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In The Dark Of The Night

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The house was dark. That was not surprising. It was also empty, which was likewise to be expected. I did not know what we were doing there and this was less usual. Normally when I followed Raffles on a job I had at least a vague idea of what we were after, but my friend had been even less forthcoming than was his wont concerning the plan of action. I had learned, however, not to attempt to confront him directly about the plan but to merely tag along, do as I was told and all would be revealed in good time. So I did not complain or ask questions, but followed him across the lawn, in through the back window and up the stairs to the master bedroom. As instructed, I threw open the French doors to the balcony and fastened our trusty length of manila rope to the iron railings while Raffles opened drawers and peered under sheaves of papers on a large baize-topped desk, clearly searching for something. Satisfied that my knots were solid, I joined him by the desk.

"So, do you intend to tell me what we are looking for, or must I guess?" I asked. He looked up at me and winked, and the moonlight gleamed in his eye. He was ethereal in the pale glow, like an angel fallen to earth, and it was almost an instinctive movement to wrap an arm around him, to pull him to me and to press my lips to his.

I had intended the kiss to be brief, conscious as I was of our mission and of the danger should we linger too long, but as I pulled away Raffles closed the gap again immediately, pushing me backwards against the beautifully papered walls. I heard the clank as he set the dark-lantern down on the desk. I have said before that I prefer a certain application of force in our liaisons and Raffles always knows exactly how rough to be. This time was no exception and indeed, I was so overwhelmed by his kiss that all thought of discovery flew from my mind, at least until his hands, which had been gripping my waist, slid down over my backside and pulled me into him. The feel of him already hard against me brought me briefly back to my senses.

"AJ, don't, we can't," I babbled.

"Whyever not?" he asked, his face blank but his eyes alive with mischief. "You've never turned down an opportunity like this before."

"Nevertheless, I am doing so now—ah!" My carefully formulated response crumbled as he turned his devious attentions from my mouth to my neck. "For God's sake, AJ, what if we're caught?" My guilty conscience and perennial fear of discovery and arrest did battle with a sudden and urgent need for him to take me right there and then. Raffles, for his part, did not look the slightest bit guilty.

"We shan't be. And if we are, we're already thieves, my boy," he chuckled. "A sodomy charge can't make things much worse."

"We haven't–" I couldn't stop myself from gasping when he nipped at the lobe of my ear. Damn the man, he knew exactly where to apply pressure. “We haven't actually stolen anything yet!"

"And that's where you're wrong, dearest Bunny mine," he sing-songed, patting my cheek patronisingly. "While you were seeing to the rope I helped myself to milord's gold cufflinks."

"Oh, AJ!" I had meant the words to sound reproachful, but as I opened my mouth to say them Raffles ground his hips against mine and instead they came out half-lost in a groan. I would be a liar if I said that the possibility of being caught red-handed didn’t excite something deeply primal in me. "Oh, you are the very devil, I swear."

"Harsh words, my lad," he tutted, then his eyes narrowed and a positively lascivious smirk insinuated its way onto his face. "Just for that, I've half a mind to bend you over this desk here and bugger you senseless."

"Oh Christ!" If someone had asked me to identify the tipping point of this conversation, where I ceased to pay any attention to the voice in my head that threatened a best-case scenario of two years in prison, it would be there. For all his criminal endeavours my friend remains a gentleman; he talks politely and easily about art, philosophy and literature with just enough wit that you come away thinking that he is clever without quite remembering exactly what he said. So when such vulgar language spills from those same clever lips without shame or qualm the result is astonishingly effective and unsettlingly erotic. I was lost. "Do your worst," I challenged.

"You'll regret that. My worst is really very bad indeed." I think it goes without saying that by this point I was as hard as he; when his hand slid between us, deftly unbuttoned my trousers, slipped inside and gave a sharp tug it was all I could do to keep from crying out.

"Bastard," I hissed when next I could speak.

"Dear me," he tutted again, this time with a shake of his head. "You do have a mouth on you this evening."

"I'd much rather have yours," I shot back cheekily.

"Be careful what you wish for," he warned, and in the blink of an eye he had dropped to his knees, pulling my trousers and underclothes down with him and swallowed me to the hilt. All my breath exploded out of me at once. He drew back, achingly slowly, until he reached the very tip of my cock. There he paused, looking up at me through his eyelashes, winked again and swallowed me whole in a trice once more, while I left tooth marks on my knuckles trying not to rouse the whole neighbourhood. He repeated the whole maddening manoeuvre over again, and again, so that by the fourth time I was writhing and moaning under his hands and his mouth.

