Saiyuki (Gojyo/Hakkai)
Jul. 26th, 2007 04:09 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
emungere.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
kinkfestTitle: The Fatal Cravat
Authors:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
louiselux and emungere
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Incest
Word count: ~15,500
Notes: Thanks very much todaegaer for the beta.
Prompt: Negotiated sex, historical AU - highwayman!Gojyo, bored nobleman!Hakkai, monk!Sanzo, and sheriff!Goku.
Back to part 1/1
Part 2/2
***
When Harry woke, the abbot was leaning over him, his mouth pulled down in what looked like an upside down smile.
"You decided to wake up then," he muttered, then laid a cold cloth onto Harry's forehead.
"Father Luke," Harry said, reaching up to touch his hand.
The abbot shook his hand away.
"Get off me. You're not well enough to move."
"How long have I been asleep. And what about that man? Crowtrees?" He sat up, then fell back as his head swam. He rubbed at his eyes. "Ow."
"He got away, they said. Was he the one that did this?"
Harry thought back.
"Not exactly. He didn't actually do anything to me," Harry said, remembering. "Except confuse me."
"Hm. That's not difficult," the abbot muttered.
Harry gazed up at his face, and at the lines under his eyes. He looked very tired. Harry's heart squeezed up tight.
"You should sleep," Harry said, gently, but Father Luke shook his head.
"What did you want to go riding about alone in the dark for anyway? It's idiotic. You should've waited for the men."
"Well, Crowtrees! He was the one who attacked you, and he must be taught a lesson, that he can't attack you again. Or others. So-- "
"Actually, you're also too ill to speak," the abbot said. "I've decided. Shut up."
Harry closed his mouth and watched Father Luke as he squeezed out his cloth and dabbed at Harry's wounds. It was odd how peaceful he felt here, and always had. He closed his eyes and smiled.
***
"It was to protect you," White said.
"You don't have the right," Julian said.
His voice rang out into the room, jarringly loud in the face of White's silence. Patrick was gone, probably for good, chased away by that overly energetic sheriff.
"As your servant? You are quite right, my lord," White said, with a small bow. "Perhaps a stranger would be better placed to know what is good for you. Someone who has not known you all your life, or known your dear mother."
Julian became aware that his clothes were still disarrayed. His neckcloth was crumpled and the buttons of his vest were pulled open. From White's look, he knew very well what Julian and Patrick had been doing, even if the innocent sheriff had missed it.
"My mother," Julian said. He didn't want to ask, but he had to. "Do Patrick and I share her?"
Julian had never known her. She'd died in the act of his birth. His hands went cold as White nodded.
"So Patrick is the elder. Who is his father?" Julian asked. He could hear his own voice, flat and calm.
White met his eye. "The late Lord Stornaway."
"But you said half brother. My father-- "
He stopped, closing his mouth with a click of teeth. White was shaking his head. He looked tired now, and old.
"I didn't want you to ever find out." He sighed. "You are my son. Not Lord Stornaway's."
"What?" He sat down, and it was only luck there was a chair behind him. Otherwise he might've fallen straight down to the floor. His father, a servant.
He wasn't the person he had thought he was. He didn't belong here. How odd that it had always felt this way, and now it was true. It changed everything and he must be wrong in the head, because it touched him with deep and aching excitement.
"How?" he said. "How did this happen? You and--my mother?"
"Lord Patrick is older than you, my lord. By three years."
"My father's true heir."
"Lord Stornaway never thought so. Patrick was sent away as a foundling."
"But why?"
"Your mother was a beautiful woman, and she had a certain...wildness, you could call it. I believe it was for that that your father wanted her, but when they were married, it began to be the reason he hated her. He wanted to control her, and could not. From the day she told him she was with child, he wouldn't believe it was his own."
"How ironic."
"Indeed it is," White said. "Your mother took me as her lover to spite him, I am sure."
"But he thought me his own son?"
"I have no idea. I do know that her death shook him badly. As it did me. He'd put Patrick out of his thoughts for good, and so you were all he had left of her."
Julian stared at the window. His stomach was churning. "Poor Patrick. He was robbed of such an awful lot."
"It's difficult to feel sadness for him, set against the interests of my own son."
"Please get out," Julian said. "Now."
White left, closing the door behind him.
Julian had to wonder if White were lying. No, he'd never particularly loved his own father, a rather cold man whom he saw more and more seldom as he grew older. Yes, White had always been there, always cared for him. His first memory was of White's pale and fearful face as strong hands pulled him out of the mill pond where he'd thought it would be fun to take a swim. He'd been perhaps three years old.
Rain sheeted against the window and rolled down it like a waterfall, unbroken, distorting the darkness outside. Lightning bathed the gardens with a white, unnatural light. The shapes of those odd dragon topiaries White liked to prune from yew and boxwood seemed to ripple and twist. Thunder followed close after, like a dragon's snarl.
He'd just sent his father out of the room. His brother, the rightful heir to this estate, was somewhere out in the storm. The dragon hedge outside seemed to stare right at him, and he turned away quickly. He needed rest, he thought. Sleep, if he could manage it. A lie down at least, if he couldn't. Nothing of any import would happen till the morning. The sheriff had never killed man and was unlikely to start tonight.
He made his way upstairs by the servants' staircase. Even here, narrow and creaking as it was, White had made sure the wood was polished and the walls were clean.
In his bedroom, Julian found tea waiting for him. The pot was wrapped well and still steaming hot when he uncovered it. It was his favourite, the white china with an unusual pattern in soft blue; four travellers walking down a winding road. White had brought him tea in that when he was a child in the nursery.
He undressed and donned his nightshirt, leaving his clothes crumpled on the floor in useless spite. He was still staring at them, telling himself not to be so childish, when he heard a tap at the window. Another tap. And then something closer to a bang. He started back in reflex and then crept closer. There was a face, pale and wild, on the other side of the glass.
For a split second, in the flash of lightning, Julian could only stare. Then he saw Patrick's palm pressed against the glass and the fear in his eyes and hurried to get the window open.
Patrick tumbled through, soaked to the skin, clothes ripped and muddied. He was shivering visibly.
"Are you injured?" Julian said.
Patrick got to his knees with some difficulty. His hair hung in wet, black streaks across his face. He looked up at Julian. His hands rested in fists on his thighs. "My lord," he said, and for the first time he made the title sound sincere rather than mocking. He took a breath. "My lord, I ask for your protection. I could be hanged for what I've done. For a good deal less than what I've done." He bowed his head. "I am in your hands."
He doesn't know, Julian thought. He knew, clearly, that they shared the same mother or he wouldn't have warned White off, but he was as ignorant of the rest as Julian had been. He should know. Julian should tell him. But Patrick was here now, beautiful and kneeling and entirely his.
"They won't touch you," Julian murmured. He tipped Patrick's face up, fingers tracing over his cheekbones and jaw, the line of his lips. "You're mine."
"Yes, my lord," Patrick said quietly. His hands unclenched and touched Julian's bare calves, sliding upwards slowly. He stroked behind Julian's knees, touching lightly. "You're very generous. Is there anything I can do to repay you?"
"I think there is."
Patrick grinned up at him, a crooked expression that showed too many teeth. "I thought so."
He pushed Julian's nightshirt slowly up over his thighs, holding his gaze all the while. Julian's exposed member was already half hard. Patrick licked his lips. "So excited already, my lord. Is it seeing me on my knees?" He leaned in, his palms warm and damp on Julian's body. "Do you want to shove that nice, thick cock between my lips?"
Julian reached down and stroked himself, in front of Patrick's mouth. "If I do, will you let me?"
The corner of Patrick's mouth turned up. "Let you, my lord? Don't I owe you?"
Heat spread up Julian's neck to his face, and his heartbeat picked up. "Yes. You do."
Patrick's hands ran up Julian's thighs, and one circled his backside, nails dragging over skin. He opened his mouth in invitation.
Julian closed his eyes for a second and gripped the base of his cock. He wanted to shove in and just fuck, rough and hard, the way that Patrick's words invited. Feel Patrick's wet tongue and the tight press of his lips and the slick heat of his throat. He groaned softly and forced himself to wait a count of five before he pressed forward slowly.
He caught Patrick's hair at the back of his head and pulled him in closer. Both of Patrick's hands braced against his bare thighs, and Patrick moaned as he took Julian in. His mouth was perfect. Julian nearly choked on the sound he wanted to make, half whimper and half Patrick's name, supplication and gratitude.
Patrick sucked him hard, cheeks hollowed out and lashes lowered, glancing up at Julian every few seconds, almost questioning. Do you like this? How about this? Julian liked it all and wished he had something solid behind him to hold him up as his knees weakened and his bones grew watery. He held hard to Patrick's hair and pushed in a little further.
