The Highwayman
the wind was a torrent of darkness, on the dusty trees
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas
And the road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor
And the highwayman came riding, riding, riding,
The highwayman came riding up to the old inn door.
The air was crisp, steaming from the mouth of the black clad man as his horse pounded along the dusty road. The moon was high and full, riding in the tips of the woodland surrounding the road. Other than the sound of the hooves thudding dully on the hard mud, and the sound of leather and metal chiming, there was no sound. Thomas took a quick look up at the dark rich blue of the sky, the very shade of his velvet frock coat, crouching low over the gelding's neck as they galloped towards home, and glanced over his shoulder and laughed with relief. No sign of them. He reined the horse in, and let it trot along. King George's men were far behind, and he, well, he had a good night's haul.
He barely noticed the overturned two-wheeler up ahead, until the scream of a dying horse alerted him. He slowed, pulling back on the reins, whispering, "Hold there, whoa, whoa," till the dark black stallion came to a halt, fussing slightly at the bit as he dismounted. Cautiously he walked closer, leading the horse by the reins.
"Ho! Anyone there?" he called, then recalling himself, whipped the black silk mask off, tucking it into his breeches pocket. He stepped closer, hand on sword. "I said, is there anyone here alive?" There was a long silence. "Well, far be it from me to question the gift of the gods."
He walked around the wreckage, peering into the shadows thrown by the bulk of the phaeton. There was a man lying there beneath it, partially trapped, unmoving and silent. By the looks, young, rich, dead - and most to the point, his pockets were beneath the overhang of the vehicle, where he couldn't reach to check the contents.
Grunting with the effort, he pushed away the light phaeton with his shoulder, and efficiently rifled through the pockets of the man lying there. Briskly he turned him over, hands already moving to remove jewels from his clothing and fingers, when a cloud drifted away from the moon, and the man's face was illuminated. Streaked with blood, the marks of a bruise over one cheek, quite still. He knelt by the beautiful face, snow over gold, his breath catching in his
throat. His fingers touched the skin, it felt icy to his chilled hands and he shivered. He touched a hand to the throat almost hopefully. It was covered by the stiff folds of a lace cravat, as best he could tell through it, with his fingers numb from riding, there was no pulse. Poor lad, Thomas thought, he looks so very young . . . suddenly he regretted his callous looting. He brushed a strand of long dark hair back from the young man's still face. He leaned forward and dropped a light kiss on the smooth forehead, whispering, "Poor lad, you should be alive, not left to rot," to the unnervingly beautiful corpse, then backed quietly away, disturbed by the scene before him. Just as he prepared to swing up to the saddle with his ill-gotten gains, he heard a faint moan.
"Who's there?" He looked around sharply, no sign of anyone. He turned back, then heard a second moan, from the direction of the supposed corpse. In a moment he was back there, watching as another bead of dark red gathered and joined the living stream across his brow. "Damme, but he's alive," he said, startled but oddly pleased.
He grinned, and reached down to lift him out from harms way. It was difficult, holding him, lifting the coach, but he managed. He laid the boyout on the long damp grass, running quick hands over him to find any other injuries. He smiled at the sleeping face, oddly relieved to discover the boy had only been knocked unconscious, no other injury. Then he started to think again clearly.
"Od's blood, where's the damn mask?" he swore, rummaging hastily through his pockets, turning his face hastily away, but not quickly enough. Long dark lashes fluttered, and unseen brown eyes peered at him through them, observing in bemusement as the mask was retrieved and tied. Thomas saw, and swore under his breath. No matter, perhaps he'd been quick enough, hadn't been seen.
"Oho, and when did you wake up sweetheart?" Thomas dropped into a neat crouch next to him. The boy reached up to touch the mask.
"You're a common robber." The precise tones were contemptuous.
"Not at all, lad. I am the most uncommon robber you'll meet in a while. Be grateful for it. There's them as would slit your throat from ear to ear for fear you'd seen me face."
"What would you do if I had seen it?" He was clearly still half stunned, and Thomas smiled at him.
"I'd have to think about that. I don't think I could bring myself to kill as pretty a piece of God's work as you are." He touched a finger lightly along the bruised cheekbone, and smiled faintly as the child flinched, then held still, pride overcoming fear. His smile widened.
