“Will you walk into my parlor?” said the spider to the fly;
“’Tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy.
“He said it’s fine.”
It was impressive that Ernest could speak at all considering his mouth was buried in Jules’s neck, kissing fiercely and pulling apart his shirt with his fingers so that he could scrape his teeth down to Jules’s exposed collar bone. Jules closed his hands round Ernest’s small wrists.
“Did he really?”
“Yes, he said he wants us to do it.”
“Ernest! That’s two different things.”
Ernest glanced up at Jules and rolled his eyes at the fearful expression that greeted him complete with raised eyebrows and a bitten bottom lip. Ernest pressed his hand in Jules’s and reached up to cup his cheek.
“Jules, dear boy, I promise we have permission.”
Ernest had few qualms with lying to Jules in this situation, especially since his cock was hard and already straining in his trousers, and the necessity for Jules to spread him over Gisquet’s desk and take him was growing by the minute. The boy was weak and he did not care.
With a soft moan Ernest took Jules’s hand in his and pressed it over that growing hardness. He smiled as Jules pressed in closer and took the opportunity to squeeze, then snake his hand behind Ernest’s back.
“Come on,” Ernest said breathlessly, grabbing Jules by the wrist and yanking him towards the Prefect’s desk. He shoved him against it, taking hold of his lapels and pulling him into another furious kiss. Ernest’s lips moved with intent, his tongue with an almost violent quality, and Jules fell with him. The desk shunted a pace across the floor as Jules fell back against it.
Ernest was now tugging at Jules’s coat, pulling it from his shoulders and divesting it unceremoniously onto the floor. With this article of clothing removed Ernest took the opportunity to run his hands down Jules’s chest, his fingers glancing over the pale blue embroidery that adorned his waistcoat, and then reaching up to tug at the silk bow around his neck. The cravat fell to the floor along with the forgotten coat, but Jules did not allow Ernest to undress him further before leaning in to capture his mouth again.
They kissed hungrily, Jules slipping his mouth past Ernest’s chin and down his neck, biting at pale skin, provoking the sweetest of moans from his fellow secretary. Jules grinned, biting harder, leaving a blossoming red mark. Ernest made a faint sound of protest, but it went ignored as Jules continued to scrape his teeth past Ernest’s neck and across his collar bone.
“This was your idea,” Jules whispered as his fingers reached up to slip Ernest’s waistcoat from his shoulders. “I know how you like it, don’t pretend you don’t.”
Ernest gasped, a sound of delight pouring from his lips. He reached his arms behind Jules’s back and gripped him tightly, pressing their bodies together, hardness to hardness, although Ernest had to stand on his toes to achieve this, almost a head shorter than Jules as he was.
He kissed Jules’s mouth again as Jules pressed his fingers to Ernest’s jaw, capturing his face with his hands. Ernest’s cheeks were hot and flushed and Jules’s fingertips were cool against his skin.
“On the desk,” Ernest barely breathed the words, but so close together Jules could hear them clearly. “Quick.”
Jules pulled back and gave Ernest an appraising look. “Turn around.”
Ernest did so, his heart was beating eagerly and his legs were trembling with excitement. Jules placed his hand in the small of Ernest’s back and pushed him towards the desk, not hard, but with enough force that Ernest put both his hands out to brace himself against the wood.
Jules slipped his fingers beneath Ernest’s waistband and pulled his trousers down as Ernest helped kick them past his ankles. Jules ran his hands over the pale skin of Ernest’s thighs, his fingers pressing into his smooth perfect arse.
“Does Monsieur Gisquet keep his oil in here?”
“He must do,” Ernest said, barely managing to keep a whimper from his voice. “But if you cannot find some then it is no matter.”
“No, don’t be silly.” Jules took his hands away as he stepped back and Ernest moaned in frustration.
“Fine, try the cabinet.”
Jules hurried to the mahogany cabinet where Gisquet kept all manner of toys when he wasn’t using them and tried the handle. It was locked despite his attempts. Ernest groaned. “Jules, speed is of the essence here.”
Jules turned back to the desk where Ernest was sprawled over it, naked and wanting, his cheeks flushed pink.