Patrick let him do it, tipped his head and sucked Julian's cock in right to the root. It was like nothing Julian had felt before, or even imagined. He panted for air with short, sharp gasps, skin tingling as he built towards climax. Patrick watched him carefully as he slipped a finger into his mouth alongside Julian's cock. He withdrew it wet and slid it back behind Julian's balls until the tip of it touched Julian's hole.
It was cold on the hot skin there, and it made Julian jump and stare down at Patrick. "What do you mean by touching me there?" His voice was absurdly breathless, more an invitation than a demand.
Patrick let Julian's shaft slip out of his mouth. He stayed on his knees, open mouthed and still wet and muddy. The rips across his breeches showed stripes of thigh and his hair was sticking to his bared neck. He looked like a wild thing. His mouth was red and wet from what they had been doing and his hot breath blew over Julian's thighs as he pressed harder with his finger. That feral grin, like a wolf. Julian's chest tightened.
"Don't you know, my lord?" Patrick said, then leaned in to lick Julian's length, from head to the base, nuzzling at the place where his thigh joined his hip. His voice was rough and low. "You've never taken a man's prick inside you?"
"I-- No," he said, whispering now as if someone might hear and be shocked. Which was absurd, but Patrick moaned as if Julian had touched him. Heat pulsed through him and he took the shaft of his penis and guided it back to Patrick's mouth. "Suck me," he whispered.
Patrick did, and he let Julian take his damp hair in both hands and move his mouth close. He let Julian push into the heat and tightness of his throat. They both groaned and held each other's gaze as he moved, tight quick thrusts that filled his mouth. Patrick was hanging on to him by the end, one hand clenched in his nightshirt and the other curved around the back of his thigh, one damp hot finger pushing into him.
Patrick didn’t care that they were brothers, it was plain. Half brothers. Julian stared down, mouth open, as he came. Patrick gasped and swallowed it all down, his throat working as Julian spent himself. He touched Patrick's jaw, tracing the sharp line of it. His fingers were shaking, just like that time that he'd been thrown from his mare and had missed the iron rails by an inch. Some unknowable source had decreed that he should live, just as now it had chosen to bring Patrick to him.
Patrick sat back on his heels and dragged his arm across his mouth. He was panting.
"Have I paid back enough, my lord?" he said.
Julian's feet moved before he'd even properly thought about that, and he stepped back, catching Patrick's wrist and pulling him up and back. Patrick came with him and Julian could see the line of his erection, still trapped in his breeches.
"In my bed," he said, hardly able to speak clearly. "I want you. Take off your clothes."
He didn't have to ask, because Patrick was pulling his shirt off, then kicking off his boots and opening his flies, his gaze fixed on Julian. Naked, he was beautiful, his muscles defined like he was carved from marble. He had a flat stomach and narrow hips, and between his thighs his cock stuck out, dark and thick. The way he stroked himself as he came nearer made Julian heart speed up all over again.
"You want me to fuck you," Patrick said, slinking forward.
It was only half a question. He pulled Julian close and slid both hands up over his buttocks, squeezing hard.
"You still owe me," Julian said, and saw a flash of white teeth as Patrick grinned.
"So I do," he whispered, then bit softly at Julian's neck, sucking and licking as he moved them backwards.
Suddenly the bed was pressing against the back of Julian's knees, and he went down. He tried to pull Patrick with him, but Patrick pushed him away and leaned over him, one knee depressing the mattress. He didn't touch Julian, just tugged at the edge of his nightshirt. "Get this off. Right now."
Julian swallowed and stripped it off over his head. Patrick took it from his hands and threw it on top of the pile of his own muddy clothes, no doubt staining it. His hair dripped shivery-cold drops of water on Julian's chest and stomach as he leaned over him. He ran his hand through them and left wet trails up to Julian's chest. His thumb smoothed over a nipple, and he grinned. "You're so terribly easy to please, my lord."
"Is that a bad thing?"
"It's just the opposite, if you ask me. I like a little slut in my men. Spread your legs."
Julian's face flamed, but he did as he was told anyway. Patrick helped him along, both hands pressing on the inside of his thighs, opening him up for a long, slow inspection. Patrick's fingers stroked lightly over his balls, along his inner thighs where the tickly sensation made him want to squirm away, and finally down between his cheeks again. The tip of one finger rubbed over and around, over and around, the same repeated motion until Julian was clutching at the bedclothes to keep still.
"If you mean to do it, get on with it," he said, at last, and his voice shook. "Why do you tease me?"
Patrick leaned low and licked up the side of his cock. "Just to hear you ask for it," he said. "Do you have something to ease the way?"
"I have a scented oil for my bath," Julian said. "Will that do?"
"Very nicely."
Julian pointed it out, and Patrick fetched it, which gave Julian the opportunity to watch his muscles move under his naked skin. The flex of his back and buttocks, and the clear definition of his calves were somehow riveting. Julian couldn't look away, and didn't try until Patrick was back with him, kneeling between his legs.
"Pull your knees to your chest," he said. "Spread yourself wider for me."
It wasn't a position he'd ever been in before. He felt ridiculous, awkward and exposed. But that feeling melted away under the heat of Patrick's gaze.
"Oh," he moaned, and let his thighs fall wider apart, watching Patrick's eyes darken.
"Holy God," Patrick whispered. He was stroking oil onto himself, using his fist in slow strokes, letting the head bump over Julian's opening.
"I'm not sure I believe in him," Julian said, catching Patrick's jaw in his palm and cupping his face.
There was the likeness there in his eyes and his mouth, plain to see if one knew what to look for, and Patrick was studying him just as intently. Patrick shook his head, his hair falling in black strands over his forehead.
"My brother," he said, bending low over him as they gazed at each other. He smoothed a palm up over Julian's erection, then stroked over his ribs and up to his chest. They touched one another, exploring each other's bodies. "I know it's so," Patrick said, "but I can't feel it."
Julian just nodded, unable to speak just at that moment. Patrick was touching him between his thighs, pushing oil-slick fingers hard across sensitive skin.
"Is it only men?" he gasped, as Patrick finally slid a finger into him, making him nearly arch off the bed.
Patrick planted on hand flat on the mattress next to his head and leaned down. His smile was almost gentle as he pushed his finger in deeper, watching Julian's face all the time.
"Anyone who takes my fancy, my lord." He leaned down, taking his weight on that one wiry arm, and kissed Julian slowly, letting their tongues slide together. "Or perhaps who takes a fancy to me," he said, his voice husky.
Their eyes met and held, and neither spoke as Patrick moved on top of him and thrust in, the oil making it easy and quick. Still, it hurt, and Patrick kissed him through the pain, one hand cupping the back of his head to hold him there until they both were making soft sounds.
"Can I?" Patrick said, against his mouth.
"Yes."
He groaned into Patrick's mouth, unable to properly move or think as Patrick raised himself on his arms and began thrust into him, each movement shaking both their bodies. He clutched at Patrick's shoulders and found himself tossing his head on the pillow from the strange full heated feeling inside him. At first he was arching up almost to get away from it, but that changed when Patrick shifted his hips, pressing closer and deeper.
Julian's breath caught hard in his throat. He pressed a hand to his mouth, needing somehow to contain the rising pleasure inside him. Patrick pulled his hand away and kissed him roughly, bit at his bottom lip, and then sucked two of Julian's fingers into his mouth. He sucked them slowly, drawing them between his lips as he pushed his cock into Julian's body, again and again.
He paused with the head stretching Julian wide and nipped at the tips of his fingers. "Good, my lord?"
Julian could barely make himself nod, and any more response than that was well beyond him. Patrick smiled and settled closer, so that his stomach rubbed along Julian's cock with every thrust. Julian stroked over his back, feeling muscle and the ridge of his spine, and pressed his face to Patrick's neck. He smelled of damp earth and fallen leaves. Strands of his hair stuck to Julian's cheek.
"Keep going," he whispered in Patrick's ear, more than once. "Don't stop."
He touched the curve of Patrick's buttocks and squeezed, and Patrick thrust harder, shaking them both. "I want to do this to you, too," Julian murmured, and felt Patrick's low moan vibrate through both of them.
"Yes," Patrick said, and kissed his way to Julian's lips, pushed his tongue inside, fucking his mouth slowly. He groped blindly between them for Julian's cock and closed a fist around it. He stroked Julian in a slow rhythm that built and built until Julian felt he was floating on something, the brief crest of a wave or a bubble stretched too wide. There was no one thing that pushed him over, but suddenly he was moaning loud into Patrick's mouth as his prick jerked and spattered wet heat between their bodies.
"God in heaven," Patrick muttered, and pushed Julian flat to the bed. A few more quick, hard thrusts, and he froze, eyes closed and mouth open as he came. Julian could feel it, an odd heat and abrupt cessation of friction as Patrick slowly withdrew and flopped face down beside him.
