| Welcome to High Voltage RPG. We hope you enjoy your visit. You're currently viewing our forum as a guest. This means you are limited to certain areas of the board and there are some features you can't use. If you join our community, you'll be able to access member-only sections, and use many member-only features such as customizing your profile, sending personal messages, and voting in polls. Registration is simple, fast, and completely free. Join our community! If you're already a member please log in to your account to access all of our features: |
| Wyndhaven; For Gray | |
|---|---|
| Tweet Topic Started: May 17 2010, 01:19 PM (162 Views) | |
| Kanousei | May 17 2010, 01:19 PM Post #1 |
|
Newbie
![]() ![]() ![]()
|
Gray Name: Riordan Kendrick Title: His Grace, Lord Kendrick, Seventh Marquess of Wyndhaven Nickname: Colonel Lord Kendrick to the men who served with him in the military; Lord Kendrick or Lord Wyndhaven to strangers and brief acquaintances; Riordan to friends; Rio to close friends and family members Appearance: Tall, broad shouldered, and lean-hipped, with dark hair, dark eyes, and warmly tanned skin. At 6'4", Riordan stands nearly a full head taller than most of the other men he is acquainted with. With his nearly black hair, tanned skin, and deep brown eyes, he could easily play the evil brute in any play were it not for the spark of amusement and humor that often lit his eyes and quirked up one corner of his generous mouth. He wears a sling on his left arm, as he was injured in the war and the wound hasn't yet healed properly. He also carries a faint scar that slashes wildly downward throug his left eyebrow and veers sharply around the eye itself - obtained by a piece of flying shrapnel on the battlefield. Both wounds were obtained at Waterloo in the fight against Napolean's army. [Will add a picture once I draw one.] Personality: Quiet, stubborn, and with an air of brooding, there aren't many people who know the Seventh Marquess of Wyndhaven well enough to say with all certainty that they know his moods. He has a quick and biting sense of humor, and though his wit is often dry and delivered without the slightest facial expression, those who are familiar with him can recognize Riordan's particular brand of humor. Others, however, have difficulty deciding if the man is simply rude and insulting, or if he is simply a bit strange - and it is for that reason that he is deemed an oddity among his peers of the fashionable world. Still, despite his odd manners, his darkly handsome good looks, exemplary war record, and tendancy to brood cast him in the light of quiet hero and made many ladies hearts flutter within their breasts - also causing many far-reaching match-making mamas to tote their darling girls to his doorstep to be shoved beneath his nose. Of course, his title, many homes, and the vast fortune that came to him upon his father's death only sealed Riordan's fate that he would eventually have to marry and produce children. Brief Biography: Like many young, titled Lords before him, Riordan went off to fight in the war when he was but 17 years old. However, the difference between Rio and the others was the fact that war was not a tool for glory for the up-and-coming Marquess - it was an escape from the endless parade of mamas and their darling daughters who sought to entrap him with marriage. He served well and couragously and worked his way up the ranks to be honored with the title of Colonel, often demurring when complimented about his bravery and attributing the success of his regiment to the bravery and steadfastness of the men in his command. Just after his 28th birthday - which was spent in the hospital due to the severe wound in his arm - Riordan recieved a missive from home which informed him that his father, the Sixth Marquess of Wyndhaven, had passed away - and the marquessate was now Rio's to do with as he pleased. Immediately, he had requested permission to take his leave of the military and go home to assume his title. + Riordan Kierland James Kendrick hurtled over a fallen tree in a mad and desperate attempt to dodge his tutor, Mister Joseph Stiles. The teenager laughed aloud in sheer delight as too-long nearly-black hair whipped across a high, broad forehead and lashed painfully into dark brown eyes, his already powerful arms churning to help keep his balance and long, muscled legs pounded across the packed earthen floor. He had no specific destination in mind at the moment; simply a single minded determination to avoid his studies at all cost. The afternoon sun rose gaily into the sky, shining down on the wayward lad and his pursuer and conveniently casting dark shadows from far-reaching tree branches where a mischievous youth might dart and hide. Making the most of just such an opportunity, Rio slid swiftly and silently behind the truck of a large tree, using the shadows to help shield himself from the admittedly poor eyesight of his tutor. The man was too vain to wear the spectacles that he needed, and the youth often used that disadvantage to the best of his ability, slipping out of the upstairs classroom that had been both the bane of his existence and one of his many joys while Mister Stiles was busy scribbling some nonsensical equation onto the blackboard. Inevitably, the man would turn to find his student, cough delicately at the cloud of chalk dust that surrounded him, wave a limp hand vaguely in the air near his head to get rid of the cloud, then squint and peer around the room as though he had misplaced something of importance. A heavy sigh and a muttered, "Blast and damn!", and the tutor would go tromping out of the room to find the lad, to angered to hear the muffled snickering that came from beneath a counter. Safely hidden behind mesh screened cupboard doors, Rio would watch his tutor storm off, then slip easily out from beneath his hiding place to climb down the massive oak tree that stood outside the schoolroom window. Now, hidden as he was, Rio's dark eyes sparkled with amusement, and he risked poking his head out from behind the tree to see where Mister Stiles was in relation to himself. He knew he'd been spotted when the thin man gave a hoarse shout, and with laughter dancing on the breeze behind him, the teenaged nobleman took off once again, racing headlong across the grassy field and disappearing into the thick stand of trees that sheltered his family's manor house from the nearby village. Certain that he could not only outrun but also outdistance Mister Stiles, Riordan headed straight for the abandoned barn that he and his friend used when they wanted to hide from the rest of the world. It was theirs... and no one but them ever went there or used it. They had long since cleaned out the old, moldering hay that had been left behind and replaced it with fresh straw stolen from the horses at their respective houses. A trunk sat in the loft, filled with soft blankets and a treasure trove of sweets that had been pilfered from the kitchens. It was theirs, and Rio refused to allow anyone else to go there, considering it his sanctuary from the madness that was his home life. Rio headed there now, eager to be alone with his best friend and not bothering to stop and question why that thought filled him with such excitement. Kanou Name: Asher Sebastian Grey Title: The Honourable Asher Grey (courtesy title) Nickname: “Asher” suffices Appearance: The same qualities which were so warmly regarded in the child have brought criticism in the adult: the features too fine, at certain angles too delicate; the storm-colored eyes too wide and revealing, mouth too full. No one wants a man with all the qualities of cherubim. As he grew, new flaws made themselves known – always, even when he developed musculature and his shoulders broadened. The wrists too thin, possessing elegance like his mother’s, the prominent collarbones and long legs. His height is rendered less imposing by such qualities, though he stands a lanky 6’2”. These things are not mentioned aloud – too indecorous, that – but the recrimination is plain in the eyes of his father, his uncles. Occasionally, on a most craven level, Asher is glad his mother is dead so he does not have to face the possibility of her disappointment. Personality: The third son of the Baron of Hereford was always peculiar, though he has grown better at hiding it when it suits him. The boy was thoughtful, contemplative, one of open expressions and deep feeling. The man he has become is witty, sharp-edged, and cares for no one. It is a source of pride, in fact, this detachment, and one that allows him to separate his occasional illicit liaisons entirely from the rest of his life. He was never shy, merely quiet, but he learned to use his natural advantages. Observant as he is, he makes a fine painter, but that skill can also be turned to mock those who would trouble him, to captivate audiences and spin a social web of influence which keeps him afloat where his meager hereditary funds and chilly family cannot. He cannot actually sell the paintings, of course – that would be inappropriate. Brief Biography: Asher Grey may be many things, but he is not ignorant. He knows himself, sees himself quite clearly – well enough to not always like what he sees. The trembling uncertainty of youth has passed, and the quiet, placid rhythm of country life long since lost its luster. His time is primarily spent in London, drifting in and out of well-dressed circles to entertain and enrapture. Some things are easier in Paris, but even in London one with sharp eyes can find a certain sort of man, and one with a hint of sense can arrange a more intimate meeting in secrecy. It is a cultured sort of hedonism, and he relishes what his father, his disapproving uncles, would view as the utmost depravity. He paints. He drinks, socializes, and does things with men in dark rooms that God and the Crown say should never be done. + Asher Sebastian Grey shifted, squirmed, and slowly drifted into wakefulness. The lanky teenager cracked one gritty eyelid and was met with blazing afternoon sunlight, near blinding after the darkness of sleep. As he shot upright, he heard a suspicious crackling sound which indicated that (as always) no matter how carefully he spread the mound of blankets before dozing he would find shards of brittle hay in his fair hair. Of course, when Rio came the offending straw was no accident. There had been no time to plan with Rio before this particular escape, however – his father had only announced the hunt the night before, and left Asher little time. It was not that he disliked animals – shooting them was the problem, in fact. The dogs were wonderful, and he’d always had a gift with them, even the kennel master said, but he was unwilling to use that instinctive trust against prey. The baron had grown convinced that his increasingly unsatisfactory son required training in proper gentlemanly practice, and a good hunt would force the feminine squeamishness out of him. After all, what young man would refuse to eat meat at his own table? But Asher always had, and showed no indication of budging on the matter. By now, surely, they had their fox or pheasant or whatever they had decided was worth killing, and he could return home. What to say this time? That he had lost himself in contemplation of a cloud, or that he had been lured away by a harlot? His father might actually approve of the latter… Was that what a proper nobleman would do? It couldn’t be, he decided, because Rio didn’t behave in that manner and if anyone was the model of noble dignity (even when sneaking dyed roaches into Tessie’s blueberry tarts, which was brilliant) it was Riordan. Languid muscles did not stir, however, and Asher slumped back downward. After dozing nearly from one night into the next, he was suspended in a curious almost-waking, lulled by the warm sun streaming in from the window above the door of the barn. Sighing in amused surrender, the long-limbed youth turned onto his side and burrowed comfortably into the pile of blankets, curling up like a young child. Gray Still on his mad dash to get away from his tutor, the dark haired teenager wasn't paying any particular attention to where he was going. Just as he turned around the corner of the barn and effectively shidled himself from Mister Stiles' sight, Riordan gave an inelegant grunt as one of his over-large feet tripped him up and he fell face first into the dirt just outside the door of the barn where he instinctively knew that Asher was. Pushing himself up and spitting out a mouthful of dirt with a disgusted look on his youthful face, Rio slipped into the barn and made his way up to the hayloft, not surprised in the least to find his best friend there and curled up among a mound blankets. Squatting down beside the prone form, the dark teen grinned, then reached out and yanked one of the blankets out from beneath Asher, causing the blond to roll out of the hay and leaving him without the comfortable protection of his blankets. Raising one lofty eyebrow up into his hair, Rio used an edge of the blanket to swipe at the dirt that still coated his face before saying, "You've gotten straw in your hair again." Dark eyes sparkled down at Asher, and creased faintly at the edges, hinting that behind the cover of the blanket, Rio was still grinning. Dropping both the blanket and the lofty pretense, the dark young man flopped down onto the pile of straw and stretched himself out on his back, giving a deep sigh at the freedom of having escaped his lessons for the day. Of course, that meant that he'd probably have to study twice as much the following day or face his father's lash, but it was worth it for these few stolen moments with Asher. Rolling up onto his side and propping himself up on one elbow, his long legs stretched out in front of him, he beckoned to the other lad. "Come here and let me clean you up. Your father will have a fit if you go home with hay in your hair again." Kanou Asher was not so much wakened as he was crashed into by a bloodthirsty giraffe. Or some other nonsense that seemed perfectly logical when he was still mostly asleep but perfectly ridiculous by the time he was mostly awake. Although to be fair, Rio might well transfigure into a giraffe if he got any taller. Despite only two inches difference in their heights, all new acquaintances could say was how remarkably tall and strapping Rio was. Asher was fairly certain that if he was ever referred to as “tall” it was in close proximity to “scrawny.” Sprawled out on the weathered floorboards of the loft, the lesser nobleman raised his head and glared with all the sneering dignity he could muster. “And you have mud in your eyebrows. Again. However do you manage it?” The barb lacked venom, however, and he came as he was beckoned. It was a curious law of the universe which Asher was certain that even Newton would have acknowledged had he been alive to witness it – that he and Rio fit with perfect symmetry despite their seemingly contradictory planes and angles. In deference to that law he laid himself between his best friend’s legs, squirming until his shoulders were settled comfortably over long ribs and his hair accessible for the required grooming. For all the massiveness of Rio’s hands, they were talented and surprising gentle. “Speaking of my father,” he recalled, voice still slightly dreamy from sleep, “I was thinking I might tell him I spent the evening with a lady of ill-repute. What do you think?” He paused, somewhat muddled mind puzzling over the possible permutations of his question. “I mean, of course, what you think of me saying I’d been with a whore, not…” he paused, amused grin fading in contemplation. He squinted into the sunlight beyond the open door of the barn as he thought. “Well, now that it happens to come up – what is your opinion of such ‘scarlet women’ to begin with?” Drowsy incoherence overruled tact. “Have you ever been with one?” Gray Riordan couldn't help the grin that spread over his features as Asher lay himself down between Rio's thighs, his long body draped comfortably over the darker teen's. It never failed to surprise him how well they seemed to fit together, considering his own muscularity and his friend's angularity - by his own reckoning, they should have been like two barbed sticks poking at each other. But it wasn't that way, and never had been. There had never been anyone else that Rio was as comfortable with. With surprising patience and gentleness, the large nobleman began to comb through Asher's hair, long fingers deftly plucking bits of straw from the finer strands, then smoothing the flyaway pieces back down with broad palms. The idea of his blonde friend bedding down for the evening with a common street whore made Riordan's eyebrows beetle together over suddenly stormy eyes, the corners of his full mouth pulled down in a slight frown. Despite the fierceness of his expression, his touch never faltered or wavered, continuing to pick the straw from Asher's hair with unfailing tenderness. "I think," Rio growled quietly when asked for his opinion, "that no lady of ill-repute would be worth your time." Realizing how he sounded, the dark teen deliberately relaxed his face and forced himself to speak in a more normal tone. "However, my opinion is not the one that matters. Your father and uncles will likely leap with joy if you weave such a tale for them. They will undoubtedly say that you have finally begun to show the required manly tendencies." Having finished retrieving the last of the hay from his friend's hair, Rio slipped his large hands down the front of Asher's chest and pulled his friend back into his own chest, tanned and muscled arms resting comfortably in a well-known position. He buried his face in the fall of hair over the other lad's shoulder, the softness and fragrance of it a siren's song that he could not resist and never had. At the question of whether or not he had ever kept the company of such a lady, Riordan snorted out a laugh, then shook his head. "No," he admitted quietly. "I have never had any desire to seek out a strumpet. It is bad enough that I am forced to see them hawking themselves on street corners, skirts hiked up to mid-calf and bodice so low you'd swear it was about to fall. I neither want nor need to find out what lies beneath such flimsy covering." It was true that Rio had never had any interest in the women on the street, nor in any of the titled young ladies that had been paraded before him in the hopes that he would select one for marriage. What he didn't reveal was how he had come upon the stable boy one afternoon, mucking out the horses stalls in the mid-summer's heat. His shirt had been discarded in the hopes of catching whatever slight breeze might blow through, and the waistband of his pants had been dark with sweat, the thin material stretched tightly over the lad's muscled rear and heavy thighs. Rio's mouth had gone dry at the sight, and he'd felt himself swelling and stiffening within the confines of his riding breeches. He'd barely been able to stammer out an "Excuse me," before rushing back to his own room to cool his ardor. Several hesitant strokes later on his straining flesh, and Riordan had bitten the knuckles of his fist to keep himself from crying out at the intense orgasm that slammed into him, the image of the stable boy's half nude body fading behind tightly clenched eyelids. No, that was a secret that he would keep to himself as long as he could. He was certain that even Asher would shun his friendship if the truth of his nature were known. Kanou Asher’s eyes widened as he felt the broad chest beneath him reverberate, an animalistic growl he would not have expected spilling from Rio’s lips. By the time Rio altered his tone into a form more civil, he had managed to suppress the outward betrayal of his shock. His pulse was still a startled staccato, however, and his nerves shivered strangely. It would seem that too much sleep could affect the body as surely as too little, he mused. Any muscle that might have stiffened as Asher was startled relaxed instantly as he was pulled firmly against Rio’s chest and enveloped by the warmth of his darker body. It was a particular talent of his friend’s to coax such trusting languor from him, one that he had never found in another individual. His own arms slipped instinctively over Rio’s long thighs, pale hands cupping his knees. The arch of Rio’s nose brushed his neck as the darker lad burrowed into his hair, and for a moment Asher felt again that curious hitch in his heartbeat. Just the content of their discussion brought vivid images to mind which Asher would sooner have done without – Rio’s dark body bending over the pale flesh of a woman kept from the sun, capturing her mouth in hungry demand, large hands cupping her breasts, toying with the buds there, and