The boy flushed. He pushed himself to his elbows, then rolled and stood unsteadily.
"Well, I did see it. What do you plan to do?" he asked, hand resting on sword hilt. Thomas' eyebrows twitched.
"That depends on whether you can be trusted? I'd prefer to leave, and we both can forget about this."
"There's a little matter of my cravat pin, a watch and a Marcello snuff box," the younger man said with polite sarcasm.
"Consider them payment for rescuing you." Thomas said blithely.
"I would prefer them back," the other suggested, inclining his head slightly in challenge.
"Oh really. Well, I fear I prefer them right where they are." He offered a mocking bow, and the other man drew his sword. "No, no, my dear. I make it a point never to fight someone when I have no idea what name should go on the headstone."
"Harry Kim," through thinned lips, "and you are?"
"Thomas Paris, a vous servir." He swept another bow, loosening his sword in the scabbard as he did so.
Kim nodded curtly and saluted. Thomas was amused by his cool air of competence, but moved warily to match swords.
The weapons rang, and it was quickly clear that Tom was the superior swordsmen, as he darted in and out, surprisingly light on his feet, while the younger, so brashly confident, was hard pressed to do more than keep up a guard. "You'll never win, you know," Tom said mildly, at a particularly reckless stroke of the other's sword, knocking it away, "And what was that stroke meant to be? Come on, child, concentrate."
Harry ignored his taunts, concentrating on steady swordsmanship, trying not to be offput by the fancy flurries that Paris was trying on his victim.
"Tell me, lad," Thomas said without apparently losing breath. "Do you have a family to mourn you? A sister perhaps who would rather have a brother than all the trinkets in the world? Give it up."
"Never!" Harry gasped. "I have no family, no sister for you to despoil with your filth and I'm glad of it. Unlike you, I have my honour, and I would never give in. A man like you - you'd have no hesitation in besmirching an innocent maid, would you?"
Thomas lifted an eyebrow. "Girls, boys. . ." he shrugged fluidly, with a meaningful look at the dark eyed young man before him. He saw dawning comprehension, and then was driven back by a wave of blows. He parried, surprised, weaving a steel blanket of sparkling defence between them. He thought for a moment he was regaining control of the battle, as Harry's anger betrayed him into mistakes, but just as he was congratulating himself on this, Harry began to move in Tierce, he parried automatically, only to discover the blow was a feint, and his wrist was gripped, even as the sword flew from his hand, enveloped and whipped away by the other's swift move. They were chest to chest, breathing hard.
Suddenly Thomas leaned forward, no longer trying to escape, and seized the younger man's lips in a bruising kiss. The grip on his wrist slackened, andhe slid an arm around his waist, pulling him in closer, deepening the kiss.After a stunned moment, Harry began to respond, tipping his head unconsciously upwards. Then he seemed to recall himself and wrenched his mouth away. They stood together, inches away from each other, breathing heavily. The highwayman's bright blue eyes were smiling down at Harry, and his lips curved in an oddly gentle look. Harry's eyes were wide, but he didn't try to pull further away. He was very conscious of the warm arm close about him, and the startling heat in his groin.
A hand ran though the dark hair. "So soft." Another arm wrapped itself around Harry, and he was kissed again, thoroughly, almost roughly. "Well, sweet? Why fight, when we could. . .be friends."
Harry let a wondering hand drift up and stroke along the unshaven cheek, feeling the fair stubble that was almost invisible in the moonlight. He felt a hand caress down his back firmly, coming to rest on his rear, rubbing and squeezing him. He shivered, meeting the clear eyes nervously. "What did you have in mind?" he whispered.
"Every lad's fantasy, life on the road. Just me and thee, sweet. How about it?" Both his arms were loosely about the boy's waist now, leaning back to meet his gaze. There was the distant sound of hoof beats, and Harry glanced back over his shoulder in the direction of the sound.
"What if that's my father?" he said plaintively. "They must be wondering where I am, I'm late back. . ."