Julian watched him for a few moments, but he neither moved nor spoke. Soon his deepening breath made it clear that he was already asleep. Julian smiled to himself and turned on his side, spreading Patrick's hair out across his back and shoulders to dry. He cleaned them both up with a handkerchief as well as he could and molded himself along Patrick's side. He'd never slept with anyone before, not the whole night through. He wondered if he would be allowed to get used to it.
Wondering and stroking Patrick's bare side, he fell asleep.
It was full morning when he woke. Patrick was still asleep beside him, and a fresh tea tray had replaced the unused one from last night. He could see steam rising from the pot. That meant someone, likely White, had come in and set it down, and seen them like this. Julian found it oddly difficult to care.
Except. White. His father, White. Unless he was lying, but Julian couldn't think of a good reason for him to lie about that. He poured two cups of tea instead and poked Patrick with his toe until he woke up and took one of them.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Julian asked.
"What?"
"What do you think?"
Patrick spooned sugar into his tea until it was surely more sugar than tea. He sighed. "I meant to tell you when we met on the road. To-- I don't know. Rob you, certainly. Maybe to insist on further payment, lest I cause a scandal."
"And will you?" Julian rolled onto his side and ran his hand up Patrick's thigh. "Cause a scandal?"
"No, my lord," Patrick said, leaning up to press his mouth to Julian's briefly. "Things changed when I saw you."
"How?"
You weren't what I expected."
"That's it?"
Patrick ducked his head and sipped his tea, then looked up, his gaze exactly as bold as the first time they'd met.
"You behaved as if I were the best thing to happen to you in all your life."
"You were," Julian said. "You are."
Patrick set his tea aside and kissed Julian more firmly, both hands cupping his face. His lips were very soft, and his mouth tasted of sugar. Julian licked at it slowly, sliding their legs together.
"So," Patrick said, between kisses, "When should I have told you we were brothers? At the party, in front of your admirers?"
"Your admirers."
"Or when you had me up against bookcase, and I nearly had my hand in your breeches?" He licked a long, wet stripe up Julian's throat.
"Not the most ideal times," Julian admitted, somewhat breathless.
"We shocked your butler enough. And that sheriff."
Julian pulled away and sat up. Patrick let him go, but his hand stayed on his back, a slight comforting warmth.
"There's something I should tell you," Julian said, picking at a loose thread on the blanket. He glanced over his shoulder. "Something that you won't like. Or perhaps you will like it. I don't know. It will be shocking for you all the same. I myself was stunned by it. Utterly stunned."
Patrick raised his brows and turned onto his side, propping his head in one hand.
"Very well. Perhaps you can spit it out soon?"
Julian opened his mouth, then closed it again, then opened it.
"The butler. My man, White."
"The one with the face like a slapped arse, yes, I know. He loathes me."
"How did you know he loathes you?"
"Most people do, my lord," Patrick said, softly.
"In any case, it's not relevant." Julian gripped his hands in the bedclothes tighter. "My father is not the late Lord Stornaway. White is."
"What?"
Now he'd said it, it seemed his mouth wanted only to babble.
"White is my father, not Lord Stornaway. He is your father. You are the heir. The odd thing is, I wouldn't hardly care, except that for all these years I've kept you from your home. It's not right."
"I don't understand. What are you talking about?"
Julian told him, watching Patrick's face change; amusement to disbelief to anger, until he flopped back onto the pillows and made a strange sound. Julian identified it finally as laughter.
"That bastard," Patrick said, flat on his back and staring up at the deep green canopy.
Julian lay carefully next to him and took his hand, staring up. The canopy was embroidered with flowers and leaves. In the middle were Eve and Adam and a serpent. Patrick made a sound and laced their fingers together, and Julian had no idea what to say.
"A scholar recently placed the original site of the garden of Eden in Turkey," he said, eventually. "In the mysterious northern mountains."
"Mountains? That sounds too cold," Patrick said, turning his head to look at him. "The pictures always show it as sunny and warm."
Patrick's mouth was very close and his eyes were narrowed. Julian's throat went dry, for no particular reason.
"We should go and look for it ourselves," Julian said. "Together."
Patrick seemed to study him, looking into his eyes as if he could see every thought in Julian's mind.
"So already you want to tear me away from my rightful inheritance?" he said.
"No! What? You can have it all. I don't care. Really, I --"
Patrick clapped a hand over his mouth and rolled on top of him. He smiled in a slow way that made Julian's blood surge. Somehow, one finger found its way between Julian's lips, sliding over his tongue. Julian sucked on it and moaned.
"Shh," Patrick said, dipping his head lower. "Or I'll fill your mouth with something bigger."
They tumbled together until Patrick was on top of him, heavy and very warm, pressing Julian face down into the bed with his solid weight. He thrust in smooth and quickly this time, oil spilling messily over Julian's skin and running into the small of his back. Patrick barely moved. Instead he laced his fingers tightly through Julian's and rocked into him, hardly going deep at all until Julian began to moan for it.
"Look at me," Patrick said in his ear. His breath was hot on Julian's skin and his voice was tight. "I want to see your face."
Julian turned his head and heard Patrick's soft curses; coarse words about his pretty mouth and his eyes and how hot and tight he was. How good a fuck he was. They were kissing, slow and messy, when Patrick came. He thrust in deep and hard finally, his mouth open and his whole body trembling.
"Julian," he gasped, and shoved his hand under Julian's stomach.
"Too late," Julian said, as Patrick's hand slid through the wet sticky mess that was trapped between his stomach and the sheets.
"Oh," Patrick whispered.
"You make me feel too much," Julian said.
Patrick kissed the back of Julian's neck and didn't say anything. He pulled out in small gentle movements and then settled next to Julian's side. Julian listened to his soft breathing, then turned to look at him. Their gazes met and held for a long time.
There was a low knock at the door, just once. White.
"May I enter, my lord? I have news."
Patrick put a hand on his arm and shook his head violently, but Julian shook him off.
"Come in," he said.
White narrowed his eyes at Patrick's bare leg, which was poking out from under the tumbled sheets, but said nothing. He looked at Julian as coldly as if Julian were a table or a chair, not his son.
"Do I disgust you?" Julian said, sitting up. "I'm sorry," he said, although he was sure he didn't mean it the moment the words left his mouth.
White fetched over a nightshirt and seemed not to have heard him. He should be sorry. He cared for White. After all, White had cared for him for years, but he couldn't think of him as anything other than his servant.
"Mister Stone has arrived, my lord. He wishes to speak with you and says it is an urgent matter. What shall I tell him?"
Patrick tensed up next to him, then threw back the bedclothes got out, naked but for the marks that Julian had left on his skin. He began to drag on his shirt and his breeches.
"What do you think you're doing?" Julian said.
"Leaving," Patrick said. "Are you blind?"
"But why?"
"The small matter of a noose, my dear."
"Don't be silly. I'll protect you."
Patrick pulled on his stockings. "You? Perhaps you could talk the sheriff to death."
Julian reached out and grabbed Patrick's wrist. He didn't let go, even when Patrick tried to tug away. He watched Patrick's eyes widen.
"I'm not letting them take you from me," he said. "White. Tell Mister Stone I'll be with him in half an hour. Serve him cakes and tea."
"The abbot is with him, sir," said White, as calmly as if Julian were not kneeling entirely naked on the bed.
"You'd better fetch wine too, in that case," Julian said.
"Yes, sir."
When White left, Patrick pushed away his hand. He sighed and dragged a hand through his hair, making it look even more tangled.
"Whatever dreams you have about the two of us, it won't work," he said. "You can see that, can't you?"
"Dreams?" Julian said. His belly went cold at the bitter look on Patrick's face. "I don't dream. I'm going to keep you with me. I mean it. Or are you calling me a liar?"
"No!" And then his voice faltered. "What's-- what's your plan?"
"Do you have the things that you stole?"
"Yes," Patrick said, "But-- "
"Simple. You can give them back and everyone will be happy. Now please take your things off and wash. We should present ourselves as nicely as possible."
***
Harry had expected a fight, perhaps another chase. He had not thought to be seated in the drawing room and served tea and cakes. They were awfully good cakes though. He ate three and only made himself stop when he noticed the abbot watching him.
"Sorry," he mumbled, and dabbed a napkin at his lips in case of stray crumbs.
"It's none of my concern," the abbot replied.
"Perhaps you should try one?" Harry said. “It might help soak up the wine.”
For his trouble, he got the abbot's walking stick planted firmly on his toes as the abbot leaned forward to pour himself another glass. "I'm sorry? I don't think I heard that."
Harry was trying not to wince too obviously when the double doors opened, and the butler announced Lord Stornaway, "and friend." The friend was Patrick Crowtrees. Harry shot up out of his seat, but the abbot dragged him back down.
