Even as he suggested a trip to his club, Arthur knew that wasn’t where he wanted to take Joe. It’s wasn’t because he feared he couldn’t pull off his role. The truth was he didn’t wish to let the world in just yet. He wanted it to be only the pair of them for a little while longer.
“Tomorrow, perhaps. But today…” Arthur glanced at the sky, which had gone from fine to cloudy in a matter of minutes. “It seems we’re in for yet more spring rain. I can think of no better place to spend a gloomy afternoon than the museum. Perhaps if we keep to some less popular exhibits, we won’t run across anyone I know.”
Joe visibly relaxed his shoulders and his frown disappeared as he adjusted his spectacles. “I’d like that. Always wanted to go there.”
“Why haven’t you? Admission is free to everyone.”
“Hard to make time in me busy schedule for a day trip,” Joe pointed out.
Arthur felt a fool. How could he forget that a workingman’s free hours were precious and not filled with idle pastimes?
“I’ll be happy to show you some of my favorite collections. You mustn’t miss the Egyptology room. Also, the Greek and Roman statuary is inspiring.”
Emerging from the park onto a main street, Arthur hailed a passing cab. They climbed inside just as the rain began in earnest. Joe wiped droplets from his spectacles with a handkerchief while Arthur regaled him with his impressions of collections gathered from across the globe. Visiting the British Museum reminded him of his grandfather and made him miss the admiral’s stories of foreign ports of call.
The museum was currently undergoing construction. As the cab approached the new North Wing, Joe leaned over Arthur to gaze out his window at the work in progress. Impressive columns rivaled those of any Greek temple, but Arthur lost all interest in the building, focusing instead on the scent of Joe’s hair pomade and the way his jacket stretched across the breadth of his shoulders. A small leaf from the park clung to his back. Arthur wanted to brush clean the expanse of pale blue linen, but he kept his hands still. No need to tempt himself when he was already aroused simply from Joe’s proximity.
To distract himself, Arthur prattled on about Baron de Rothschild’s Waddesdon Bequest. “The items from his estate include stunning jewelry, silver plate, enamel, glass, and carvings. A gorgeous display you simply must view.”
They exited the cab and ran through the rain that had begun to come down in earnest. As they mounted the steps, Joe tipped his head back to gaze at the carving above the doors. Raindrops sparkled on the lenses of his spectacles and shone in his sleek hair, making him a living work of art in Arthur’s opinion.
“Is there anything you’re particularly interested in?” Arthur asked after they got inside. “Suits of armor, weaponry, Egyptian mummies? Let me know so I may chart our course through the museum.”
“Anything. All of it. Show me your favorite bits, and I’m sure to enjoy them too.”
Arthur smiled at his blank canvas. It would be a pleasure to introduce Joe to the beauty, splendor, and mysteries of the world.
Their steps echoed through one display room after another, while Arthur shared knowledge from years of coming to the museum. He could have been a docent, he thought as he told the story of a particular long-dead Byzantium ruler. Seeing everything fresh through Joe’s eyes, Arthur realized how jaded he’d become. No wonder his days had been a constant battle against boredom. He’d forgotten how to appreciate the amazing details of life. Teaching Joe reawakened his sense of childlike discovery.
Joe gazed into a glass display case of pottery fragments. “Cor, you know a lot. How d’you keep all those facts in your head?”
“I suppose because I’m interested in the subject matter. Too bad I didn’t recall facts back in my school days, I’d have got better marks.” Arthur smiled, then answered more seriously, “I’ve always been interested in archeology and anthropology. Ancient cultures and modern ones may seem vastly different, but at the core, people are pretty much the same. A primitive family’s clay pottery or my fine china—we all must dine off something. Whenever the Admiral returned from one of his voyages, I devoured his stories about the Far East or Africa or whatever tropical islands he’d visited. I always wished to follow in his footsteps.”
Joe turned inquisitive eyes away from the display case to beam them directly on Arthur. “Why haven’t you? Surely you could’ve been a naval officer like your grandfather if you’d wished.”