"Then we'll send him a letter, my little liar, saying you've gone to sea, or we'll let him think you worsted, and in a roadside grave, or tell him you're herewith me. Or you could go back, to your father's house, and your family's domineering ways. Choose, but be quick." He'd waited too long, and could make out the distant mass of the King's men, neatly formed into a square, the steady tramp, tramp of their hobnailed feet shaking the road. "Think of being free, free as a bird," he urged.
"But, the law --"
"If you cannot bear to steal then I will turn respectable for thee," he offered rashly, "Now, choose," he demanded urgently.
Harry looked around wildly. "I can't -- but, if you will have me choose, then I-- I choose, you." Thomas let his smile spread, and held his hand out, walking towards the horse. Harry took one last glance homewards, and took the hand.
He was swung up into the saddle, and then Thomas vaulted up behind him. He took the reins in one hand, and flicked them. His other arm snaked about Harry's waist, and he felt the boy freeze as he was pulled back, close against his chest.
"Easy, sweet, it's not far, and we shall be home," he murmured into the warm neck. Harry held himself rigid, perhaps only now realising what he was abandoning. The horse moved easily off the road and into the forest. Swiftly and surely they headed eastwards. The moon had swung across the stars before Thomas spoke again.
"Sweet, we're here," he said softly, touching the face leaning into hisshoulder with gentle fingertips. Harry jerked away, abruptly awake. Thomas sighed faintly. Poor child. He felt a pang of remorse. <Perhaps I should not have done it. . .> He stopped the horse, and slid off. Harry swung his leg and jumped down, adroitly avoiding Tom's arms, and stepping away to stand against the stable wall with his arms protectively around himself. Even huddled up like that, face hidden in the dark, he was breathtakingly lovely. Thomas bit his lip, seeking control.
"Come on," he said voice harsh with the effort to hold back, and not terrify him. Then, when Harry flinched at the extended hand, more gently, "I won't lay a hand on you if you don't want me to."
Wordlessly, Harry pushed away from the wall, and followed his captor into the house."Are you hungry? Of course you are," he didn't wait for a reply. "Penvethick, dinner for two in the green room, immediately we have cleaned up. That reminds me, I'll want clothes for the master Harry. And a room made up for him. The one mother died in I think."
"Certainly sir." The flunky bowed and disappeared.
Harry stood, turning in amazement. "This place is -- why on earth do you rob and steal? You don't need it."
"Oh, everyone can use more money." Thomas said blithely. "I have expensive habits. Come along lad. I'll show you your room."
Some minutes later he was shown into a room furnished in oak, red hangings on the walls keeping the chill of the stones out. The bed was enormous, dominating the room, and Harry blushed, looking at it. A hand dropped onto his shoulder.
"Easy, my sweet. There's all the time in the world," a kind voice said. He couldn't meet the blue eyes that he knew were fixed on him, and mumbled some kind of thank you. "Here." A key was held out to him. His eyes flew up, to find himself falling into fathomless sapphire. "You can keep everyone out of your room if you so choose. It's yours, sweet."
"Oh." He dared a brief kiss on the man's cheek. "Thankyou." He walked further in, not noticing the dazed look on Thomas' face, the way his hand touched his cheek where it had been kissed or the way his every movement was followed with eyes warm with desire.
Thomas cleared his throat. "I'll get changed, and meet you in half an hour, downstairs." Harry barely noticed the strain in his voice, but smiled sweetly at his host, and began to strip briskly. Thomas swallowed.
"Wait till I've left, sweet, or I won't be responsible for what happens." he advised dryly. Harry paused, clad only in his undergarments, and looked shyly over at Thomas.
"I'm sorry, I didn't think. I'm not used to. . ." Impulsively he held his hands out. In a flash Thomas was across the room, gently taking the large, strong hands into his own. He turned them over, examining the sword calluses on the palms, the ink stains on the fingers. He lifted first one then the other to his lips, then folded them between his hands and pressed a kiss to the top. Harry was biting his lip nervously, but didn't pull away. Their eyes met, and suddenly Thomas felt as if he was falling. He cupped the side of Harry's face in one hand, pulling him close, sliding the other into his hair, so silky and fine, tugging gently until their lips met for the second time that night.