"No more ill advised rampages and head injuries," the abbot said. "Now is a time for negotiation."
"There will be no negotiation," Lord Stornaway said. He sat on the sofa across from them, and Crowtrees sat beside him, much closer than seemed proper. "Patrick is mine, and I won't give him up."
All of them stared at him, even, Harry noticed, Crowtrees. There was faint colour in his cheeks, but he didn't move away from Stornaway's hand on his shoulder.
Harry didn't know quite where to go from there. It was always more complicated when the nobility were involved, but he'd never had anyone flat out refuse to let him arrest someone, especially not someone who was as clearly guilty as Crowtrees. "My lord," he started carefully, "this man has committed serious crimes. It's my job to--"
"I don't care about your job. He's only taken a few things, and he says he'll give them back. It's all settled, and I'll vouch for his good behaviour."
Harry and Crowtrees were set back to silent staring by that announcement, but not the abbot. He laughed, a short, rusty sound. "You're certainly your father's son," he said.
"You're mistaken in that."
"You're mistaken as to which father I'm speaking of."
Their eyes met and held, and while their expressions clearly conveyed a goodly amount to each other, they failed to give Harry so much as a hint. Even Crowtrees seemed to be on the same chapter as the other two, if perhaps not reading along quite as fast.
Harry tugged the abbot's sleeve. "He only has one father. Unless I've missed some basic element of human biology."
The abbot snorted. "I wouldn't be surprised. Are you going to explain, my lord?"
"I think I would rather that you explain how you came to know a secret I only learned of yesterday. Did White tell you?"
"Why would he? No. It was your mother, ill and worried over the fate of her eldest son."
"Eldest?" Harry echoed. "But there was only..."
"Her eldest and only legitimate son, Patrick Stornaway."
Harry felt there should be a gasp at that point, a crack of thunder, or some moment of drama, but since he was apparently the only one who hadn't known, there wasn't. Crowtrees looked deeply uncomfortable and shifted in his seat. Stornaway yawned.
"If this is true," Harry said.
"It's true," Stornaway and the abbot said together.
"This changes everything," Harry said. He looked at each of them in turn, but none of them seemed to be getting it. "Very likely the complaints will be dropped, the local ones at least, once it gets out who he is, but...my lord...I mean." He looked at Stornaway, or whatever his name was now. "You cannot vouch for anyone. You have no land, no money, no livelihood. You don't seem to realize how serious this is, my--ah."
"Julian will do. Don't strain yourself."
"Julian," Harry said seriously. "Once all of this is worked out, he might turn you out of this house with nothing."
"He won't. He is my brother."
"A bit more than that, I think," the abbot said.
They were giving each other that knowing look again, and Harry'd had just about enough of that. "Will someone tell me please what you mean by that? There have been more than enough secrets today, and I am heartily tired of them."
"I'll explain it later," the abbot said.
"Explain it now. Please."
"We're fucking," Crowtrees said. "Are you going to arrest me for that?"
Harry gaped. Another dramatic moment passed with no thunder or other outward mark, but Harry felt oddly shaken within himself. He'd never known a man who would admit to such an act. He'd thought, if he'd considered it at all, that it would show somehow.
"I should," he said. "I mean to say. I must. It's--against the laws of God and man, and--and he's your half-brother as well. The law is...very clear." He found himself looking at the abbot. It couldn't be right, could it? But they clung to each other so, and he couldn't remember seeing Stornaway--Julian--so vehement about anything as he was about keeping Crowtrees by his side.
"What will you do?" the abbot asked Julian, as if Harry hadn't said a word.
"A journey, perhaps," Julian said. "It would allow for a period of change, for people to adjust to a new state of affairs. They'll like him, you know. Much better than they like me."
The abbot gave a grunt that could mean almost anything and took a lengthy drink of his wine. He was giving Crowtrees a sour look. Harry still had no idea what to say next. All this startling new knowledge felt like it was crowding out any other thought.
"How well fitted are you for your duties as lord of the parish?" the abbott said. "I won't stand for you acting like an idiot."
Crowtrees scowled. "And I won't stand for you trying to throw your weight around."
"Good. So, it seems we've said all that's necessary," Julian broke in, standing abruptly.
"But, wait-- " Harry began, then broke off. They looked at him, all three pairs of eyes focussed on him, just waiting. He was sure there was lots more to discuss, but right at this moment he couldn't bring it to mind. "Nothing," he said.
Crowtrees fished in his pocket for something, then tossed it at Harry. It was his money clip, with the notes intact.
"Here. Before I change my mind," he said, and then he grinned.
Harry was sure he'd never had anyone smile at him like that before. It was part infuriating and more than half charming. He wasn't going to be charmed. He wouldn't allow it.
"Come along," he said, almost dragging the abbot to his feet. "We're leaving."
He rode with Father Luke to the abbey gates. They didn't speak, until the abbot turned to him.
"Are you shocked?" he said, quietly.
"No."
"You mean yes."
"You seemed to know a lot about it. Don't you care what they're doing? It's not right!"
He hadn't mean to shout, he really hadn't, but the abbot shrugged.
"It's not my place to judge them," he said. "There'll be plenty enough of that for them as it is." Then, "Are you still hungry? You look hungry."
Harry realised he was famished.
***
Julian stood by the window, half in the shadows, and watched Patrick greet his guests. Or really, their guests, since while the estate might now be his, Julian still seemed to do the actual work required to keep it running, including organizing this ball. He didn't mind. Actually, he was glad. Patrick was very good with people, even the servants--excluding White, obviously--but his organising skills were essentially non-existent. It was better this way, with Patrick so glowing and joyful and Julian finally relieved of the necessity of speaking to his neighbours.
All the same, he found himself wishing there was some way Patrick could enjoy himself with the dancing and flattery of young women and still be over here with him at the same time. But there wasn't, so Julian watched.
Patrick was perfect in every particular, from cravat to polished boots, the shine of his eyes to the sapphire pin that matched them exactly. Julian had bought it for him, since Patrick seemed as yet incapable of realizing that he could actually spend his money. He was dancing now with Maud Beckett and giving her far more reason to hope for a productive conclusion to their relationship than she'd ever had from Julian.
Julian wondered suddenly, would he want to marry? He could, certainly. Julian looked sharply at him, as if such an intention might show on his face. He found Patrick looking back at him and watched his face light up when their eyes met.
The dance ended just then and Patrick left his partner to make his way to Julian's side. Julian drew him further into the shadows, into a small alcove inhabited only by the bust of a no-necked ancestor. He opened his mouth, unsure what to say, and Patrick kissed him.
"Oh," Julian said faintly, watching Patrick grin at him from two inches away.
"You don't look like you're having fun at my party, my lord."
"I wasn't, but I think I am now."
"I'm glad to hear it." Patrick's fingers slid along his jaw and down his neck, tipping his head up for another kiss.
"We shouldn't do this here," Julian said, between their light, soft kisses.
Not far away he could hear that damned doctor, his voice all low and smooth. The music was loud and fast, and from the hall could be heard high raised voices and laughter. Mister Stone had come and had spent most of the evening wearing out the energies of all the Misses Barnham.
"You say that as if you care," Patrick said.
"I care that your breeches hide nothing. The same as mine," Julian said. "Anyone could find us."
His own voice was interestingly breathy and he was aware that he might be fighting a battle that was already lost. Patrick seemed to think so, because he slipped his hands around Julian's waist and pulled him close, winding his arms around him so that they were crushed together. Julian was sure there couldn't be a sliver of space between them. It was almost painfully exciting.
"What if someone sees?" he asked, as Patrick pressed him back to the wall, as forcefully as if they were entirely alone.
Patrick stopped for a moment, studying him, then kissed him, so violently that they jostled the bust. It rattled on its plinth and Patrick drew back.
"We're leaving, so why would we care?" He touched Julian's face and was silent for a long moment. "In any case," he said, his voice a shade too loud. "I don't mind owning to this. To wanting you," he said.
"All of society will mind," said Julian. "They mind about me already, and I'm only a little odd."
"Only a little?"
Patrick grinned and stroked over Julian's hips, coaxing him closer with little tugs. When Patrick smiled like that, Julian could nearly forget where they were. He thought of all their faces out there, if they knew. Picturing their shock gave him an almost physical jolt of pleasure.
"One day you'll want to come back," he said, taking a slow breath.
"With you. We can live here."
They were still looking at each other, still silent, when Stone stuck his head around the edge of the alcove. He didn't seem at all surprised. He tapped Patrick rudely on the arm.
"Come out now, before I have to dance any more with Emily Barnham." He glanced at Julian, almost shyly. "Are you going to dance too, my lord?"
He still hadn't got out of the habit of calling him that, but this time, Julian didn't remind him. It hardly mattered now. Patrick pulled away, smiling at him softly and secretly.
