Velvet Petals, Piercing Thorns - Chapter Fifteen, Part Two
Title: Velvet Petals, Piercing Thorns - Chapter Fifteen, Part Two (Prologue+15/23)
Media: Fic
Author: a_glass_parade
Beta: mothergoddamn
Rating: Rated R
Pairing: Klaine endgame, bumps along the way.
Genre: Romance, AU, Historical Fiction
Warnings: This is essentially a romance novel set in a violent time. There will be, throughout the story, sexual liaisons, murder, torture, sexual blackmail, and political incorrectness.
Spoilers: While events and references from both seasons of Glee may be adapted and worked into the story occasionally, it's otherwise fully AU.
Word Count: Story: 81,000+ This Chapter: 7000+
Summary: England, 1484: The forces of Lancaster see Edward Blaine Anderson, Viscount Dalton, as key to their plans to retake and hold the throne of England. Allies of the House of York have come to the same conclusion and want to stop that from happening. Their secret weapon will be Kurt Hummel, stableman's son and reluctant spy.
Additional Notes: This is written in the vein of your typical historical romance novel with all the historical liberties taken that you'd expect. I do try to be as historically accurate as is feasible, though. There are some historical and some original characters that interact with the characters we know.
If you haven't read any of this before, you can start HERE to read it on LJ or HERE to read it on AO3.
Twenty days.
Kurt ignored the fleeting thought while moving swiftly to his bedchamber in order to clean up for the evening meal. Not that he had much to clean, but he knew Emma would all but check behind his ears when he entered the dining hall, and he was intent on remaining on her good side. So, a wash up it was.
Twenty days, his frustrated mind - and groin - piped up again, making him slap the wall he was passing, the irritated thump echoing off of the other walls in the corridor. It had been that long since he and Blaine had done more than exchange stolen kisses in passing moments. Time kept them restricted to longing glances and surreptitious hand claspings, and even those were limited by the need to keep their relationship secret and safe.
Lovemaking had gone by the wayside almost as soon as they'd been able to initiate it, a fact that made Kurt grind his teeth. They'd had one more night together before war planning took Blaine away from him, a night in which Kurt had discovered exactly what movements of his tongue against the warm thickness of Blaine's cock made his lover fall apart and emit the most glorious sounds he'd ever had the very good fortune to hear.
He wanted more of that, more of all they'd done together. While the visiting nobles had been nothing but courteous to Kurt since they'd arrived that morning, he already had moments where he hated every last one of them for what they represented: the complete and total monopolization of his time with Blaine. For that matter, he even disliked the King quite intensely - after all, this was war planning, and no war went on in England without the King being involved. Therefore, Kurt had decided, this was all King Richard's fault.
Stomping into his room, Kurt managed to not slam the door behind him in irritation, though it was a close thing. He went right over to the basin in the corner and took up a cloth for his washing up. The crackle of parchment caught his attention, making him look at what lay next to the neat pile of face cloths.
St. James' latest letter. He'd cast it onto the table by the basin when he felt the intense need to wash his hands after handling it. Not that it was much different from his previous letters - the threats to his father, so often stated, were almost but not quite losing their edge of terror. He would never take the risk that Jesse might not mean what he threatened, but the words weren't the same punch to the gut that they had been when this horrifying stretch of time in his life had begun.
What did send a shiver through him were the last words of the vile thing.
Don't make me come to you, Renner. I'll be most put out if I have to take time from my responsibilities to come...”educate” you...and you'll find it much more difficult to entice our young Viscount if you're not quite as pretty as you were before I paid my visit.
It had escalated into direct threats upon his person now. That in itself did not really bother him. He could defend himself well enough - though he did make a mental note to ask Blaine for some sort of weapons education, even if it was only the most rudimentary of lessons.
He simply did not want Jesse St. James anywhere near Blaine. At all. Kurt could not keep his father away from Jesse, not while Burt refused to leave Raglan Castle. Kurt brought it up obliquely in every letter home and Burt still would not entertain the notion for a moment, citing again his luck in working for such a man as the Earl of Huntingdon. There was nothing to do about his father, though it made Kurt's eyes sting with tears to acknowledge that.
