we invented the remix 6

demi-monde by beth: the georgette heyer tribute mix by vaudevilles

Earl Kirkpatrick of Calverleigh walked down the street, elegant cane swinging from side to side in a manner that proclaimed him half foxed and at ease with the world. It was nearly dawn and the growing glimmers of light made clear his sharp, clever features. He was swarthily handsome and, although his stature was unprepossessing, his long-tailed coat was of a quality and cut that made the most of his slightly stocky build. His breeches were close-fitting but did not restrict blood-flow; his collar, while beautifully starched, did not impede the movement of his head; and his neck-cloth was neatly arranged without the intricate folds that would have proclaimed him a dandy or a Corinthian.

There was a loose-limbed swagger to the Earl's walk that would have indicated to his few intimates that his evening had been rather enjoyable. Indeed, the night had ended far more pleasurably than he expected, given the shabby treatment he had received on finally gaining admittance to one of London's most exclusive houses of ill-repute. Chris knew it was only his recent elevation to the peerage that had ensured him entry, but he had anticipated a warmer welcome, given the quality of the snuffbox he had brought with him as a promissory gift. Luckily the feelings that rose in his breast at the offhand way in which the gold-embossed tin was tossed to one side were swiftly overtaken by his response to the teasingly perfunctory caress he'd received on his farewell.

Even more luckily his night's entertainment had concluded with an exceedingly profitable sojourn at Watiers. His time at the hazard table had brought even more riches to his well-lined purse, while allowing him to aim cutting remarks at some of those who disdained his claim to entry at the gentlemen's club.

The relaxation engendered by such divertissements would have made it appear to those who did not know the Earl that he was an easy target for the more dangerous street-pads and ruffians who haunted London's back streets and alleyways.

The Earl's reaction to the slim form that hurtled out of the gloomy alley he'd just sauntered past, however, belied his carefree appearance. As the lithe figure cannoned out of the darkness and into his back, it was the work of seconds for the Earl to turn swiftly and grab the arm of the person who had jostled into him. An adroit twist of the Earl's wrist unsheathed the blade concealed in his cane and it was at the throat of his assailant before either had time to blink.

There was a quick intake of breath that could almost have been a whimper and the body gripped firm in the crook of the Earl's elbow trembled once before becoming exceedingly still. The Earl shifted a little, the better to see who his swordstick was threatening. He had to look up, which was not unexpected. What was unexpected, however, was the youthful mien of the man he held captive.

He couldn't have been more than eighteen, and his whipcord thin body still bore slight traces of puppy fat. It was obvious, however, that when he achieved his full growth he would be a striking fellow, with his already strong jaw and well-shaped head covered with short curls. His tailcoat was a serviceable brown and his buff waistcoat and breeches showed signs of careful mending and cleaning. Blue eyes looked down through long, dark eyelashes at the Earl, and when dark brown eyes met his level gaze the youth took a breath, projecting a calm amusement that should have been well beyond his years.

The Earl tightened his grip on the youth, and his sword flickered minutely, nicking the well-starched collar of the blond boy's shirt in unspoken threat. One of the lad's hands flew to his throat, and the Earl batted it away with the flat of his sword. The boy's chest was heaving noticeably now, but within moments he was meeting the Earl's gaze with a peculiarly confident smile.

"You are remarkably tranquil for a man at the wrong end of my blade, sirrah," the Earl's voice was smoothly amused, but the undercurrent of threat was clear. "T'would be a shame to spit you, merely for a lack of proper demeanour in your current situation."

The Earl took pleasure in the small gasp his words elicited, and from the way the grin on the youth's lips faded. However his remarks seemed not to affect the cockiness in the boy's eyes, which barely faltered as the tight grip around his neck altered, forcing him to his knees on the street. The Earl released his chokehold and stepped back slightly to look down at his captive, whose head was tilted uncomfortably backwards to accommodate the sword-point steady at his white throat.