then taking her, being inside her, and the sounds she would make… the sounds he would make. He tried not to breathe too deeply in relief when Rio answered instead in the negative. No matter how he examined it, however, that relief seemed to support a certain theory that had begun to gnaw at him. “I worry only,” he drawled “that they might encourage a repeat performance of such an act.” He struggled to keep his voice amused and casual as Rio had been. It was far beyond difficult, what he was considering, but he could at least be honest with himself. And Rio was an extension of him, truly, deserving that same honesty. That knowledge was tightly bound up in a faith so immovable it overwhelmed him, a trust upon which he would risk the world. There was no place so safe as within these arms. Curiously, as though examining natural phenomena, he spoke again. “They may be right to encourage me as best they can – perhaps they are right about everything. I do not think I will ever marry,” he said carefully, staring straight ahead. “Because I do not think I could ever want a woman in the way a man desires his wife. I can see what is meant when it is said that a woman is beautiful, I can understand in aesthetic terms, but they do not stir my soul.” Gray Riordan had felt the stiffening of Asher's body and wondered at it, but his friend's words were enough to make him forget. The blonde was speaking the very thoughts that Rio himself had had on numerous occasions. He had no desire to marry, and the thought of lying with some faceless woman at some point in the future positively turned his stomach. He wanted neither wife, nor children, but knew that eventually, a marriage between himself and some lady of the realm would be a certainty. It was required that he marry, procreate, and produce heirs to continue on the Wyndhaven line. The feeling of having Asher lying between his legs, his lanky weight resting comfortably on the bigger boy was beginning to have an effect on Rio's body that he couldn't exactly hide - not in the position that they were currently in, at any rate. Striving to pull his lower half away slightly to keep his friend from finding the proof of his attraction, he kept his arms draped loosely around the blonde's shoulder and his face buried in the crook between Asher's neck and shoulder. His breath rasped from his throat as he tried to control his wayward body, though his voice was smooth and controlled when he spoke. "Have you discovered a way to read my thoughts, then?" he asked quietly, dark eyes closed to better inhale the unique scent that he associates with his friend. Unconsciously, his large, dark hands began to smooth over the firm, flat planes of Asher's chest and stomach, calloused fingers catching on the fabric of the blonde's shirt and carrying it up a ways before releasing it to fall back down. "I want no woman in my bed," he admitted, breath ghosting out between slightly parted lips to brush over the sensitive skin of Asher's neck. "Unfortunately, it is both required and expected that I marry and produce heirs... but that isn't for a long while yet. So far, I've managed to evade my father's insistence that I choose one of the ladies he and mother are constantly parading before me, but it won't last much longer." With a heavy sigh, Riordan told his best friend what he had only begun to plan. "I'm thinking of leaving for a while.... going to join the military." Kanou Even the faint sensation of Rio pulling away after his confession made Asher flinch, laid open and bare as he was by what he had admitted. Any fear of rejection he might have held, however, was chased away when Rio spoke, displaying his own vulnerability. Even as some part of his mind rejoiced with peculiar strength at his dearest friend’s words, his stomach twisted sickly as Rio acknowledged a truth they had been willing to ignore as children, the fact of his eventual marriage. Rio would have to marry, and Asher’s darkest imaginings would become truth. Would he be able to sleep at night in his own bed knowing that at Wyndhaven Rio might be making love to his wife in the same moment? Impossible. Unthinkable. It was increasingly difficult to articulate these vehement thoughts, however, as the darker male’s broad hands played over his skin. At first his heart began to quicken, and he could feel his pulse throbbing at every major vein. Then his breath turned to betray him as well, growing ragged and loud in the stillness of the barn. A flush began to stain his skin, and still those hands caressed him, catching hoarse sounds in his throat when callused fingers found the curve of a hip bone or the startling sensitivity in his nipples he had never before encountered. His friend exhaled, and the mere gliding of breath over his neck made him shiver. Was a man even meant to think of such things? Worse yet, an involuntary trembling in his limbs began to seize him, arching his body like a taut bowstring. The touches were skilful enough, but it was the knowledge of who touched him that stole his senses. Just as he had time to wonder at the stirring heat between his legs, Rio’s final words cut through his haze with swift brutality. Asher twisted sharply, aided by the curious symmetry of their bodies. Within a moment his legs braced him over Rio’s narrow hips, each hand clung to the steely column of the darker lad’s neck, and storm-blue eyes were painfully wide as they searched the face scant inches away. Beneath the blinding terror, he was all too aware of the lushness of the mouth so close to his own. “You can’t!” He hissed, voice taut with brittle fear. “You could be hurt – you could die, you know this! I would rather you married and kept me from sleep with the thought of you! Don’t do this! I’ll come with you!” Panic overruled sense, and he knew even as he babbled that he contradicted himself, but could not stem the flow. Gray Riordan had expected anger at his admission, and perhaps a touch of worry... but the stark fear that shone from Asher's eyes as he clung to Rio's neck was almost more than he could bear. Bringing strong hands up, he smoothed his broad palms gently over the cloth that covered his friend's back, then, growing more bold, pushed the fabric out of the way and allowed his hands to meet flesh. The breath sighed out of him in acute pleasure at the simple touch, and he had to tip his head back slightly - if only to remove himself from the temptation of kissing the lips that hovered so near to his own. The thighs that straddled his hips were long and lean, and Rio could clearly see the agitated trembling beneath the thin cloth of Asher's breeches. That, of course, drew his gaze to the vee of his best friends thighs, his eyes staring intently as though they by gazing long enough, he could discern what secrets lay beneath the concealing material. Then, all at once, he realized what Asher had said, and startled brown flew upward to meet frightened blue. "You would lose sleep at the thought of me with a woman?" His voice was quiet, his hands gentle on Asher's back as they moved in soothing circles, though his dark eyes were intense where they gazed at his friend, seeking to find the truth in the stormy blue eyes. Rio could feel every inch of where the smaller lad was pressed against him, and in each of those places, he felt as though his skin were blisteringly hot. The look that arced between them was equally as powerful, and the dark nobleman found himself quickly out of breath and wondering how the blonde would react if Rio simply leaned forward and kissed him. The wondering became curiosity, and curiosity had always been Riordan's downfall. Without stopping to think about it, he simply did as he'd imagined. The dark teen leaned forward and pressed his lips gently to Asher's. (Bah. Crap post. Stupid medication and stupid retarded brain. *sob*) Kanou The hot, rough hands of the person most dear to him in the world slipped under fabric to caress the hollow of his back, the notches of his spine, the swell of his hips, and Asher felt as though those fingers might slide straight through his skin to touch some intimate inner part of him. The stroking robbed him of breath – when he remembered to breathe again it came in a choked gasp. Shock stole his expression, slackening his fey face until his lips parted and his eyes were glassy, heavy-lidded. They were not so blurred, however, as to miss the direction of his friend’s gaze, and a hot flush stained the arches of his cheeks. Thin as his trousers were, they were not cut well, and never had he been so grateful for the excess room to hide the growing swell between his legs. Even in this frantic moment, however, Rio possessed the power to undo him completely, and the soothing ministrations of his hands lulled even as they aroused. He did not hesitate to answer, though the question shamed him – he could deny nothing to the familiar voice he trusted with every fiber of his being. “I would lie awake trying not to think on it, both because it would wound me if you were with another and to imagine you so would steal all thought of sleep. It is shaming, Rio, for a man to wish to take a woman’s place.” His jealousy was largely emotional, however – Asher did not understand the distinction until Rip leaned forward and kissed him. It was chaste, and tender, and yet desire nearly overwhelmed him. Asher opened his mouth beseechingly against the other’s lips even as the legs which had supported him gave out. Suddenly an all-too tender portion of his anatomy was grinding against his dark friend’s lap, and the instinctive jerk of his body pressed them closer together rather than removing the source of his consternation. The strangled sound that fell from Asher’s lips as his head snapped back was that of a body unsure whether to scream or moan. Gray Rio reveled in the lips beneath his, enjoying the brief caress thoroughly before his own sanity was stolen by Asher's comfortable weight dropping suddenly into his lap. There was no way the blonde could miss his body's reaction - the material of Riordan's pants were slightly better quality than those of Asher's, and they were exquisitely cut, meaning that there was no excess fabric to help mask the growing stiffness between his heavy thighs. Still, the sound that fell from his friend's lips as his head fell back tore the darker teen in two. He was unsure if he had started the blonde to the point of pain, or if Asher had enjoyed the intimate contact. Unwilling to allow the one person he cared for to possibly feel negatively about a kiss that had set Rio's heart to soaring, he bend his dark head and kissed, nibbled, and licked a light trail all along the pale skin of the blonde's throat. Murmuring huskily as he went, he attempted to both calm Asher's nerves (and his own), and to apologize if it was needed. He understood what had been said... that his friend wanted to take the place of any woman that Rio consented to take to bed... but that didn't mean that he wanted such intimacy just yet. Long fingers curled into soft blonde hair, and Rio's mouth skimmed masterfully over the taut flesh of Asher's neck and what was visible of his chest. "I'll apologize if you want... but it won't mean a damn. Asher... no woman could mean as much to me as you do." Kanou Asher pushed himself back slightly along his friend’s thighs so that he could rest without pressing against the rigid length that had ground with such intensity into his own. The results of the contact had not yet faded, and the blond still felt sparks gathering in his lower abdomen, his legs shaking so that he could not have stood if he tried. The fair male gasped in pleasure as lips found his throat and all but worshipped the skin there with intimate possessiveness. His pulse thundered against the skin there like a trapped bird, and he feared it would break free and fly away. But it was Rio’s low, soothing voice that put him over the edge, incited a fit of trembling that rocked his entire body. That definitive statement of want, of claim – he could all but feel it being etched into his soul. While the intensity of his feeling frightened him, however, he would not allow himself to be misunderstood. It was difficult to control his body in his present state, but the arms that had shifted to embrace his Rio maneuvered the darker boy’s head upward so that he could press a kiss firmly to the corner of his lush mouth. “The last thing I want you to do is apologize” he intoned, sternly but shakily. “But Rio, I didn’t know I could feel like this. Every inch of me is aflame for you, and it’s more than I knew a person could feel. And to be here with you – you are my sun and star, and I love you more than any living soul, you know this – so do not leave. Don’t leave me when we’ve just found this. Stay, and find how many ways you can make my skin sing.” Gray Asher's words caused Riordan's heart to thunder within his chest, the beat of it becoming erratic and almost painful and feeling as though it was creating a tattoo where it hammered so frantically. He had known that he was loved, though he hadn't acknowledged it for fear of his secret being found out. But as he lowered his forehead to rest on Asher's shoulder, he admitted to himself that he felt the same... and in doing so, he gathered the wit and courage to say it out loud. Drawing away, the darker teen gently framed his best friend's face between two massive hands and offered a sweet and lingering kiss on the upturned mouth. Then he wrapped massive arms around the smaller teens frame and pulled him close. "Ah," he murmured quietly, the ghost of a smile playing around his mouth. "You humble me. How can I say no to such a sweetly phrased demand?" Growing serious once again, Rio searched Asher's face for a moment before admitting, "You have held my heart for a while now, but I never admitted it for fear of pushing you away." Still, though he knew inwardly that the threat of marriage still hung over his head, he couldn't help but relish this time that he had, here and now, and took another moment to taste the blonde's lips again; slowly; sweetly; until his own eyes were blurred and his hands trembled where they rested on Asher's back. Glazed brown eyes drifted past his friend's head and took in the slowly darkening horizon just beyond the door of their sanctuary. Not wanting to end their time together so soon, Rio buried his face once again in the fall of hair over Asher's shoulder and muttered, "It's getting late." Kanou For all he was not a tower of masculine ideal, Asher rarely felt vulnerable (delicate, if he dared think the word). Yet as he was enfolded by the heavy bands of Rio's arms a trembling high overtook him. The fair teen felt like he was ripe fruit, blood surging thick and sweet in his veins, his skin thin as a peach's over the tender shaking of his flesh. That fruit was for eating occurred to him, of course, but if his best friend were to devour him he would welcome it. The quiet youth was beginning to understand what all the fuss was about - if men and women could feel half this ecstasy together, then it was no wonder everyone was in such a rush to get married and the young girls were always sighing over this military officer or that dashing young suitor. Slowly Rio was kissing him breathless, until he realized that he truly had forgotten to breathe and was forced to pull away, gasping raggedly, before lifting his head to resume the link, the tenuous lick of flame which seemed to flicker between Rio's lips and his own. The swelling between his legs was more certain now, but less frantic as golden heat pooled in his belly, far more pleasant. Rio pulled away, and Asher found that he'd forgotten to breathe again - the blond inhaled sharply, unevenly, even as he felt the flush in his cheeks, ripe fruit bursting beneath the surface of his skin. His thoughts were sluggish, hazy, as he slipped his fingers idly down the neck of Rio's well-made shirt to toy with the knobs at the top of his spine. The blond butted his head against the crook of the darker teen's arm like a cat, then moved to press lingering, open-mouthed kisses to that massive palm. He had just caught the tip of Rio's middle finger lightly between his teeth when the reminder of the outside world cut through his haze and had him shooting upright so abruptly he nearly clipped his best friend's chin. Clouded blue eyes stared disbelievingly into the growing darkness. "My father will be furious," he muttered, then paused and emitted a bark of sharp, startled laughter. "That I'm late. He'd just shoot me if he knew what I was doing. So - harlot, cloudy harlot, or was I thinking about harlots while staring at clouds? You'll have to warn me before we do this in the future, given that I seem unable to form coherent thought." Gray The soft lips and gentle scrape of teeth on the sensitive pad of his finger had caused Rio's face to go slack-jawed and his breathing to come in short, ragged little bursts that hardly got him the oxygen he needed. Perhaps the lack of oxygen was the reason for his dizziness and muddled wits, but it was fortunate indeed that Asher was far enough away to miss banging his head into the darker teen's jaw, because Riordan was in no state to have avoided the unintentional hit anyway. At the mention of the blonde's excuse for his father, Rio's full lips turned down into a frown once again. Even through his displeasure, a wicked thought was beginning to take shape in his mind. To give himself time to work it out a bit more, he dipped forward, large hands coming up to press against Asher's back and hold him in place for Rio's mouth to attach itself once again to the silky flesh of the blonde's throat. He could feel his friend's pulse fluttered just beneath the surface of the skin, and the darker teen pressed his lips against the spot, allowing his tongue to dart out and flutter against the pulse point softly. The taste and scent of Asher was intoxicating and addicting, and Rio knew that he could quickly become drunk on such things if he wasn't careful. Trailing his lips up the column of his best friend's neck, he made his way up to Asher's ear, where he paused for a moment to nibble delicately at the sensitive lobe. Pulling away slightly, he murmured, "Your father will never believe that you spent the evening with a harlot unless you appear as though you've just been bedded." Breathing his warm breath gently across the blonde's ear, Rio reached down with one hand and gently trailed his fingertips along the hardened length that he could barely see through the ill-fitting material of his friend's pants. "I can help you with that...." Kanou There was something overwhelmingly erotic, if Asher dared think it, about those massive hands. He and Rio were of a height, of course, and so his friend's fingers were not terribly longer than his own, but his pale, narrow appendages lacked the depth, the spread of palm and inherent force that allowed Rio to manipulate his body so easily with merely the gentle directing of his hands. The hands now spreading, covering the breadth of his entire lower back and spilling over his waspish waist as he was held in place. Surely such exquisite hands could feel the shuddering in his spine, the jagged rhythm with which his torso expanded and contracted as he forced himself to breathe, as Rio's lips found his throat. Cobalt eyes stared upward blindly as his mouth slipped open with the force of his ragged breathing. His own slim hands sought the hem of his friend’s shirt and tugged it from his breeches, slipping up to settle over the heavy ridges of his ribs. Rio was broadly built, and Asher could feel the deep pulsing of his heart from beneath his wide pectorals. The mapping of the darker teen’s body was brought to a sharp halt, however, when he felt broad fingertips brush his sensitive length. Blunt nails dug reflexively into the taut skin over Rio’s ribs. The blond inhaled with a sound sharp enough to cut glass even as his hips bucked involuntarily, and he moaned in turn at the friction that brought. Being touched where none had touched him before was maddening enough, and certainly more so when coupled with the implications of his friend’s words. It was a struggle, but the slighter boy managed to draw his head back enough to meet Rio’s eyes – a wonder that he could stand to look into those dark eyes at all, burning as they were with the newfound intensity of intimate possession Rio seemed to have acquired. Asher was quite proud that he could meet that gaze while still feeling the heat of his friend's hand at his genitals. “Quite logical,” he rasped, trying to maintain an unruffled tone as if weighing the merits of the statement even as the flush across his cheeks darkened and his parted lips emitted shaky pants. “Please, by all means continue. Do as you see fit.” Gray The tremors that ran through