"No. I think I'll just stay here and watch," Julian said.
Authors:
louiselux and emungereRating: NC-17
Warnings: Incest
Word count: ~15,500
Notes: Thanks very much to
daegaer for the beta. Prompt: Negotiated sex, historical AU - highwayman!Gojyo, bored nobleman!Hakkai, monk!Sanzo, and sheriff!Goku.
Back to part 1/1
Part 2/2
***
When Harry woke, the abbot was leaning over him, his mouth pulled down in what looked like an upside down smile.
"You decided to wake up then," he muttered, then laid a cold cloth onto Harry's forehead.
"Father Luke," Harry said, reaching up to touch his hand.
The abbot shook his hand away.
"Get off me. You're not well enough to move."
"How long have I been asleep. And what about that man? Crowtrees?" He sat up, then fell back as his head swam. He rubbed at his eyes. "Ow."
"He got away, they said. Was he the one that did this?"
Harry thought back.
"Not exactly. He didn't actually do anything to me," Harry said, remembering. "Except confuse me."
"Hm. That's not difficult," the abbot muttered.
Harry gazed up at his face, and at the lines under his eyes. He looked very tired. Harry's heart squeezed up tight.
"You should sleep," Harry said, gently, but Father Luke shook his head.
"What did you want to go riding about alone in the dark for anyway? It's idiotic. You should've waited for the men."
"Well, Crowtrees! He was the one who attacked you, and he must be taught a lesson, that he can't attack you again. Or others. So-- "
"Actually, you're also too ill to speak," the abbot said. "I've decided. Shut up."
Harry closed his mouth and watched Father Luke as he squeezed out his cloth and dabbed at Harry's wounds. It was odd how peaceful he felt here, and always had. He closed his eyes and smiled.
***
"It was to protect you," White said.
"You don't have the right," Julian said.
His voice rang out into the room, jarringly loud in the face of White's silence. Patrick was gone, probably for good, chased away by that overly energetic sheriff.
"As your servant? You are quite right, my lord," White said, with a small bow. "Perhaps a stranger would be better placed to know what is good for you. Someone who has not known you all your life, or known your dear mother."
Julian became aware that his clothes were still disarrayed. His neckcloth was crumpled and the buttons of his vest were pulled open. From White's look, he knew very well what Julian and Patrick had been doing, even if the innocent sheriff had missed it.
"My mother," Julian said. He didn't want to ask, but he had to. "Do Patrick and I share her?"
Julian had never known her. She'd died in the act of his birth. His hands went cold as White nodded.
"So Patrick is the elder. Who is his father?" Julian asked. He could hear his own voice, flat and calm.
White met his eye. "The late Lord Stornaway."
"But you said half brother. My father-- "
He stopped, closing his mouth with a click of teeth. White was shaking his head. He looked tired now, and old.
"I didn't want you to ever find out." He sighed. "You are my son. Not Lord Stornaway's."
"What?" He sat down, and it was only luck there was a chair behind him. Otherwise he might've fallen straight down to the floor. His father, a servant.
He wasn't the person he had thought he was. He didn't belong here. How odd that it had always felt this way, and now it was true. It changed everything and he must be wrong in the head, because it touched him with deep and aching excitement.
"How?" he said. "How did this happen? You and--my mother?"
"Lord Patrick is older than you, my lord. By three years."
"My father's true heir."
"Lord Stornaway never thought so. Patrick was sent away as a foundling."
"But why?"
"Your mother was a beautiful woman, and she had a certain...wildness, you could call it. I believe it was for that that your father wanted her, but when they were married, it began to be the reason he hated her. He wanted to control her, and could not. From the day she told him she was with child, he wouldn't believe it was his own."
"How ironic."
"Indeed it is," White said. "Your mother took me as her lover to spite him, I am sure."
"But he thought me his own son?"
"I have no idea. I do know that her death shook him badly. As it did me. He'd put Patrick out of his thoughts for good, and so you were all he had left of her."
Julian stared at the window. His stomach was churning. "Poor Patrick. He was robbed of such an awful lot."
"It's difficult to feel sadness for him, set against the interests of my own son."
"Please get out," Julian said. "Now."
White left, closing the door behind him.
Julian had to wonder if White were lying. No, he'd never particularly loved his own father, a rather cold man whom he saw more and more seldom as he grew older. Yes, White had always been there, always cared for him. His first memory was of White's pale and fearful face as strong hands pulled him out of the mill pond where he'd thought it would be fun to take a swim. He'd been perhaps three years old.
Rain sheeted against the window and rolled down it like a waterfall, unbroken, distorting the darkness outside. Lightning bathed the gardens with a white, unnatural light. The shapes of those odd dragon topiaries White liked to prune from yew and boxwood seemed to ripple and twist. Thunder followed close after, like a dragon's snarl.
He'd just sent his father out of the room. His brother, the rightful heir to this estate, was somewhere out in the storm. The dragon hedge outside seemed to stare right at him, and he turned away quickly. He needed rest, he thought. Sleep, if he could manage it. A lie down at least, if he couldn't. Nothing of any import would happen till the morning. The sheriff had never killed man and was unlikely to start tonight.
He made his way upstairs by the servants' staircase. Even here, narrow and creaking as it was, White had made sure the wood was polished and the walls were clean.
In his bedroom, Julian found tea waiting for him. The pot was wrapped well and still steaming hot when he uncovered it. It was his favourite, the white china with an unusual pattern in soft blue; four travellers walking down a winding road. White had brought him tea in that when he was a child in the nursery.
He undressed and donned his nightshirt, leaving his clothes crumpled on the floor in useless spite. He was still staring at them, telling himself not to be so childish, when he heard a tap at the window. Another tap. And then something closer to a bang. He started back in reflex and then crept closer. There was a face, pale and wild, on the other side of the glass.
For a split second, in the flash of lightning, Julian could only stare. Then he saw Patrick's palm pressed against the glass and the fear in his eyes and hurried to get the window open.
Patrick tumbled through, soaked to the skin, clothes ripped and muddied. He was shivering visibly.
"Are you injured?" Julian said.
Patrick got to his knees with some difficulty. His hair hung in wet, black streaks across his face. He looked up at Julian. His hands rested in fists on his thighs. "My lord," he said, and for the first time he made the title sound sincere rather than mocking. He took a breath. "My lord, I ask for your protection. I could be hanged for what I've done. For a good deal less than what I've done." He bowed his head. "I am in your hands."
He doesn't know, Julian thought. He knew, clearly, that they shared the same mother or he wouldn't have warned White off, but he was as ignorant of the rest as Julian had been. He should know. Julian should tell him. But Patrick was here now, beautiful and kneeling and entirely his.
"They won't touch you," Julian murmured. He tipped Patrick's face up, fingers tracing over his cheekbones and jaw, the line of his lips. "You're mine."
"Yes, my lord," Patrick said quietly. His hands unclenched and touched Julian's bare calves, sliding upwards slowly. He stroked behind Julian's knees, touching lightly. "You're very generous. Is there anything I can do to repay you?"
"I think there is."
Patrick grinned up at him, a crooked expression that showed too many teeth. "I thought so."
He pushed Julian's nightshirt slowly up over his thighs, holding his gaze all the while. Julian's exposed member was already half hard. Patrick licked his lips. "So excited already, my lord. Is it seeing me on my knees?" He leaned in, his palms warm and damp on Julian's body. "Do you want to shove that nice, thick cock between my lips?"
Julian reached down and stroked himself, in front of Patrick's mouth. "If I do, will you let me?"
The corner of Patrick's mouth turned up. "Let you, my lord? Don't I owe you?"
Heat spread up Julian's neck to his face, and his heartbeat picked up. "Yes. You do."
Patrick's hands ran up Julian's thighs, and one circled his backside, nails dragging over skin. He opened his mouth in invitation.
Julian closed his eyes for a second and gripped the base of his cock. He wanted to shove in and just fuck, rough and hard, the way that Patrick's words invited. Feel Patrick's wet tongue and the tight press of his lips and the slick heat of his throat. He groaned softly and forced himself to wait a count of five before he pressed forward slowly.
He caught Patrick's hair at the back of his head and pulled him in closer. Both of Patrick's hands braced against his bare thighs, and Patrick moaned as he took Julian in. His mouth was perfect. Julian nearly choked on the sound he wanted to make, half whimper and half Patrick's name, supplication and gratitude.
Patrick sucked him hard, cheeks hollowed out and lashes lowered, glancing up at Julian every few seconds, almost questioning. Do you like this? How about this? Julian liked it all and wished he had something solid behind him to hold him up as his knees weakened and his bones grew watery. He held hard to Patrick's hair and pushed in a little further.