Blaine, however, Kurt could actively defend. And his first line of defense would have to be his written word. He would have to say whatever was needed to keep Jesse from coming to Oxford and Dalton. He needed more time to find a way out of all of this and keep everyone safe.
Drying off his face and hands, Kurt sat at his desk and began composing his return letter, making it brief yet clear.
I think it will interest you to know, he wrote, his stomach tangling into knots with every carefully scrawled letter, that the Viscount and I have progressed to more physical contact.
Confessing that - even if the confession was in actuality over a month old - made Kurt want to throw up. It felt as though he were handing something precious over to someone he didn't trust not to break it. Swallowing hard, he wrote on. It is not at the stage that you wish it to be. The Viscount is curiously reluctant to proceed. I can only imagine that he, like myself, is new to what we do and what that entails.
And wasn't that a baldfaced lie. Kurt almost snickered as he touched his quill back to the parchment. Blaine may have had only one lover before now, but he'd evidently been an apt and eager pupil. Kurt had not one single regret about leaving his virginity in the dust, not with Blaine leading him on the journey.
It was difficult to believe that only eight months ago he was an awkward, inexperienced stableman who had only just discovered that it was possible to be attracted to men.
Kurt allowed himself only a brief moment to revel in the memory of the last night he and Blaine had spent together - sweat and tangled limbs and oh, the feeling of Blaine inside of him that frustrated him with knowing that it was as close as it was humanly possible to get to each other, his blinding desire to be able to crawl under his lover's skin and touch his heart and soul, sinking his teeth into Blaine's slick shoulder to muffle his shout as he hit his peak, Blaine shuddering as this brought him over, collapsing down to cover Kurt with his warm body, to nuzzle his lips where neck met shoulder and breathe his satisfaction into Kurt's skin.
Thinking of it, picturing it in vivid detail, this strengthened Kurt's resolve. Jesse St. James could not come anywhere close to discovering that, to touching it, to tainting it with his odious presence. Setting his mouth in a tight line, he bent his head over the parchment once more to add closing lines.
Rest assured that I shall redouble my efforts. I believe it to be only a matter of time. There is no need for you to trouble yourself with the long journey. I will keep you informed.
--F. Renner
Kurt frowned at his signature. He'd still not gotten accustomed to scribing out the name that wasn't his. It was an effort every time to keep himself from scratching out Kurt Hummel.
Worse than that was having to hear Blaine whisper the wrong name between fevered kisses and in the moments of their deepest intimacy. It cut into Kurt's heart with each intonation. That's not me, it's not me, it never has been!
With a savage intensity that he reserved for these moments, Kurt folded the letter shut and sealed it, the wax like a blob of blood as he brought the ring he used as his seal violently down into it, spattering droplets all over the parchment and the desktop. The blurred imprint of a horseshoe firmed in the cooling wax, both reminder and mockery to Kurt's troubled mind.
He could not wait to rid himself of the burden of the thing. Closing his eyes, Kurt imagined how the next morning would go. He would enjoy his ride in the April breezes, smelling the fresh scents of spring and delighting in the bursts of color from the trees and flowers. He would revel in the feel of sitting atop a horse for the first time in months, in the gentle pull of the reins and the supple creak of leather. When he arrived at the Puckermans' shop, he would divest himself of the letter, would claim his music and would spend a delightful time conversing with the couple. Noah would be as suspicious and taciturn as he ever was, Rachel's cheerful garrulousness dominating their time together and making Kurt laugh affectionately at her flights of fancy.
Then he would return to the manor, free once more of the threat of his obligation...until the next letter came, but he would not worry about that prematurely. Somewhat calmer now, Kurt bustled around the room with last minute preparations before heading to the dining hall, combing his hair neatly back and tucking the letter destined for Raglan into his satchel.
He was getting desperate, Kurt realized as he carefully hid the letter from Jesse before departing for dinner. This could not go on much longer. Unease crawled down his back as he acknowledged for the first time that despite his best efforts, blood would almost certainly have to be shed before he could manage to end this.
With luck, Kurt thought viciously as he made his way downstairs, it will be St. James' blood.