Asher's slim body seemed to be transferring themselves to Rio, because he could feel his own large, broad hands trembling where they rested on his friend's slim hips. The feel of those long, slender fingers skimming lightly upward over his own waist to settle at his ribs pulled a husky sigh from the darker teen's mouth. He could feel the blonde's rigid length pulsing lightly beneath his fingertips, and the manic and surprising possessiveness that ran through shocked Rio. "Mine!" he murmured savagely, long fingers curling around the heat in Asher's breeches at the breathlessly given permission. Touching his friend like this, feeling the core of him pulsing just beneath his hand, drew a groan from the darker boy that he could not suppress. His own eager flesh jumped in response, even as he gently lay the blonde back and covered the slender body with his own darker, heavier form. Trembling fingers sought out the ties that held Asher's breeches closed, fumbling for a moment until Rio forced himself to take a deep breath and calm down. Once he had, he was able to grasp the strings and tug gently on them to open the front placket that hid his best friend's body from him. The dark teen held his breath until his rough fingertips skipped lightly over the dewy tip of his friend's arousal, and then the air exploded from him in a burst of sound. He'd never imagined that anything could feel so good - not even his own hand on himself had felt this divine - and with another groan, Rio pushed the offending material out of his way to better curl his long fingers around the straining flesh. Parted lips skimmed lightly over Asher's throat, and he murmured quietly, "Ah... Asher... you are delicious...." Kanou Asher’s nails dug deeply as he shouted, vision going black for a moment as he felt Rio grip him. The blond could feel sluggish blood beneath his fingertips where he had opened furrows along the darker teen’s ribs. It was his friend’s muttered claim that ensnared him, however, and he felt his length jerk in the other’s hand. There was that gripping, terrifying vulnerability again as Rio crouched over him with all the massive physical presence and coiled ferocity of a panther as he felt the other boy’s fingers moving in an odd pattern over his groin. The pressure of that power overwhelmed him, and Asher gave himself to his friend completely. Somehow the erratic pattern formed by Rio’s hands had not registered intent, and the blond did not comprehend their purpose until they encountered the slick tip of his length, exposed as it was from his infant circumcision. He made a sound that he refused to name (as to name it would be to call it a whimper) and his narrow hips snapped reflexively. It was nothing, though, to the full breadth and heat of Rio’s spade-like hand wrapped around him, soothing even as it aroused. When the increasingly familiar brush of lips returned to his throat he felt like a closed circuit, as if an electrical current was running from Rio’s body into his own and back again, building until he saw sparks behind his clenched eyelids. Even in his desperation he could not forget Rio, however, and the slighter male slipped one lean thigh between his friend’s heavier runs, pressing the corded muscle there against the stiff length that so strained the darker teen’s breeches. Unexpected praise sent a sweet, sharp bolt of pain through him. The blond tilted his head to press feverish kisses along Rio’s brow, the curve of his cheekbone, any part of the other he could reach. A litany frayed by the haze of arousal spilled from his lips. “Yours-yours – yours, always yours, Rio, yours, with everything I am, yours.” Gray "Mine," Rio agreed harshly. hips bucking and snapping frantically against the thigh that had been pressed against him. He wasn't certain how something so primal - so raw - could feel so good. The lips skimming over his face pulled the darker teens mouth like a beacon, and Riordan melded their lips together with a sigh, sinking into the heat and pleasure that Asher offered with his unrestrained responses and eager body. His heart beat frantically against his chest, and he feared for a moment that it would beat itself right out of his skin... but then the sensations were so overwhelming, he didn't have time to think anymore. The length in his hand drew his entire attention, and despite the deep desire to keep his mouth locked to the blonde's, Rio drew away and skimmed his gaze down the writhing form of his friend. His eyes were drawn to the pulsing flesh that he held, and for a moment, he could only stare. Asher was so lovely... so pale and perfect, and all Rio wanted to do was stare at him and drink in his form until he had it memorized for all of eternity. Then his body brought him back to the present and the things that were going on in his lower regions. With a groan, he began to move his hips in earnest, his grip on his friend's length tightening and beginning to stroke in a steady manner - the slick tip disappearing and reappearing from Rio's clenched fist. Barely aware of anything outside of the thigh pressed so intimately against him and the hard length gripped in his hand, he growled again, "Mine.... only mine...." Kanou Asher was accustomed to his place in the world. He might not agree with the standards of others, but he well understood how he was perceived, and had grown to accept that vision without undue rancor. He was as he was, and there were worse things in the world than being a disappointment – certainly he knew how to be nothing else, and so it was best to be pragmatic. Years had passed since he had truly cared for another’s opinion of him, save Rio (for he knew that so long as Rio tolerated him, he could live with the rest). But now there was a boy above him who was almost a man, strong and classically handsome and brave and every other thing he had never been, dark and beautiful. Of any person in the world (for Rio could have anyone he wished) he was with Asher, touching him, praising him, caressing him like something to be cherished even as the stiff length grinding against the blond’s thigh indicated the sincerity of his desire. Rio could have anyone he desired, but it was to Asher he laid a claim. It overwhelmed him entirely, and Asher was startled to find tears tracking from the corners of his eyes and dampening his tumbled hair. He had not cried like this since he was a child – but then, perhaps that was the last time he felt so wanted, when his mother was still alive and would lay down next to him at night to chase away nightmares, would stay for hours when the wind howled and he could not sleep. He cried out when Rio began to pump his shaft at a determined pace, feeling as though that hoarse claim were being burned into his skin with every stroke. Against his bare and untested skin, the dry friction was almost painful, but it was the most perfect, crystalline pain he had ever known, and it made his spine bow as he arched needily into the touch. Then there was a pressure building in his stomach, a tightening as of every fiber of his body. He could hear himself saying the other’s name reverently, a ceaseless mantra without thought. As his vision swam, one pale hand clutched at Rio’s shoulder desperately while the other sought the darker male’s wrist. Asher brought the other’s free hand to his mouth and placed frantic kisses against the knuckles and veins with all the devotion of a martyr, finally murmuring into his palm when something reached a pinnacle in him and he lost all sense but of the eruption of pleasure Rio had wrought in him. “Rio-Rio-Rio-love you – I love you, I love you, love you-" and his body arched like a bow, head falling back helplessly. Opalescent ropes of white streaked from him and fell over his hips and even Rio’s shifting hand and wrist, coating his skin thickly. There was an almost pleasing aesthetic in that contrast, that milky paleness against Rio’s dark skin, that Asher was certain he could only appreciate in his current haze as the sight would have otherwise mortified him. The blond slumped, drained by the force of his climax, and pressed his cheek into the palm of the person dearest to him. “Mine,” he murmured faintly, the ghost of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth in soft afterglow amusement. “Always yours and always mine.” Gray Watching Asher's face as intently as he was for the slightest change of expression - he wanted to see it all and to lay claim to all of it - he saw the tears trekking their way down the sides of Asher's face, and he gentled his strokes briefly, worried that perhaps he was hurting his friend. But the twisting of the blonde's hips beneath his hand; the expression of ecstasy that crossed his beautiful features; all of it that Rio that while Asher may be crying for reasons unknown, it was not because he was being hurt. Tenderly, he raised a single hand to other boy's face and gently wiped away the tears that were dampening the hair at his temples. Above all things, he could not bear to see Asher cry in this, the most precious moment of Rio's life. Then Asher was gripping both his shoulder and wrist and arching further into his touches as though he couldn't get enough of the rough friction, and there were soft kisses being pressed into the sensitive skin of his hand and the dark keen could not hold back his shudder of pure, hedonistic delight at the delicate feeling. He knew what was coming before his friend's body tightened beneath his touch and bowed upward into a perfect arc. He wanted to taste Asher's release; to bend low over the pulsing flesh and lay further claim to the slender teen's body, but he was afraid that it would be too much for his friend's untouched body. Instead, he simply kept his gaze intent on the length he was manipulating, and couldn't hide the beatific smile that crossed his features as the blonde convulsed and sent think ropes of pearly white shooting up and over his own hips and Rio's hand. He kept his hand moving, though he gentled his touch a bit, milking Asher's body for everything it could give, and when the boy at last lay quietly beneath him, Rio fumbled with the strings on his own breeches. He let out a low, carnal moan as his own hardness was released to be caressed by the cooling evening air, then, with a shudder, he gripped himself tightly and began to stroke. It was with his best friend's worshipful mantra ringing in his ears that Rio bit his lip and brought himself to a knee-shaking, moan-inducing orgasm, sending his own thick seed coursing over his hand to mingle with that of Asher's. With a groan, he collapsed down beside the blond, his heart thudding frantically in his ears and his breath rasping from a dry throat. Once he'd managed to regulate both his heart and his breathing, Rio propped himself up on one hand and leaned over Asher to press a soft kiss to the other teen's mouth. The hand that was not sticky and coated in seed was raised to trace the calloused pad of a gentle finger over the blonde's gently arched eyebrow and down the fine curve of a cheekbone. Soft, full lips pressed fervent kisses to his friend's brow before murmuring, "My love.... my Asher...." After several moments of this, he knew that he had to get Asher home or he'd keep the blonde there all night, introducing him to the different ways they could love each other. After one last, lingering kiss, Rio stood and tucked himself back into his breeches. Crouching, he cleaned his hand as best he could with a bit of straw from the barn floor, then extended his other hand to help his friend up. "We should get you home. At least now you look as though you've been with a harlot this evening." |
![]() |
|
| Kanousei | May 17 2010, 01:25 PM Post #2 |
|
Newbie
![]() ![]() ![]()
|
Kanou: Even in the mindless haze of afterglow, when Asher thought he would fall asleep even as exposed as he was without a whit of concern, he was unable to close his eyes as Rio began to touch himself. The air caught in his throat like a tangible thing, the blond entirely enraptured by the openness of his lover’s expression, the earnestness of his desire. The snapping of his hips, the wracking shudders through his broad body as he found release, all seemed burned into Asher’s eyes – perhaps he would see them imprinted even on his closed lids. The slighter male kissed his friend back eagerly – he could still feel the reverberations of ecstasy shivering along his nerves, and he thought without the slightest hesitation that he could go on kissing Rio forever. How did anyone ever manage to leave bed and such pleasures? It was a wonder civilization did not crumple inward as couples stayed between the sheets when they ought to be working. Perhaps that was why women were kept so strictly bound, he mused – so that they would be virginal until marriage, and thus undistracted able to concentrate on maidenly tasks like needlepoint. The more kisses the darker teen pressed to his skin, the more Asher felt himself melt, until the only response he could muster from his overtaxed body was to nuzzle fervently against the crook of Rio’s neck, a feline purr rumbling softly in his throat. When Rio finally rose and offered his hand, the blond stared at the appendage blankly, then up to his friend’s face, and back again. “Harlot?” he repeated bemusedly. The confusion lingered just one or two beats too long to be covered up, and then comprehension reached him and Asher flushed darkly as he snatched Rio’s hand and pulled himself upward, mortified by how completely he had forgotten what had been the supposed goal of their activities. “Right,” he muttered quickly, pulling his breeches close but otherwise leaving his garments in an appropriate state of disarray. “Harlot. Spent the evening with him. Her! Spent the night with her, missed the hunt, so sorry father, you understand.” Storm-blue eyes darted beyond the door – open, how could they have left it open! – and into the night. “Yes,” he finally murmured, his tone of regret partially tempered by the petulance of a child denied a favorite sweet. “I should go home now, as should you.” Gray Asher's confusion was a source of amusement for Rio, but he wasn't unkind enough to allow that emotion to show. He simply stood there, with his hand outstretched, until the blonde recalled their original 'purpose' for having strayed into such wonderful and devious activities and reached up to grab at the broad hand that had been offered. Pulling Asher up, the darker teen couldn't help but use the blonde's momentum to pull him closer, wrapping long, muscled arms around the slender form and hauling him close. With his nose buried in the pale hair, Rio murmured, "Were it not for the duties we both have - to land and family - I would stay here all night with you if I could. Unfortunately, my father will also be looking for me - if only to chastise me for escaping Mister Stiles yet again." Drawing away, he grinned and lifted a hand to pluck yet more straw from his friend's wayward hair, then, in a mock-severe voice, intoned, "Next time, I shall have to tumble you in a bed so you don't get straw in your hair again." The mental of image of himself and Asher, nude between the cool sheets of his bed, brought a swift and gut-clenching pain that nearly brought Rio to his knees. He would certainly have to include that in the list of things he wanted to do to Asher's body; especially now that he knew the blonde would be receptive to his advances. Curling a broad arm around his friend's slender shoulders, Rio led the other teen from the barn and back down the lane toward his house. "We both look as though we've been properly tumbled by a lady-of-the-evening, so simply tell your father that I was with you and brought you home. And make certain you tell him that you were with a woman... not a man... or he'll have both our hides." The walk was slow - not because of any difficulty that lay on the path, but because Rio was reluctant to turn Asher back over to his family. Stopping just before they left the protective shelter of the trees, he turned the blonde to face him and pressed an urgent kiss to his friend's lips, pouring all the desire and pent-up frustration that coursed through him into the brief caress. It left him weak-kneed and certain that he was developing an obsession with kissing a certain stormy-eyed blonde. Reluctantly, he turned Asher loose and sent him off down the lane, staying in the shadows of the trees and watching until the blonde had been swallowed by the darkness and his family's home. Only then did he turn away to head back to his own house to face his father and the recriminations that were sure to be forthcoming. Kanou: Asher melted as he was enfolded, nuzzling Rio’s broad chest like a drowsy kitten. Even exhausted as he was, however, his friend’s words stirred him and he felt the heat rise to his face. Certainly he had begun to register the possibility of deeper intimacy than what they had just shared, and while he might be unsure of the mechanics he certainly understood that they were arresting sodomites for something, and that “bugger” was a very specific verb. If he were to be honest with himself, Asher could not imagine how such an act could be comfortable, much less pleasurable, but if it brought Rio to the ecstasy he had shown so honestly this evening, there was no question. They could not be too closely joined. However it was achieved, the thought of Rio actually being inside his body overwhelmed him so severely that he was forced to slump against his lover’s chest for support until he regained himself. “You may feel free to ‘tumble’ me in any manner you see fit,” he murmured belatedly as they began to move. As Rio spoke, the blond was forced to remind himself once more that he had a story to uphold, that there was a real world to return to outside the blissful haven they had created. It certainly didn’t help that the dark teen was kissing him again as though he could drink his soul. A murky thought occurred to him as he walked dazedly away, and he turned to find that Rio had almost disappeared from his sight – though his friend was still standing in the same spot, watching him with a protectiveness that made something flutter in his chest. “And don’t you dare leave!” he called teasingly, face alight and joyous. If there was a claim in that joking reprimand, then it was his to make. Gray: Rio stood there by the tree for several long moments, his gaze lingering on the spot where Asher had vanished into the darkness - whether because he'd entered his house, or because it was simply too dark to see where he'd gone - either way, it mattered little to the dark teen. When he finally turned to head back to his own manor house, his thoughts were consumed with the things that he and the blonde had done together, and it so occupied his every sense that he barely realized he'd made it home until he heard his father's strident tones calling for him. The imposing figure of the current Marquis of Wyndhaven came striding across the entryway, and a large fist made sharp and surprising contact with Rio's left ear, leaving the teen momentarily stunned. It was a light reprimand compared to many that he'd received, and he stood as still as he could to listen to what his father had to say through the ringing in his now-sore ear. "Where have you been, boy!? You've evaded Mister Stiles for the last time, by God... can't worry about that now. The Viscountess Morely and her daughter Sabrina are here. Your mother and I have reached a suitable agreement with the Viscount and his wife, and we have arranged for your marriage to take place within a fortnight. They're very eager for the match, and Sabrina will make you a fine wife. She's been trained in needlepoint and has had lessons from all the...." His father's voice faded away, and Rio could only stand there, horrified, as the Marquis went on and on, listing the girl's virtues as though she were a prized piece of horseflesh that any man should be honored to own. All the teen could think of was Asher. Logically, he knew that the blonde could never be his Marchioness, but wouldn't it be wonderful if he could stroll through London with Asher on his arm rather than some horse-faced, big-busted and brainless chit? Another swift strike to his already-red ear brought Riordan out of his stupor, and he gazed at his father for a moment before finally understanding what was being said to him. He was to go upstairs to his room like a good little whipped puppy, bathe, change his clothes, and come back downstairs to meet the bride that had been chosen for him. Numbly, he turned to climb the stairs, putting one foot in front of the other purely by rote and only catching himself on the banister by instinct when his legs seemed to suddenly turn to jelly beneath him. What would he tell Asher? How could he explain that after one glorious