The early morning light glinted off the young man's blonde curls and open face as he gazed up through long lashes. There'd been a painting in Rome, on his recent Grand Tour, some papist saint or other pierced through the groin with an arrow... Chris shook off the unsuitable remembrance and stared downwards.

"I am afraid your dreams of an easy mark have come to naught here," said the Earl, his voice light, the faint hint of a country accent giving a measured cadence to his words. "I could easily beat you for your effrontery, but it is not good ton for the nobility to exert themselves, so I will leave that lesson for your next victim."

The lad's eyelashes flickered on his pale cheeks at the Earl's words, eyes meeting his captor's in self-possessed appeal, even as he shifted his head in such a manner as to bring the Earl's blade into closer contact with his jugular.

"Robbing you was not my purpose, Lord Kirkpatrick," The youth's voice was quietly assured and held none of the rough tones of the street. Indeed he sounded more like a gentleman than the Earl himself and his knowledge of his captor's identity was as unexpected.

"I see." The steely preparedness in the Earl's eyes softened slightly, allowing a glimpse of his more usual cynical glint. "You obviously have some other reason for tearing out of darkened alleys and assaulting members of the public. You were, perhaps, merely testing my reflexes?"

"No, my lord." The boy cocked his head slightly, "Although I would award you top marks for speed and agility." The boy grinned and Chris's lower lip quirked almost involuntarily, although his sword did not shift from its resting place. The boy waited to see if there would be any further reaction to his sally. When none came he continued, "I was following you tonight my lord. I've been watching you since... well, since before you went to the club. And... and I was taking a short cut through that lane in the hopes of approaching you before you reached your home."

The Earl rocked back on his heels minutely, an assessing look on his face as he gestured for the lad to go on.

The young man shifted his weight on his knees, and looked down briefly, "But there was a man in the lane, and he... well, he grabbed me, and suggested things. Things I didn't want from him." He looked up at the Earl, his expression oddly hopeful. "So I was running to get away and then I bumped into you and he didn't follow me."

The Earl turned his head to peer down the alley in question, but the gloom was oppressively opaque. When his gaze returned to his captive he nodded slightly and the tension in his sword arm lessened somewhat, allowing the youth to lean further forward in entreaty. The Earl did not speak however, merely gesturing with his chin for the boy to continue his explanation.

The youth blushed faintly and looked up through his eyelashes at the Earl. "You see I... Well. My name is Timberlake, and I am not currently in anyone's employ and... and I've been following you because I wish to take service with you my lord."

The Earl raised one eyebrow slightly, which was all the encouragement Timberlake needed.

There was an odd hopefulness in the boy's manner as he told of his training as a body servant in a respected country house. He glanced over the sad death of his mother and his resultant destitution, and went into great lengths about how a chance meeting with one of the Earl's old schoolmates in a public house had given him the idea that perhaps an Earl so recently elevated to the peerage and returned from the Continent might be in the market for good staff.

"And so I took Dorough's advice and tried to send you my card, but your butler turned me away and I had to try and meet you some other way." Timberlake was obviously still choosing his words carefully, but the story was spilling out of him now, "So I watched you, and I talked to one of your stable-boys, and then I followed you to see where you went and what sort of things you did." The lad hesitated slightly and the open desperation of his face grew slightly shuttered.

"Then tonight you went to see M. Chasez. And I thought... I knew him, I mean I knew of him, his reputation," Timberlake was practically tripping over his own tongue now, the words coming jerkily from his mouth as though reined in by a rider overly fond of the bit. "So I thought that might be a... a sign, and... and I decided that I would approach you tonight and ask you because you looked like you were in a good mood; but then that man was there, and I ran away and bumped into you and you pointed a sword at me and..." Timberlake's voice seemed to run out at the same time as his story and he looked up hopefully at the Earl, wetting his lips with his tongue as if his mouth had run dry of words.

The Earl looked the youth up and down consideringly. There really was something about Timberlake that called to mind that painting. He sheathed his sword and stepped in to close the gap between them lifting the lad's chin with his hand.

