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Bright Young Thing

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George Barton arrived back home from an evening out, a feather boa draped around his neck. His valet was there at the door waiting for him outside his apartment. George smiled at him as he climbed out of his car.

“Hullo, Benson!” George said, flinging one end of the boa around his neck. “The night is young and so am I. Isn’t that Tennyson?”

“No, sir,” Benson said. His master was unperturbed.

“Ah, well. A good egg, whoever said it,” George said. His driver took the car to the garage as Benson led George back inside. “It was a wonderful party! Most illuminating and very scandalous.”

George flopped down on the couch, playing with the ends of the boa. “Lady Mary was there, and she shoved her date—what’s his name? That gigolo fellow—right into the fountain. I mean, actually shoved! It was a wonderful time! He got so furious he turned bright red. Well, as red as an Italian will go, I suppose, but he really was quite mad about it.”

As George talked, Benson began undressing him, starting with his shoes. George continued to babble on about the party, only pausing now and then to let Benson take his coat or his vest. When he was down to his shirt and trousers, he flung the boa around Benson’s neck.

“Have you ever been to such a party, Benson?” George asked, grabbing the back of the couch to watch him move around the apartment.

“None quite so exuberant, sir,” Benson replied, calmly placing the clothes in the laundry, boa still in place.

“You must have!” George said, beaming. “Everyone’s been to a wild party. You were young in the Nineties. I’ll bet you were quite a rogue!”

Benson smiled wistfully. “I was known as something of a man’s man in my day.”

“I knew it! I’ll bet you have wonderful stories.”

“Well, when I was in the Navy, there was one party when our commander was away. We took over the ship and started a gambling hall in the mess. By the time he returned to the ship, we had half the town on board.”

George grinned wide, resting his chin on his hands. “That sounds like great fun!”

“It was.” Benson shook his head and came back to the present. “Your parties are much more...provocative.” He took off the feather boa, setting it atop the wardrobe mirror. “Would you like your nightcap, sir?”

“Yes, I think so,” George said, rising.

Benson poured the drink and gave it to him. George took it, studying the amber liquid inside. It was his habit before asking impertinent questions.

“Benson,” he began, swirling the drink in his glass. “Am I attractive?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Do you mean that?”

“Yes, sir.”

George looked up through his lashes. “Make love to me?”

“No, sir.”

“But why?”

“It wouldn’t be proper,” Benson said. “I’m nearly twice your age.”

“I love impropriety! And you’re not that old.” He set down his drink, untouched. “Please?”

Benson took a step forward. George kissed him.

“Please?”

Benson began unbuttoning George’s shirt. George dropped his gaze, breathing in the scent of him. His own cologne mixed with the smell of polish and soap. Benson undid George’s cuff links, carefully setting them on a side table. He pushed George’s shirt off, running his hands over bare skin.

George tugged at Benson’s coat. “Take it off.”

Benson did as he was told. George made short work of the buttons of Benson’s shirt, his fingers grazing over his nipples. He had a strong chest from his time in the Navy that years of domestic service had not dulled. George kissed his collarbone.

With a grace that surprised him, yet didn’t really, Benson maneuvered them into the bedroom and onto the bed. George laid back as Benson undressed him. He reached for Benson and pulled him down on top of him. Naked flesh met clothed and George groaned.

“Take it off.”

“Yes, sir.”

Benson removed his trousers as George scooted up onto the bed. Benson climbed up after him. George wrapped his arms around him and kissed him. Their erections pressed against each other and George sighed in pleasure.

“Benson?”

“Yes, sir?”

“What’s your first name?”

“Adam.”

“Adam!” George kissed him deeply, humming contentedly into his mouth.

Adam grabbed George’s leg, hoisting it up over his hip. George gasped and arched up his hips, desperate for contact. He ran his manicured nails up Adam’s back, getting a hiss of pleasure in response. Adam reached between them, stroking their cocks together. George moaned and rocked his hips in time with each stroke.

George had fantasized about this for a long time, ever since his mother had hired Benson to take care of him. To actually be doing it, to have him in his arms; it was a dream come true. Adam tugged on their cocks and brought George back to focus with a gasp.

“Ben—Adam,” George said. “Kiss me.”

“Yes, sir.”

George all but melted into the kiss, moaning into Adam’s mouth. Something was bothering him, however. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, what with Adam kissing him like it was needed to survive and his hand rubbing them together.

Wait, that was it.

“You—mm—don’t have to call me sir now.”

“Yes, si—George.”

George sighed happily and kissed Adam again. This was everything he wanted and more. With a shuddering gasp, he came, holding onto Adam as if afraid he’d leave. Soon, Adam followed him, and the two of them lay panting together, caressing each other.

“Adam,” George said. “Do you love me?”

Adam brushed hair from George’s forehead. “Yes, George. I have for a long time.”

“Oh, Adam!” George rolled them over, kissing Adam deeply.

They laid there for a long while, until the clock chimed dawn. Adam rose and cleaned them up, then straightened the bed for George to sleep.

“Adam. Will you sleep with me?”

Adam hesitated. “You may have guests tomorrow.”

“They can wait,” George said, waving his hand idly. He looked up at Adam. “Please?”

Adam kissed his forehead. “Yes, sir.”