afternoon together, Riordan would have to forgo it all and stand at the alter with a girl he didn't even know? He couldn't do it. He simply could not do that to his best friend and the one person he loved above all else in the world. A look of determination suffusing his dark features, Rio stiffened his spine and finished his ascent up the stairs, quietly closing the door to his room behind himself, then going to look out of his window. The lights from the passing calvary caught his eye, and he watched them for a long moment before making his decision. It would tear his heart out to leave Asher behind, but better that than to have to shun him completely in favor of a wife he didn't even want. Hastily, he scrawled two notes - one careless and short, explaining to his parents what he'd done and where he'd gone. He gave no reason, simply said that it was the right thing for him, and he wasn't in any frame of mind to get married just yet. If the girl and her parents were so hell-bent on a match between them, they could wait the several years or so it would take Rio to serve his country before they got their hands on his title and his inheritance - and he said as much in his letter. The second letter was slower in coming, for it was addressed to Asher and spoke of Rio's deep need not to hurt his best friend. "Asher- Would that I could stay with you and shun both family and duty... but I can not. My parents have made a match for me and expect me to marry within a fortnight. I can not. After what has transpired between us today, I can not in good conscience stand at the alter with this faceless girl and marry her, while still calling myself your friend. If I could choose, I would choose you in a moment. You must believe that. Because I can not choose, and I can not simply say no, I am leaving to join the military as I said I would earlier tonight. After what we shared, I had thought that that was no longer an option for me, but circumstances have forced my hand. I hope you can understand that, and see that I am not leaving you because I want to, but because I have to. I will write often, and think of you always. Forever yours- Rio" Folding the note for Asher and tucking it into his back pocket, he slipped the other note into the top drawer of his dresser for his valet to find later and give to his parents. That done, he slipped out of his window and, taking a deep breath, jumped to the ground. He twisted his ankle as he landed, but didn't stop to curse or to assess the damage, choosing instead to run straight for the barn where he and Asher had discovered each other. He propped the letter up on the chest, gave one last, longing look around, then dashed out the door and down the road to join his countrymen. He didn't know what the future would hold for him - or, more specifically, for him and Asher - but he prayed to whatever God was listening that he'd be able to come home to his love soon. Kanou: As luck would have it, only one of Asher’s relations was awake at the time of his arrival to scold him: his oldest brother, Edward, who generally considered Asher’s comings and goings so far beneath his notice that he did little more than grouch about the hunt and proper activities before sending Asher on his way. So great was the blond’s relief that he almost forgot to make use of his disheveled appearance and the explanation thereof. It was certainly worth it, however, to watch Edward’s jaw go slack like that. He must have looked convincing. (And well he should, as his appearance was genuine, exact circumstances aside.) In bed… how could he sleep? Asher stared at the shadowed blues of the heavy curtains, giddy and near trembling with restrained energy. It felt as though he had stepped into a stranger’s body. This new, sensual awareness caused him to marvel at his hands, the slim pads of his fingers, the pressure of bones and muscle against his skin, the curves of his ribs, the sleek length of his legs. As though simply by seeing him, touching him, wanting him, Rio had altered him irrevocably. Well, of course he had. A part of him no longer belonged to himself, but it was freely given – his only regret was that he could not give Rio even more. To give – the smooth pressure of his sheets over his skin made him shiver as he thought of Rio in his bed, of the ways the other had yet to claim him, possess him. When he finally managed to fade into sleep with the stillness of near dawn outside his windows, his dreams had no discernable beginnings or ends, blending together in layers of sight and sound, ecstatic sensation. Rio’s hands, Rio’s eyes, the seductive authority of his velvet voice. For the first time in more years than he could remember, the stresses and strains and petty anxieties of Asher’s life did not follow him into his dreams, chased out by Rio’s radiance. ~ ~ ~ Asher considered waiting for his father to waken – the morning was still young, as the youth had found himself far too giddily restless to allow for much sleep. But even the thought of watching his father struck dumb with shock (a rare occurrence, that), which just days before he would have claimed as one of the most desired miracles of his short life, was a wan ghost compared to the newfound sensuality smoldering under his skin. So Asher left with his father still abed, though it would doubtless earn him an even more severe reprimand when coupled with his disappearance from the hunt. But, Asher thought wryly, since my father was unable to see me so thoroughly disheveled to corroborate my excuse, I had become so again so that he does not doubt me. Surely Rio would be willing to oblige. It was not disconcerting to find their rustic haven empty – often they arrived out of sync, and each was perfectly willing to wait for the other. Besides, Asher was grateful for at least a few moments alone in which to reacquaint himself with his surroundings. This barn would never be the same. Oh, the walls were unchanged, the timber roof, the packed earth of the floor, even the spilled hay, but memory filled the close space with the humidity of gusted breath, the whisper of fabric, the heat of hands and hungry lips. Yes, best that he allow himself some time for collection and composure lest he embarrass himself horridly when Rio arrived. Even now he could feel a flush gathering. So lost was he in his thoughts that nearly an hour passed before Asher noticed the letter. ~ ~ ~ Even as it happened, Asher knew that he was a different person after reading Rio’s letter than he had been before it. In scarce moments he felt his world fracture around him, rupture, crystallize anew as something unfamiliar, harder and more jagged. It was not unkind. If I could choose, I would choose you in a moment. You must believe that… I hope you can understand that, and see that I am not leaving you because I want to, but because I have to. The first time he read shock overtook him, and he grasped little of it. The second time, he understood. By the third time his eyes scanned that familiar hand, he had found several truths with absolute certainty, though it would be years before he was able to articulate them in full. First, that Rio could not meet his love in equal measure. Asher had not known it was possible to love as strongly as he felt for his friend, however, so perhaps that was an unfair expectation. But if Rio loved him to an equal degree, he could not have brought himself to leave. Second, that he must never allow himself to need anything so much ever again. Need, love, trust – they cut a body open, vulnerable to all the cruelties of the world. He had not been so earnest in his desires since his mother’s death. And that was the crux of it – anything could be lost, any person could die or just leave, and so he would not allow himself to need them. He explained it with cavalier cynicism to Geoffrey over tea in London, years later, after he had stopped returning Rio’s letters. ~ ~ ~ He had tried to write, those first few years. That he did not have to meet Rio face to face (though had he been close, he would not have been unhappy, but the paradox haunted him) was a blessing – writing his letters, even as they grew shorter and more distant, had allowed him a necessary detachment. Anything he put to paper was very much within his control. So he exposited mildly on the keeping of the lands and the state of the horses and the country gossip, scarcely mentioning himself at all. Rio’s declarations of affection, now that Asher knew them to be well-intentioned but insufficient, were painful enough to read, much less return in kind. For all they pained him, however, he might have continued to reply had Rio not sought to bring them together once more. A haven was offered, promises made, the implicit certainty that were they to meet again Rio would possess fully what he had claimed. If Asher went to him, he would refuse his friend and lover nothing. He would forget the hard truths he had learned, would give Rio all himself, only to be left hollow and battered to realize anew that he was nothing, insignificant, that he would never be enough to bind someone like Rio, who burned so fiercely, to his side. Asher Grey left for London while his lover waited. He found there what some might consider happiness. ~ ~ ~ He was quite admired, surely. Asher kept ahead of the latest fashions, turning himself out more handsomely than many incompetent young lords and ladies with ten times his allowances to spend on such things. But then, even had his natural taste not exceeded theirs, a certain natural bearing would always outshine others, even if the wearer wore muslin in place of silks and brocade. Though silks and brocade he had in abundance. Of his conquests, he found that the better born tended to lavish gifts in clumsy attempts to either win back his waning interest or (more commonly) bribe him into certain silence to safeguard their reputations. Asher had never met a lordling he cared enough about to wish to destroy (at least not in the city), but it never hurt to let them continue. Geoffrey made the whole game more entertaining just when Asher’s fascination with London, after several months, had begun to fade into boredom and contempt. Separate, they were forces to be reckoned with; together, they were indomitable. For a time they had diverted one another, and it was quite pleasurable. Never sodomy, of course – they both preferred to hold the power in such situations. In truth, Asher had only performed such intimacies with a rare few gentlemen, and even they experienced enough to know what they wanted and how. (When he took them, Asher told himself he was not thinking of Rio, of the couplings they had promised each other so naively.) They always knew they would not remain so joined. Though occasional dalliances were permitted, they enjoyed intercourse of the mind more than the body. Between them, they held the sharpest minds for gossip and the sharpest tongues for its spread, the keenest eyes for fashion and young men of certain persuasions, most often the finest masculine aesthetic in any given crowd. Asher painted portraits and wandering landscapes that no soul ever saw, buried as they were in closets and trunks. He immersed himself in the glittering vapidity of London’s elite and did not allow himself to listen for news of the army. He touched men in darkened rooms while the laughter and conversation of lush parties bubbled in their ears from just beyond the locked doors. Asher Grey resided quite comfortably in London, and found there what some might consider happiness. ~ ~ ~ As his mare’s muscles rippled and bunched beneath the saddle, Asher knew that he should have been more courteous to Richard Mayhew. A host owed a certain propriety to his guests, particularly when said host planned on using the privacy of his home to thoroughly violate said guest. Richard was terribly amusing, really, though at times he made Asher feel so old and shopworn he could hardly bear it. He had not been so rude, but his attention had been distant at best since their arrival. It had been almost a year since he had returned to his small manor (a dwelling of but three floors and six bedrooms that his older brother could afford to be generous in giving, following their father’s death). Restlessness took him, and he finally determined that he would have to taste the clean air and pass through the rolling green hills to satiate his need before he could be suitably charming to young Mayhew. Sienna twitched irregularly beneath him, and Asher brushed his hand along the side of her neck absently to soothe. It was not precisely the ride he had in mind. Autumn was upon them, and night came sooner. He could see very little green in the deepening dusk. A chill wind had begun to stir the grasses. Lightning crackled above him, so close that it was one with the resounding thunder. The sky opened itself and rain coursed downward in torrents of sudden violence. Asher felt the world tilt before he could feel Sienna rearing beneath him, felt himself slide, hands slipping uselessly over water, suddenly so much water over everything, felt himself fall, the ground rushing up to meet him, felt his ankle catch in one stirrup and twist with sharp nauseating pain before that too fell away and he was in the grass with mud in his mouth. ~ ~ ~ Without the moon to use as compass Asher was unsure how many hours he had spent unconscious. Certainly long enough for him to be soaked to his very skin, to be thoroughly chilled, numb enough that he only knew his ankle was badly twisted when he heaved himself upward and tried to move. There was no help for it. Asher hated to think that some unconscious craving might have brought him here, but he was far deeper into Rio’s family lands than his own, and might just be able to hobble to the manor. Certainly he had no chance of reaching his own on an ankle now throbbing enthusiastically. Closer than he thought, even – it could not have been more than half a mile that he limped to those familiar doors. The rain finally calmed to a cool drizzle and as the wall of water in front of him thinned Asher was startled to find his destination staring him in the face. Though the hour was late, the door was answered swift enough. Servants he remembered from his own childhood ushered him inside. A few new faces were disapproving, but stern Timothy set them right even as he assisted Asher with utter tact and decorum to that wing of the house the Grey remembered best. Candles were offered, but Asher took only two fat tapers to light the spacious bathing room. He had no wish to see Rio’s old quarters illuminated. Timothy and a younger manservant he did not recognize filled the heavy claw-footed tub with efficient speed, unobtrusive and quiet, very much not in the way in the manner of good help. Like shadows they were there and gone, leaving Asher alone with his thoughts. With every inch of clinging fabric peeled away he found more bruises beginning to darken and mottle his fair skin, though his dark and swollen ankle was worst of all. The first few moments in the steaming water were utter agony. Then his tightly coiled muscles loosened, the heat seeping in to soothe him, and Asher closed his eyes, tipping his head back to meet oblivion. Gray: The first few weeks of his service, Rio was so busy that he didn't have time to wonder what Asher had thought of his letter. He'd simply followed the long line of civilian soldiers, blending in perfectly as many of them had still worn their plain clothes. No one questioned his age or what he was doing there, and it wasn't until he'd already been fitted for a uniform and given a bayonet that someone seemed to take notice of him and began to ask questions. By then, he'd already proven himself invaluable to his commanding officer - his quick wit and sharp sense of humor kept the men in good spirits, and Rio was always willing to lend a hand with whatever needed doing, whether it was cleaning gear or cooking food for the hoard of hungry men, or doing the dishes after they'd all eaten - and the man had been reluctant to send the boy home, especially after hearing that he didn't particularly want to go. The fact that the only reason he would go home was for Asher was a secret that he kept tightly clutched to his chest - unwilling to share the bliss and comfort that the blonde's image produced with every thought. Rio was a selfish creature, and he wanted no one to know of his Asher's beauty. Throughout the early years of his military career, the young nobleman worked his way through the ranks with a steadiness and clear-headedness that impressed his commanders. He formed fast friendships with the men around him, and his honesty and hard-working nature put him in the natural running to head his own company. However, his youth seemed to be a detriment to the men in charge, because he was given the title of Sergeant at the age of 22 and placed under the command of a man named Kirkland James Rutherford. Distressing enough as his rapid leave from home had been, even more distressing for Rio were Asher's letters, which grew steadily more infrequent and impersonal as time went on. Desperate to reclaim at least a portion of the easy comraderie they had shared, he had poured his heart and soul into his letters, telling Asher of his daily life and of the men he'd met and befriended, and always - always - he spoke of how his heart ached to be away from the blonde, how eager he was for their reunion, and of how deeply he missed his childhood friend. Still, despite the aching honesty with which Rio wrote his letters, Asher's correspondence only seemed to grow more and more cold, until there was no mention of Asher himself in the letters... simply detailed accounts of what was done on his family's estate and grounds - the likes of which Rio could have gotten from his own land manager, had he cared to ask for one. Finally, in a last effort to reclaim at least his friendship with Asher, Rio sent a letter begging the blonde to meet him while he was on leave. He had no thoughts of picking up where they'd left off; he simply wanted to reaffirm their bond to each other and to restrengthen thier friendship. After this hellish war was over and Rio was free to go back home, then he would worry about taking their relationship further. So eager was he to see Asher that it had never occurred to him that his invitation might be refused. He had sat in the dining area of the inn he'd asked his friend to meet him at until the owner came by to ask him if he wanted a room for the evening in case his 'guest' showed up in the night. Rio could only shake his head, understanding at last that Asher wasn't going to meet him. He'd gone back to the inn where his company was staying, a deep depression having settled over him and a dark, brooding look clouding his usually sunny features. The rest of his leave time was spent in solitude, contemplation and speculation his constant companions. Had he misjudged Asher's feelings for him? Had their friendship meant more to him than to the blonde? Or was it his prolonged absence that had forced this wedge between them? No closer to an answer than he had been before his leave had begun, Rio rejoined his company and left once again, a changed man. The smile that everyone had grown used to was rarely seen, and if that expression did cross his face, it was not the carefree, joyous thing that it had once been. He worked harder, trained longer, and pushed himself further... all in an effort to forget about the pain that lanced through him every time he thought about a certain blonde and his stormy eyes. It worked, to an extent, during the day, but Rio's nights were restless and sleepless; his dreams so vivid and carnal that he would wake drenched in sweat and be unable to find peace with himself until he'd relieved the aching pressure that had built in his groin. And then, always disgusted with himself afterwords, he'd flop backwards and fall into a dreamless slumber that left him more exhausted than he'd been when he'd first fallen asleep. After several months of this, his men began to notice the strain. Rio had become short tempered and cross where he was normally laid back and easy-going. They also noticed that Rio never took one of the camp whores to bed with him; indeed, he seemed repulsed by their very presence. They had all heard the young Sergeant's feverish whispers and mutters in the night as he was dreaming, and the all-too-familiar sound of flesh-on-flesh as he'd eased away the tension. It was not unheard of for the men of the camp to love other men with their bodies... oftentimes, the men were cleaner than the whores that offered themselves, and most of them smelled better, too. The first time one of the men approached Rio with his proposition, he got a black eye and a split lip for his trouble. The second time, there had been