He ran his hand down the boy's back, and smiled into the kiss to hear the quiet moan as skin silked over skin. Gently he ran his tongue along the full lips, pressing past teeth, exploring the sweet depths of his mouth. Harry stood passive in the kiss, not refusing, but not really joining in either. Thomas exerted all his skill and knowledge, kissing him with passion and desire until he felt as if his lungs would explode. He gasped when he felt the soft tongue, which until now had lain quietly behind Harry's lips, experimentally reach out, brush over his own, dip tentatively at his mouth. He sucked gently on the very tip, using teeth too, to bring it into him.
He heard a sharp gasp from the man enfolded in his arms, and let him set the pace, feeling the boy's growing excitement, mirrored by his own arousal. A pair of arms wrapped around him, then closed tightly, and Thomas moaned himself, savouring the intimacy as they pressed full length against each other. Harry froze at the unexpected sound, a man's voice so close to his lips. The kiss continued for a moment, then Tom pulled away, breathing hard. Harry tilted his head, observing in surprise the look of need on the other's face, a look that softened into a smile, and then Tom stepped away.
He took a second to catch his breath, then said, rather hoarse, "I'll be downstairs when you've changed." Unwillingly, he unwrapped his arms, and walked away. He stole a last look at the young man's bemused, flushed features as he swung the door to, and sighed, a hand already over his crotch.
"Damn. I'll have to fix this," he murmured ruefully, and opened the next door, the one to his own room. It was right beside the one he'd given his guest, and was complete with adjoining door, to which he still had the key. He wanted the boy's trust, but he wasn't stupid. He glanced at the door. Well, another night maybe...
Ten minutes later he was downstairs, changed and washed. He sprawled into a chair by the fire, wondering if there was some way to make a stone room with a single heat source warm uniformly, instead of leaving his back icy, and his front too hot.
"Can I come in?" Tom leapt to his feet and swept out an inviting arm.
"Come in, come in, and pull the door to, it's too cold to let the draught through," he said, pleased to see the lad down so soon. He had wondered whether he would come down at all after their encounter in the bedroom. Harry walked in, glancing around the room shyly, not meeting Tom's eyes for more than the tiniest fraction of a second.
"Dinner?" Thomas said mildly, and indicated the laden table.
They sat down, and began to eat in silence, Thomas hungry from a week on the road, and Harry too nervous to speak.
"Wine?" Thomas stood and poured for Harry when the boy would have got up. "No, let me." he took a small sip from the glass, then presented it to Harry, the glass turned so he would drink from the same place. He held his breath, a silly childish trick, but, oh he wanted it to work. He let the breath out again. He'd glanced up, through rich dark lashes, and had sipped a tiny amount from the very spot where Tom's lips had touched the glass, holding that glance over the top all the while. Thomas was sure he could feel his heart stutter, and then lurch into motion to a different beat at that long look. Harry held out the glass, and for a moment, Tom wondered if he needed more wine, but the cut crystal was almost full to the brim, even yet. After a moment's hesitation, Harry's skin flushed with raw embarrassment, and he lowered it. Tom stopped him, suddenly understanding, a hand lightly on his wrist. He reached out and touched the golden skin of his face for an instant, <Warm now,> he thought, abruptly relieved beyond measure that the boy had not been injured badly, tilting his face up until their eyes met again.
Covering Harry's hand over the cool glass, he lifted it back to his own lips, never letting the soft brown eyes escape him. The smooth beige brightened to bronze again, a little embarrassment, a little of something more. Thomas swallowed, and Harry watched the adam's apple bob for a second, swallowing in unison.
"Are you still hungry?" Tom asked softly.
He nodded, and Tom perched on the edge of the table, pulling a couple of the platters closer. "Here," he held out a piece of meat, dripping gravy. Harry looked faintly disgusted.
"No? Ah well," and he folded it into his own mouth, chewing the stuff with lidded eyes, then slowly licked his fingers clean of the gravy. The whole room seemed warm now. He reached behind him and found something else, a piece of pie. He dug his fingers in, and lifted a small chunk away. He held it to Harry's lips, and was delighted at the sight of a tongue, lapping delicate as a cat at the stuff on his fingers. There was a quick glance up, and a quicker smile before the eyes fell again, and the morsel was enveloped in Harry's mouth, Tom's two fingers slowly sliding out of the soft lips, that mobile tongue cleaning them of all trace of the food. Tom stifled a moan, and shifted uncomfortably. Harry gave him a look of unmistakable mischief.