"Well, now you have regaled me with this... shall we call it a novella?" The Earl's voice could have been cutting, but the look in his eyes made the corners of Timberlake's expressive mouth turn upwards. "It is not perhaps quite in the epic style, and I don't believe that anyone of your tender years could lay claim to the title of saga..." The Earl quirked an eyebrow at Timberlake, who snorted somewhat inelegantly and shook his head gently, keeping within the bounds of the Earl's fingers. There was a muttered "No my lord," from the youth as he placed his hand over the Earl's and moved it to his mouth. The kiss Timberlake placed on his knuckles was not at all proper and confirmed the Earl's suspicions about exactly what sort of servitude he was offering.

Timberlake's gaze had dropped from the Earl's eyes and there was a queer expression, halfway between anxiety and hope on his face.

Unwatched by the lad, Chris grinned. After his sojourn gallingly close to the divine Chasez's boudoir that evening, this young man's charm combined with his obvious willingness was refreshing.

Chris looked down at the man on his knees before him and schooled his expression to one more in keeping with the mode for ennui. "I believe it is the fashion to find insolence charming and you certainly have your share of that trait. Besides, I find I like your mouthiness Mr. Timberlake and I would like to become more acquainted with... it. I make no promises as to your future in my employ, but you may accompany me to my residence tonight at least."

Ignoring the slightly smug, but promising smile aimed up at him, the Earl turned and began walking towards his townhouse, Timberlake doing his best to follow at a correctly servant-like distance, but, in reality, dogging his heels like an overlarge puppy.


The Earl understood two minutes after getting Timberlake into his bedchamber why he'd felt only relief when Britt had found herself in an interesting condition a mere two months after their wedding. His grandmother had waited for the carving of the late Earl's tombstone to be completed before assuring him that an impecunious family of Prussian royalty was "exactly what the family needs to better perfume the smell of trade that lingers so unfortunately about you." He'd barely waited to meet his heir before escaping on a grand tour.

That tour of Europe had taught him much about how to act in a manner befitting the nobility that had been thrust upon him. But on his return, feeling more confident in the polish that the Continent had brought, he had decided to try experimenting with the more fleshly pleasures his wealth could bring. A few very lovely birds of paradise had crossed his path and left nothing but the taste of vapidity and a depressing realisation that his sisters and mother would previously have lived for a year on what he'd spent in a few short evenings.

Then he'd met Lord Bass over the hazard table and discovered the existence of male courtesans. Their apparent social acceptability made it even more difficult for him to manage to keep a fashionably sophisticated expression on his face. The tremor of excitement he'd felt was a little like someone had lit an oil lamp inside him, but he thought he'd betrayed little of that while getting Bass alone to express a suitably dispassionate interest in an introduction to such a personage. Thirteen days later he'd finally met Monsieur Chasez and been utterly captivated, but the thrill he'd felt as Chasez had caressed his hands while they talked seemed like a candle against the heat of the furnace Timberlake had lit inside his stomach.

"Justin, call me Justin," the young man had panted into the Earl's mouth once they'd reached the Kirkpatrick town residence, made their way past seven impassive servants and bid goodnight to the Earl's supercilious valet. Alone in the large room together with this unknown youth, Chris momentarily regretted the capricious impulse that brought him to invite Timberlake back to his home. But then the tall lad ran his hands through his short curls, looked down through his lashes, wet his lips and stepped forward, bending his head to press his lips to Chris's.

It was gentle for a brief interlude. Then Chris felt Timberlake smile and open his lips slightly, and his eyes fell shut, his fingers tangled in Timberlake's hair and it wasn't so much a duel between their mouths as a rout of any last pretence at nonchalance.

This desperate meeting of lips and tongues was not what the Earl had expected. The kisses he had shared with his wife had been perfunctory and had certainly failed to draw forth the noises he could hear himself making now. Surely it was not manly to whimper in this fashion, but there was ample evidence of his own manliness straining at his breeches. And then Timberlake - Justin - slid his hands down Chris's back and strong fingers gripped his flanks, bringing Chris into contact with a matching hardness. It was like the first gulp of brandy, a wonderful burning heat that sent shivers up his spine.