“Perhaps in the drawers.” Jules pulled open the first he found and rummaged through the papers. Frowning he drew one out. “Does Monsieur Gisquet speak Spanish?”
“How should I know?”
Jules turned the paper in his hand then ran a finger over the wax where a small crest was imprinted in the red circle. “Do you recognise this seal?”
“Jules!” Ernest splayed his fingers over the desk and rutted against it with a pointed expression. “I don’t care, now get over here.”
“Don’t you think it’s strange? It’s addressed to Monsieur Périer, but it’s here in Monsieur Gisquet’s desk. I can recognise our names in here too, but nothing else. Wait just a moment.” Jules paused and held the paper closer to his face, squinting carefully at the neat script written in a language he did not understand. “Chabouillet’s in here too. Who’s writing to the Prime Minister about all of us in Spanish?”
“For heaven’s sakes Jules!” Ernest had given up waiting for Jules to return and had thrust his hand between his thighs and was now stroking his own cock. Slow strokes, his broke furrowed and his lips parted. “Put it back and get over here.”
Jules folded and slipped the paper back in the drawer and slid it shut. He was still frowning, but turned to face Ernest. “Don’t be so impatient, take your hand away.”
Ernest gritted his teeth and gave himself one final stroke before placing his hand back on the table, moaning in the process. His cock twitched noticeably and his thighs quivered despite his attempts to stand still and braced against the desk. He raised his face to Jules and looked plaintively at him, letting a soft whimper escape his lips.
Jules watched him for a moment, licking his own lips and tugging at them with his teeth. “I’ll go fetch some oil from our rooms.”
“No!” Ernest cried out pitifully. “Just do it without.”
Jules made his way to the door and tentatively opened it a crack, glancing this way and that to check for wandering clerks or police officers. None of them would have permission to enter Gisquet’s office, but they could just as easily notice something through the gap.
“Jules! I don’t need oil! Do you think so little of me that you think I can’t take it?”
Jules scoffed. “I know you can take it. Don’t you ever think of anyone but yourself? You can be so selfish sometimes, do you really think I want to go in dry? It’s not fun for me either.”
“Jules,” Ernest moaned, practically crooning. “Sweet Jules, I’m sorry, just hurry up. I’m desperate.”
Ernest’s hand had slipped back between his thighs and was once more gripping his weeping cock. He stroked it gently, trying not to exert himself, attempting to keep himself hard for when Jules finally entered him.
“I can see that, you selfish boy, now take that hand away. Also the door is still open so you might want to lower your voice.”
Ernest put his palm back down on the table and groaned in frustration. Jules turned to look back out the gap between door and frame, his eyes narrowed.
“Nicolas!” He cried out suddenly, then lowered his voice and spoke again in a carrying whisper. “Nicolas! Come here!”
Ernest turned around and frowned at Jules. “What are you doing?”
Nicolas Pinel was as dutiful and obedient to his fellow secretaries as he was to Gisquet himself. Upon hearing Jules’s voice call to him he immediately dropped the papers he was carrying and skipped across the corridor towards Gisquet’s office door slipping through the gap where Jules beckoned him.
“Nicolas, thank goodness, we have a bit of a crisis.”
Nicolas glanced around the room, taking in the sight of Ernest, naked, cock hard and bent over Gisquet’s desk.
“What’s going on?” He asked in a voice that was piercingly innocent.
“What does it look like?” Ernest said, clicking his tongue. “You’re not that naive, don’t be silly.” He smirked a little and spread his thighs a little wider.
“We need some oil,” Jules cut in before Ernest could say something crude. “For obvious reasons. Would you fetch some from our room?”
Nicolas’s smooth brow furrowed and he looked curiously between Jules and Ernest. “Does Monsieur Gisquet know you’re here?”
“Yes, of course,” Ernest said quickly.
Jules nodded in agreement. “He requested that we do it here actually.”
“Well, Ernest said so.”
Ernest shot a glance at Jules as he dug his heels further into the floor. “If you’re going to accuse me of lying then out with it!”
“Oh stop it,” Jules said, turning back to Nicolas. “Some oil. Please.”