"Rogue-child," Tom accused, enjoying the guilty blush, and reached for something else to tempt him with. Ah yes. He held out a half peach, light brandy syrup coating it and his fingers, dripping messily onto the table. Harry considered it for a moment, until Tom began to feel almost nervous, then he leaned forward and lightly licked under the back of Tom's fingers, tasting the sweet juice. Tom held utterly still, watching the dark hair fall forward as Harry's tongue, just his tongue, touched his fingers. He was staring, almost lost in the sensations, when the feeling changed, and he found Harry was trying to take a bite of the fruit. There was no way to get a purchase on it. There was a solution, ah... Tom couldn't repress this moan, as Harry's mouth engulfed his fingers, teeth pressing into the underside of his fingers for a grip, into the peach on the top of his fingers to get a piece of the baked fruit. The tongue that had so enraptured him brushed over his fingers, and Harry seemed to be sucking to get the syrup. He paused again, obviously recollecting what he was doing, and to whom, but Tom was ready, and simply let his fingers slip out of Harry's mouth, holding the remainder of the fruit out between thumb and fingers. Harry took a small bite and swallowed, another, another, and Tom too swallowed, fascinated. Harry's hand lifted to clean away some juice he had missed, and Tom stopped him.
There was a frozen pause, then Harry lowered his hand again, watching Tom expectantly as he leaned forward, closer and closer. Unconsciously he lifted his face, and Tom was sorely tempted, oh so tempted to accept the invitation there and then, but he lowered his head further, and wiped away the liquid from Harry's chin with his tongue. A little higher, his tongue brushing over, and only over, parted lips, sweet with the taste of sugar, and brandy and peaches, and sweeter than that, under it all, something that he already knew to be Harry, the flavour of this amazing prize of his.
A tongue darted out to meet his, then retreated. Tom smiled, only a fraction of an inch away from Harry's skin, and sat back. After a second, Harry's eyes opened, and he looked almost disappointed. <Just who is seducing whom, here?> Tom wondered with faint amusement, and smiled at the innocent face so close to his.
Slowly he lifted his hands to rest them on Harry's face, then slid them up and backwards until they were buried in his hair, cupping the back of his skull. He shook his head, then, before Harry could ask, he dipped his mouth down, and caught the soft lips.
Tom slipped forwards off the table, onto Harry's lap, holding firmly onto the mobile face, and met the eager mouth lifting to him. Strong arms wrapped tightly around his waist, and he leaned harder into the kiss, tilting Harry's head just a fraction, letting him delve deeper into the intoxicating pressure and movement of those lips, that tongue against his. Slowly he moved back off Harry's lap, taking him with him pulled Harry to his feet, and step by careful step, never breaking the kiss, guided him to a huge heap of rugs beside the fireplace. They broke for a moment, both breathing hard, and Tom moved back a smidge, just enough to let the boy know he could stop this here and now, if he wanted, with no further consequences. Wide eyes looked up at him, and without meaning to, he enveloped him in his arms, crushing him close, one arm around his back, the other cradling the back of the other man's head, tucking that sweet face into his shoulder, pressing a kiss against his ear, the only bit of skin now visible, then laying his cheek against the soft black hair.
"It's all right, sweet. You don't have to do a thing if you'd rather -- "
Harry struggled a little against the embrace and in a moment it loosened completely. He did not move away however, as Tom had expected, and a pair of hands shyly reached for Tom's and wrapped them back around his waist. The face dipped to bury itself in Tom's shoulder again, and he had to strain to hear the soft words.
"I don't mind. Really." There was an awkward throat clearing, and Tom smiled as he felt the skin resting against him heat again. "I liked -- it."
Tom's eyes closed with relief for a moment, then re-opened as he felt a moist touch against his throat. He tried to lower Harry to the hearth, but he resisted, and Tom leaned back again, concerned. There was a mumble, and he tried to make out the words, but it was impossible.
"What was that again, sweet?"
"I said, could we go to bed?" he repeated loudly and aggressively, scarlet with shy shame.