Justin pressed kisses over Chris's jaw, nibbling and sucking warmth to the surface as his deft fingers worked at the cravat and collar at Chris's throat, gaining access for his tongue and teeth to work upon the newly exposed skin. The pressure of the top of Justin's thigh against the Earl's cock was stoking the fire, a throbbing weight between Chris's legs that beat in time with his heart.

The Earl's fine waistcoat and tailcoat now adorned the floor, although he had no memory of shrugging out of them. The brief pause created by this realization brought Chris back to himself enough to allow him to grasp Timberlake's chin in one shaking hand, bringing the young man's gaze level with his own. Their lower bodies continued to rub against each other but the youth's clear blue eyes met the Earl's and they shared a smile before Chris brought Justin's mouth back down to his.

This time Chris managed to drive the kiss, the younger man gasping as he nipped lightly at his lower lip before deepening the kiss with his tongue. And the deep groan Timberlake gave as Chris's hands caressed down his back to the swell of his buttocks made Chris grin against his lips.

But now Timberlake's fingers were brushing along the top of Chris's breeches, caressing the soft buckskin and slowly un-tucking the fine linen shirt to touch the skin below. Every inch of uncovered flesh tingled with sensation and each glancing touch caused Chris to shake slightly, his arms unresisting as the white linen was drawn over his head leaving him naked from the waist up.

A deep chuckle of laughter bubbled in Chris's stomach and he had to break away from Justin's swollen mouth, his eyes dancing. He licked along the stubble of Justin's jaw-line and took a leaf out of the lad's book by biting down upon the tender earlobe. Justin's breathless "Oh," was a gratifying response and he took the opportunity to nip the earlobe again, before finally expressing his amusement directly into the young man's ear. "You are certainly most gifted at the disrobing part of the evening, Mr. Timberlake. Your valet training was obviously not for naught."

Justin inhaled sharply as Chris's teeth set small crescents into his neck. "Thank you m'lord," his voice was breathy and Chris enjoyed the way it rose slightly as he swirled his tongue behind Justin's ear. "But I believe my skill with apparel is but a useful minor talent..." Justin's fingers were working deftly at the fastenings of the Earl's breeches and his warm hand was sliding inside. Strong fingers and a callused palm encircled Chris's cock and stroked once. Twice. Chris stopped breathing. All he could do was look at Justin as the young man smiled at him, his hand moving in devastatingly small increments. "After all, what use is a body servant who doesn't know how to love the body he serves?"

Justin's grip on his cock was causing spots to form in front of his eyes as he struggled to remember to breathe, but it was Justin's hum of pleasure as he began to thrust into Justin's fist that melted Chris's final hold on decorum.

Chris's hips jerked forward again and again; Justin's arm round his shoulders the only thing keeping him upright. The friction of Justin's hand around his cock was like riding the fastest thoroughbred in his stables, a riotous ride just inside control but tantalisingly close to flying. Chris panted uncontrollably, his usual loquaciousness gone as each thrust drove an "Oh" from the pit of his belly out of his throat. Each movement of Justin's hand was accompanied by low murmurs of encouragement; filthy words Chris had known but never connected with tumbling from Justin's lips as he sent Chris hurtling onwards.

And then Justin's strokes developed a tiny brutal twist, and Chris's hips were juddering, all command over himself gone, and he was galloping towards the finish, abandoning control, pretensions, and restraint inside Justin's strong warm fist.

Dazedly, with the part of his brain that wasn't airborne, Chris tried to keep himself upright. He'd never understood how people could talk about their limbs turning to water, but from the way his knees were behaving it was obviously a side effect of truly excellent debauchery. Justin had to half carry him, half push him, backwards towards Chris's large, comfortable bed and when they reached the target Chris's legs gave up the cause and he pulled Justin down with him into the softness of the satin coverlet.