quite a bit of crashing furniture and yelling, but the man had escaped unscathed. The third time had only gotten a tired sigh and a polite but firm, "No, thank you." It wasn't until the fourth attempt that Rio actually seemed to consider it. Ian - the man who had approached him, and who, coincidentally, happened to be his second-in-command - immediately pounced on the pause. He offered only a massage to help ease his Sergeant's tense muscles, and once his long fingers had been applied to the brawny form, it had been a simple matter of seduction. After that, though Rio slept better and was untroubled by his vivid dreams of Asher, he refused to take Ian in his bed. He always went to the other man's bunk, and left again before the morning sun rose over the treetops. His mood improved greatly, and though his smile was still seldom seen, the men were glad that he at least no longer glowered at them. ~*~*~*~*~*~ Life went on in this mein for quite some time, and Rio found himself settling into the routine of it - if not easily, then at least more readily than he would have otherwise expected. He missed Asher terribly, and though he missed their friendship, he developed new ones with the men around him. And at night, when the memories of his past got to vivid and threatened to break his sanity, he knew that he could go to Ian and be warmly received. The two developed an understanding of each other, and though they were close - closer than most - neither spoke of their relationship outside of Ian's bed. Rio was still trapped by his memories of Asher and by thoughts of what might have been had he not left; and Ian had too much pride in himself to want to compete with a memory. ~*~*~*~*~*~ Two weeks after his 26th birthday, their company inadvertently stumbled into a skirmish between another British company and a small battalion of French soldiers who were trying to gain access to Napoleon. Though Rio and his men were a welcome addition to the fight, and the added numbers quickly saw the French soldiers subdued and the small battle ended. Unfortunately, their commander, Colonel Rutherford, was badly wounded in the fracas and ended up dying before they could get him to a medic. As much as Kirk would be missed, Rio stepped into his shoes and filled the role of Colonel easily. He turned their troop into a sharply honed fighting unit, and never were they taken by surprise again. They were called to aide in many battles, but it wasn't until nearly two years later that they were called to be one of the leading troops in the fight at Waterloo. Nothing he had seen or heard had prepared him for the carnage and desecration that was the Battle of Waterloo. Monsters were created on both sides, and more than once, he saw what would normally have been a sane man hacking away at the lifeless body of another man, the fury and delirium of battle having stolen the mind of the living while simultaneously blessing the dead with the darkness. It was during this hellacious battle that Rio truly began to fear for his life. There were cannonballs exploding into the ground at their feet, and men who were torn into pieces that went flying off in different directions. If he hadn't been so tortuously concerned with getting his men to safety, the sight would have made him physically ill. As it was, a stray piece of debris from one of the cannonballs flew past them, and the Colonel shouted for his men to duck and get out of the way. It wasn't until a moment later, when he tried to raise his arm to signal them to move forward, that he realized he, too, had been hit. Looking down, he could see the skin laid open to the bone across his chest, and the cap of his shoulder was barely attached - his arm hanging limp and useless by his side. Shocked into silence for a moment, he barely registered the sound of more shouting until something hot slammed into the side of his head and knocked him to the ground. Lying there on his side, Rio could see Ian's mouth moving, but he couldn't hear what the man was saying. Squinting to try and read the other man's lips, he realized that not only could he not hear Ian, he could no longer hear the sounds of battle around him, either. He was startled by that for a moment, then had to close his eyes as a film of red slowly began to seep across his vision. The darkness of the backs of his eyelids was the last thing he remembered seeing before blissful unconsciousness claimed him. ~*~*~*~*~*~ When he woke, Rio's world was riddled with pain and fire, and it concentrated in a single fiery area on his face, and seemed to spread over the considerable width of his chest and down one long arm. Half afraid that he would see nothing but a bloodied bandaged stump of an arm, he looked down at himself. Blood and bandages there were, and plenty of them, but fortunately, his arm was also there. It hurt and ached as though someone were trying to saw through it, but at least it was there. Tentatively, he raised one hand to his face, and his fingertips encountered the ragged edge of a bandage covering part of his face. Belatedly, he realized that his left eye was still seeing blackness. Upon trying to open the lid, he found that he couldn't, and then he realized that the bandage stretched across his face and covered his eye. Slightly mollified by the realization that he was not, in fact, blind, Rio was content to allow himself to heal. He knew the general extent of his injuries and didn't anticipate being in the hospital for longer than a few weeks. ~*~*~*~*~*~ Rio was chafing against his forced confinement three weeks later; the wound on his chest and shoulder had gotten infected and had had to be reopened so it could drain. The new stitches were pulled tight against the puffy, red flesh of his shoulder and chest, and the bruising extended all the way down his body, making him look like a grape that someone had dropped. He had thought only to be confined to the hospital for two weeks or so, and had been itching to get out of the bed and move around before the first week was even up. To distract himself from the long hours of nothingness, he began to strike up conversations with the other men around him. He learned that he had, in fact, been unconscious for several days when he'd first been brought in, and the medics had feared for his life. The gash across his shoulder was so deep, and across his chest.... they said he was lucky it hadn't nicked his heart. A few centimeters more and it would have. Privately, Rio thought that his heart had already been nicked by an earlier injury long before the battle that had so scarred him... so one more wouldn't have done him any harm. It was during one of these conversations that he happened to look up and caught the strained, white-faced visage of his second-in-command and lover, Ian. (The term was used loosely between them, as neither said anything about such a tender emotion... but what else was one to call the person with whom you found release?) He had prepared to smile in welcome at the other man when another figure stepped into his view - and this one he remembered well from his childhood. It was Mr. Burns - of Burns, Carter, and Cockley - the Wyndhaven solicitors. Ignoring the persistant ache in his shoulder, Rio shoved himself up and prepared himself for whatever news had been brought. Whatever it was, he knew it couldn't have been good. None of the solicitors had sought him out for anything before - all estate matters were handled by his father. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if the visit had anything to do with Asher - and the thought of the pretty blonde and his storm gray eyes had a swift pain clenching in his gut before he could repress it. In the end, Asher wasn't even mentioned. Rio's father had passed away, and the lands, estate, and title had passed to the heir. Mr. Burns had come to escort the new Marquess of Wyndhaven home. ~*~*~*~*~*~ He was tired, grumpy, and his shoulder ached liked the very devil. The bandage had been removed from his face, but he still couldn't bring himself to look in a mirror. The last time he had, he'd wanted to shatter the glass with the nearest heavy object. He'd never been particularly vain, but the sight of his once-handsome face bisected by an ugly red scar repulsed him. In truth, both the redness and swelling on his face had been much reduced by time, and by the time he reached the front doors of Wyndhaven manor, it was nothing more than a jagged pink line that slashed downward through both his eyebrow and eye, then curved back under the eye and up over the cheekbone in a 'C.' When Timothy came to show him to his new rooms as the Marquess, Rio couldn't help but frown. The quarters were lush, expensive; fit for a marquess. But he wanted the comfort and familiarity of his old rooms on this, his first night back at home. Not wanting to injure the butler's pride, the tall nobleman only inclined his head and dismissed the servant. He waited for a few heartbeats to make certain that the man would be gone before slipping out the door and down the hall. Reaching his old room, he immediately began to pull his clothing off, already anticipating a hot bath and a long soak. He knew that he'd have to heat the water himself and pour it into tub, but it would be worth it for the time alone to relax and adjust. Naked, he strode into the bathing chamber, not bothering with the lights. He had no need for them, and, as he drew closer, he saw that there were two candles already burning. Curious as to who would light candles in a room that was no longer used, he looked up and found himself gazing at a figure in the very tub that he had intended to inhabit. Scowling, feeling the tight line of his scar pull his eyebrow downward, he strode forward, heedless of his nudity - this was his bathing chamber, damn it! - and opened his mouth to speak. Perhaps the dim lighting could be blamed, but he didn't recognize his childhood friend until he was almost upon him, and then he was so shocked that he froze completely still, dark eyes wide and haunted as they roved hungrily over the face that had been too long removed from his sight. Then he remembered the endless letters he'd sent with no reply; the achingly long, lonely night that he'd spend waiting for this man; and the unbearable ache that he still carried in his heart at the knowledge that he hadn't been enough to hold Asher's interest. Pulling his wounded pride around him like a shield, Rio straightened himself to his fullest height, and looked down at the prone form in the tub. The scar across his face only added to the sternness of his visage, and the sling that encased his arm only partially hid the gory wound that slashed across his upper body. His voice deep and husky, he somehow managed to speak without choking. "Well. I had always hoped to see you again, but never did I think you would be this willing to pick up where we last left off. How accommodating of you." Kanou: In the warm, enveloping darkness Asher was suspended between waking and sleep, the edges of reality blurred around him. When the voice most closely bound to his soul reverberated through him, it was not shocking, merely pleasant. Stormy eyes heavy lidded turned upward blissfully, holding for Rio alone an intense joy unencumbered by pretense or self-restraint. "Rio," he murmured, voice still thick and syrup-slow with sleep. All the devotion in the world was offered in that solitary word, laden with promise and expectation. Reality was closing about him every second, however, details springing sharply to his eyes. And Rio's physical changes were rather paramount among those details - enough that a short, startled cry caught in Asher's throat, panic lacing his limbs with tension. Without thought he levered himself upward, surging from the water, hand instinctively seeking Rio as though contact could erase the damage before him. "What happened to you?" he wailed, stricken, face as open as a child's. In rising, however, he had neglected the failings of his body, and the words had scarcely left his mouth before pain lanced upward from his damaged ankle, causing his leg to buckle beneath him, the arm which had almost brushed his old friend's scarred cheek falling to support his weight against the massive basin. The soft daze had left him, so brutally ripped away by memory that threads of it still clung to his eyelashes. Rio, marred and older but still the most striking, commanding man he had ever seen, still handsome and stern enough to make Asher want to arch against his body and beg. There would be none of that. Still reeling, Asher felt all the shards of reality interlock around him, cementing him in his circumstances. Yes, it was Rio. Rio who did not want him enough, Rio who had left, because Asher wasn't worth staying for. All too conscious of their equal nudity, of their dangerous proximity, the blond leaned against the far edge of the tub to regain precious distance. Finally, Rio's words sunk in, and Asher seized upon them with all the acid disdain and biting sarcasm he had spent his years cultivating in London. "Far be it from me to disappoint you, lowly mortal that I am, but I must inform you that your appearance here is quite as unexpected for me as mine for you. Surely after a trip of some length you wish to refresh yourself - allow me to remove my inferior person from your way that you might do so. I believe I recall the way out." Ice, he would shape himself from ice and steel. It was the only way he could survive this. Gray: The harsh stance was dropped, and a shuddering breath sucked in through lips that had suddenly gone numb at the tone of Asher's voice. His own name falling from those sweet lips still had to power to undo him completely. As the blonde rose from the water, one hand outstretched to touch his face, he winced in anticipation of the caress, certain that his childhood friend would be revolted by the ugly thing, but drawn toward the touch he hadn't felt in too long. Stepping forward, he was already closing the distance between them when Asher began to fall, and, despite the sling and the wound on his shoulder, the taller of the two moved quickly and was about to reach out and steady the blonde when Asher propped himself against the far wall and spoke with such acid. The tone and the words caused a veil of red to drop over Rio's eyes, and he moved forward, literally stalking Asher and looking very much like a panther about to spring on it's prey. "Wait," he commanded, his voice deep and domineering, the tone brooking no argument. He was a man who was used to issuing orders and having them carried out immediately. "I've interrupted your bath." Reaching out with one hand, he brought it down gently on the blonde's shoulder. Although his mouth smiled, his eyes were hard and angry, and he ordered, "Sit down. Finish it." Exerting enough pressure on Asher's shoulder to make him do as Rio had commanded, the dark nobleman followed him down and knelt at the side of the tub. Once he was submerged in the water again, Rio reached out for the soap and ran the hand of his good arm over it a few times to work up some lather. Bringing his dark eyes back to Asher's face, he said quietly, "Don't move." That long-fingered hand pressed first to the slender male's chest and simply rested over his heart before beginning to move under the pretense of washing him. He thoroughly explored the blonde's chest, noting the developments and growth that had taken place while he'd been gone and silently mourning the fact that he hadn't been around to witness them first hand. He could feel shudder after shudder wanting to rip through him at the feeling of that smooth, impossibly soft skin beneath his palm, and his body vibrated with it and caused his hand to shake where it moved against Asher. After several minutes of this, Rio finally began to move his hand downward, all pretense of washing gone, as he aimed straight for his target and closed long fingers around Asher's manhood. Despite the intimate nature of his caress, the Marquess' eyes were intense where they bored into the other man, as though searching for his very soul. It was nothing so profound as that, though Rio was looking for any reaction that would tell him what the blonde truly thought of his touch. Kanou: Rio had always been strong, commanding, but something in the years between them had altered the young lord. The marquess had been sharpened, honed into something brutal and beautiful. It made Asher sick with himself, but even the power in Rio’s arrogant command had made him flush with want. Rio’s dark, callused hands moved across his skin, shortening the blond’s breaths to shallow pants as he struggled not to move into the touch, reminding himself that this was Rio, indeed – Rio who had been content to leave him, whose desire for Asher had not been enough to bind him. In the intervening years, the slighter man had turned their circumstances over time and time again. Why assume that his friend (his dearest friend, his only friend, a small part of him mourned beneath the ice) had desired him at all in that way, much less loved him? It had always seemed surreal that the bold, painfully lovely lad could be infatuated with his scrawny, ethereal friend. Convenience, Asher thought firmly, as if it could slow his racing pulse, or still the sweet, jolting pain in his chest at the very sight of Rio. You were young, stupid, available, and utterly besotted with him. Why should he have run the risk of chasing down another lover when he could have you so easily? Perhaps he should have saved his presence of mind – having lost himself in thought, Asher found that his body had stayed with the soldier. Mixed in with the stream on his skin was surely the salt of sweat. His breath ran ragged, audible in the hush of the room. Worse yet, he was trembling, shivering as the path of Rio’s hand sent heat and want radiating outward like sparks. His nipples were tight now, dusky and taut, sending just a little more blood rushing downward with each glancing caress. He was swollen to hardness by now, standing at only half-mast but visibly affected. It made him feel like a boy again, naïve and untouched. There were acquaintances in town who called Asher the “Jade of London,” – could they imagine that he had ever been so young, so overwhelmed by a simple touch? He had toyed with dozens upon dozens of men, not a one capable of so arousing him with the most elaborate bedroom inventions as Rio could with a heated glance and a low whisper. For that very reason he kept his old friend locked away and refused to dwell on what had only been, after all, a single evening’s inexpert fumbling. Now he could feel hay caught in his hair (In London? Unthinkable). Asher could feel the glide of lips over his skin, of a broad hand circling his length – Past and present converged in a flash of exquisite pain. For a single, blessed sliver of a moment Asher was frozen, silent and still. Then his spine arched rigidly, milky hips thrusting into Rio’s hand so sharply that the bathwater splashed violently around them. It was far too much like the feverish dreams which still came to haunt Asher’s sleep – dreams of touching Rio again, of his friend’s hands on him, his reverent mouth, of Rio taking him as he had allowed no other. From the slender male’s parted lips fell a choked moan, hanging broken and desperate in the air between them for a moment. In that moment alone, Asher buried his face in the warm crook of his lover’s neck as he had so often in dreams. Then he was up, jolting himself from the basin so frantically that he fell over the edge, his damaged ankle catching him. His sprawl across the unforgiving floor was certainly painful, but the spasms of pain in his abused knees and hip were more than justified. It had brought him that much further from Rio, and only one more limping step was required to traverse the room. Trembling hands brought a towel around his narrow waist. The material fell ever so slightly short of masking his arousal. Asher’s face was a rigid mask of fury, and let the great conquering hero think whatever he might about that. He had all but cured himself of his craving, and he refused to fall prey once more. The blond’s voice issued tight and raw, even as his eyes bored holes in the wall rather than falling upon Rio. “I do not pretend to know what you expected, my lord. But I am here tonight only at the humor of circumstance. I will leave at first light, and back to London soon after.” What little control he had managed fell away, leaving only venom. “Let it be understood between us – you will not touch me again. Ever.” Gray: Rio had certainly taken note of the way Asher's body responded to him, even if the blonde's stormy eyes had seemed far away and distant; as though he was no longer in the same room with Rio, but rather in some distant past, or perhaps a happier future. However, without his mental presence to still his body's reaction, the dark nobleman had an honest glimpse into the way he affected the body of his childhood friend - even if the heart that body contained had long since been locked away beneath a thick facade of ice and sarcasm. Dark, intense eyes followed the path of his hand, and Rio watched hungrily as his own long fingers encircled Asher's slender shaft. His gaze was drawn swiftly upward at the almost violent reaction to search the blonde's face before his lips parted and an answering moan was issued in response to the first. Almost immediately, his touch changed on Asher's skin - from the rough, domineering way he had initially touched the blonde to the sweet, tender caress of a lover. Broad hands shook against pale skin; breath shivered out past trembling, parted lips; and the look in those dark eyes changed significantly to mirror the sudden twist of emotions that had flooded Rio. His lips instinctively sought out and pressed against a slender shoulder when the blonde buried his face against the strong column of the soldier's neck, and Asher's name spilled from his lips like a hushed prayer, reverent and humbled. Then he nearly toppled forward into the tub himself as Asher flung himself away, and Rio could only watch with dark eyes that still held vestiges of the tender emotion that had washed through him so briefly as his childhood friend straightened himself and spoke with such piercing venom. A part of Rio - the part that still longed and hoped for an eventual happy reunion - reprimanded him for causing such a violent reaction in the only person he'd ever truly cared about, and simultaneously mourned the sweetness that used to come from those lips, rather than the poison that spilled from them now. Rising swiftly, the physical evidence of his attraction to Asher still stood proudly jutting from his powerful body, Rio crossed the room to stand directly in front of the blonde. Before either of them could take a step back or say anything else, he raised one dark hand and curled deft fingers through the long hair at Asher's nape to anchor him in place. Then, taking only a brief moment to mourn the sudden loss of his sanity, Rio lowered his head and plundered the other male's mouth; his lips and tongue working together in a coaxing, teasing dance of a caress before he trailed his lips down the strong curve of a jaw to murmur against the delicate shell of an ear. "The venom you spew is full of lies, Asher. Your body is the only thing that is telling the truth, even as your mouth spouts falsehoods." His voice was quiet; gentle, despite the severity of his words, even as his mouth took the liberty of bestowing kisses and soft nibbles along the blonde's ear and neck. "We have never been anything but perfectly honest with each other, even when distance and war separated us. You removed me from your heart; banished me from your thoughts; but never once did I think you would lie to me. Will you shatter the only illusion I have left of you by lying to my face now?" |