"If you'd rather, dear heart." Tom replied gently, placing a chaste kiss on the swollen lips. "But not just yet." He tried to meet Harry's eyes, to tell him it was just a matter of taking it slowly, but the arms tightened around him, almost desperately.
"Don't you want me?" he asked piteously.
"Of course. Oh sweeting, of course. But perhaps we should take this slowly?" he suggested calmingly, perhaps only a little short of patronising, and Harry resented it. There was the faintest of shrugs. Then his whole weight was thrown against Tom, and they were suddenly on the floor, Tom on top, and Harry looking up with an odd combination of fear and eagerness in his eyes that Tom could not resist. He brushed a kiss along the clean line of his jaw, butterfly touches drifting over warm skin, leaving a wake of warm arousal reflected in the dilating eyes and open mouth. His attention was grabbed by that mouth, and his lips were drawn irresistibly to Harry's, sucking them into his mouth, savouring the soft flesh, teasing it with his teeth, scraping gently along it.
Harry whimpered and lifted his face eagerly. Tom lost himself in kissing his lover, thrusting deep inside the dark wetness, enjoying, and acutely aware of Harry's hands on his back, holding on at first, fingers clutching at his loose linen shirt, gradually relaxing, as Tom drew moans of pleasure from him. He drifted his mouth down, nipping lightly at the soft skin of his neck, swirling his tongue in the hollow of Harry's throat, feeling the pulse jump under his touch. Harry moaned and jerked under him, and Tom relaxed into the warmth of the broad shoulders and muscled chest beneath him. Harry's hands began to move, exploring cautiously.
Tom shifted luxuriously under those curious hands, pushing up into them as they brushed over his shoulderblades, dipping to tongue a small nipple where it lay hidden beneath Harry's own shirt. He moved his hands between them, never lifting his head from Harry's chest, and pulled the lacing of the shirt open. Harry barely even noticed. He was absorbed in the burning spreading from breast to groin, frying his brain, arching his back, making heart and lungs work harder to keep up with the pounding in his veins.
He groaned as he felt the wet cloth of the shirt moving roughly over his tight button, the blunted pull of Tom's teeth around it tugging and driving him into insanity. He was lost, holding on tightly lest he somehow fall from this pleasure to loneliness again. His hands slipped further down the smooth back, daringly tugging at the edge off the shirt, and just touching the bare skin exposed there until he heard the muttered, "Yes, please, more, sweetheart?"
Delighted to find he could give back pleasure he stroked lightly, sometimes barely even touching the skin, learning and picturing the dips and curves, the flow of bone and muscles, the move of skin shifting under his touch, feeling like silk, warm and cool both, and so fine and soft as to seem likely to drift away under his fingers. He barely noticed the deft move of Tom's knee between his legs, pushing his thighs apart, letting him settle intimately in the splayed limbs. His first awareness of it was as Tom's hips ground against his, erections pushing against each other from under the thick restraining cloth of their smalls. He barely even realised its implications, so vastly overwhelmed by lust and need as he was, simply spreading himself wider open, bending his knees a little to give himself better purchase to push himself up into Tom's body, begging wordlessly for what he craved.
"Oh Tom, oh Tom..." he panted, forcing his eyes open to stare up at the older man. Tom bore down on him rhythmically, humping against his cock until Harry was sure he would come from that alone, no further need for stimulation. Tom could see the tension in Harry's face, and lifted away a little, waiting until Harry's face registered the change, then quickly stripped them both of the few remaining clothes.
He sat back for a moment to admire the body lying before him, sprawled bonelessly on the furs, shifting restlessly, cock swaying with each needy motion towards him. He grinned, and in a quick movement sucked in the length of Harry's semen-moistened shaft, swallowing it down as far as it could go. It was not subtle, nor was it meant to be. In moments, Harry was writhing mindlessly, jerking up into Tom's mouth, arching into a bridge, the highest point engulfed, the hands on his hips doing little to hold him down. Then, back aching, dropping back to the floor, only to lift again into the rough-smooth wetness, so close and warm about his prick, the only place in the universe that existed, oblivious to the stone of the floor under his head where the rug had rucked away from under him; unaware of the heat from the nearby fireplace, red light bright, hot, scorching his skin - what fire? The flames burnt inside him, a conflagration of memory, strength, morals, everything, ashed and destroyed in the furnace of Tom's mouth.