Patrick let him do it, tipped his head and sucked Julian's cock in right to the root. It was like nothing Julian had felt before, or even imagined. He panted for air with short, sharp gasps, skin tingling as he built towards climax. Patrick watched him carefully as he slipped a finger into his mouth alongside Julian's cock. He withdrew it wet and slid it back behind Julian's balls until the tip of it touched Julian's hole.
It was cold on the hot skin there, and it made Julian jump and stare down at Patrick. "What do you mean by touching me there?" His voice was absurdly breathless, more an invitation than a demand.
Patrick let Julian's shaft slip out of his mouth. He stayed on his knees, open mouthed and still wet and muddy. The rips across his breeches showed stripes of thigh and his hair was sticking to his bared neck. He looked like a wild thing. His mouth was red and wet from what they had been doing and his hot breath blew over Julian's thighs as he pressed harder with his finger. That feral grin, like a wolf. Julian's chest tightened.
"Don't you know, my lord?" Patrick said, then leaned in to lick Julian's length, from head to the base, nuzzling at the place where his thigh joined his hip. His voice was rough and low. "You've never taken a man's prick inside you?"
"I-- No," he said, whispering now as if someone might hear and be shocked. Which was absurd, but Patrick moaned as if Julian had touched him. Heat pulsed through him and he took the shaft of his penis and guided it back to Patrick's mouth. "Suck me," he whispered.
Patrick did, and he let Julian take his damp hair in both hands and move his mouth close. He let Julian push into the heat and tightness of his throat. They both groaned and held each other's gaze as he moved, tight quick thrusts that filled his mouth. Patrick was hanging on to him by the end, one hand clenched in his nightshirt and the other curved around the back of his thigh, one damp hot finger pushing into him.
Patrick didn’t care that they were brothers, it was plain. Half brothers. Julian stared down, mouth open, as he came. Patrick gasped and swallowed it all down, his throat working as Julian spent himself. He touched Patrick's jaw, tracing the sharp line of it. His fingers were shaking, just like that time that he'd been thrown from his mare and had missed the iron rails by an inch. Some unknowable source had decreed that he should live, just as now it had chosen to bring Patrick to him.
Patrick sat back on his heels and dragged his arm across his mouth. He was panting.
"Have I paid back enough, my lord?" he said.
Julian's feet moved before he'd even properly thought about that, and he stepped back, catching Patrick's wrist and pulling him up and back. Patrick came with him and Julian could see the line of his erection, still trapped in his breeches.
"In my bed," he said, hardly able to speak clearly. "I want you. Take off your clothes."
He didn't have to ask, because Patrick was pulling his shirt off, then kicking off his boots and opening his flies, his gaze fixed on Julian. Naked, he was beautiful, his muscles defined like he was carved from marble. He had a flat stomach and narrow hips, and between his thighs his cock stuck out, dark and thick. The way he stroked himself as he came nearer made Julian heart speed up all over again.
"You want me to fuck you," Patrick said, slinking forward.
It was only half a question. He pulled Julian close and slid both hands up over his buttocks, squeezing hard.
"You still owe me," Julian said, and saw a flash of white teeth as Patrick grinned.
"So I do," he whispered, then bit softly at Julian's neck, sucking and licking as he moved them backwards.
Suddenly the bed was pressing against the back of Julian's knees, and he went down. He tried to pull Patrick with him, but Patrick pushed him away and leaned over him, one knee depressing the mattress. He didn't touch Julian, just tugged at the edge of his nightshirt. "Get this off. Right now."
Julian swallowed and stripped it off over his head. Patrick took it from his hands and threw it on top of the pile of his own muddy clothes, no doubt staining it. His hair dripped shivery-cold drops of water on Julian's chest and stomach as he leaned over him. He ran his hand through them and left wet trails up to Julian's chest. His thumb smoothed over a nipple, and he grinned. "You're so terribly easy to please, my lord."
"Is that a bad thing?"
"It's just the opposite, if you ask me. I like a little slut in my men. Spread your legs."
Julian's face flamed, but he did as he was told anyway. Patrick helped him along, both hands pressing on the inside of his thighs, opening him up for a long, slow inspection. Patrick's fingers stroked lightly over his balls, along his inner thighs where the tickly sensation made him want to squirm away, and finally down between his cheeks again. The tip of one finger rubbed over and around, over and around, the same repeated motion until Julian was clutching at the bedclothes to keep still.
"If you mean to do it, get on with it," he said, at last, and his voice shook. "Why do you tease me?"
Patrick leaned low and licked up the side of his cock. "Just to hear you ask for it," he said. "Do you have something to ease the way?"
"I have a scented oil for my bath," Julian said. "Will that do?"
"Very nicely."
Julian pointed it out, and Patrick fetched it, which gave Julian the opportunity to watch his muscles move under his naked skin. The flex of his back and buttocks, and the clear definition of his calves were somehow riveting. Julian couldn't look away, and didn't try until Patrick was back with him, kneeling between his legs.
"Pull your knees to your chest," he said. "Spread yourself wider for me."
It wasn't a position he'd ever been in before. He felt ridiculous, awkward and exposed. But that feeling melted away under the heat of Patrick's gaze.
"Oh," he moaned, and let his thighs fall wider apart, watching Patrick's eyes darken.
"Holy God," Patrick whispered. He was stroking oil onto himself, using his fist in slow strokes, letting the head bump over Julian's opening.
"I'm not sure I believe in him," Julian said, catching Patrick's jaw in his palm and cupping his face.
There was the likeness there in his eyes and his mouth, plain to see if one knew what to look for, and Patrick was studying him just as intently. Patrick shook his head, his hair falling in black strands over his forehead.
"My brother," he said, bending low over him as they gazed at each other. He smoothed a palm up over Julian's erection, then stroked over his ribs and up to his chest. They touched one another, exploring each other's bodies. "I know it's so," Patrick said, "but I can't feel it."
Julian just nodded, unable to speak just at that moment. Patrick was touching him between his thighs, pushing oil-slick fingers hard across sensitive skin.
"Is it only men?" he gasped, as Patrick finally slid a finger into him, making him nearly arch off the bed.
Patrick planted on hand flat on the mattress next to his head and leaned down. His smile was almost gentle as he pushed his finger in deeper, watching Julian's face all the time.
"Anyone who takes my fancy, my lord." He leaned down, taking his weight on that one wiry arm, and kissed Julian slowly, letting their tongues slide together. "Or perhaps who takes a fancy to me," he said, his voice husky.
Their eyes met and held, and neither spoke as Patrick moved on top of him and thrust in, the oil making it easy and quick. Still, it hurt, and Patrick kissed him through the pain, one hand cupping the back of his head to hold him there until they both were making soft sounds.
"Can I?" Patrick said, against his mouth.
"Yes."
He groaned into Patrick's mouth, unable to properly move or think as Patrick raised himself on his arms and began thrust into him, each movement shaking both their bodies. He clutched at Patrick's shoulders and found himself tossing his head on the pillow from the strange full heated feeling inside him. At first he was arching up almost to get away from it, but that changed when Patrick shifted his hips, pressing closer and deeper.
Julian's breath caught hard in his throat. He pressed a hand to his mouth, needing somehow to contain the rising pleasure inside him. Patrick pulled his hand away and kissed him roughly, bit at his bottom lip, and then sucked two of Julian's fingers into his mouth. He sucked them slowly, drawing them between his lips as he pushed his cock into Julian's body, again and again.
He paused with the head stretching Julian wide and nipped at the tips of his fingers. "Good, my lord?"
Julian could barely make himself nod, and any more response than that was well beyond him. Patrick smiled and settled closer, so that his stomach rubbed along Julian's cock with every thrust. Julian stroked over his back, feeling muscle and the ridge of his spine, and pressed his face to Patrick's neck. He smelled of damp earth and fallen leaves. Strands of his hair stuck to Julian's cheek.
"Keep going," he whispered in Patrick's ear, more than once. "Don't stop."
He touched the curve of Patrick's buttocks and squeezed, and Patrick thrust harder, shaking them both. "I want to do this to you, too," Julian murmured, and felt Patrick's low moan vibrate through both of them.
"Yes," Patrick said, and kissed his way to Julian's lips, pushed his tongue inside, fucking his mouth slowly. He groped blindly between them for Julian's cock and closed a fist around it. He stroked Julian in a slow rhythm that built and built until Julian felt he was floating on something, the brief crest of a wave or a bubble stretched too wide. There was no one thing that pushed him over, but suddenly he was moaning loud into Patrick's mouth as his prick jerked and spattered wet heat between their bodies.
"God in heaven," Patrick muttered, and pushed Julian flat to the bed. A few more quick, hard thrusts, and he froze, eyes closed and mouth open as he came. Julian could feel it, an odd heat and abrupt cessation of friction as Patrick slowly withdrew and flopped face down beside him.