Justin was hard against Chris's thigh and an echo of his earlier arousal ran down Chris's spine, pooling in his groin and stiffening his fingers as he tried to undo Justin's breeches. Justin was kissing his chest, grinding down into the hollow of Chris's hip, moaning desperately as Chris's hand slithered between their bodies, trying to find the rhythm of Justin's thrusting, scrabbling at the fastening of Justin's breeches, wanting to feel naked skin against his own.

The contrast of his own fumbling, knot-inducing attempts at disrobing Justin with the practised authority Justin had displayed was near to ridiculous, which was not improving Chris's nimbleness, especially when every slip of his hand caused Justin to buck against him in a way that was rapidly stiffening more than his fingers.

Justin's eyes were wide with something that looked like shock and he grasped at Chris's wrists, looking down at him with a furrowed brow, "Um. M'lord, you do not..."

Chris raised one eyebrow enquiringly, "I admit, Mr Timberlake, to not being practiced at this kind of service." He smiled up at Justin as his fingers continued to tug at the lacing, the now purposeful brushes against Justin's cock not aiding his dexterity, but adding immensely to his enjoyment. "However, I wasn't born into the nobility and I think I can remember what it is like to undertake some manual labour."

Justin's eyes closed, long lashes fluttering against his cheeks as he chanted "fuck, fuck, fuck" under his breath, a litany of profanity Chris had thought never to hear again and had never dreamed of hearing in such a situation. Desperation, fuelled by his own useless scrabbling at Justin's breeks and the expletives falling from Justin's lips, finally caused Chris to flip Justin onto his back so he could straddle Justin's thighs.

Chris managed to hold his voice steady as he ran one finger firmly down the bulge in Justin's buckskins, "Of course, not being originally of the nobility, I can sometimes forget social niceties." Justin moaned and Chris took a firm grip on the tangled lacing, and snapped it.

Justin let out a noise, somewhere between a gasp and a laugh, which was bitten off as Chris finally pushed aside the flaps of his breeches, put his hand around Justin's cock, and began tentatively to move.

Stroking someone else was oddly akin to trying to pleasure oneself with one's left hand. But ever so much more remarkable. Chris was not quite certain as to whether Justin's cock sliding through his fist or Justin's openly pleading expression was the more compelling and his eyes were transfixed first by one then the other. The flush in Justin's cheeks, the bitten red of his lips, the way his eyes would fly open each time Chris changed the angle of his stroke slightly was possibly the prettiest sight Chris had ever seen. But the feel of Justin's hardness, the big vein throbbing slightly against his palm as he stroked, the way the head left wetness in its path was something he needed to see as well as feel.

Justin's mouth was open and the expletives had given way to panting breaths that sounded as though they were being dragged from him. His hands were clenched in the fabric of the coverlet and as Chris quickened his stroke Justin's head reared off the bed, the muscles in his neck rigid with tension. Justin's eyes were wide and fixed upon Chris's face as his hips thrust up faster into Chris's grip before losing any sense of rhythm and control, as he finally spent himself with a groan.

Chris sat there as the early morning sunlight slid into his room, legs either side of Justin's thighs, his hand and chest bespattered and felt more dishevelled and depraved than he known was possible. He was still trying to find something clever, or at least coherent, to say when Justin sat up, grinning widely, put one large hand behind Chris's neck, and pulled him down to the bed.


Considerably later that morning Chris lay on his side looking down at a sleeping Justin. It was not a view conducive to bidding the lad farewell. Besides, just how did one say farewell to someone who had provided one with the first truly debauched experience of one's life? Chris had experienced a little youthful fumbling with his closest friend at the prep school his grandfather had begrudgingly paid for that vaguely reminded Chris of some of the intensity last night had engendered. But that relationship had been more about a passionate friendship and less about what their hands could do within the folds of their nightclothes.

The dawn's light had passed with much further rumpling of his bedclothes amidst a few small concessions to human tiredness. It was quite the most diverting way of passing the unsociable hours of daylight Chris had ever experienced. Apparently it was possible to bring another man to fruition through friction with the indentation at one's hip; and an exceedingly enjoyable and mind-expanding pursuit that had turned out to be.

