Fic: Aperitif (RPF, 18th C. Literature, Byron/Mary/Percy Shelley)
Title: Aperitif
Written for: Xochiquetzl in yuletide 2007
Characters/Pairings: Byron/Shelley/Mary Shelley
Rating: PG-13
Author's Notes: You know they were fucking like bunnies.
Summary: This is how all of those scandalous things seem to start, so innocently, all the things that people talk about around Europe.
Byron stretched on the floor. From his perch on the arm of the divan, Percy could see the line of his stomach, as his shirt had been pulled from his trousers hours ago, shortly after the cheese course. It wasn't that he'd eaten too much, indeed he barely ever ate much in one meal-- it was that he'd had too much port.
Mary's legs dangled next to him, her little slippers making her small feet even smaller. Percy raised his eyes from her to Byron's gaze. His eyes were slightly unfocused, but that was the wine. In their few short weeks here at Diodati, Percy had begun to understand the ways and means of his host.
"I think that Mary ought to take off her shoes and show us her exquisite feet," Byron said suddenly, drawing a smirk from Polidori. He propped himself up on one elbow and drew up his knee. Percy could see the boot clearly- the specially crafted one that held his misshapen foot. Something about it being there, in plain view, made him all the more sinister.
Mary wiggled her feet and didn't look up from her reading, a glass of wine in her hand. Behind her, Claire let Polidori pour her a glass of Laudanum. "You have seen my feet, my lord." To the inexperienced ear, Mary's flippant reply was grounds for apology. To the actual individuals in the room, Mary was administering one of her many subtle corrections, and it just remained yet to be seen whether Byron was willing to submit to her yoke.
"But such shapely feet," Byron said, slithering along the floor and reaching out to grasp one. "Shelley, how did you get a bride with such comely feet?" He winked at Percy through a comma of hair and wiggled the shoe-clad object.
John handed him a snifter of brandy, and Percy smiled at Byron. "I asked her to come, and she said yes."
"Oh did you?" Byron removed one of Mary's shoes, watching her face as she ignored him. Percy knew what game was starting here. He finished his brandy in one full swallow and wished Claire would share the Laudanum.
Mary wiggled her toes. "Is that sufficient?"
Byron reached further up her leg and felt for her stocking, his hand climbing higher than necessary. Mary's eyes still hadn't left her book, but Percy saw a faint glimmer of a smile.
"You know, Madame Shelley," he drawled, emphasizing the title she did not truly own, "allowing a man's appendage this far into your regions is rather scandalous." Percy could see Byron pat her knee. Then his hand emerged from her dress, her stocking hanging from his fingers.
Mary finally turned her head to stare at Byron before returning to her text. "Really, my lord, if you behave any more lecherously, I shall be forced to write you into my book." She smiled and accepted the fresh glass of wine from the ever-patient Polidori.
"As the villain, I hope?" Byron twirled the stocking with his hand.
"No, my lord," Mary replied, "but as a huge benefactor to all mankind."
When Byron threw the stocking at Percy, he caught it and threw it to the side. "Mary means to improve your reputation throughout the world." He smiled when Byron played at the coverings to his shoes.
"Ah, then I shall strive to fail miserably in all things from now on. Come now, Shelley, aren't you overdressed for the evening?"
Shelley pulled off one boot and began to work on the next when Mary closed her book and kicked off her other shoe. "I suppose I could be persuaded to write you in as a more unsavory individual," she relented, eyes roving over Byron's lank form sprawled out on the floor. Percy let her hand rove up his thigh for a moment before grabbing her other calf and removing the incongruent covering.
Byron threw his ascot in the fire and opened his arms to accept her form when she hovered, one hand on Percy's trousers, her lips hovering above his flushed cheeks. "Oh dear Mary, I shall aim to be at my worst, then."
END
Written for: Xochiquetzl in yuletide 2007
Characters/Pairings: Byron/Shelley/Mary Shelley
Rating: PG-13
Author's Notes: You know they were fucking like bunnies.
Summary: This is how all of those scandalous things seem to start, so innocently, all the things that people talk about around Europe.
Byron stretched on the floor. From his perch on the arm of the divan, Percy could see the line of his stomach, as his shirt had been pulled from his trousers hours ago, shortly after the cheese course. It wasn't that he'd eaten too much, indeed he barely ever ate much in one meal-- it was that he'd had too much port.
Mary's legs dangled next to him, her little slippers making her small feet even smaller. Percy raised his eyes from her to Byron's gaze. His eyes were slightly unfocused, but that was the wine. In their few short weeks here at Diodati, Percy had begun to understand the ways and means of his host.
"I think that Mary ought to take off her shoes and show us her exquisite feet," Byron said suddenly, drawing a smirk from Polidori. He propped himself up on one elbow and drew up his knee. Percy could see the boot clearly- the specially crafted one that held his misshapen foot. Something about it being there, in plain view, made him all the more sinister.
Mary wiggled her feet and didn't look up from her reading, a glass of wine in her hand. Behind her, Claire let Polidori pour her a glass of Laudanum. "You have seen my feet, my lord." To the inexperienced ear, Mary's flippant reply was grounds for apology. To the actual individuals in the room, Mary was administering one of her many subtle corrections, and it just remained yet to be seen whether Byron was willing to submit to her yoke.
"But such shapely feet," Byron said, slithering along the floor and reaching out to grasp one. "Shelley, how did you get a bride with such comely feet?" He winked at Percy through a comma of hair and wiggled the shoe-clad object.
John handed him a snifter of brandy, and Percy smiled at Byron. "I asked her to come, and she said yes."
"Oh did you?" Byron removed one of Mary's shoes, watching her face as she ignored him. Percy knew what game was starting here. He finished his brandy in one full swallow and wished Claire would share the Laudanum.
Mary wiggled her toes. "Is that sufficient?"
Byron reached further up her leg and felt for her stocking, his hand climbing higher than necessary. Mary's eyes still hadn't left her book, but Percy saw a faint glimmer of a smile.
"You know, Madame Shelley," he drawled, emphasizing the title she did not truly own, "allowing a man's appendage this far into your regions is rather scandalous." Percy could see Byron pat her knee. Then his hand emerged from her dress, her stocking hanging from his fingers.
Mary finally turned her head to stare at Byron before returning to her text. "Really, my lord, if you behave any more lecherously, I shall be forced to write you into my book." She smiled and accepted the fresh glass of wine from the ever-patient Polidori.
"As the villain, I hope?" Byron twirled the stocking with his hand.
"No, my lord," Mary replied, "but as a huge benefactor to all mankind."
When Byron threw the stocking at Percy, he caught it and threw it to the side. "Mary means to improve your reputation throughout the world." He smiled when Byron played at the coverings to his shoes.
"Ah, then I shall strive to fail miserably in all things from now on. Come now, Shelley, aren't you overdressed for the evening?"
Shelley pulled off one boot and began to work on the next when Mary closed her book and kicked off her other shoe. "I suppose I could be persuaded to write you in as a more unsavory individual," she relented, eyes roving over Byron's lank form sprawled out on the floor. Percy let her hand rove up his thigh for a moment before grabbing her other calf and removing the incongruent covering.
Byron threw his ascot in the fire and opened his arms to accept her form when she hovered, one hand on Percy's trousers, her lips hovering above his flushed cheeks. "Oh dear Mary, I shall aim to be at my worst, then."
END