was bug-free, both in the ‘cockroach' sense and in the ‘Harry' sense. Definitely good enough.
Vaughan lay on the bed, kicked his shoes off, and ate the complimentary chocolates provided for both of them. Allard pretended not to notice. He would have liked a chocolate, but it would be more dignified not to notice.
“Oh,” said Vaughan. “Damn, I didn't mean to eat both of those. Sorry.”
“Don't give it another thought.”
“I just noticed you not-noticing, with gritted teeth.”
“Stop spoiling the mood, Vaughan.”
“Well, un-grit your teeth and go and have a look in the mini-bar. There will be more chocolate through there.” Vaughan sat up again. “No, on second thought, I'll get them. You lie back on the bed, and I'll come and feed them to you.”
“What a lovely idea.” Allard disposed himself, in carefully calculated slight disorder, on the bed. If he was lucky, he looked just rumpled, rather than foolish. Come on, Vaughan, or I will feel a fool lying here like this.
Vaughan came back with a box of truffles. He sat on the bed and opened the box, then unwrapped one truffle and held it out, very delicately.
Equally delicately, Allard leant toward him and closed his mouth around it. He pulled back slightly, sucking Vaughan's fingers as he did so. The truffle was good. A little too cold from the fridge, but a wonderful flavour that intensified as his body heat warmed it. He let it melt over his tongue, enjoying the sensation.
Vaughan stroked his face softly. “You look disgustingly decadent.”
“Good.”
Allard ate three more chocolates, unhurriedly.
Vaughan kissed him, then said, “Yes, they do taste nice.”
“So do you.”
They shared a few more chocolates and kisses. Allard was going on the principle that he could always work off the calories with a little help from Vaughan.
He wanted to touch more than lips now. He wrapped his arms around Vaughan and pulled him down.
“You're rumpling my clothes all up,” said Vaughan.
“I like you rumpled,” said Allard, undoing Vaughan's tie. It was surprisingly difficult dealing with a tie ‘round someone else's neck, even when he was just un doing it. He wasn't too bothered, since he was in the mood to take it slowly.
“Whereas I quite like you all dressed-up to the nines. It's nice to be able to prise you out of your geek-wear occasionally.”
“I'm still in black.”
“Apart from this lovely royal-blue cummerbund,” Vaughan said, doing things to the cummerbund, “and that crisp white shirt. There's something decidedly tempting about that crisp white shirt.”
“The idea of un-crisping it, you mean.” Allard did so to Vaughan's, playing with it as he undid the buttons, and running crisp pleats between his fingers.
“Something like that, yes,” Vaughan said, slipping his finger through a gap between a couple of buttons on Allard's shirt.
Allard wriggled slightly, and the finger made contact with his nipple.
“Don't wriggle,” said Vaughan. “It interferes with my precision technique and handling.”
“Your precision technique and handling are what's making me wriggle,” said Allard. He applied a bit more of his own ‘precision technique' to Vaughan's shirt and what was under it. “See? You wriggle, as well.”
“And it interferes, as well.”
“Is there anything you won't turn into an argument, Vaughan?”
“No,” said Vaughan. “Want to argue about how quickly I can undo your trousers?”
“No.” Allard wriggled a bit more, trying to make himself accessible. Once he was unfastened, he reached for Vaughan in turn. “I suppose we'd better go for nakedness this time. I don't fancy the dry-cleaning bills if we get more-than-rumpled in our best clothes.”
“You wouldn't keep them as a souvenir?” Vaughan asked, not sounding terribly serious.
“I'm sure I'm not going to forget this. Silk sheets and chocolate are memorably unusual.”
“And champagne,” Vaughan said. “There's a bottle in the ice-bucket. You did specify the honeymoon suite.”
He was already nicely happy after the champagne shared during the show, but they could probably handle another bottle without affecting their ability to handle each other.
“Go and get it, then. No, not yet. Get your clothes off first, and then I can watch you walking around naked.” He didn't mention that he'd be able to watch Vaughan in front of a large mirror.
Vaughan got off the bed and removed his clothes, rather less slowly than a proper (improper) strip-tease, but very nice anyway. Allard lay back on the bed and took hold of his cock, not masturbating, but letting himself enjoy the feel of it, and the view.
“Keep that for me, will you?” muttered Vaughan.
“No intention of wasting it on a wank. But don't you like watching me hold it?”
“Oh, yes,” said Vaughan, “all framed in black.” He licked his lips. “Do you have any idea what you look like? Full formal evening dress, shirt half-undone, cummerbund all rumpled up and your cock dangling out of your trousers.”
“I am not dangling,” said Allard, looking down to check.
“Certainly not,” said Vaughan. “Fine upstanding fellow you are.” He stripped off the last of his clothing, laying it neatly on the chair. Then he walked toward the mini-bar.
Allard followed Vaughan's progress with interest. Yes, the large mirror offered an excellent front and rear view at the same time. Then he noticed Vaughan watching him watching Vaughan. Vaughan grinned at him, and wiggled his hips. Bouncing made the front and rear views even more interesting.
His cock was beginning to tell him it had had enough of mere scenery, however.
Agreeing with it, he started getting undressed, and had managed to strip to the waist by the time Vaughan returned with the ice-bucket and a couple of champagne flutes. He was mentally cursing the complicated clothing: all very well slowly unwrapping each other, but it was hell when you just wanted to get rid of it fast.
“Would you like any help with that?” Vaughan asked him, and got down on his knees.
To Allard's disappointment, he was kneeling to undo Allard's shoes.
Allard was thinking about another use for that relative position. He sighed, undid the rest of his fly-buttons, let his trousers drop, and settled to giving his cock a little attention.