He tried not to think about the fact that with each day this went on, he lost more and more innocence. Tried not to wonder if, when all was said and done, there'd be anything left of the real Kurt Hummel.
If he'd be able to look into a mirror and still recognize the man who gazed back at him.
~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~
Blaine watched the next morning as Florian rode off on his errand, admiring the brief glimpse of well muscled thigh and calf at work directing Granite in his movements. What I would not give for just a moment or two alone with him.
“My Lord?”
He turned away from the window in his study to face David. “Er. Apologies. Yes?”
“The others are ready whenever you are.” The Marshal gestured around the room where the various Barons and Viscounts were scattered around speaking low to each other while they waited. Blaine stifled a sigh, squaring his shoulders to meet his duty head on.
Six more days. He just had to keep his head on straight for the next several days. After all, the fate of the nation rested on his shoulders, not his cock. Though the idea of the latter made for some entertaining considerations.
“My Lord!”
At David's annoyed bark, he pushed away his salacious thoughts and focused. “Gentlemen. Thank you for returning. Nicholas tells me that you all have more questions for me...”
Four hours later, Blaine thought that if he had to live through six more days of this that it would kill him. His brain whirled with questions and options and Trent's stentorious posturing. By the time he'd dismissed them all for lunch he wasn't sure if he would rather murder them or commit suicide by throwing himself off of the prison tower.
He elected instead to simply go to his room in hopes of catching a brief nap before he had to go back and enter the fray all over again. He trudged up the stairs slowly, head down, heavy with dread and responsibility.
Six more days of trying to convince his friends to volunteer to die.
So wrapped up in his dark thoughts was he that he very literally ran into Florian at the top of the stairs. Blaine blinked at the feel of velvet and muscle under his hands as he reached out in reflex to grip the other main's waist, preventing him from falling over. In a matter of seconds the clouds had been burned away from his brain by lust and one throbbing thought: I only need to get him alone for a moment.
Florian began to speak while Blaine's mind was racing. “I came back a bit earlier than I expected - Rachel isn't feeling well. I have your music in - ”
“Shh.” Blaine placed a finger over Florian's mouth to silence him, while looking around to assess their options. Grasping at his wrist, Blaine dragged him towards a door at the end of the corridor. "Here. We won't have long." He had the door flung open in an instant to reveal a small linen closet, full of shelves lined with towels, bedsheets, and coverlets. "In here!"
But Florian was balking. "What are you - Blaine. It's a linen closet."
"And we have a handful of moments in it at most, come, please Florian." He reached back and grabbed both of his lover's hands, using all of the strength in his trained fighter's body to haul him into the tiny room before yanking the door shut behind them and attaching his lips to Florian's throat. "No time to get up to anything really marvelous," he mumbled around the mouthful of soft skin. "But I needed to taste you."
All reluctance was gone from Florian as soon as the door closed and they were fully alone for the first time in far, far too long. "Oh, God, Blaine, when do they leave? There's no way this is enough." Florian was grinding his hips up against Blaine, fingers knotted firmly into his dark curls and holding him tight to his throat. "I need you."
"Another sennight and I'm yours, lover, for a time anyway." Blaine's cock was fair bursting out of his hose, and he felt Florian's was much the same. He wanted to weep for their inability to do anything about either of them. "Spring's here...have to take you down to the -"
Light flooded the tiny closet, blinding the two of them and causing them to shout. In return, they both heard a tiny gasp - too tiny for them to place who it was. Both men squinted towards the open door, trying to make out the indistinct figure there.
Sight resolved for Blaine first. He groaned in mingled relief and exasperation at what he could now see was a woman in the doorway, backlit by sunlight streaming through the open windows of the corridor It turned her golden curls into a nimbus of light and made her easily identifiable once he could see.
"I knew," Amelia sighed, "that it was too much to ask to not catch you in here again, Blaine. At least this time everyone's got all of their clothes on."
"Oh, God, it's Amelia." Florian buried his face in Blaine's hair. "Blaine, you are terrible at this secrecy thing."
"You followed me in here," Blaine protested.
"You dragged me in here. Bodily. Remind me next time that you have no idea what you're doing," countered his bashful paramour.