Arthur tapped the toe of his shoe on the floor, embarrassed to answer. “For two good reasons. My tendency to motion sickness on several Channel crossings quickly convinced me I’d never be a good sailor. And even though I might have eventually gotten my sea legs, I’m honestly quite lazy. Once I realized everything I’d have to learn about ships, navigation charts, and commanding a crew, such a career seemed too daunting. I certainly never imagined myself in charge of naval forces or charting new courses. More of a world-traveling tourist—if I could but bring myself to set foot on an ocean liner. The thought of those churning waves…” He gave a dramatic shudder meant to provoke a smile, but Joe’s expression remained serious.
“That’s too bad. Seems you never really gave traveling a try, and it was something you wanted badly to do.”
“Well, we don’t always get what we want.” Arthur kept his tone light but felt the bitterness of disappointment in himself.
“No. Generally not.” Joe’s expressive eyes appeared thoughtful as if he recalled many past disappointments.
His expressions were so transparent, Arthur wondered whether he’d truly be able to pull off their charade. Surely every person at the ball would recognize him as someone different from their shallow ilk. Arthur vowed that no matter the outcome of the wager, he would ensure Joe Sprat got his shoe shop. At least one of them ought to achieve his life’s goal.
Arthur led the way toward the Greek and Roman statuary. The long hall of white marble sculptures, either nude or draped in flowing garments, was as hushed and solemn as a temple. The myriad forms seemed merely paused in their movement. If one turned his head quickly, he might catch a nymph dancing or a god bringing down a thunderbolt on unsuspecting humans. That pair of lovers leaning toward each other might finally kiss. And the penis lopped off a handsome Greek man by either time or censorious hands would thrust boldly once more.
Arthur studied his companion, who gazed in awe at the statuary. Lips parted and eyes wide, Joe gave a soft whistle. “Beautiful! Like frozen angels they are. Surprises me that naked people can be on display with nobody complaining about decency.” He clicked his tongue when he noticed the missing cock on the thickly muscled athlete who wore a winner’s olive wreath and little else. “Poor chap. Who did that to you?”
“Some jealous competitor, no doubt,” Arthur joked.
They both moved closer to stare up into blank white eyes.
Arthur’s attention drifted from the statue’s face to its other attributes. The shoulders, chest, and torso were banded with muscle. The legs were thick and strong and the feet firmly planted; the stocky body of a wrestler rather than a lean and elegant patrician like the toga-clad fellow next to him. Arthur imagined some long-ago man posing for a sculptor and wondered if the artist’s model remained after the session for some private grappling. It would’ve been much easier to lie with men in ancient Greece when such attraction was taken in stride.
“A shame,” Joe said. “All those missing heads and arms and so forth. How wonderful it would’ve been to see them when they were new.”
“Indeed.” Arthur willed his own heated erection to diminish before Joe noticed the bulge. Shameful of him to grow lusty over fine art and to imagine how Joe’s body might compare to the Grecian wrestler’s. But a sideways look informed Arthur that Joe was also aroused. His linen trousers were too light a material to mask his growing interest.
Arthur glanced up and met Joe’s gaze. There was no denying their desire wasn’t prompted by a bare-breasted woman clutching an urn. The proof of what they both craved stood before them—a masculine figure carved in solid marble.
All pretense of disinterest fled. Finally acknowledging the truth was like throwing kerosene on a simmering bed of coals. The attraction Arthur had fought against since the day Joe entered his life blazed into an inferno. Liquid heat filled every throbbing particle of his body. If he didn’t grab hold of Joe and kiss him that very second, he might explode.
Arthur looked around the gallery. The room was empty of living people. There wasn’t even a docent patrolling the exhibit. But Arthur wasn’t fool enough to take advantage of their temporary solitude near what was usually one of the busier displays. He grabbed Joe’s arm and tugged. “Come.”
They walked. Then trotted. Then raced toward a secluded corner of the museum Arthur had in mind, a perfect place for trysts, used by more than one couple over the years. Heedless, excitement poured through him in waves. He hadn’t felt this gleeful or wild since he was a boy pulling pranks with his mates. He looked over at Joe, who grinned back at him.
They reached the peristyle room, its open courtyard suggested by a starry sky painted on the ceiling. The traditional covered walkway around the perimeter displayed medieval tapestries, religious paintings and icons, and illuminated stained glass windows. Wide pillars made the cloister a safe place to hide in the shadows for some solitude. But rather than reflect on spiritual themes as the monks would have done, Arthur had only one burning thought in mind. The restrained passion of the past days gushed forth like the water flowing in the central fountain.