Promptly at noon a knock at the door announced breakfast. The servants who brought in the large tray of victuals and accompanying liquid refreshments were obviously scandalised at the sort of personage their master had seen fit to entertain in his bedchamber, but too well trained to betray their horror by more than a twitch of their lips.

Justin giggled ruthlessly at their discomfiture over a pot of strong tea; his plate piled high with fresh poached halibut, thickly buttered toast, scrambled eggs and stewed tomatoes. He looked entirely too grateful for the sustenance for Chris's liking. As he rang the bell for a second tray, Chris rested his hand in the too-deep hollow of Justin's hip and cogitated for several minutes.

Watching the lad eat was an experience in itself. Justin's mouth glistened with orange juice, and he kept licking at his lips with a deft pink tongue as he inhaled his food with alacrity. Chris idly removed one of the linen table napkins from under a devastated plate that had once held black pudding; folding and refolding the material so all traces of crispness were removed. Chris proffered the napkin, his thoughts coming together as he watched Justin halt his repast briefly to dab less than delicately at his mouth. "So, Mr Timberlake. After last night's... well. Shall we call it professionalism? I believe I can be certain that I am not the first man you have engaged with in such intimacy."

Justin choked slightly behind the creased linen as he unexpectedly inhaled toast crumbs. Chris smirked, he'd thought Justin a little over confident about his ability to keep Chris's brain from functioning, and it was good to turn the tables. "Do not mistake me. I am glad to have reaped the benefits of your youthful sowings. I am puzzled however, why such a pretty youth, with so many talents, is not already London's most notorious and sought after courtesan? One would think it would be a career path eminently suited to your skills. Unless, of course, my inexperience is giving your aptitude for pleasure more than its due?"

Justin's lower lip was pouting in a most becoming manner and Chris grinned, torn between wanting to kiss the lad out of his pet and spanking him for trying to pull a fast one. Justin's voice was full of aggrieved dignity, "Your inexperience just means you have no idea of exactly how superlative others would find me." Chris let out a shout of laughter and Justin's pout quivered minutely so that Chris could not help but lean forward and kiss the scowl off his face.

Just before the kiss threatened to engulf his composure completely Chris managed to pull back from Justin's mouth. He averted his eyes from Justin's, one careful finger caressing back and forth over a small knot in the satin coverlet, and tried to keep his voice casual. "So, would my deplorable inexperience be a barrier to you entering my employ?" He darted a look back at Justin.

Justin's mouth was open, his words caught by Chris's question, and his face flushed as he looked up through his eyelashes at Chris, expression flickering between shock and something harder to decipher. It looked a little like calculation, but was swiftly banished as the roses in Justin's cheeks bloomed more strongly and a burgeoning grin threatened to swallow the rest of his face.

The corners of Chris's own mouth were drawn inexorably upwards by the happiness the lad was displaying, and he rushed to explain his idea. "I believe it is quite the done thing to engage a person to meet one's rather specific needs on a regular basis and for that personage to receive a monthly stipend to aid them in taking a place in, well not polite society precisely, but in the world as it were." Chris stopped briefly to appreciate Justin's gleeful anticipation, and to drag out said anticipation torturously. Justin grabbed a pillow and hefted it threateningly. Chris grinned again and continued, "I suppose I could offer you such a position. But only if you feel it would not be taking unwholesome advantage of my inexperience." Chris fumbled to a halt as Justin abandoned the pillow, leaning forward to stop Chris's mouth with a kiss that tasted of toast crumbs and satisfaction.

"Oh m'lord. Thank you for your kind offer." Justin's words were punctuated with kisses that left Chris's breath captured in his stomach. "You are most... generous." Justin cast the sheet wound around Chris's body aside and kissed down his torso with small licks and bites as he spoke. "I could ask... no more... at this moment... than to help... rid you... of your terrible inexperience." Justin's voice was slightly muffled as he mouthed the trail of hair leading down Chris's belly. There was a dull roaring in Chris's ears and a feeling of weightlessness spreading through his bones. The only heaviness in him was that between his legs, surging upwards and throbbing in time to Justin's touch.