"If everyone is quite finished," Amelia interjected, "Then I would very much appreciate it if Florian could hand me that stack of pillow covers on the shelf that's above his head?"
Florian did so without a word, reaching up and passing the pile of linens over to his student while keeping his embarrassed glare firmly trained on Blaine, who threw up his hands. “I'm sorry!”
“She's caught you in here before,” Florian sniped, pointing at Amelia. “You have been caught in here before! And you still thought it was a good idea to come back here! Your head, Blaine - I would greatly like to know where it is, sometimes.”
“In my trousers, apparently,” grumbled the Viscount. “Well, I can see this is a lost cause.”
“Oh, piffle, Blaine.” Amelia leaned up on her toes to give him a smacking kiss on the cheek. “Meet me in the music library tonight, you two. I'll let you cuddle all you want and not make one face at you.”
Florian tilted his head and gave her a dubious look. “Why are you not disembowling us for not telling you sooner?”
“Because I know you'll both try to buy my silence and I like presents,” was the prompt and overly honest reply. “I shall see you this evening!” Gathering her pile of fabric closer to her chest, Amelia beamed a sunny smile at them and bustled off in a whirl of brocaded skirts.
The two men leaned against opposite shelves and regarded each other with glumness. “Should we be worried at how accurate her assessment of us is?” wondered Florian aloud.
“You may. It's been my entire life, I'm used to it,” was Blaine's disgruntled reply. “I suppose we'd better get out of here before someone else comes along.”
“Yes,” agreed Florian. “I think if Emma caught us, I'd instantly demolish all of the good will I've managed to build up with her.”
Blaine pushed off of his shelf and moved to wrap his arms around his lover. “And that's a commodity precious as gold, not to be squandered or wasted.” He sighed and tipped his mouth up to press a slow, lazy kiss against Florian's lips. “A bit like time with you. Alas. I do miss you.”
“And I you.” They stood pressed close for a moment, long enough to feel each other's heartbeats before parting. “We'd better go.” Slowly, Florian disengaged, and they carefully made their way out of the closet without encountering anyone. “You said you wanted to take me somewhere. Where?”
Blaine frowned in thought. “I did? Where would I - oh! Yes. The lake.” He flashed a quick, boyish smile at Florian's curious face. “I've a lake. I'd like to ride down to it one day with you. Have a picnic, perhaps?”
A look of delight crossed Florian's face. “I should like that very much. Riding Granite today was glorious, I'll take any opportunity to ride a horse again.”
“Oh, and the time spent with me, that means nothing to you, then?” Blaine grinned impishly at Florian's blush. “No, no, it's quite all right, I've only just risked my reputation for a romp in the linen cupboard with you, nothing to worry about.”
For the second or third time since they'd entered their relationship, Blaine watched something dark flicker behind Florian's eyes before his lover put on a bright smile and nudged him in the arm, chattering about how of course he hadn't meant it that way, he also looked forward to spending time with Blaine, and so forth. Blaine only listened with half his attention, the other half idly contemplating the puzzle of the things Florian didn't tell him, the dark thoughts lurking at the back of his mind that sometimes shadowed their conversations.
They'd spent most of their time together reveling in their physical attraction and mutual carnality. They didn't really talk about themselves - Blaine hadn't even known until yesterday that he and Florian both knew the pain of lost parents. Was that not something that should have come up before? Why had he never bothered to ask?
All he truly knew was that Florian sang, that he taught music, that he was skilled with horses, had lived in Wales, was a little ticklish...and that sometimes he thought of things that disturbed him, though Blaine couldn't yet work out what triggered the brief spells of darkness.
Stubbornly, his brain - so steeped in strategy and planning these last weeks and so on high alert - tried to connect all of this with the potential mystery of David's inability to research Florian's past. There's so much you don't know, is the time before a battle really the time to have someone you don't truly know that close to you?
Just as stubbornly, Blaine pushed it all to the back of his consciousness and focused only on the play of sunlight in Florian's hair as they made their way down the corridor before separating. The time before a battle is when I need to hold close those things which bring me the most joy, so that there are bright moments in the darkest hours.