Walking cane and hats tumbled to the floor in a heap. Jackets slid from shoulders to join them, and the two men faced each other in shirtsleeves, breath gusting, cheeks flushed, and eyes wide.
Arthur grasped Joe’s forearms and roughly hauled him close. But he needn’t worry about his fervor, for Joe seemed equally eager. Strong arms banded Arthur’s body, and a hot, seeking mouth covered his. Joe pressed against him, hard and insistent, his lips mashed against Arthur’s, his tongue sweeping inside. The man could kiss! Bold enough to be exciting, but not sloppy or overly aggressive. Arthur clutched his back and returned every stroke of his tongue.
His swollen cock gave an aching pulse as Joe’s erection pressed against it. Arthur rubbed that hardness for several moments, seeking what he couldn’t achieve—not covered by layers of fabric. He needed naked flesh. He needed to know the shape and texture of the cock he rubbed against.
Reaching between them, he unfastened Joe’s trousers and slipped a hand inside. Ah, there it was at last! Thick, engorged flesh filled his fist. Joe groaned into Arthur’s mouth as he rubbed and pulled, the helpless expression of pleasure whipping Arthur’s own lust even higher.
Joe broke off their kissing to ask, “Are you sure? Right here?”
Arthur inhaled. “Are you? I don’t want you to do anything you don’t wish to. This is—”
Joe smothered the rest of his words with another fierce kiss and worked his hand into Arthur’s drawers. As soon as his fingers grazed the tip of Arthur’s cock, Arthur nearly lost control. Though he’d known Joe for only a few weeks, he felt as if he’d been waiting years for his touch. His body vibrated as if he’d never experienced any sort of sexual contact before.
Maybe his heightened response was because they were in a public place, which certainly enhanced desire, but Arthur felt it was about something far more. Being with Joe Sprat was what made this experience unique. Something about him beyond handsome looks or a fine body. It was who Joe was as a person that magnetically attracted Arthur—an ambiguous concept yet every bit as real as the firm grip on his cock.
Arthur broke off their kissing to press his lips against Joe’s warm, strong neck. He tasted salty skin above his collar, inhaling his masculine scent, feeling the flex of Joe’s throat when he swallowed. He watched his own hand rubbing Joe’s erection, which thrust from the front of his trousers. Joe’s fist did the same to Arthur’s cock. Shining it as he would a pair of shoes, Arthur thought in amusement. That strong hand knew precisely how to draw pleasure from him. The friction prompted a groan loud enough to rise above the splashing of the courtyard fountain and echo through the cloisters. Arthur pressed his mouth against Joe’s shirtfront to restrain another outburst. The pressure in his balls increased as he moved his hand in perfect sync with Joe’s until it felt almost as if he were massaging his own cock—except not really. Not at all.
Arthur lifted his face to meet his lover’s gaze. Behind shiny glass lenses, Joe’s eyes gleamed. His lips parted, and occasional whimpers escaped them. He thrust into Arthur’s grip—harder, faster. Then he froze, and a ripple went through his cock. Warm fluid wet the back of Arthur’s fist as Joe closed his eyes and moaned. His expression of bliss rivaled the beauty of any carved statue.
Joe’s stroking had faltered to a stop during his climax, but after a moment’s rest, he resumed his pace, guiding Arthur toward his own pinnacle. Tension built in his groin, a tangled knot of need and desire that grew tighter and tighter. He gripped Joe’s waist, heedless of any stain his hands might leave on the shirt, closed his eyes, and let his head tip back. Joe kissed his throat, then bit quite hard where neck met shoulder. The unexpected nip drove Arthur over the edge. Suddenly, the cords snapped and unfurled.
“Oh Christ!” He plunged into space, a comet shearing through the dark abyss.
When his climax receded, Arthur opened his eyes to fix on a painting on the wall behind Joe. The medieval style depicted a flat-faced Jesus on the cross with the two sorrowful Marys attending him on either side.
Arthur wondered if he might suffer eternal damnation for finding such bliss in perverse acts. But then he’d never been religious, and as he rested his face against Joe’s heaving shoulder, he didn’t give a damn if hellfire were to be his fate. He was certainly in heaven right now.