“Would you like any help with that?” Vaughan asked, sounding rather more interested.
“Finish my shoes first.”
Vaughan did, cursing the trousers which had just landed on top of what he was working on. “Lift one foot,” he said.
Allard did so, trying not to fall over and wishing he hadn't dropped his trousers so unceremoniously.
Then the other foot.
Finally he was free. He wiggled his cock at Vaughan.
“Very nice,” Vaughan said, “but let's have the champagne first. I've always heard that bubbles can have an interesting effect when combined with fellatio. Sort of…tingly.”
Allard, to his own surprise, rather liked that idea. “But would it work if there was something else in your mouth already? And wouldn't it get a little untidy?”
Vaughan gestured airily at the bed. “We are paying an unfeasible amount of money for clean sheets and luxury. We practically deserve to be a bit messy.”
“When have you ever needed to pay for the privilege?”
“On the ship, I leave things about, I tidy them up,” said Vaughan.
“Eventually,” muttered Allard.
“Here, other people can clear it up; that's their job.” Vaughan grinned. “Anyway, this is a better class of mess!” Vaughan indicated the visibly expensive chocolate-wrappers decorating the floor.
Allard conceded the point. “I'd always supposed that ‘the lap of luxury' involved sexual congress on a bed of rose petals, but I should think truffle-wrappers are a reasonable urban facsimile.”
“You're getting epigrammatic, Allard. Time I shut you up,” said Vaughan, and shut Allard up by filling his own mouth.
Allard panted.
Vaughan stopped, and said, “Hang on, forgot the champagne!”
I don't care! thought Allard, although he would not give Vaughan the satisfaction of saying that.
“Hold these,” said Vaughan, handing him the glasses. He poured a generous measure of champagne into each flute, then set the bottle down and took one flute from Allard. “Cheers!” he said.
“You do not knock it back like cheap plonk!” snapped Allard.
“No,” said Vaughan, with a grin, “I knock it back like expensive plonk for which I have paid a significant amount of money to be able to treat exactly as I please.” He took a small, delicate sip. “Mm,” he said happily. Then he took a somewhat larger sip, got down on his knees again, and applied himself to Allard.
This was distinctly interesting. Allard wasn't entirely sure if the quality of the drink affected the sensation. With the chilly drink against the heat of his cock and Vaughan's mouth, and the quite unclassifiable feel of bubbles, he didn't particularly want to analyse anything.
The ‘bubbly' feeling only lasted a few seconds, but then he still had the warm, wet, luxurious feeling of a mouth wrapped ‘round his cock, and if he wanted the champagne, he could always drink his own.
He sipped. Decadent. Wicked. Wonderful. It was good champagne, but being able to relax while someone sucked his cock as he drank made it even better. He did absolutely nothing except enjoy it.
The taste was a cool prickle on his tongue, and there was no trace of coolness or bubbles left in Vaughan's mouth by now, just the slow serious suction Vaughan enjoyed giving and Allard enjoyed getting. He wanted to move, and wanted to stay still. He stayed still.
He was not quite on the edge of not being able to stop. Time to stop, while he still could, and experience it from the other side. “Vaughan.”
“Mph?” Vaughan said around his cock.
“Stop now, or you wait until I've recovered from la petite mort before you get to find out what champagne on your cock feels like.”
Vaughan slid off him very quickly indeed, leaving Allard feeling rather regretful about having been so generous. Then Vaughan stood up, slightly unsteadily.
Hardly surprising, given the state of his own balance. He managed to kneel down rather than fall down, although it seemed to be more by luck than judgement. Perhaps they'd had too much champagne, after all. No, they both still had erections, didn't they? He patted his own to check, and peered at Vaughan's. Yes, Vaughan had a very nice erection. Very firm, very tasty-looking.
He took a quick swig from his glass, held it in his mouth. When he was certain that he wouldn't choke, he slipped his lips over Vaughan's cock. It took more co-ordination than he was quite capable of, and a little champagne dribbled. Vaughan didn't seem to mind, especially when Allard hastily sucked to try to stop it getting away. Then he managed to get as much of Vaughan's cock as he currently had room for, and settled down to enjoy the sensation of bubbles bursting inside his mouth, bubbles bursting between his tongue and Vaughan's cock. It was quite a sensual pleasure for him, never mind the thought it was meant to be for Vaughan.
He held it for as long as possible, until the bubbles finally dispersed, then he reluctantly pulled off Vaughan, swallowed, and took another mouthful of champagne. More practiced this time, he was able to take Vaughan straight in. Vaughan's cock moving in his mouth stirred the champagne up quite delightfully. It stirred Vaughan up quite delightfully, as well. Vaughan thrust into his mouth. Allard enjoyed it for as long as he could before he had to pull off, spluttering and choking.
“Are you all right?” Vaughan said.
“Champagne up my nose tickles.”
“Pity. I was enjoying that,” said Vaughan.
“So was I.” Allard couldn't help laughing. “First time I've done that with champagne rather than a fizzy soft drink.”
“What? Sex?”
“No, you twit! Get it up my nose!”
“I know you've got a big nose, Allard, but I don't think nasal sex is an option without extensive surgery.”
“Is there any perfectly normal remark you can't turn into a double-entendre?”
“No.” Vaughan bent over and held out a hand. “Come on. On the bed.”
“I don't think we're going to manage the co-ordination for sixty-nine and champagne,” said Allard regretfully. “I don't seem to manage even one end of that.”
“We might if we hadn't actually drunk quite a bit of it,” said Vaughan, “but you're probably right. So. Sixty-nine without champagne or one-by-one with champagne. Ah, it's a close call!”
© Jules Jones & ALEX WOOLGRAVE , October 2004
All Rights Reserved
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