By the time he arrived at his room and had closed his eyes to allow himself a few precious moments of rest, he had almost convinced himself that he was right.
...Chapter Sixteen...
Media: Fic
Author: a_glass_parade
Beta: mothergoddamn
Rating: Rated R
Pairing: Klaine endgame, bumps along the way.
Genre: Romance, AU, Historical Fiction
Warnings: This is essentially a romance novel set in a violent time. There will be, throughout the story, sexual liaisons, murder, torture, sexual blackmail, and political incorrectness.
Spoilers: While events and references from both seasons of Glee may be adapted and worked into the story occasionally, it's otherwise fully AU.
Word Count: Story: 81,000+ This Chapter: 7000+
Summary: England, 1484: The forces of Lancaster see Edward Blaine Anderson, Viscount Dalton, as key to their plans to retake and hold the throne of England. Allies of the House of York have come to the same conclusion and want to stop that from happening. Their secret weapon will be Kurt Hummel, stableman's son and reluctant spy.
Additional Notes: This is written in the vein of your typical historical romance novel with all the historical liberties taken that you'd expect. I do try to be as historically accurate as is feasible, though. There are some historical and some original characters that interact with the characters we know.
If you haven't read any of this before, you can start HERE to read it on LJ or HERE to read it on AO3.
Twenty days.
Kurt ignored the fleeting thought while moving swiftly to his bedchamber in order to clean up for the evening meal. Not that he had much to clean, but he knew Emma would all but check behind his ears when he entered the dining hall, and he was intent on remaining on her good side. So, a wash up it was.
Twenty days, his frustrated mind - and groin - piped up again, making him slap the wall he was passing, the irritated thump echoing off of the other walls in the corridor. It had been that long since he and Blaine had done more than exchange stolen kisses in passing moments. Time kept them restricted to longing glances and surreptitious hand claspings, and even those were limited by the need to keep their relationship secret and safe.
Lovemaking had gone by the wayside almost as soon as they'd been able to initiate it, a fact that made Kurt grind his teeth. They'd had one more night together before war planning took Blaine away from him, a night in which Kurt had discovered exactly what movements of his tongue against the warm thickness of Blaine's cock made his lover fall apart and emit the most glorious sounds he'd ever had the very good fortune to hear.
He wanted more of that, more of all they'd done together. While the visiting nobles had been nothing but courteous to Kurt since they'd arrived that morning, he already had moments where he hated every last one of them for what they represented: the complete and total monopolization of his time with Blaine. For that matter, he even disliked the King quite intensely - after all, this was war planning, and no war went on in England without the King being involved. Therefore, Kurt had decided, this was all King Richard's fault.
Stomping into his room, Kurt managed to not slam the door behind him in irritation, though it was a close thing. He went right over to the basin in the corner and took up a cloth for his washing up. The crackle of parchment caught his attention, making him look at what lay next to the neat pile of face cloths.
St. James' latest letter. He'd cast it onto the table by the basin when he felt the intense need to wash his hands after handling it. Not that it was much different from his previous letters - the threats to his father, so often stated, were almost but not quite losing their edge of terror. He would never take the risk that Jesse might not mean what he threatened, but the words weren't the same punch to the gut that they had been when this horrifying stretch of time in his life had begun.
What did send a shiver through him were the last words of the vile thing.
Don't make me come to you, Renner. I'll be most put out if I have to take time from my responsibilities to come...”educate” you...and you'll find it much more difficult to entice our young Viscount if you're not quite as pretty as you were before I paid my visit.
It had escalated into direct threats upon his person now. That in itself did not really bother him. He could defend himself well enough - though he did make a mental note to ask Blaine for some sort of weapons education, even if it was only the most rudimentary of lessons.
He simply did not want Jesse St. James anywhere near Blaine. At all. Kurt could not keep his father away from Jesse, not while Burt refused to leave Raglan Castle. Kurt brought it up obliquely in every letter home and Burt still would not entertain the notion for a moment, citing again his luck in working for such a man as the Earl of Huntingdon. There was nothing to do about his father, though it made Kurt's eyes sting with tears to acknowledge that.