Justin scrambled up so that he was on all fours above Chris, looking down at him. As their eyes met, Justin winked once before lowering his head to brush his curls against Chris's inner thigh, breath hot on Chris's cock. Chris let out a sound half way between a groan and a laugh, his hips twisting and thrusting of their own accord.

Justin chuckled once and grasped Chris's hips, lowering his body to trap Chris's legs together underneath his torso. It was almost uncomfortable, but complaint was impossible, given how distracting Chris was finding the warm puffs of air Justin was breathing all around his cock. Every tantalising breath made Chris buck, but Justin was holding him down in earnest now and his hips made it mere inches off the bed. Chris's hands were flailing in the bedclothes and he grasped them like a lifeline as Justin huffed out another chuckle tormentingly close. Chris squeezed his eyes shut in desperation; he could feel something about to occur, something more, something unknown that threatened to swamp him with sensation.

"Open your eyes." Justin's voice was deeper than usual, commanding. "Look at me. Look at what I'm doing to you."

Chris forced his unwilling eyelids open, blinking slowly, his gaze unfocused for a moment before finding Justin's face. Justin ran his tongue over his lips slowly and Chris felt himself grow even harder, uncertainty and suspense about Justin's next actions increasing his arousal so that it was almost painful.

Justin's eyes were locked on Chris's and dark with something akin to mischief as he bent his head again to Chris's lap. Never shifting his gaze, Justin licked delicately up the underside of Chris's cock. Sensation rushed through Chris at the touch, his hips arching even under the pressure of Justin's full weight. Justin pulled his mouth away and pushed Chris back down onto the bed, then gently blew hot air directly up the wet stripe he'd left on Chris's cock, causing Chris to let out a guttural moan. "God. Justin, what? What are you doing?"

Justin looked up at Chris through his eyelashes, a wayward gleam sparkling in his eyes as he licked up Chris's cock once again. Chris's head thumped back against the bolster, his throat closed around a cut off groan as Justin said, "Merely rectifying your abominable lack of experience m'lord." Another lick, this one corkscrewing up and around the head of Chris's cock, made Chris wrench his neck forward to look Justin directly in the eyes as Justin grinned at him, tongue darting out in brief passes over the crown of Chris's cock. "I made so bold." He licked at the slit, once. "As to presume." Twice. "Your willingness to lose." And again. "Your innocence in this matter."

And then Justin's lips closed over Chris's cock and he began to suck, tongue tapping at the underside as he sank down, taking Chris's entire length into his mouth. Engulfed in fiery wet heat Chris couldn't breathe, all his awareness centred on the pulse of Justin's mouth as it stroked sensation higher and higher. One of Chris's hands was buried in Justin's curls, constricting rhythmically with the throb of his cock, the other was between his teeth, barely holding in rasping whimpers. Chris's eyes were open but amorphous red shapes like those left behind by flickering candlelight were all he could see. And then Justin hummed deep in his throat, the vibrations echoing up into Chris's skull and sending the top of his head flying free as Justin ran one finger back and up, just grazing the entrance to Chris's body. Chris bit down on his hand and roared, ears ringing with the pressure of his orgasm as he spent himself in Justin's mouth.


It took almost half an hour and an attempt at a short nap for Chris to recover some of his abandoned wits. Justin spent the time curled around his thighs smirking smugly, as the small caresses he kept inflicting on Chris's over sensitised flesh created ripples of tender aching pleasure. Chris merely smacked his hands away half-heartedly, and tried not to giggle like a silly debutante.