![]() |
|
| Kanousei | May 17 2010, 02:30 PM Post #3 |
|
Newbie
![]() ![]() ![]()
|
Kanou: Aristotle, in perhaps one of his more sentimental moments, declared that a true friend was one soul in two bodies. Asher felt that truth all too keenly. It wounded him to be so close to Rio, take in his breath and the heat of his gaze, and not touch. Yet touching far exceeded the lack thereof in torture, as it tormented Asher with all that could never belong to him - indeed, what never had. The lesser nobleman had learned all too well in London that matters of heart and body seldom intertwined. Once, he had confused Rio's hunger for his body with love - he would not do so again. But Lord above, it hurt him. When Rio kissed him, his resolve was shaken. Again his veins were flooded with sweet fire, and his skin shivered to press against the dark man (a man now, beyond any shadow of a doubt), to be enfolded by his powerful frame. The blond did not surrender utterly to sensation only through the strength of memory. A boy had waited, hopeful and adoring, and waited, and waited, on strewn straw and dirt for a lover who had never come. Nearly a decade later Asher could still feel the sharp twisting of his stomach, as through his very form were being wrenched apart. Yes, memory offered restraint. "Pray, tell me what falsehood I have offered," he drawled icily, fighting to maintain the steadiness of his breathing. "You cannot dismiss me so bluntly simply because you do not approve of my words. Do you mean to say that you have a right to touch me, when I clearly bid you not do so, because you can incite some paltry physiological reaction?" Asher placed a hand against the soldier's abdomen to push him away, fought not to let it become a caress. Best not to think of Rio nude as a newborn god before him, not to dwell on the broad expanses of dusky skin the slighter male had never chanced to taste. "I have had dozens upon dozens of men, and I assure you that I will have many more. Any one could tell you that any quick hand can bring a man to attention. Do you mean to shock me, my lord? Do you truly believe that you are the only one to touch me so?" Asher's voice turned dark, smothering barely-concealed violence. "Do not think that the efforts which so enthralled a blind, untried youth in a barn will dazzle me. I have had better. So come, my lord. Do not allow your precious time to be so ill-spent. Again, I bid you good night." Now he had lied to his dearest friend, to his better self. Some truths were best buried, however. Why admit that no man, however skilled, had brought him the ecstasy and peace Rio had shown him in a single evening of inexperienced exploration? That truth belonged to Asher alone. Gray: Perhaps fate had been dabbling when she sent Rio to his old bathing chamber, though what she had hoped to gain was impossible to tell. Whatever it was, the dark soldier silently thanked fickle fate as his lips skimmed over soft, pale, perfect skin the likes of which he had only hoped to be able to see and touch again. Holding Asher against his body this way, kissing him, sipping at his flesh; it was a balm to the troubled thoughts that had so plagued him since his childhood friend had begun to distance himself through his letters. Rio finally felt as though he had come home. Even the acidic words that came from his love's mouth could only make him smile, hearing only the voice and not it's tone or the meaning of the words that were hurled at him like so many hammers. It wasn't until he felt Asher's small, slender palm pressing against his stomach in an effort to push him away that he truly began to understand what was being said to him, each word as painful as a physical slap in the face and as effective at cooling his ardor as being doused with a bucket of ice water. "Dozens?" he murmured stupidly, his wits scattered to the four winds by the scathing words and hateful tone. Dark eyes raked over the pale face in front of him, noted the angry flush that lit pale, porcelain cheekbones; the slight tremor that shook too-long eyelashes; and, perhaps most telling of all, the proud tilt to the pointed chin that spoke of wounded pride not yet healed. Dark fingers raised slowly, and gently began to trace over the path of Asher's face - from his high, broad forehead, down the long, aquiline nose that would have been better suited on a more powerful man; across high, firm cheekbones and down the strong curve of his jaw before finally tracing gently across parted, kiss-swollen lips. He realized that while Asher was asking - more like demanding - that he leave, the blonde also wasn't making the effort to leave, either. He still stood, one hand pressed faintly against Rio's belly to keep him at bay, and that damnable cloth falling just to the tops of his thighs and teasing the dark nobleman with thoughts of what he knew lie beneath the flimsy covering. "Yes," he finally breathed, closing the distance between their bodies once again, despite the slender, fragile hand that tried to keep him at a distance. Strong arms banded tightly around Asher's waist and drew him forward until he was all but plastered against Rio's body from chest to thigh. "Yes, I have a right to touch you. I swore to you, that day in the barn, that I would always belong to you; just as you would always belong to me." Burying his face against the soft skin of the blonde's neck, the darker of the two inhaled deeply, eager to reacquaint himself with the scent that was purely Asher. Broad, long-fingered hands pressed insistently against the other male's back, preventing him from moving away. "I know well what a quick, eager hand can do for a man. I am neither stupid, nor naive. But, Asher, do not think to parade your legions of 'better men' in front of me, because I promise you, you will find them lacking." Stepping away and allowing his arms to fall at his sides, releasing Asher from his temporary prison, Rio couldn't resist dipping forward to claim the blonde's mouth once again. This time, his lips were gentle; the barest caress and a slight flicker of tongue against the other's bottom lip before he drew away. "We will finish what was started between us ten years ago. Make no mistake about that." Dark, intense eyes confirmed the promise in his words. "In the meantime, you will remain here until your ankle is well enough for you to leave. I will call the doctor for you tomorrow to have it wrapped." Brushing lithely past the smaller form of his childhood friend, Rio paused in the doorway and turned his head slightly to look over his shoulder. "And, Asher? Don't run. We both know I was always faster than you." Then he was gone, swallowed by the shadows of his own home, and leaving Asher to draw his own conclusions about that last statement. Kanou: Asher was left breathless and unbalanced, leaning heavily against the wall just to hold himself upright. It was too like the many nights he had spent alone, waking from vivid, heated dreams to the aching of his body and a cold bed. Though his pulse was still racing and throbbing erotically throughout his frame, the fair man felt as though he had been hollowed, scraped clean inside. The full import of his meeting with Rio, the reality of circumstance, finally descended and overwhelmed him. Drained and shaken, the blond limped back to the basin. Graceful hands dipped in the warm water and slicked it over his neck and chest, rinsing away the sheen of perspiration Rio's ministrations had summoned. + + + Grey early morning light painted the small, but lush room. It slowly pried Asher's eyes open, illuminated his surroundings as awareness slowly trickled in. Wyndhaven. He was in Rio's home, and Rio was here. A floor away and at the opposite end of the manor, granted. The blond had been careful to choose a suite as far from the lord's as he could manage. Still, he had been left hungry, writhing and unable to find release (servants were the eyes and ears of a household, and Asher was not about to turn stained sheets over to a maid) until he fell into a restless sleep. A maid had apparently already visited, silent and efficient - a ceramic basin of water steamed faintly in one corner, and the clothes he had worn the evening before were neatly folded on a chair, not a speck of mud to be seen. It took Asher some time to wash and prepare himself, limping as he was, but he could spare none of his vanity this morning. His chances of departing without Rio's notice were slim to none, and he would appear at his best to make up for last night's showing. The flaxen hair which he had allowed to fall in careless waves as a youth was brushed into gleaming straightness and tied back with thin ribbon. The garments he donned, from his well-made britches to his brilliantly blue waistcoat, were of fine material and in the latest fashion. This was the face Asher Grey showed to London, a careful mask, and so would the marquess see it. Moments more were expended to scrawl two letters at the small writing desk provided. A startled girl in the hall accepted his instructions that they be delivered to his own home. One would inform Richard and the servants of his whereabouts and condition. A second, more urgent, would be posted to London. Asher could only pray that Geoffrey could be reached. Morning was now fully upon the household, streaming golden through the high windows. Timothy intercepted him scouring the stable for his horse, should she have been found before returning to his own lands. Asher's attempts at polite protest were deftly overruled. The baron's son found himself seated, the sole occupant of a long table, and was left toying with a boiled egg. It was impossible to summon an appetite, after all, when Rio might come upon him at any moment. Gray: Rio, too, had spent a long and sleepless night in the large Marquess' chambers, feeling completely alone in the void that was his new living quarters. Thoughts of Asher swirled tortuously through his mind, and he wished for Ian's presence to help soothe the insistent ache that had been brought on since dark eyes had first roamed over nude, flawlessly pale skin earlier in the evening. Even as he wished for the other man, he knew that he would rather have the ache caused by Asher than have another man in his bed when his love was only a short walk down the hall. ~*~*~*~*~*~ In the morning, Rio donned a pair of tailor-made, form fitting trousers that hugged his heavy thighs and molded to his shapely calves like a second skin before disappearing into the tall, shiny Hessians that adorned his feet. His shirt was loose and airy, the neck left to gape open appealingly at his throat and leaving a good deal of his muscled chest bare. The purpose, of course, was to better aid the sling that encased his arm, though it certainly didn't hurt that he cut an imposing figure in such attire - tall, broad-shouldered, and lean hipped, he could have been a pirate; dark and dangerous, especially with the pink scar tissue that slashed viciously downward through his brow and eye. The only thing missing from the visage was an eye-patch and a feathered tricorn hat. Wrinkling his long, aristocratic nose at the mental image of himself as a pirate - he never could imagine himself as anything more romantic than a soldier - Rio swept his too-long dark hair out of his eyes and watched impassively as it curled slightly across his high forehead. He had always wished for straight, silky hair like his fathers, but he had been given the softly waving tresses of his mother. His sister had been the one to be blessed with straight hair, and she habitually wore it gathered high on her head, the ungrateful wretch. Scowling fiercely at himself in the mirror, the Marquess spun on his heel and descended the stairs to the dining room, fully expecting to find himself eating a solitary breakfast. He froze, therefore, when he saw Asher sitting at one end of the long table, listlessly poking a boiled egg that sat haphazardly on his plate. Rio watched him for several long, agonizing moments before finally forcing his feet into motion. He wanted to draw the blonde up and into his arms; wanted to kiss him breathless and feel that lithe body pressed to his once again, but the servants were already lined up along the sideboard, waiting to clear unwanted dishes and to fill their slightest needs. Instead, he raised one hand and surreptitiously slid his palm over the bound shine of blonde hair as he passed, dropping his hand quickly before the servants had a chance to see the telling gesture. Rather than choosing his own seat at the opposite end of the table - as was expected of him - Rio chose a seat directly beside Asher. He couldn't help the grin that crossed his features as his leg slid against the blonde's when he sat down. Situated as they were, in such close proximity, it was almost impossible to prevent their legs or feet from touching in some form or another, and Rio found himself deliberately seeking the contact between them. Deliberately, he lifted his coffee cup and stared at Asher over it's rim; his eyes dark and penetrating where they rested on the other. Finally, he took a small sip and murmured, "Good morning, Mr. Grey." Kanou: Asher stiffened painfully when Rio drew near, spine turning to rigid steel when a possessive hand ran over his sleek hair. Pride alone forced the nobleman's long legs to remain still when the soldier brushed them, deliberately insinuating their lower halves. Under the strain of his demanding self control, several moments were required for the fairer male to steady his breathing and smooth his expression into polite neutrality. Carefully, he ceased abusing his egg and lowered his heavy fork to the table. Pale hands folded themselves sternly as the blond composed himself to speak. "A good morning to you, Lord Kendrick." A judicious pause as he searched the other's face. When he finally aired his thoughts, Asher's tone was of utter civility, if ever so slightly strained. "I regret that our first meeting in a decade was so... confrontational. While-" here he paused again, glancing about at the servants and choosing his words with the utmost precision. "I would agree that a longstanding friendship ought not to be easily cast away. I would seek to maintain contact. There is no reason, surely, for us not to encounter one another as gentleman. Let it be suggested only that certain venues are best set aside and forgotten. What... might have been is best left in the past." Perhaps the young lord would have continued, painstakingly attempting to guide Rio away from further pursuit. Whether he desired the man (of course he desired him) was of no consequence. Lowering his guard for his old friend, after the years spent building it brick by brick, would be a mistake of catastrophic proportion. What else may have been said, however, was lost to fate. Timothy entered the room with a young man following shortly behind. Asher was so startled to see Richard Mayhew's face that he rose instinctively. Between his damaged ankle and the tangle of his legs between Rio's, however, he crumpled, forced to catch himself against the table and be seated once more. Wide eyes did not waver. Richard was scarce a day over twenty-one, still fresh and unscathed by the world. He was classically handsome, fair russet hair, quick green eyes, statuesque in form and feature. He was an inch shy of Asher's height, easily, but carried himself in a manner that suggest greater size. His gait was easy and untroubled, though his eyes lit brightly on the blond. Asher fought to contain his shock, inclined his head courteously to the merchant's son. Through some rare intervention of fate, the servants had melted away and left the lords to dine. "Richard," he managed. "Thank you for coming. I had not expected you. This is... the Marquess. Kendrick. Rio, Mr. Mayhew is my guest from London." Much to Asher's discomfort, the brash young man drew closer, expression open and wanting. In his naivete, perhaps he believed himself to be discreet. No more than a swift glance was spared for Rio, an shadow of a bow in mixed deference and curiosity. "I'm afraid," the blond amended swiftly "that I've quite damaged my ankle. Certain of our plans will need to be postponed for the duration." While he had certainly anticipated taking Richard in the privacy of his own home, he could not imagine doing so in his present state... and were he truly forthright with himself, he could not imagine taking any other man to bed when Rio was so near, even if he refused Rio as well. The wealthy tradesman leaned closer, however, pitching his voice low. Again, he was young, and foolish in his inexperience. Richard likely believed that only Asher could hear him, but in such proximity surely Rio could not miss a word. "Well, I'm sure we can entertain ourselves all the same, with that exquisite mouth of yours. I've thought of nothing else since you swallowed me down in the powder room at Georgiana Compton's little soiree." Asher listened, and cringed. Gray: It was only through great strength of will that Rio managed not to allow the grin he felt tugging at his lips manifest itself as Asher quite deliberately folded his hands on the table and visibly calmed himself. He was also pleased that the blonde did not try to move his legs away, and the dark nobleman relaxed in preparation to consume his morning meal. If there was one thing he loved about being home (aside from seeing Asher again, of course), it was being treated to one of Tessie's meals. Even as a child, when he'd played nasty, terrible pranks on her and the rest of the kitchen staff, the portly cook had always made certain that Rio had had an abundance of his favorite foods to eat, snack on, and nibble at. He could count on one hand the number of times