Thomas lifted away for a moment, pressing hard on the base of the boy's cock until he was sure he would not come just yet. He licked delicately at the taut flesh, then worked his way behind the hot shaft, mouthing his balls, tonguing the loose skin between them, sucking each strongly, then leaving them too, laving with broad strokes over the smooth skin between balls as his hands slipped under Harry's thighs to cup his pale buttocks.
The legs slipped open a little wider, and Tom grinned, then lifted his partner's ass until his tongue was brushing over the tiny aperture. The flavour was dark and deep, he pushed closer in to taste more, sucking and nipping around the small crinkle of flesh. He pressed kiss after kiss against the tightly closed hole, pushing at it with lips and tongue, licking and probing from time to time until the pressure against him eased, and he was allowed a little way in.
He pushed harder, then pulled back to look at Harry's face. He was lying on the soft rugs and cushions, head thrown back giving him a beautiful view of his long neck and firm chin. He dragged a finger through the sweat pooling on the boy's chest, and brought it to his mouth, lapping at it thoughtfully. Harry sighed, shuddering.
"Where'd you go?" he asked thickly, and pushed himself up just far enough to meet Tom's eyes.
"Nowhere of importance," he smiled, an odd look to his eyes. He licked slowly at his thumb. Harry watched as he touched the wet skin to his breastbone, dragging a line down his sternum, over the flat planes of his stomach, curving away from the rough hair, and adding his index finger to the trail, until thumb and finger rested either side of his anus. Harry swallowed.
The two digits stroked across him. And again. Tom's eyes never left Harry's. The thumb slipped a little closer. Pressed inwards, and Harry jerked, reflex pulling him away, a firm hand on his stomach holding him down. For a moment he tried to struggle, the restraint frightening him. Index finger dragged over his perineum, pressing in, straight across the small hole, dipping in in passing only, and drawing a line up between the separated cheeks to the base of the spine.
"All right, pet. It's all right." Tom whispered. He released Harry's shaking body, and pulled a handful of cushions closer, propping him up. "There." He said softly. "Can see what I'm doing now."
Harry wasn't sure who he meant. He stared down the two bodies, himself spread out, legs wide with a man's hand rubbing sensuously in his crotch. The hand propping up the guinea gold head, measuring eyes burning blue fire at him, maybe even daring him. A leg was draped over his own - when had that happened? and a thick red cock rested, hot, almost seeming to move of its own accord on his leg. Now he noticed it his eyes seemed to lose all other vision, until that was all he could see or feel.
Tom smiled. "For you. If you want him?"
Harry nodded faintly, then collapsed bonelessly back onto the piled cushions as the lingering thumb pushed abruptly into him.
"This is where he wants," Tom whispered across his stomach, breath stirring the scattering of dark hairs. The muscles rippled in the wake of the cool air, or perhaps with something more, as Tom pulled the thumb out a little, and pressed inwards again, deeper...
"You know that?" he asked, and Harry nodded, agreeing, he knew, he wanted...
"Nice," he complimented him. "Warm and soft inside. Tight though."
He twisted, tugged a little. "Let's stretch you out, hmm. Still going to be a rough ride, pet, but there's no point hurting you more than I have to. You're going to want to do this again, sweeting."
He rolled his face till lips met the smooth stomach. "At least, I'll want to do this again, and I'd prefer you to want it too," he smirked soundlessly.
Harry was silent. His world had narrowed to his body, to the heat of the man sprawled down his right side, hotter than the fire from the hearth to his left. One of his hands was clenched tightly in a fold of fabric, his palm sweating into the rough brocade, leaving marks on his palm that he would not notice till later, the other drifted into Tom's hair, dragging over the soft locks repeatedly. His breath came in gasps, frightened of the fingers moving in him, frightened of dislodging them and perhaps bringing an end to the strange pleasure that tore memory from him and left him submissive to the will of the man he had met on the road no more than three hours since. He could feel himself giving way, flowing into a new form that was unfamiliar and not quite complete. He moaned as a second finger sank into him completely, watching wide-eyed as it disappeared from eyes, appearing in the explosion of new touches in and around his groin. He tightened his bottom briefly, to feel the fingers more closely, and Tom groaned.
