"Hmm. I so rarely get to have willing sex with a man who is clean and smells sweet. That alone is pleasant enough to start. Come here and kiss me. Show me you are that rare gift and worth the expense." This could be fun, Sumner decided.
Paris obeyed eagerly, with a twinkle in his eye. They were much the same height, with Sumner having to bend only slightly. Paris's breath was sweet and he didn't smell of sweat, blood, and fear. That alone was arousing. His lips brushed Sumner's, and were dry, not slobbering and begging for mercy. A kiss, willingly given, by itself was a gift beyond price. A mouth, eager to be plundered by Sumner, awaited the merest request of lips and tongue.
Sumner demanded, and got what he desired. There was no fight to get even a tiny reward. Paris gave at the slightest hint of a wish, and of his own free will. Tongues danced together, and Paris's dark green eyes were half-shut with submission.
The silk of Paris's shirt whispered as he reached up to once again toy with Sumner's nipples. The headiest wine in his father's cellars couldn't compare to the drugging sensation of a kiss that was sensed with every organ.
Sumner broke the kiss and sighed. "Okay, we got off cheap. You're priceless." His hand was still in Paris's hair, so he played with it, enjoying the silky texture.
"Oh, good, because I am expensive. Wouldn't want all that training to go to waste." His smile was impish. "I see you like my hair, too."
"Yeah, it's clean." Sumner played to the camera and tried to act as cool as his father would expect. He forced himself not to grin, and ignored the heat pooling in his groin.
Paris frowned for a moment, then laughed. "Got me there. Yes, I'm clean. You saw me bathe." He reached behind Sumner to tug on his ponytail. "Your hair is spectacular, may I add. I'm glad you inherited it from your father."
Personally, Sumner thought his hair was a pain in the ass, but if Paris liked it, well, that was a better reason to keep it than a wish to feed his father's phenomenal ego by looking like him. He shrugged and stepped away to cool down. "Enough with the compliments. We sound like a pair of adolescent girls." He strutted around, wiggling his hips. "Do you like my hair? I love yours!" he squeaked in a falsetto, patting his hair.
A snicker behind him made him turn to behold Paris holding a hand over his mouth. It didn't work well, and Paris gave in to roar with laughter. "We do, don't we? Well, I've a fondness for a little romance, but if you don't, that's okay."
Sumner folded his arms across his chest. "Let's just say I've never found it necessary." He prayed Paris got the hint. Sumner had rarely indulged in anything but the prisoners and slaves, who had no choice. Sex out of necessity for survival didn't often include romance. Those few eager partners had been sycophants who wanted something--a measure of power, a favor, or even just to bask in the glow of his supposed power. All Sumner's life, sex had been a show for his father, never for himself. He'd had less choice than the slaves.
The sober apology in Paris's eyes told Sumner the message had been received. "Well, then, perhaps you'd like a little education into its subtleties?"
That offer took a moment to think through. Should he act disinterested? That would be in keeping with cold, ruthless Sumner-the-son-of-Oswego. Yet, Sumner was curious. Romance between males? "Males don't need romance." There. That seemed the proper response.
"Ah, but I disagree! You frown because you don't understand. Romance is nothing more than a combination of discovering your partner's likes and dislikes, as well as a sort of foreplay to make it more enjoyable for you both. By taking the time to discover these things, you have created a situation in which emotions come into the playtime. What better thing to do than enhance the experience?" Paris waggled his finger like an old instructor Sumner once had.
"Well, I can't see much harm in learning to give and receive more pleasure," Sumner replied carefully.
"Let me give you an example. I could simply remove my clothes without fanfare, couldn't I?" He waited for Sumner to nod. "What fun and excitement is there in that? Whereas, I could make it a show." His eyes locked on Sumner's, and his smile was wicked. He slowly inserted a finger in his shirt seal and ran his finger down, exposing his chest by inches.
Sumner took all this in. Yes, this made sense. The slow removal of clothing, revealing flesh by inches, was more arousing. He felt the heat return to his groin. "I see your point."
"And I see yours." Paris looked down at Sumner's rising erection. "Isn't this more exciting, making things a little mysterious, perhaps even titillating?" His shirt fell off his arms to pool on the floor. "Romance is engaging all the senses of your partner in the experience, as well as your own. Scent, sight, touch, hearing, and taste to make emotions rise to the surface to be experienced. A cold bedding can be done, but it lacks this."
Sumner unfolded one arm to tap his lips with his finger in thought. "That, I could order a slave to do. Make him or her strip slowly and sensuously, perhaps even dance for me."
Paris paused in the removal of his pants, the seal broken. The pants rode low on his hips, revealing a hint of the black undergarment Sumner had seen him put on earlier. "Have you ever noticed that fear makes the movements stiff or wooden? How can a slave truly display themselves when their actions are demanded with the threat of pain? I myself would prefer a willing partner, who moves with joy, fluidly, because they truly wish to be with me. Just as I wish to be with you tonight, Sumner, and not just because your father commands it." He grinned and slowly removed his boots and pants.
Somehow, it was more exciting to see this man happily strip himself of clothing. Sumner knew he should sneer. He hoped Paris would forgive him for speaking so coldly. "Your good heart does you credit, Paris. You are so caring of the feelings of others." His father would read that as a sneer, and the statement pointed out how morally responsible Paris was. His father would want to break him of that.
Paris shrugged, but seemed unrepentant. "I'm a sex engineer." As if that explained everything. It didn't. He sauntered over as if he were in control of the situation, and stood in front of Sumner, wearing nothing but a scrap of black silk that both hid and displayed his huge equipment.
Sumner felt his mouth water. He wanted to taste that impressive cock. He wanted to feel it harden in his mouth. He swallowed convulsively, and licked his lips. When he said, "I suppose I should undress now," he was appalled to hear a quaver in his voice.
"Well, you can't fuck me quite so easily with your clothes on, now, can you?" Paris teased. Sumner felt Paris run his fingers over the seal of his pants, breaking it for him.
"I do intend to do that. Where's the lube?" His cock was aching for release already. His shirt was still partially tucked in his pants. He balled it up and tossed it toward the door for a fast leave-taking.
Kneeling in front of him, Paris removed his shoes and casually threw them in the general direction of the door. He'd noticed and understood Sumner's need to appear like he'd want to leave immediately. He looked up at Sumner, his eyes full of lust as he pulled Sumner's pants and underclothes down in one motion. "It's in the red carrysack on the bed. Blue tube with black letters, if you want the silicone-based product. It's a protectant, as well." He nuzzled Sumner's cock with his cheek. "Do you wish to step out of your pants, now?"
"Yes, I do. Then I ... oh, Guards." Sumner was having a hard time remembering to be the ruthless son-of-Oswego. Not when his erection was swiftly down the throat of an expert like Paris, someone who knew how to use tongue, teeth, and suction simultaneously. A pat on the ankle reminded him to lift his feet, one then the other.
This blowjob was better than any he'd ever received. No wonder. Paris was right, and Sumner knew it. Fear was not the best aphrodisiac, nor did it make anyone as eager as Paris was. Slick warmth, then suction, with teeth scraping lightly on the underside, repeated until he thought he'd die of it. He felt himself tremble with the need to thrust. It was time to fuck Paris, or he'd come into that well-trained mouth and miss a pleasant experience. "Stop, Paris." Sumner emphasized his command with a tug on some auburn curls. "Lube up and spread. I can't wait any longer."
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