Nicolas hesitated then nodded, darting from the room like a startled rabbit. He returned a few minutes later holding a bottle of rose scented oil, the delicate pink glass reflecting in pretty diamond patterns across the curtains. “Will this do?”
“Perfect,” Jules said, just as Ernest cried out; “Finally!”
Jules uncorked the bottle and poured a generous amount over Ernest’s arse allowing it to slide towards his entrance, and then he coated his fingers in a little more. He pressed the tip of his index finger to Ernest’s slicked arse.
“Have been for the past hour.”
Jules thrust his finger in, crooking it slightly and massaging the oil as deep as he could before adding a second finger. Ernest was no longer the tight and blushing virgin he had been when he first arrived at the Prefecture, and even then Jules suspected he was not inexperienced when Gisquet had first breached him. Nevertheless, Jules took care to prepare his friend, pressing his fingers as deep and wide as he could, spreading Ernest to prepare him.
Jules withdrew his fingers and lined himself up with Ernest’s waiting arse. The boy was trembling in desperation, his knuckles white as his fingers splayed on the desk. Jules thrust forward, entering Ernest with his whole length, spending a moment to steady himself before beginning a steady rhythm of thrusts.
Barely moments had gone by before Ernest’s arms had given out and he was now lying with his chest pressed against the desk, collapsed upon Gisquet’s blotting paper. He moaned loudly, his lips pressed to wood as Jules thrust deep inside him with the same care he used when carrying out his secretarial duties.
“Harder,” Ernest managed to cry out, and Jules obliged him. His fingers dug into the sides of Ernest’s thighs as they gripped for purchase, every thrust shifting Ernest harder into the desk. Ernest’s eyes were squeezed tight shut in a blissful agony, his lips were parted as moans and whimpers continually escaped him, and his palms were slipping across the desk with each thrust, trying and failing to grab hold.
A timid clearing of the throat failed to rouse either of them from their tasks, so meek was the cough that both of them barely noticed. It was only when Nicolas took a shy step forward into Jules’s vision that Jules finally looked up to acknowledge him.
“May I go now?”
“For goodness’ sake,” Ernest cried out, his voice muffled as it was pressed into the desk.
Jules rolled his eyes. “Yes of course Nicolas.”
Nicolas nodded, bowed, and then escaped the room on winged feet, not looking back at the scene once.
“You’re supposed to be teaching him,” Jules said. “You’re not doing a very good job.”
“I’m doing an excellent job,” Ernest said in reproach. “Look how obedient he was.”
“You’re both such delicate flowers I’m surprised either of you finds time to take a break from being fragile and take the other.”
“I’m not delicate!” Ernest protested through gritted teeth. “I can be very forceful indeed.”
Jules chose this moment to thrust particularly hard into Ernest, shoving him forward into the desk with a sudden strength. Ernest let out a yelp and found himself overcome by the sudden show of control. His thighs grew warm with a tingling sensation and then he was spilling into climax, coming down his legs and across the gilt edges of Gisquet’s desk.
Jules supported Ernest’s limp body until he had spent himself. Then he pulled out and held Ernest as he guided him to rest on the canapé.
“Oh, most definitely.” Ernest smiled up at Jules and reached to cup his face, stroking across his cheek with the pad of his thumb. “I am most grateful, I’ve wanted to do that ever since we got here.”
“I wonder why Gisquet only gave you permission now.”
Ernest was rummaging in his pile of clothes for a clean handkerchief to clean himself off. He laughed at Jules’s words. “He hasn’t, that was a lie, but don’t be too angry Jules it was a sweet lie.”
Jules’s stomach had dropped several feet and he was now glancing at the door nervously as if Gisquet might suddenly burst through and fire both of them on the spot.
“He won’t mind, I’m sure, and it’s not as if we’re going to mention it.”
“I can’t believe I allowed myself to be part of your conspiracy.”
Ernest pulled on his clothes and rose to look at himself in the mirror, he examined his appearance and fixed his cravat into an exuberant bow. Once satisfied he turned back to face Jules and smiled.
“Well, when you’re feeling ready I’ll make up for the deception.”
He licked his lips pointedly, winked, and then fled from the room.