"Like me there, don't you? Sweet as honey, and eager." Thomas rolled away a little, lightly petting the golden skin with his free hand while finger and thumb continued to stroke in and out. "So pretty," he murmured. He pushed himself up on one elbow and smiled at the sprawled figure beside him and stretched, joints popping. He leaned up to kiss the full lips, leaving little flecks of white over the boy's mouth. Idly he reached in again and licked it away, dreamily taking little sips at the chin and neck, not quite kisses, dabbing with his tongue, a tiny suction, and on, down to his chest.
"Tom..." It was not much more than a sigh.
Tom lifted his head. "Yes pet?"
"More?"
Tom's eyes, half lidded and languorous with warm pleasure closed for a second, then opened and he was on top of him, knees pushing weak thighs wider, lifting the soft ass. Cock snugged into hole, and Tom pushed, hard, and he was in, with that one deep stroke. Harry howled, his back arched with pain.
"There, pet. It's bound and certain to hurt. Best over quickly, and then we'll ride slower, once you're broken in. There, pet." A hand gentled his flank, and Harry's eyes opened, wide and bitter with pain. "There, feel better soon, feel good you do. Hot as the sun, and soft as butter, and close, all wrapped round me, feel it in you?" He moved a little, wrenching a groan from the boy. "Yes, you feel that. You'll love it," he promised. "You'll beg me for it, the feel of my prick, greased and hard up you. Full is better than empty, and you'll turn over for me when I tell you, and when I'm too done to raise more than an eyebrow, you'll still want it, deep and hard."
He pulled out, almost to the head, and drove back in, wrenching another wail from Harry, but his cock never flagged, arced up as if trying to touch his navel. "You're enjoying this?" he stroked firmly at the weeping cock waving between them, and Harry came, hips jerking up into the swift, hard jabs of Tom's body.
Harry didn't know when the pain vanished. One moment he was ripped open, his body gaping wide and impaled on a spear of agony, and the next, he was coming, teetered over the knife's blade by a hand on him, and movement inside him that owned him, spread him, and ripped uneven pleasure through his body.
He opened his eyes again and watched, amazed, as the sturdy column of flesh rode up into him, sending quick sparks through him, then re- appeared, flushed and smooth from its hiding place. When he glanced up to the face above him he saw heated amusement, and for a moment, struggled to feel embarrassment. Then the hard shaft buried itself again and any thought was gone.
"You're learning already, aren't you?" Tom said, out of breath and close to the edge. "God's blood, boy, you've a tight, sweet hole." He put a hand under Harry's neck and tugged at him until he could drop his mouth to Harry's again and ravage it, still moving, slower, more smoothly now.
"Feeling better," he whispered into the sucking mouth, knowing the answer in the matched rhythm of the boy's hips to his own, in the rise of the sticky cock from slack satiation to semi-tumescence again pushing against his stomach insistently.
"Yes!" Harry gasped, and he wrapped his legs high around Tom's waist, pulling the older man in closer, eyes smiling with deep affection as Tom came with a roar, and collapsed on top of him.
"There, love," he whispered into the soft reddish blond hair. Tom lay against him, the fall easing him most of the way out of Harry's anus already. "There."
Tom was still gasping for air, his head was too heavy to lift, so he mumbled into Harry's neck, "Happy Va'ntine's, love," he yawned hugely, and snuffled closer. After a couple of minutes shattered silence he rubbed his cheek against Harry's neck, and asked, barely coherent enough to string the sentence together, "Di...did you...enjoy it then?"
Harry laughed. He was still laughing when Tom rolled him onto his stomach and took him again.
C'est tout.
© Temaris 1999, and the poem at the start was taken from Alfred Noyes' The Highwayman, which is no longer in copyright, and is a little too melodramatic for everyday wear, but should be heard as sung by Phil Ochs or Loreena McKennit.
Magnificent Seven stories, Sentinel stories, Star Trek Voyager stories, The Ragbag
Page last updated 21:42 28/03/2006.