Julian watched him for a few moments, but he neither moved nor spoke. Soon his deepening breath made it clear that he was already asleep. Julian smiled to himself and turned on his side, spreading Patrick's hair out across his back and shoulders to dry. He cleaned them both up with a handkerchief as well as he could and molded himself along Patrick's side. He'd never slept with anyone before, not the whole night through. He wondered if he would be allowed to get used to it.
Wondering and stroking Patrick's bare side, he fell asleep.
It was full morning when he woke. Patrick was still asleep beside him, and a fresh tea tray had replaced the unused one from last night. He could see steam rising from the pot. That meant someone, likely White, had come in and set it down, and seen them like this. Julian found it oddly difficult to care.
Except. White. His father, White. Unless he was lying, but Julian couldn't think of a good reason for him to lie about that. He poured two cups of tea instead and poked Patrick with his toe until he woke up and took one of them.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Julian asked.
"What?"
"What do you think?"
Patrick spooned sugar into his tea until it was surely more sugar than tea. He sighed. "I meant to tell you when we met on the road. To-- I don't know. Rob you, certainly. Maybe to insist on further payment, lest I cause a scandal."
"And will you?" Julian rolled onto his side and ran his hand up Patrick's thigh. "Cause a scandal?"
"No, my lord," Patrick said, leaning up to press his mouth to Julian's briefly. "Things changed when I saw you."
"How?"
You weren't what I expected."
"That's it?"
Patrick ducked his head and sipped his tea, then looked up, his gaze exactly as bold as the first time they'd met.
"You behaved as if I were the best thing to happen to you in all your life."
"You were," Julian said. "You are."
Patrick set his tea aside and kissed Julian more firmly, both hands cupping his face. His lips were very soft, and his mouth tasted of sugar. Julian licked at it slowly, sliding their legs together.
"So," Patrick said, between kisses, "When should I have told you we were brothers? At the party, in front of your admirers?"
"Your admirers."
"Or when you had me up against bookcase, and I nearly had my hand in your breeches?" He licked a long, wet stripe up Julian's throat.
"Not the most ideal times," Julian admitted, somewhat breathless.
"We shocked your butler enough. And that sheriff."
Julian pulled away and sat up. Patrick let him go, but his hand stayed on his back, a slight comforting warmth.
"There's something I should tell you," Julian said, picking at a loose thread on the blanket. He glanced over his shoulder. "Something that you won't like. Or perhaps you will like it. I don't know. It will be shocking for you all the same. I myself was stunned by it. Utterly stunned."
Patrick raised his brows and turned onto his side, propping his head in one hand.
"Very well. Perhaps you can spit it out soon?"
Julian opened his mouth, then closed it again, then opened it.
"The butler. My man, White."
"The one with the face like a slapped arse, yes, I know. He loathes me."
"How did you know he loathes you?"
"Most people do, my lord," Patrick said, softly.
"In any case, it's not relevant." Julian gripped his hands in the bedclothes tighter. "My father is not the late Lord Stornaway. White is."
"What?"
Now he'd said it, it seemed his mouth wanted only to babble.
"White is my father, not Lord Stornaway. He is your father. You are the heir. The odd thing is, I wouldn't hardly care, except that for all these years I've kept you from your home. It's not right."
"I don't understand. What are you talking about?"
Julian told him, watching Patrick's face change; amusement to disbelief to anger, until he flopped back onto the pillows and made a strange sound. Julian identified it finally as laughter.
"That bastard," Patrick said, flat on his back and staring up at the deep green canopy.
Julian lay carefully next to him and took his hand, staring up. The canopy was embroidered with flowers and leaves. In the middle were Eve and Adam and a serpent. Patrick made a sound and laced their fingers together, and Julian had no idea what to say.
"A scholar recently placed the original site of the garden of Eden in Turkey," he said, eventually. "In the mysterious northern mountains."
"Mountains? That sounds too cold," Patrick said, turning his head to look at him. "The pictures always show it as sunny and warm."
Patrick's mouth was very close and his eyes were narrowed. Julian's throat went dry, for no particular reason.
"We should go and look for it ourselves," Julian said. "Together."
Patrick seemed to study him, looking into his eyes as if he could see every thought in Julian's mind.
"So already you want to tear me away from my rightful inheritance?" he said.
"No! What? You can have it all. I don't care. Really, I --"
Patrick clapped a hand over his mouth and rolled on top of him. He smiled in a slow way that made Julian's blood surge. Somehow, one finger found its way between Julian's lips, sliding over his tongue. Julian sucked on it and moaned.
"Shh," Patrick said, dipping his head lower. "Or I'll fill your mouth with something bigger."
They tumbled together until Patrick was on top of him, heavy and very warm, pressing Julian face down into the bed with his solid weight. He thrust in smooth and quickly this time, oil spilling messily over Julian's skin and running into the small of his back. Patrick barely moved. Instead he laced his fingers tightly through Julian's and rocked into him, hardly going deep at all until Julian began to moan for it.
"Look at me," Patrick said in his ear. His breath was hot on Julian's skin and his voice was tight. "I want to see your face."
Julian turned his head and heard Patrick's soft curses; coarse words about his pretty mouth and his eyes and how hot and tight he was. How good a fuck he was. They were kissing, slow and messy, when Patrick came. He thrust in deep and hard finally, his mouth open and his whole body trembling.
"Julian," he gasped, and shoved his hand under Julian's stomach.
"Too late," Julian said, as Patrick's hand slid through the wet sticky mess that was trapped between his stomach and the sheets.
"Oh," Patrick whispered.
"You make me feel too much," Julian said.
Patrick kissed the back of Julian's neck and didn't say anything. He pulled out in small gentle movements and then settled next to Julian's side. Julian listened to his soft breathing, then turned to look at him. Their gazes met and held for a long time.
There was a low knock at the door, just once. White.
"May I enter, my lord? I have news."
Patrick put a hand on his arm and shook his head violently, but Julian shook him off.
"Come in," he said.
White narrowed his eyes at Patrick's bare leg, which was poking out from under the tumbled sheets, but said nothing. He looked at Julian as coldly as if Julian were a table or a chair, not his son.
"Do I disgust you?" Julian said, sitting up. "I'm sorry," he said, although he was sure he didn't mean it the moment the words left his mouth.
White fetched over a nightshirt and seemed not to have heard him. He should be sorry. He cared for White. After all, White had cared for him for years, but he couldn't think of him as anything other than his servant.
"Mister Stone has arrived, my lord. He wishes to speak with you and says it is an urgent matter. What shall I tell him?"
Patrick tensed up next to him, then threw back the bedclothes got out, naked but for the marks that Julian had left on his skin. He began to drag on his shirt and his breeches.
"What do you think you're doing?" Julian said.
"Leaving," Patrick said. "Are you blind?"
"But why?"
"The small matter of a noose, my dear."
"Don't be silly. I'll protect you."
Patrick pulled on his stockings. "You? Perhaps you could talk the sheriff to death."
Julian reached out and grabbed Patrick's wrist. He didn't let go, even when Patrick tried to tug away. He watched Patrick's eyes widen.
"I'm not letting them take you from me," he said. "White. Tell Mister Stone I'll be with him in half an hour. Serve him cakes and tea."
"The abbot is with him, sir," said White, as calmly as if Julian were not kneeling entirely naked on the bed.
"You'd better fetch wine too, in that case," Julian said.
"Yes, sir."
When White left, Patrick pushed away his hand. He sighed and dragged a hand through his hair, making it look even more tangled.
"Whatever dreams you have about the two of us, it won't work," he said. "You can see that, can't you?"
"Dreams?" Julian said. His belly went cold at the bitter look on Patrick's face. "I don't dream. I'm going to keep you with me. I mean it. Or are you calling me a liar?"
"No!" And then his voice faltered. "What's-- what's your plan?"
"Do you have the things that you stole?"
"Yes," Patrick said, "But-- "
"Simple. You can give them back and everyone will be happy. Now please take your things off and wash. We should present ourselves as nicely as possible."
***
Harry had expected a fight, perhaps another chase. He had not thought to be seated in the drawing room and served tea and cakes. They were awfully good cakes though. He ate three and only made himself stop when he noticed the abbot watching him.
"Sorry," he mumbled, and dabbed a napkin at his lips in case of stray crumbs.
"It's none of my concern," the abbot replied.
"Perhaps you should try one?" Harry said. “It might help soak up the wine.”
For his trouble, he got the abbot's walking stick planted firmly on his toes as the abbot leaned forward to pour himself another glass. "I'm sorry? I don't think I heard that."
Harry was trying not to wince too obviously when the double doors opened, and the butler announced Lord Stornaway, "and friend." The friend was Patrick Crowtrees. Harry shot up out of his seat, but the abbot dragged him back down.
"No more ill advised rampages and head injuries," the abbot said. "Now is a time for negotiation."