he'd been made to eat something that he hadn't cared for, and once he'd expressed his dislike for a certain dish, it had never again appeared on the table in front of him. His enjoyment over his breakfast was cut short when Timothy entered the dining room, a young man trailing behind him and, much to Rio's annoyance, staring at Asher as though the blonde was the boy's salvation. Raising one imperious eyebrow at the butler, he received a discreet shrug from the distinguished older man, and the nobleman took that to mean that he had no idea who this Richard Mayhew was. On that principle alone, Rio decided instantly that he'd have to find out every detail about the young man that he could possibly dig up. Confused brown eyes lifted to Asher's face as the blonde stood to greet the other man, and though Rio was still seated, he was quick to reach out to help steady Asher when he began to crumple forward. Several things about the young newcomer bothered Rio. Firstly, he was staring possessively at Asher as though he believed himself to be the only person on earth who had the right to look at the blonde. Secondly, he barely showed the proper respect to Rio, who was several social classes higher than a mere merchant's son. And thirdly, the youth actually had the audacity to lean forward for a private conversation with Asher in the nobleman's home. Perhaps the darker male's own self restraint would have prevailed if he had not overheard what was being said, but as it happened, he was sitting close enough that he heard every word. Rising slowly, thunderclouds forming on his dark face and turning his expression into something dangerous, Rio clapped a broad, demanding hand on the youth's shoulder and forced him to straighten and turn. Teeth gritted against the harshness that wanted to spill from him, he growled, "You will not speak to a guest in my house in such a way. It is bad enough that you were not invited into my home but barged in anyway to suit your own purposes. Now you are no longer welcome. I will tell you once, and once only. Leave. Now." Kanou: Richard was so young still, brash and confident in his own strength. Asher could see the boy drawing himself up to retort, pale eyes blazing self-righteous fury. The blond swiftly rose, though his ankle protested, and gripped the youth's free shoulder to tug him from Rio's grasp. "Richard," he murmured lowly, voice husky with promise to hold the interest of the man who had been so open to his seduction. "Calm yourself. For me. The Marquess is an old friend, if one lacking in tact. I left my duels in London - I ask you to do the same." When he looked past the tradesman to the dark soldier, however, his eyes spat sparks. To Rio, he hissed through clenched teeth. "As for you, my lord... if you have any interest in maintaining the civil acquaintanceship I have mentioned, you will sit down now. Mr. Mayhew, my guest, and I will return home. I will call my own physician, and you need not trouble yourself. Recall that with whom I associate, in any manner, is none of your concern. "Richard, you are able to transport me?" Eager eyes snapped back to Asher's face at the query. The tradesman threaded a broad arm possessively about the blond's slim waist before nodding. "I brought another horse - if you feel well enough to ride, Asher." Mayhew spoke with the same earnest purity of affection that plagued the baron's son. His conscience warned him that this boy could fall in love with him, were he not responsible enough to prevent it. And certainly it was wrong to give him false hope when in fact Asher only required a weapon against his first lover. When the fair male sought to move away, however, he found Richard rooted to the spot, visage brightening with understanding as he gazed at Rio. "You want him," he said slowly, tasting the words in wonder. "Lord above, you want him terribly and it's just killing you that he won't suffer your attentions. It must be excruciating," he added, tone lowering into a savage taunt "to know that he will be with me. He'll be out of your grasp. Surely you've noticed his skin - all his lovely skin, like fresh milk. I'm going to taste every inch of it. He makes the most wanton sounds, and he'll make them all for me. No matter how your rank may exceed mine, my lord, I have him." Asher watched, discomfort becoming panic - no matter his blustering, he found he was legitimately afraid for his young companion. Riordan had never carried his temper well. Gray: The tone of Asher's voice when he spoke to the younger man set Riordan's teeth on edge; especially when compared with the way the blonde spoke to the Marquess. Dark eyes flitted to the muscled arm that had slipped behind a slender back, the hand gripping the curve of one hip and drawing Asher even closer. Large, broad hands clenched into fists behind his back, and the dark nobleman drew himself up; his spine and broad shoulders straightening even as he prepared to - if not literally, at least figuratively - teach the young merchant's son a lesson in both manners and civility. It wasn't so much the words that were spoken to him as it was the manner in which he was spoken to. This young whelp actually had the audacity to verbally accuse Rio of something that - while completely true in this case - would have been an insult to the rest of society that would have been punishable by duel. Fortunately, for both Rio and Mr. Mayhew, Timothy stepped back into the room and laid a gnarled hand on his employer's broad back. "Mr. Grey," he said quietly, peering around Rio's massive form until his old gaze landed on Asher. "I have already called for Lord Kendrick's personal physician, and he will be arriving shortly. Come with me, please." For all that he was a servant, Timothy had learned a few things during his tenure at the Wyndhaven estate, and he put that into good use now. Coming forward, he discreetly lifted Richard's arm from Asher's waist and replaced it with his own, offering his own solid shoulder for the blonde to lean against as he was lead from the room. "Honestly, Mr. Grey," he chided quietly, "you ought to be in bed, not up wandering around. I'm sure Lord Kendrick would be happy to allow you the use of one of the rooms here until your ankle is mended." As though from nowhere, two more menservants materialized to help guide Asher back to the bedroom in which he had spent the night, easily overruling any protest he or Mr. Mayhew may have voiced. Unable to completely contain the grin that wanted to spread over his face, Rio managed to control it enough that his lips only twitched once or twice. Loudly enough for Asher to hear, the Marquess agreed, "But of course, Timothy. Mr. Grey is welcomed to stay at Wyndhaven for the duration of his recovery." Turning back to Richard, his dark eyes once again hostile, he murmured, "But you, my young Mr. Mayhew, have already worn out your welcome. As you can see, Asher will be well taken care of here, and your services are no longer required. If he makes the poor decision of taking up with you once he is out of my care, then that is entirely up to him. But for now, while he is on my property, under my roof, and, as such, under my care, you will not step foot on Wyndhaven ground again, or, and this I promise you, Sir, you will find yourself on the wrong end of my broadsword or pistol faster than you can say 'My Lord.'" Leaning forward, using every inch of his rather impressive height, Riordan deliberately crowded the smaller man, his lips stretched over his teeth in a parody of a smile but what was, in all likelihood, a feral, wild expression. Lowering his tone to mock the savage taunt that Richard had used earlier, the Marquess was far more successful in sounding every bit a brutal as he looked. "I do hope you understand, Mr. Mayhew, and realize that I do not make empty threats." Kanou: For all his swagger, Richard was not a fool. Not utterly. For only the most thickheaded lout could fail to heed the promised danger in the towering lord, could look into Rio's dark eyes without some shiver of fear. For the first time in his life, Richard felt the keen sting of his instincts recognizing a greater predator, one who made him feel like a stag in the path of a mountain lion. With Asher, his source of security, swept away by insistent hands Richard remembered his caution. A low, careful nod acknowledged Rio's claims, though the tradesman did not surrender in his eyes. The same sharp jade eyes which had captured Asher Grey's interest from across the parlor at a tumultuous dinner party were unforgiving, rescinding none of his claims. Though he retreated to the door, Mayhew paused. A single eloquent glance was spared over one shoulder, and his tone cool. "I will wait for him in the quarters he has so graciously provided me, then. As I believe we both know - he will come back to me." Gone was Asher Grey's most recent conquest, and a tempest in his wake. + + + Asher glared furiously up at the rich hangings of his bed. Rio's servants had deposited him sternly in his loaned chambers, damaged ankle carefully elevated by cushions. Timothy, who knew him all too well, had even feigned innocence and offered him a cool compress, for surely with such a flush he might have taken fever. He waited, paralyzed by his own self-control, until he was certain they had moved on to other duties. The better part of an hour, judging by the crawling progression of sunlight through his window. Finally, satisfied that his minders had surely moved on to other affairs, he clambered up from the sumptuous bed. With his good leg he knocked away the cumbersome bedding, awkwardly managing to free himself from the rich down mattress even as it sank beneath his weight. It was luck alone that guided him - the servants still kept mostly to their own passages and corridors as he recalled, forsaking the grand halls meant for those of a higher class. While he passed a few maids, they did not trouble him, the younger merely ducking their heads demurely while the elder matrons scarce acknowledged him at all. It was not an effortless progression - often he would stride about a corner or down a stair thoughtlessly, only to be seized by pain in his ankle. A startled hiss would escape his pale lips as he leaned against paneled wall or polished railing, and then he forged onward. Rio was no longer at the long table. Quick hands gathered the scant dishes, the platters of food largely untouched, and Asher stole out of sight. Best to avoid any potential scolding - kitchen help was always the bossiest of the lot. However he might try, he could not forgo his intimate knowledge of the Marquess. It carried him, even as his pace began to exacerbate his injury, even as the strain left him pale and sweating faintly. It brought him to the lovely library that had so awed them as children, shelf after shelf not only of books printed with varying degrees of skill but older volumes still, those from the Middle Ages, painstakingly rendered with vivid text and elaborate illustration. Many were in Norman French, so aged that they had penned when England had yet lain in foreign hands. A part of Asher had always assumed that when Rio grew older and Wyndhaven was his own, they could explore the tomes at great length, sharing in discovery. But he had lost that and a great many other illusions long ago. When his stormy eyes lit upon the man to whom he had once offered his very soul, they blazed. Asher was a hissing cat, all outrage, righteous indignation. "If you seek to extinguish any possibility of cordiality between us, Rio, then you are making admirable work of it! I had thought you a prideful youth, but your arrogance now truly astounds me! What claim do you dare lay? In leaving, you cast aside any oaths between fools. You relinquished that claim!" He had drawn nearer as he spat his furious invective, and now stood close enough to touch. Close enough to smell the musk of Rio's skin, to feel the warmth of him through the scant breeches and high-collared shirt the servants had reduced him to. One long-fingered hand struck Rio sharply upside the head on his right. Though the blow was delivered with Asher's left hand - not his strongest, but he did not acknowledge his unwillingness to strike so near the scar that drew his fretful concern - it was sharp, stinging. The hand rose again to seek the satisfaction of a blow. "You. Left." The words, in part accusation and admission, spilled in a snarl. Though strained and weary, Asher was still lovely in his way, a vision in gold and white as he shone incandescent with rage. Gray: Rio did not acknowledge Richard Mayhew's parting shot - could not, as he feared that if he tried, his hard-won control would go spinning out of his hands and he would smash the youth's face with one well-placed blow. He only inclined his dark head once, a sinister warning present in his equally dark eyes as he watched the younger man leave before he turned on his heel and quit the dining room. Asher would be furious with him, he knew, even though he had, technically, not done anything to thwart his plans. It had been Timothy who had escorted the Grey back to his recently vacated bedroom, and Timothy who had purposefully ensconced him there... and yet it would be Riordan who would catch the wrath of the elder servant's actions. Still, though he wasn't looking forward to the confrontation that he was certain would be forthcoming, he also couldn't fault the manservants technique. It had been a calculated, manipulating move that had been worthy of the late Marquess himself. Rio could often remember having been moved about in a similar manner as a child and even as a teenager, never having realized that he'd been neatly and cleanly maneuvered until after the fact. Wanting some time to himself to prepare for the coming maelstrom, the dark nobleman closeted himself in the library with the intent to enjoy a glass of port and perhaps read over the latest reports from his land manager. However, once he sank down into the rich leather of the large chair behind the desk, he was swamped by memories - himself as a toddler crawling up onto a knee that seemed as large as life itself; his equally-dark haired sister curled up on the window seat, reading, while their father worked over reports and ledgers and their mother sat on the tiny divan and worked on her needlepoint; himself and Asher, creeping into the room quietly, the thrill of potential discovery making the trek so much more adventurous; and later, older versions of them sitting together and poring over old manuscripts and ledgers and trying to decipher what the pages said. So lost was he in his own internal contemplation that he hadn't even managed to pour himself a drink as he'd intended before the door flew open and Asher entered, looking for all the world like a vengeful angel in full glory. Throughout the blonde's enraged speech, Rio could only watch him, his dark eyes hungry on the face that still haunted his dreams - both waking and sleeping. With the palm of his good arm flat on the desk, the tall nobleman slowly pushed himself up from the rich leather chair, standing and straightening to his full height before slowly rounding the edge of the desk to bring him into closer proximity to the spitting man. The first blow stunned him and rendered Rio speechless, his eyes wide with shock even as his good hand came up reflexively to ward off the next attack. He could feel the blood rushing to mark the spot where Asher had slapped him, and felt certain that he would have a vivid hand print there on the side of his face for quite a little while. Despite the harshness that had so recently been shown to him, his grip on Asher's arm was gently restraining; holding, certainly, but not hurting, and his thumb traced nonsensical patterns over the soft skin of the blonde's wrist, even as he used that link to draw Asher closer to him. "Yes," he murmured quietly, his dark eyes intent on those of his childhood friend. "Yes, I left. But, Asher, I didn't see any other way, then. I didn't know what else to do." Stepping forward, he erased any distance between them and drew the blonde gently against his chest. "I wanted to stay.... God, do you have any idea how it ripped me apart to have to leave you?.... I wanted to show you how much... how much I loved you.... and there was my father, telling me I had to marry. Some faceless girl I'd never met, and I was being forced to choose her over you." Dark eyes haunted by the past roved over Asher's face, the pain he'd felt then showing keenly in the expressive depths as he fought to explain; fought to somehow regain that little bit of sanity that Asher had always represented. "I ached for you, because I knew that I would hurt you. I hated myself for a long time; agonized over whether or not I had been right to leave. And I tried, Asher. I tried so hard to tell you how I felt; to reassure you in my letters that I would always come back for you." Reeling from the blows he had been dealt and the sudden realization of where he was and who was holding, Rio drew back from the blonde in his arms and felt his own pride trying to repair itself where it had been shattered. "But you left me, too. Maybe not physically, as I had to, but mentally. Emotionally. When I poured every bit of myself into every letter I wrote you, all you ever sent back were tidings of your estate and town gossip. You gave me nothing of you; nothing to hold on to during the whole time I was gone. And when I asked you... begged you... to meet me that night, you didn't even respond. You left me sitting there, alone and waiting for you. And then... nothing. I heard nothing from you until I came home and found you sitting in my bathtub." The whole time he spoke, he had been drawing further and further away, not only in body, but also in mind. Where his grip on Asher's arm had been tender, the caress of a lover, it was now harsh; punishing - though still not hurtful. Rio would never intentionally hurt the other male. "Was I so easy to forget, then? With your scores of 'better men' that could please you more than an eager, lovesick teenager; and your fine London friends; you'd be well rid of me, would you not?" His voice was quiet, lanced through with so many emotions they nearly clogged his throat - pain, regret, longing, and a real, gut-clenching fear that Asher would truly choose London and Richard Mayhew and everything else the young trandesman represented, over him. "Do you truly hate me that much?" Kanou: Asher shuddered within the bounds of Rio's powerful arms, eyes tightly clenched. Boiling rage warred with a soul too long starved for affection, with burgeoning hope. Were he to hate his old friend at all, it would be for making him want to believe again. With each word the dark man chipped away at his careful indifference, forced him to consider possibilities he had long since sealed shut in his mind for fear of madness. "Do not say these things to me!" he hissed. Though he managed to speak with his customary acid, his eyes were bright with the agony of an old wound never truly healed. "I will tell you another story, my lord. A young man of noble rank held a secret close. In one night he bared it to another he called friend and found that the world did not come crashing down about him. Emboldened, he sought out to traverse the continent and the many, many men who would be glad to have him. How many subordinates had you, Rio? How they must have adored you." Without intent, he drew closer, until only a breath and the barest sliver of light stood between them. "Did they idolize you?" A tight hand fell to the taller male's help, fingers digging in fiercely. "I can only imagine. Did they kneel, did they press themselves between your thighs to worship you? No small few, I should imagine, would have offered to play the woman and slake your needs. Marriage?" His tone bled ever more bitter. "I heard of no marriage. Only you told me of this girl - this nameless, faceless girl. Was it easier than casting me aside? Oh, I understand how an unschooled country boy would pall in comparison to the hordes at your disposal?" The blond's mind was closed to words of love, lest he hope them to be true. "It must have been convenient, however, to know that I would be waiting for you should you ever beckon. That I would come when called, aye, on that damned night, that you might have your fill of me for a few years more?" Asher was startled to find that his hand had drifted from Rio's hip - instead, it tangled in the rich, dark hair at the base of his neck. Overcome by fury and wounded pride and hunger left to long unabated, he used the leverage cruelly. Jerking the soldier's head downward, he ravaged the mouth that had so often stirred his dreams. It was not a gentle kiss. The blond's mouth was open and rough, biting and crushing as want and