Once he'd managed to collect himself a little, he rang for Justin's third plate of eggs and watched Justin devour them in a familiarly ravenous manner. Small tremors of exceedingly agreeable memory ran through Chris as he watched Justin's mouth, but he thrust them aside, admittedly with some difficulty, as it was more than past time for him to begin his day's business. It took another hour to dress, Justin watching his valet with a disapproval that Chris knew his boots would suffer for later. After that particular hell played out he decided against getting a servant to escort Justin from the premises, lowering himself even further in the eyes of his staff by seeing Justin out himself. Justin, however, frustrated Chris's somewhat rueful attempts to bid him goodbye in a manner befitting a gentleman by kissing him in the hallway until all Chris could do was crash him through the door of the main drawing room.

The drawing room was stuffed full of walnut furniture, set off by sombre damask curtains and everything apropos of a gentleman's receiving room. Well, nearly everything. As they tumbled backwards onto the chaise lounge Chris had time to thank his lucky stars that he had gone against all advice and insisted on the installation of at least one comfortable surface amongst the more commonplace uncomfortable upright chairs so beloved by visitors of moral rectitude. Then his thoughts were swallowed up by Justin's unerring ability to gain access to his breeches, causing Chris to groan into Justin's mouth and blaspheme as Justin's skilled hand brought him off again.

Now Justin was looking up at him, eyes half-lidded in satiation. Chris tucked himself back into his buckskins and grinned down at Justin, whose aptitude with apparel apparently translated into an ability to ensure clothing was not soiled by unexpected emissions. His limbs were artfully sprawled across the chaise lounge which appeared to have saved Chris's breeches by bearing the brunt of their pleasure. His decadent abandonment was a disconcerting contrast with the rest of the heavily tasteful décor and Chris thought of the painting for the first time since the alleyway.

Justin looked up at Chris, his blue eyes earnest and open in a way Chris had not yet seen. "I didn't tell you last night why I wanted," he gesticulated around the room in a way that encompassed both Chris himself and the surrounding opulence, "to come here with you. To be with you. Like that..." Justin's fingers were flexing at his sides, as if he wished to bite at his nails but had trained himself out of the habit. Chris nodded at him, pulling his own sorely abused thumb away from his mouth as Justin grasped for words.

Justin's eyes were distant, his voice low as he said, "My mother was the housekeeper for the Duke of Delfield. The Duke was a widower and he satiated certain... appetites with courtesans. Male courtesans. They were so graceful and elegant, and it didn't seem to matter that they weren't of good birth, everything stopped when they were at the house."

Justin's expression melted into softness as he spoke. "There was one courtesan... he looked so beautiful, as though he was made to be touched. I used to stand outside the Duke's bedroom when he was visiting and just listen. Such noises, like nothing I have heard before or since, sounds that spoke of someone flying apart and being put back together. And then he would come down to breakfast looking exactly as beautiful as he had the night before and the Duke would smile until he took his leave."

"For Mama and me, life... Well, when the Duke was smiling like that life was a little easier. And I knew I was attractive and to be a courtesan seemed like something I could aspire to. And I knew it would provide us with a way to live that could help my mama rest and get better, so I began learning manners and some etiquette, and I grew. I had to grow. And then, just as I was about ready to begin, my mama... well, she died. So I had to go it alone for a while," Justin said, his voice on the edge of a quaver.

Chris watched Justin find the threads of his composure and ruthlessly stitch them back together. He could not help but remember his one childhood visit to his grandfather and the way his seven-year-old self had reacted to the sumptuous surroundings by turning into a silent, still thing. He'd been afraid both that someone would notice and remove him and that he would get lost inside such luxury and be changed by it somehow.

Then Justin smiled up at Chris and the feeling was lost in the blue of his gaze as Justin said simply, "But then I met you, and now I can see that my mama's dream is possible." The glint in Justin's eyes grew even stronger as he continued. "And I believe I will enjoy ridding you of that vastly over-rated innocence."

Chris laughed and leaned down to press his lips against Justin's for a moment before shifting to whisper in his ear, "I'm glad, because even someone as inexperienced as myself can tell I am in good hands."

your name:
your email address:
your feedback

main page stories faq participants questions