"There will be no negotiation," Lord Stornaway said. He sat on the sofa across from them, and Crowtrees sat beside him, much closer than seemed proper. "Patrick is mine, and I won't give him up."
All of them stared at him, even, Harry noticed, Crowtrees. There was faint colour in his cheeks, but he didn't move away from Stornaway's hand on his shoulder.
Harry didn't know quite where to go from there. It was always more complicated when the nobility were involved, but he'd never had anyone flat out refuse to let him arrest someone, especially not someone who was as clearly guilty as Crowtrees. "My lord," he started carefully, "this man has committed serious crimes. It's my job to--"
"I don't care about your job. He's only taken a few things, and he says he'll give them back. It's all settled, and I'll vouch for his good behaviour."
Harry and Crowtrees were set back to silent staring by that announcement, but not the abbot. He laughed, a short, rusty sound. "You're certainly your father's son," he said.
"You're mistaken in that."
"You're mistaken as to which father I'm speaking of."
Their eyes met and held, and while their expressions clearly conveyed a goodly amount to each other, they failed to give Harry so much as a hint. Even Crowtrees seemed to be on the same chapter as the other two, if perhaps not reading along quite as fast.
Harry tugged the abbot's sleeve. "He only has one father. Unless I've missed some basic element of human biology."
The abbot snorted. "I wouldn't be surprised. Are you going to explain, my lord?"
"I think I would rather that you explain how you came to know a secret I only learned of yesterday. Did White tell you?"
"Why would he? No. It was your mother, ill and worried over the fate of her eldest son."
"Eldest?" Harry echoed. "But there was only..."
"Her eldest and only legitimate son, Patrick Stornaway."
Harry felt there should be a gasp at that point, a crack of thunder, or some moment of drama, but since he was apparently the only one who hadn't known, there wasn't. Crowtrees looked deeply uncomfortable and shifted in his seat. Stornaway yawned.
"If this is true," Harry said.
"It's true," Stornaway and the abbot said together.
"This changes everything," Harry said. He looked at each of them in turn, but none of them seemed to be getting it. "Very likely the complaints will be dropped, the local ones at least, once it gets out who he is, but...my lord...I mean." He looked at Stornaway, or whatever his name was now. "You cannot vouch for anyone. You have no land, no money, no livelihood. You don't seem to realize how serious this is, my--ah."
"Julian will do. Don't strain yourself."
"Julian," Harry said seriously. "Once all of this is worked out, he might turn you out of this house with nothing."
"He won't. He is my brother."
"A bit more than that, I think," the abbot said.
They were giving each other that knowing look again, and Harry'd had just about enough of that. "Will someone tell me please what you mean by that? There have been more than enough secrets today, and I am heartily tired of them."
"I'll explain it later," the abbot said.
"Explain it now. Please."
"We're fucking," Crowtrees said. "Are you going to arrest me for that?"
Harry gaped. Another dramatic moment passed with no thunder or other outward mark, but Harry felt oddly shaken within himself. He'd never known a man who would admit to such an act. He'd thought, if he'd considered it at all, that it would show somehow.
"I should," he said. "I mean to say. I must. It's--against the laws of God and man, and--and he's your half-brother as well. The law is...very clear." He found himself looking at the abbot. It couldn't be right, could it? But they clung to each other so, and he couldn't remember seeing Stornaway--Julian--so vehement about anything as he was about keeping Crowtrees by his side.
"What will you do?" the abbot asked Julian, as if Harry hadn't said a word.
"A journey, perhaps," Julian said. "It would allow for a period of change, for people to adjust to a new state of affairs. They'll like him, you know. Much better than they like me."
The abbot gave a grunt that could mean almost anything and took a lengthy drink of his wine. He was giving Crowtrees a sour look. Harry still had no idea what to say next. All this startling new knowledge felt like it was crowding out any other thought.
"How well fitted are you for your duties as lord of the parish?" the abbott said. "I won't stand for you acting like an idiot."
Crowtrees scowled. "And I won't stand for you trying to throw your weight around."
"Good. So, it seems we've said all that's necessary," Julian broke in, standing abruptly.
"But, wait-- " Harry began, then broke off. They looked at him, all three pairs of eyes focussed on him, just waiting. He was sure there was lots more to discuss, but right at this moment he couldn't bring it to mind. "Nothing," he said.
Crowtrees fished in his pocket for something, then tossed it at Harry. It was his money clip, with the notes intact.
"Here. Before I change my mind," he said, and then he grinned.
Harry was sure he'd never had anyone smile at him like that before. It was part infuriating and more than half charming. He wasn't going to be charmed. He wouldn't allow it.
"Come along," he said, almost dragging the abbot to his feet. "We're leaving."
He rode with Father Luke to the abbey gates. They didn't speak, until the abbot turned to him.
"Are you shocked?" he said, quietly.
"No."
"You mean yes."
"You seemed to know a lot about it. Don't you care what they're doing? It's not right!"
He hadn't mean to shout, he really hadn't, but the abbot shrugged.
"It's not my place to judge them," he said. "There'll be plenty enough of that for them as it is." Then, "Are you still hungry? You look hungry."
Harry realised he was famished.
***
Julian stood by the window, half in the shadows, and watched Patrick greet his guests. Or really, their guests, since while the estate might now be his, Julian still seemed to do the actual work required to keep it running, including organizing this ball. He didn't mind. Actually, he was glad. Patrick was very good with people, even the servants--excluding White, obviously--but his organising skills were essentially non-existent. It was better this way, with Patrick so glowing and joyful and Julian finally relieved of the necessity of speaking to his neighbours.
All the same, he found himself wishing there was some way Patrick could enjoy himself with the dancing and flattery of young women and still be over here with him at the same time. But there wasn't, so Julian watched.
Patrick was perfect in every particular, from cravat to polished boots, the shine of his eyes to the sapphire pin that matched them exactly. Julian had bought it for him, since Patrick seemed as yet incapable of realizing that he could actually spend his money. He was dancing now with Maud Beckett and giving her far more reason to hope for a productive conclusion to their relationship than she'd ever had from Julian.
Julian wondered suddenly, would he want to marry? He could, certainly. Julian looked sharply at him, as if such an intention might show on his face. He found Patrick looking back at him and watched his face light up when their eyes met.
The dance ended just then and Patrick left his partner to make his way to Julian's side. Julian drew him further into the shadows, into a small alcove inhabited only by the bust of a no-necked ancestor. He opened his mouth, unsure what to say, and Patrick kissed him.
"Oh," Julian said faintly, watching Patrick grin at him from two inches away.
"You don't look like you're having fun at my party, my lord."
"I wasn't, but I think I am now."
"I'm glad to hear it." Patrick's fingers slid along his jaw and down his neck, tipping his head up for another kiss.
"We shouldn't do this here," Julian said, between their light, soft kisses.
Not far away he could hear that damned doctor, his voice all low and smooth. The music was loud and fast, and from the hall could be heard high raised voices and laughter. Mister Stone had come and had spent most of the evening wearing out the energies of all the Misses Barnham.
"You say that as if you care," Patrick said.
"I care that your breeches hide nothing. The same as mine," Julian said. "Anyone could find us."
His own voice was interestingly breathy and he was aware that he might be fighting a battle that was already lost. Patrick seemed to think so, because he slipped his hands around Julian's waist and pulled him close, winding his arms around him so that they were crushed together. Julian was sure there couldn't be a sliver of space between them. It was almost painfully exciting.
"What if someone sees?" he asked, as Patrick pressed him back to the wall, as forcefully as if they were entirely alone.
Patrick stopped for a moment, studying him, then kissed him, so violently that they jostled the bust. It rattled on its plinth and Patrick drew back.
"We're leaving, so why would we care?" He touched Julian's face and was silent for a long moment. "In any case," he said, his voice a shade too loud. "I don't mind owning to this. To wanting you," he said.
"All of society will mind," said Julian. "They mind about me already, and I'm only a little odd."
"Only a little?"
Patrick grinned and stroked over Julian's hips, coaxing him closer with little tugs. When Patrick smiled like that, Julian could nearly forget where they were. He thought of all their faces out there, if they knew. Picturing their shock gave him an almost physical jolt of pleasure.
"One day you'll want to come back," he said, taking a slow breath.
"With you. We can live here."
They were still looking at each other, still silent, when Stone stuck his head around the edge of the alcove. He didn't seem at all surprised. He tapped Patrick rudely on the arm.
"Come out now, before I have to dance any more with Emily Barnham." He glanced at Julian, almost shyly. "Are you going to dance too, my lord?"
He still hadn't got out of the habit of calling him that, but this time, Julian didn't remind him. It hardly mattered now. Patrick pulled away, smiling at him softly and secretly.
"No. I think I'll just stay here and watch," Julian said.
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