desperation boiled over. For long minutes, punctuated by ragged breath and broken moans, he took what he had been so long denied by circumstance and unyielding pride. When he finally pulled away, their bodies were flush and his pulse thundered. While distance, as it was, sufficed for him to speak, his lips brushed Rio's with every other word. "Don't do this to me." A harsh whisper. "I do not love my companions, nor do I wish it to be so. We mean little enough to each other save what we can provide. I can never need another as I allowed myself to need you. It weakens a man. Whatever your reasons, you destroyed me, Rio. Do not seek to do so again! You have haunted me enough. Unless you mean to hurt me, do not make me want you again. It would be easier to hate you." For all his words he remained in Rio's arms, a breath away from a kiss. Gray: Though he had pulled away slightly, Rio was still reluctant to completely release Asher, as though by sheer proximity he could erase the damage that time had wrought between them. Even when the blonde began to weave his ridiculous tale, the dark soldier did not relinquish his grip around the slender waist. He stood, still and silent, as accusations were hissed at him, barely able to comprehend the venomous untruths that were spilling from Asher's mouth. The hand gripping fiercely at his hip drew only a raised eyebrow, but when that hand drifted upward to tangle in the too-long hair that curled over the nape of his neck, dark eyes gone darker with passion shuttered to half-mast before closing completely at the vicious assault on his mouth. A pained groan worked it its way up from Rio's throat, and the newly healing flesh around his chest and shoulder wound screamed in protest when Asher pressed himself close to punish the darker of the two. Still, despite the painful throbbing, he could not bring himself to push the blonde away, and instead curled his arm tighter around the slender waist to draw the figure of the person most dear to him even closer. Where the lips on his were punishing and harsh, teeth biting roughly into the sensitive skin of the nobleman's own lip, Rio sought to gentle the kiss and turn it into something sweeter, if no less fierce. It was unthinkable - unfathomable, even - that Asher should believe something so impossible when Rio was here in front of him and perfectly capable of renouncing of such a ridiculous notion. Desperately, he sought to do that very thing when the blonde pulled away from the kiss but still remained so tantalizingly close. Rio listened to the words, but he listened more to the tone and the way that Asher still clung to him, and he made his choice. Never would he intentionally hurt the blonde - the person most closely linked to his soul; the person that held both his happiness and his sorrow in the palms of his lovely, slender hands - but neither could he allow his childhood friend to believe him capable of such atrocities. Rather than reclaim the lips that hovered so near to his own, the dark nobleman trailed his mouth in a ghostly line up the side of Asher's face to his forehead, where he pressed a gentle kiss before tucking the blonde's head onto his shoulder in a move that was both possessive and protective. "I would never hurt you," he murmured quietly, the earnestness in his tone giving proof to the words. "Asher, I need for you to listen to me. Whatever you think me capable of, remember this - when we were children, there was never anyone that I was more honest with than you. The same is true today. Remember that as you listen to what I am about to tell you." Taking a deep breath, Rio closed his eyes before he spoke, the arm around the blonde's slender waist pressing him yet closer. "There was never anyone else but you. Not until months after the night I asked you to meet me. Not until I realized that I had truly lost you did I allow myself to even think of taking anyone else." Clenching his good fist in the loose material at Asher's back, Rio drew the smaller man away from him slightly and stared down with an intense gaze. "Asher, the banns for my supposed marriage were never posted because I ran away before they could be. My father had planned to contact the newspapers the following morning to announce the engagement, but when I left for the military, the Viscount Morely withdrew his offer, and the arrangement fell through. My father wrote to me later that Sabrina married a Count and the happy couple were expecting their first child." Lowering his head, Rio offered a series of gentle kisses along Asher's cheekbones, nose, and mouth, murmuring in between each fleeting caress, "If you must insist upon hating me, do not do so for my imagined wrongs. Hate me for leaving you, for I surely hate myself for doing it." Kanou: Shivers danced over Asher's flushed skin even as his lips moved silently, forming fragments of words and desperate denial. For years he had struggled to close his heart to Rio even when he believed his friend had abandoned him without qualm - to be treated with such gentle reverence would verily unravel him. "Why must you..." the trembling rasp spilled past the blond's swollen lips only to die away. "Do not say these things to me. Do not come again as in my dreams. I wish my dreams lied, I prayed so long that they imagined a greater pleasure than had ever existed, but here you are to make it true. Do you imagine it was easy to live with the lack of you? You cannot comprehend the merciless procession of nights, finding some shallow release at my own hand while you haunted me - while remembering your hands on me, your mouth nearly drove me mad. Say you thought naught of me and let me believe it, say you found your desire a paltry, fleeting thing. Let me slay this need for you, finally. Else you will be the ruin of me." Again, Asher's body betrayed him even as his mind sought out rationale and justification. Faintly trembling fingers guided Rio's hand at his back. Eyes shut lest he break under the darker's gaze, he pushed one familiar, callused hand beneath his shirt, skating up his lower back. The friction of Rio's skin over the blond's spine charmed a deeply shaken, hungry sigh from him. Pressed close to his companion once more he could feel the heat within his body become pressure, the awakening of his member against the soldier's hip which would have shamed him were he not already lost. "I can never trust you again," he murmured dazedly, as one deep in the laudanum. "I cannot allow it." Elegant fingers slipped inside the neck of the other's open shirt, tasting the heated skin there before gliding upward. Cobalt eyes were wide and agonized, but the fingertips were light, fleeting, as they mapped the scar curving about Rio's handsome face. "How can I ever trust myself, much less forgive? For letting you... for failing you. Lord above, look what they did to you. Had I been enough, had I been... better, surely I could have held you, found another way." Damp lips pressed softly to angry scar just beneath the soldier's eye. "What could I have done to be enough for you?" Lips moved of their own volition then, as if they might distract Asher from the tightness in his throat, the harsh burn of eyes which he refused to permit tears. Again they sought Rio's mouth, though brutality had fled. The blond was all soft mouth and velvet tongue, opening himself to the only man he had ever thought to love in the most exquisite submission. His poisonous thoughts were quieted, for now, as he sought the same tenderness and innocence he had left in a barn so long ago. His body was revitalized, radiating heat. Nipples stiffened beneath fabric as he pressed himself to the unyielding hardness of Rio's torso, though more care was taken not to pain his wounds. Closer, and closer, lips still seeking, as if he might fuse them forever through sheer force of will. Gray: Rio wanted to argue; wanted to silence the almost desperate string of words from Asher's mouth and keep him from reliving the painful past, but he could only hold on to the slender form in his arms and shake his head gently to every pleading demand that was asked of him. He allowed his hand to be slipped beneath the fabric of the blonde's shirt to caress the smooth skin of his back because he, too, craved the touch between them. Time couldn't heal everything that had occurred between the two, and neither could touch alone take away the hurting loneliness of ten years - but it was certainly a start; a building block to begin from. The dark soldier held still for the fingers that quested over his shoulders and up to his face to trace the jagged line that now curved over his cheekbone and slashed downward through his eye and brow, his eyes fixated on Asher with an intensity that would have frightened most men. Again, he could only shake his head, a slight frown creasing his brow, when asked what the blonde could have done. Long lashes closed when his scar was kissed gently, a deep, shuddering breath wracking through him before he found his lips claimed softly yet again. This kiss was completely different from the brutal viciousness of only a moment ago, and the nobleman found himself sinking into it eagerly; his good hand splaying out across the soft, supple skin of Asher's back to press the other male more tightly to him, though he, too, was careful not to put too much pressure against the still-sore wound on his chest and shoulder. A gut-deep groan was forced from him, and though he did not want to relinquish the blonde's mouth just yet, Rio felt down to his soul that he could not allow the other to think that there was anything he could have done. Gently disengaging his mouth, though he kept the blonde close, the soldier was opening his mouth to speak when there came a quick knock at the door and Timothy's voice sounded quietly through the thick wood. "Milord, your physician has arrived to see to Mr. Grey." |
![]() |
|
| Kanousei | May 17 2010, 03:53 PM Post #4 |
|
Newbie
![]() ![]() ![]()
|
Kanou: The butler's interruption, however tactful, startled Asher so violently that his stomach lurched sharp and cold. A moan was stifled behind his teeth as he went rigid in Rio's arms, panicked at the possibility that his wanton misdeed with Rio might have fallen under the gaze of an outsider. The shock was sufficient to draw the blond from his haze, and he swiftly stepped backward and out of the soldier's embrace. Though his breathing still ran harsh, it began to steady. Flushed skin, still warm but no longer scalding. Glancing down, however, Asher nearly felt his heart stop. Wide eyes shot back up to Rio, horror evident in the fair man's visage. His manner of dress was far finer now, but the neat fabric did nothing to hide his difficulty. Despite their ruptured solitude, their impending audience - Asher's engorged length had not fallen. Resentful of the ceased contact, it throbbed. Asher shut his eyes tightly before looking again at the offensive salute, as if he could vanish it away. Hardly, he thought. Not when his skin still burned from Rio's hand, his lips still tasted the other's velvet heat. Not when it recalled the nights before bitterness overtook him utterly, when he would toy with himself, breaching his body with the shallow touch of fingertips. Too easy to imagine Rio's hand slipping lower when he had so long imagined - when that bare contact and the figment of Rio entering him could bring about a quick and brutal release. No, his groin would not be cooling in the next few moments. The blond opened his mouth to keep Timothy and the physician at bay, but when the knob at the door turned he let out a litany of low curses instead. Lurching across the room, he knocked his ankle about so roughly that his eyes watered. He managed to reach a lush wing back armchair, jerking himself into the deep seat and his injured leg atop a low table. Desperate, he sought and found a lambswool blanket at hand, yanking the cream knit over his lap to puddle and disguise the arousal which would not die with Rio so near. Not a moment to spare, for Timothy entered, the physician close behind. Asher thought they might have met years before. It was difficult to be certain, however - he was a spare, forgettable sort of man lacking color. He seemed kind enough, his brown eyes drooping like a hound's, but Asher found that he could not return that polite gaze in his condition. "I do not think it is so severe," he lied awkwardly, staring at the shelves. "It scarce pains me. I apologize for any inconvenience, but I believe I am quite prepared to return to my own home." Gray: Dark eyes gone wide with his own surprise at the sudden knock on the door, Rio was no less startled when Asher pushed away from him abruptly, his confused mind unable to grasp the concept that the blonde was no longer in his arms and there seemed to be a veritable hoarde just outside the door of what had turned out to be their sanctuary. The soldier's bemused glance took in the flush that covered high, pale cheekbones, and the startled clarity present in the shocked azure eyes. It took him several moments before he realized what, exactly, the problem was; and by that time, the door handle was just beginning to turn and Asher was hobbling painfully across the room to collapse in a chair and pull a blanket over his lap. Turning to greet Timothy with a short nod of his dark head and the doctor with a firm handshake and a brief smile, Rio remained where he was, certain that if he crossed the room to stand near Asher, he would end up betraying them both. Coming forward with a kind smile, the physician, whose name was Paul Morrisey, set his black bag down on the floor and, despite Asher's words, folded back the blanket to get a look at the injured limb. Doctor Morrisey was an unassuming man of the sort that most people tended to forget about even when he was standing in the same room. With his unremarkable brown hair, lackluster if friendly brown eyes, spare, stooped form, and unremarkable features, his was a face that was seen often but remembered rarely. He had met Asher, in fact, many times in the past when both he and the future Marquess were children, and, possessing a quick wit and keen memory, the physician recalled that fact and smiled all the more fondly at the blonde. "Mr. Grey, how very nice to see you again. I used to patch up your small hurts when you were a child, though you likely won't remember that. It was years ago, and we were both much younger then." He spoke quietly as he gently prodded the swollen flesh and inspected the rather impressive bruise that encompassed both sides of Asher's foot. "I expect this is rather painful to walk on, and you likely have difficulty moving it." Surprisingly agile hands reached out and tenderly turned the foot first one way, and then another, testing the give to the injured extremity and the amount of pain that seemed to register. Nodding to himself, the doctor replaced Asher's foot gently on the footstool and recovered it with the blanket before standing and turning so that he could address both Asher and Rio at once. "You'll be happy to know that the ankle is not broken. It is, however, twisted badly, and should be rested for several weeks. No walking at all for the first week, at least, and after that, only short walks up and down the hallway to keep everything loose for another week. After that, it is up to your discretion and how the ankle feels as to how strenuously you wish to use it." Pulling something out of his bag, he handed a small dark green glass bottle to Rio, then turned to Asher. "Opium, for pain. Mind you take only a drop or two in a glass of water at night, or first thing in the morning if you're hurting too badly. I'll call again at the end of the week to see how you are faring under Lord Wyndhaven's care." Rio had to choke down a snort of amusement at the Doctor's last statement, but he managed to smile readily enough and offer his hand to shake before standing aside to let Timothy escort the physician out to his waiting carriage. Once again alone in the library with Asher, the soldier couldn't help the grin. "Shall I carry you back to your room? Doctor Morrisey did say that you are not to walk on that ankle for at least a week." Kanou: Asher winced, biting his lip to stifle startled sound at the physician's ministrations. When assured that he had not broken the delicate bone, however, he felt a cool wash of relief along his veins. Since his fall he had stubbornly refused to consider any severe damage, but the fear had sunken its teeth low in his gut. Relief was cut short, however, as the physician issued his edict. Full lips gaped, struggled to form adequate protest. Weeks? Weeks? He would not fare at all, he would be driven utterly starkers confined so long with Rio! "You shall do no such thing!" he growled at the soldier's mocking question, a thunderous scowl threatening his pale brow. "I walked down here, and I am more than capable of walking back. And staying here? Not at all. Such a lengthy confinement would be inappropriate, my lord. I will return to my own home, and see to my company." That his original plans with Richard had been all but obliterated from his mind were unimportant. Let Rio believe that he would soon be intimate with another man - it was doubtless for the best. When he sought to rise, however, intending to limp as far as was needed to distance himself from the dark man - he blanched. The blanket, slipping from his lap, reminded him of his unresolved issue. The anxious thrumming of his pulse had been lessened but his hardness had not, still straining against his breeches. The blond flushed violently, pale skin stained with spilled wine, and jerked his uninjured leg up toward his chest. It did little to lessen his discomfort but provided some degree of coverage. Asher ground the heels of his palms into his eyes, clawed fair hair out of his face with rigid fingers. A small, inarticulate sound of frustration escaped from behind clenched teeth. "You may go on," he muttered, struggling to sound imperious. "I will leave shortly." As soon as I can stop thinking of you. Gray: "Mmm," Rio purred quietly, nodding his dark head slowly to Asher's vehement reply, a crooked grin tipping up one corner of his lush mouth. "But what sort of host would I be if I allowed you to injure yourself further? Especially when I am right here and more than capable of assisting you with whatever... problems.... you may face." Dark eyes lowered insolently to the vee of the blonde's thighs, burning with intensity and the knowledge that it was he who had caused the fair male's problem in the first place. The glace was an unsubtle reminder of that fact, and the Marquess held the look for several long seconds, only raising his gaze when he moved to stand in front of his childhood friend. Bending, he curled the hand of his good arm over the high back of the chair and leaned forward to deliberately crowd Asher with his significantly larger form before sinking gracefully to his knees in front of the blonde. At this level, the soldier could see more clearly the outlined definition of the other male's want, and the sight caused a coil of heat to flare to life low in his belly. Reaching out, he gently pulled on Asher's good leg until it was relaxed and lowered to the floor on the other side of Rio's massive body, effectively boxing the dark nobleman between the blonde's luscious thighs. His deep voice husky with both want and need, he murmured, "You can not think to hold me off now. Not after all that has transpired between us just this day." The palm of his good hand was lain on the blonde's knee, then smoothly slid upward with a slow, sure stroke that spoke of Rio's belief in his possession of Asher. Without dropping his eyes, he mimicked the circumstances of their one night together in the barn and lay his large hand over the throbbing length that so strained the front of the blonde's breeches. Voice reduced to a husky purr, he coaxed, "I can help you with that." Without waiting for a response, his hand tightened around the stiff column of flesh and stroked slowly through the material, his dark eyes locked on the blonde's face before he rose up onto his knees to claim Asher's mouth in a gentle but thorough kiss, even as his fingers tightened and began to work in earnest. He would prefer to have the barrier of clothing between them removed for this, but he was unwilling to take the risk that Asher might pull away from him if Rio removed his hand; thus he continued with his strokes and his kisses, craving the blonde's release more than he'd craved anything before - perhaps even more than he'd wanted it the first time they had attempted this. |
![]() |
|
| 1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous) | |
| « Previous Topic · Hardcore Yaoi · Next Topic » |





![]](http://z6.ifrm.com/static/1/pip_r.png)