Blaine, however, Kurt could actively defend. And his first line of defense would have to be his written word. He would have to say whatever was needed to keep Jesse from coming to Oxford and Dalton. He needed more time to find a way out of all of this and keep everyone safe.
Drying off his face and hands, Kurt sat at his desk and began composing his return letter, making it brief yet clear.
I think it will interest you to know, he wrote, his stomach tangling into knots with every carefully scrawled letter, that the Viscount and I have progressed to more physical contact.
Confessing that - even if the confession was in actuality over a month old - made Kurt want to throw up. It felt as though he were handing something precious over to someone he didn't trust not to break it. Swallowing hard, he wrote on. It is not at the stage that you wish it to be. The Viscount is curiously reluctant to proceed. I can only imagine that he, like myself, is new to what we do and what that entails.
And wasn't that a baldfaced lie. Kurt almost snickered as he touched his quill back to the parchment. Blaine may have had only one lover before now, but he'd evidently been an apt and eager pupil. Kurt had not one single regret about leaving his virginity in the dust, not with Blaine leading him on the journey.
It was difficult to believe that only eight months ago he was an awkward, inexperienced stableman who had only just discovered that it was possible to be attracted to men.
Kurt allowed himself only a brief moment to revel in the memory of the last night he and Blaine had spent together - sweat and tangled limbs and oh, the feeling of Blaine inside of him that frustrated him with knowing that it was as close as it was humanly possible to get to each other, his blinding desire to be able to crawl under his lover's skin and touch his heart and soul, sinking his teeth into Blaine's slick shoulder to muffle his shout as he hit his peak, Blaine shuddering as this brought him over, collapsing down to cover Kurt with his warm body, to nuzzle his lips where neck met shoulder and breathe his satisfaction into Kurt's skin.
Thinking of it, picturing it in vivid detail, this strengthened Kurt's resolve. Jesse St. James could not come anywhere close to discovering that, to touching it, to tainting it with his odious presence. Setting his mouth in a tight line, he bent his head over the parchment once more to add closing lines.
Rest assured that I shall redouble my efforts. I believe it to be only a matter of time. There is no need for you to trouble yourself with the long journey. I will keep you informed.
--F. Renner
Kurt frowned at his signature. He'd still not gotten accustomed to scribing out the name that wasn't his. It was an effort every time to keep himself from scratching out Kurt Hummel.
Worse than that was having to hear Blaine whisper the wrong name between fevered kisses and in the moments of their deepest intimacy. It cut into Kurt's heart with each intonation. That's not me, it's not me, it never has been!
With a savage intensity that he reserved for these moments, Kurt folded the letter shut and sealed it, the wax like a blob of blood as he brought the ring he used as his seal violently down into it, spattering droplets all over the parchment and the desktop. The blurred imprint of a horseshoe firmed in the cooling wax, both reminder and mockery to Kurt's troubled mind.
He could not wait to rid himself of the burden of the thing. Closing his eyes, Kurt imagined how the next morning would go. He would enjoy his ride in the April breezes, smelling the fresh scents of spring and delighting in the bursts of color from the trees and flowers. He would revel in the feel of sitting atop a horse for the first time in months, in the gentle pull of the reins and the supple creak of leather. When he arrived at the Puckermans' shop, he would divest himself of the letter, would claim his music and would spend a delightful time conversing with the couple. Noah would be as suspicious and taciturn as he ever was, Rachel's cheerful garrulousness dominating their time together and making Kurt laugh affectionately at her flights of fancy.
Then he would return to the manor, free once more of the threat of his obligation...until the next letter came, but he would not worry about that prematurely. Somewhat calmer now, Kurt bustled around the room with last minute preparations before heading to the dining hall, combing his hair neatly back and tucking the letter destined for Raglan into his satchel.
He was getting desperate, Kurt realized as he carefully hid the letter from Jesse before departing for dinner. This could not go on much longer. Unease crawled down his back as he acknowledged for the first time that despite his best efforts, blood would almost certainly have to be shed before he could manage to end this.
With luck, Kurt thought viciously as he made his way downstairs, it will be St. James' blood.
He tried not to think about the fact that with each day this went on, he lost more and more innocence. Tried not to wonder if, when all was said and done, there'd be anything left of the real Kurt Hummel.