"AJ, please-" I gasped and immediately regretted it for Raffles promptly did the last thing I wanted him to do, which was to take my cock from his mouth.

"Hmm? What is it?"

"The desk..."

"What about it?" he asked innocently, although of my friend's many fine qualities innocence is not one. "It's very nice. Early Georgian, a rather fine example." He rapped it with the knuckles of his free hand. "Mahogany, I think."

"Damn it, AJ, bend me over it and bugger me senseless!"

"Well, why didn't you just say that?" he cried in mock-exasperation and I suddenly found myself face-down on the green baize with Raffles' chest pressed to my back and his breath hot on the back of my neck. "Better?" he asked. He accompanied his question with a roll of his hips which pushed mine forward in turn; the friction of the desk surface on my aching cock was delicious and I could only respond with a moan of pleasure. He pressed a kiss to the base of my skull and then the pressure vanished. Behind me I heard him remove his jacket with the faint clinking of pockets full of jewellery. There was a pause, then he set a bottle down by my head—linseed oil.

Then suddenly his hands were on me—but not where I wanted them, needed them. Instead he pushed up my shirttails and ran his oiled palms up my back beneath my clothes, rubbing lazy circles along my spine and digging his thumbs in sharply when he reached my shoulders. It was a carefully calculated move which had absolutely no right to be as mind-numbingly erotic as it was.

"Christ, AJ, please..." I felt sure that if he did not do something more decisive soon I would burst from the tension.

"Patience, my dear rabbit. Fools rush in, and all that."

I was just about ready to punch Raffles on the nose and probably would have done so had his fingers not reversed direction then, sliding back down my spine and further still. I couldn't wait for him to breach me in his own time but pushed my hips back to meet him.

"Oh, God, yes," I gasped. The finger became two, then three. I could hear Raffles' breathing growing ragged at the edges; the thought that it was affected him as much as me only increased my pleasure. “More...”

“What’s the magic word?” he trilled. That was the final straw as far as I was concerned.

 "Arthur J. Raffles," I exclaimed, "if you don't get your cock in me within the next five seconds, so help me I will—AH!" His thrust was swift, assertive and not a little painful, but by God it was just what I needed. For a moment we were motionless, poised on the brink. Raffles rested his forehead on the back of my neck and let out a sigh.

"Oh, my dear boy," he breathed. "Can I...?"

Of all the nerve—to have to ask! "If you don't," I said, a little unsteadily, "I am never speaking to you again."

The first withdrawal is always simultaneously the best and the worst. I bit my lip and scrabbled blindly for the edge of the desk; I found it just in time to grab tightly as he thrust again, with each stroke pressing my cock against the baize so that I was assaulted on two fronts. One of Raffles’ hands pinned my wrist down while the other gripped my hip, pulling me back onto him as much as I was pushing. It was rough, messy and gloriously sinful and I wouldn’t have had it any other way. I begged him for more, faster, harder, deeper, anything and everything he could give, and God in heaven did he give. He released my wrist to take hold of my hips in both hands, lifting me up to sharpen the angle so that each trust sent bolts of pleasure like lighting in my veins. In my haste to hold onto the desk for dear life my arm sent the lantern spinning to the floor with a tremendous clatter, plunging us into darkness.

“That’ll leave a mark,” Raffles laughed breathlessly, not slowing for an instant. It did not take long before I felt the tight coiling heat in my groin.

“AJ, I’m... ah... oh, Christ...”

I had enough of my faculties left to hear him gasp my name and then ecstasy washed over me like a wave; I tried not to cry out too loudly but I fear I may have done so anyway. I was dimly aware of Raffles repeating my name over and over, and then a long groan as he came buried deep in me. My next clear memory is of him draped over me on that desk, breathing deep and slowly.

“By God,” I whispered when I regained the power of speech. He made a noise which I chose graciously to take as an agreement. It was then that I remembered our position. “Lord above, AJ, we need to get moving.”

“Don’t bother,” Raffles mumbled sleepily.

“But the master of the house-“

“Is in Paris. Until next month.”

I frowned, although it was lost on Raffles who obviously couldn’t see it.

“But what about whatever it was you dragged me out here to steal?”

“Oh, my dear little Bunny,” he said, pushing himself up onto his elbows. In the dim light of the streetlamps outside I saw he wore the most infuriatingly smug expression on his handsome face. “I’ve already stolen it.”