If he'd be able to look into a mirror and still recognize the man who gazed back at him.
~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~
Blaine watched the next morning as Florian rode off on his errand, admiring the brief glimpse of well muscled thigh and calf at work directing Granite in his movements. What I would not give for just a moment or two alone with him.
“My Lord?”
He turned away from the window in his study to face David. “Er. Apologies. Yes?”
“The others are ready whenever you are.” The Marshal gestured around the room where the various Barons and Viscounts were scattered around speaking low to each other while they waited. Blaine stifled a sigh, squaring his shoulders to meet his duty head on.
Six more days. He just had to keep his head on straight for the next several days. After all, the fate of the nation rested on his shoulders, not his cock. Though the idea of the latter made for some entertaining considerations.
“My Lord!”
At David's annoyed bark, he pushed away his salacious thoughts and focused. “Gentlemen. Thank you for returning. Nicholas tells me that you all have more questions for me...”
Four hours later, Blaine thought that if he had to live through six more days of this that it would kill him. His brain whirled with questions and options and Trent's stentorious posturing. By the time he'd dismissed them all for lunch he wasn't sure if he would rather murder them or commit suicide by throwing himself off of the prison tower.
He elected instead to simply go to his room in hopes of catching a brief nap before he had to go back and enter the fray all over again. He trudged up the stairs slowly, head down, heavy with dread and responsibility.
Six more days of trying to convince his friends to volunteer to die.
So wrapped up in his dark thoughts was he that he very literally ran into Florian at the top of the stairs. Blaine blinked at the feel of velvet and muscle under his hands as he reached out in reflex to grip the other main's waist, preventing him from falling over. In a matter of seconds the clouds had been burned away from his brain by lust and one throbbing thought: I only need to get him alone for a moment.
Florian began to speak while Blaine's mind was racing. “I came back a bit earlier than I expected - Rachel isn't feeling well. I have your music in - ”
“Shh.” Blaine placed a finger over Florian's mouth to silence him, while looking around to assess their options. Grasping at his wrist, Blaine dragged him towards a door at the end of the corridor. "Here. We won't have long." He had the door flung open in an instant to reveal a small linen closet, full of shelves lined with towels, bedsheets, and coverlets. "In here!"
But Florian was balking. "What are you - Blaine. It's a linen closet."
"And we have a handful of moments in it at most, come, please Florian." He reached back and grabbed both of his lover's hands, using all of the strength in his trained fighter's body to haul him into the tiny room before yanking the door shut behind them and attaching his lips to Florian's throat. "No time to get up to anything really marvelous," he mumbled around the mouthful of soft skin. "But I needed to taste you."
All reluctance was gone from Florian as soon as the door closed and they were fully alone for the first time in far, far too long. "Oh, God, Blaine, when do they leave? There's no way this is enough." Florian was grinding his hips up against Blaine, fingers knotted firmly into his dark curls and holding him tight to his throat. "I need you."
"Another sennight and I'm yours, lover, for a time anyway." Blaine's cock was fair bursting out of his hose, and he felt Florian's was much the same. He wanted to weep for their inability to do anything about either of them. "Spring's here...have to take you down to the -"
Light flooded the tiny closet, blinding the two of them and causing them to shout. In return, they both heard a tiny gasp - too tiny for them to place who it was. Both men squinted towards the open door, trying to make out the indistinct figure there.
Sight resolved for Blaine first. He groaned in mingled relief and exasperation at what he could now see was a woman in the doorway, backlit by sunlight streaming through the open windows of the corridor It turned her golden curls into a nimbus of light and made her easily identifiable once he could see.
"I knew," Amelia sighed, "that it was too much to ask to not catch you in here again, Blaine. At least this time everyone's got all of their clothes on."
"Oh, God, it's Amelia." Florian buried his face in Blaine's hair. "Blaine, you are terrible at this secrecy thing."
"You followed me in here," Blaine protested.
"You dragged me in here. Bodily. Remind me next time that you have no idea what you're doing," countered his bashful paramour.
"If everyone is quite finished," Amelia interjected, "Then I would very much appreciate it if Florian could hand me that stack of pillow covers on the shelf that's above his head?"
Florian did so without a word, reaching up and passing the pile of linens over to his student while keeping his embarrassed glare firmly trained on Blaine, who threw up his hands. “I'm sorry!”
“She's caught you in here before,” Florian sniped, pointing at Amelia. “You have been caught in here before! And you still thought it was a good idea to come back here! Your head, Blaine - I would greatly like to know where it is, sometimes.”
“In my trousers, apparently,” grumbled the Viscount. “Well, I can see this is a lost cause.”
“Oh, piffle, Blaine.” Amelia leaned up on her toes to give him a smacking kiss on the cheek. “Meet me in the music library tonight, you two. I'll let you cuddle all you want and not make one face at you.”
Florian tilted his head and gave her a dubious look. “Why are you not disembowling us for not telling you sooner?”
“Because I know you'll both try to buy my silence and I like presents,” was the prompt and overly honest reply. “I shall see you this evening!” Gathering her pile of fabric closer to her chest, Amelia beamed a sunny smile at them and bustled off in a whirl of brocaded skirts.
The two men leaned against opposite shelves and regarded each other with glumness. “Should we be worried at how accurate her assessment of us is?” wondered Florian aloud.
“You may. It's been my entire life, I'm used to it,” was Blaine's disgruntled reply. “I suppose we'd better get out of here before someone else comes along.”
“Yes,” agreed Florian. “I think if Emma caught us, I'd instantly demolish all of the good will I've managed to build up with her.”
Blaine pushed off of his shelf and moved to wrap his arms around his lover. “And that's a commodity precious as gold, not to be squandered or wasted.” He sighed and tipped his mouth up to press a slow, lazy kiss against Florian's lips. “A bit like time with you. Alas. I do miss you.”
“And I you.” They stood pressed close for a moment, long enough to feel each other's heartbeats before parting. “We'd better go.” Slowly, Florian disengaged, and they carefully made their way out of the closet without encountering anyone. “You said you wanted to take me somewhere. Where?”
Blaine frowned in thought. “I did? Where would I - oh! Yes. The lake.” He flashed a quick, boyish smile at Florian's curious face. “I've a lake. I'd like to ride down to it one day with you. Have a picnic, perhaps?”
A look of delight crossed Florian's face. “I should like that very much. Riding Granite today was glorious, I'll take any opportunity to ride a horse again.”
“Oh, and the time spent with me, that means nothing to you, then?” Blaine grinned impishly at Florian's blush. “No, no, it's quite all right, I've only just risked my reputation for a romp in the linen cupboard with you, nothing to worry about.”
For the second or third time since they'd entered their relationship, Blaine watched something dark flicker behind Florian's eyes before his lover put on a bright smile and nudged him in the arm, chattering about how of course he hadn't meant it that way, he also looked forward to spending time with Blaine, and so forth. Blaine only listened with half his attention, the other half idly contemplating the puzzle of the things Florian didn't tell him, the dark thoughts lurking at the back of his mind that sometimes shadowed their conversations.
They'd spent most of their time together reveling in their physical attraction and mutual carnality. They didn't really talk about themselves - Blaine hadn't even known until yesterday that he and Florian both knew the pain of lost parents. Was that not something that should have come up before? Why had he never bothered to ask?
All he truly knew was that Florian sang, that he taught music, that he was skilled with horses, had lived in Wales, was a little ticklish...and that sometimes he thought of things that disturbed him, though Blaine couldn't yet work out what triggered the brief spells of darkness.
Stubbornly, his brain - so steeped in strategy and planning these last weeks and so on high alert - tried to connect all of this with the potential mystery of David's inability to research Florian's past. There's so much you don't know, is the time before a battle really the time to have someone you don't truly know that close to you?
Just as stubbornly, Blaine pushed it all to the back of his consciousness and focused only on the play of sunlight in Florian's hair as they made their way down the corridor before separating. The time before a battle is when I need to hold close those things which bring me the most joy, so that there are bright moments in the darkest hours.
By the time he arrived at his room and had closed his eyes to allow himself a few precious moments of rest, he had almost convinced himself that he was right.
...Chapter Sixteen...